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This week, we present responses to the following challenges: Almost. “The scene in front of her was almost perfect. Almost.” Finish the story. And general writing.

The Scene

By Jenseny Lauer

Age 14, Bradford, Vt.

The scene in front of her was almost perfect. Almost. Except there was something missing: her best friend.

She never would have thought that her friend would be missing out on this great reunion. The battle had finally finished and everybody was happy and celebrating. The only people who weren’t were the people who’d lost their loved ones and friends. She was part of them. Her friend had died saving the entire world from total destruction. Yes, her parents and siblings were alive and she was happy they were, but the person who’d stuck with her through elementary and almost all of high school was now gone. Nothing could change that – though there was a slight possibility he’d survived.

But no matter what, it was sad. She couldn’t celebrate with the others because she was on the verge of crying.

“Hey, honey. It’s alright,” her mother tried to reassure her. No, it’s not, she said in her head, but she nodded and hugged her mother. She didn’t want to, but she started crying. She couldn’t help it; the sadness was just too much to contain. People were too busy celebrating to notice. That was okay with her. It would have been embarrassing if they stopped celebrating and started staring. Her father and siblings joined the hug and they all just sat there for a while, trying to comfort one another.

That ended as soon as a bright flash of light came and a shuttle-looking object landed. Everyone stopped what they were doing, hoping it wasn’t another attack. Why would it be, though? They surrendered.

The shuttle-looking thing opened and people started coming out of it. The people who had supposedly died were coming out of that shuttle. The people who were sad were now happy, talking to the loved ones and friends they thought were gone.

She waited, looking for her friend in the crowd. She spotted him and waved him over. They hugged and the first thing she said to him was, “Why hello. What took you so long?”

Prompt: General writing

I’ve always wondered what makes a good poem

By Anna Testorf

Age 13, Hanover

It’s not the rhyme or the reason,

the beats or the feet —

but the message it sends to all the people it meets.

How I Feel About Grades

By Eden Anne Bauer

Age 14, Hanover

Grades — those letters, percentages and comments.

I check constantly, hoping for the perfect A+s, 100 percents

and words of praise from all my teachers.

Every assignment, every quiz and test, counts.

What will colleges think? What will my parents say?

What of the embarrassment and guilt if I get a bad grade?

Report cards mostly convey how students perform on tests,

with some thought of homework, behavior and class participation, of course.

The stress begins to build as the testing time comes near,

as this one document could bring about my greatest fear.

And if I forget just one thing, my grade will fall — and then my tears.

Students should learn and truly know what teachers teach in class.

However, I’m not sure that tests best represent everyone’s abilities;

some people may do best under stress, but others do much worse.

Even if we abandoned tests, though,

how else would we know for sure what students have learned?

We could have many, many small quizzes so a few bad grades don’t matter much,

or participation or homework could count for much more of a grade.

I’m not sure. At least I get better at tests every time.

So by now, I’m managing the stress just fine (most of the time).

As long as stress and competition with others doesn’t become a problem,

I think grades are okay as long as we work hard enough.

Aiden

By Jessie Parent

Age 17, Topsham, Vt.

He looks up at the ceiling fan and is now in a trance, his big blue eyes watching the blades turn. His arms and legs flail with happiness, soft legs kicking my arms while his chubby little hands hold my thumb. His small head rests against me, just the slightest dusting of hair on the back of it. He finally looks at me, and the biggest smile appears on his face. Ten seconds later he is pouty, his eyebrows furrowed, and he begins to cry.

He likes to grab onto hair, and be held by anyone that is willing to hold him. He likes a cat named Mittens, and he doesn’t seem to be too in love with dogs. He has a big brother that makes him laugh daily, and a father and mother who love him more than words. He’s four months old and drools all the time. He hates going in the car, but he likes his car seat. And he likes being at my house, so he can stare at the ceiling fan and start the whole story over again…