Inspiring Curiosity and Imagination since 1973

Fe br u a r y 2024 Vol u m e 5 1 N u m be r 5 CRICKET STAFF

Lonnie Plecha Editor
Anna Lender Art Director
Patrick Murray Designer
Carolyn Digby Conahan Staff Artist
Deborah Vetter Senior Contributing Editor
Julie Peterson Copyeditor
Hayley Kim Assistant Editor
PHOTO BY ELIZABETH HANSEL-BENDIS

Adrienne Matzen Permissions Specialist

Laura Woodside SVP Education Products

Barb Clendenen Director of Circulation

CRICKET ADVISORY BOARD

Marianne Carus Founder
and Editor-in-Chief from 1972–2012
Kieran Egan Professor of Education,
Simon Fraser University, Vancouver
Betsy Hearne Professor, University of
Illinois, Champaign; Critic, Author
Sybille Jagusch Children’s Literature Specialist
Linda Sue Park Author
COV E R A N D B O R D E R Katherine Paterson Author
Barbara Scharioth Former Director of the
by Keith Bendis International Youth Library in Munich, Germany
Anita Silvey Author, Critic
“Archery Class” Sandra Stotsky Professor of Education Reform,
pen and ink and gouache University of Arkansas, Fayetteville
Roger Sutton Editor-in-Chief of
The Horn Book Magazine, Critic
Keith has been a freelance cartoonist/illustrator Ann Thwaite Author, Critic

for forty years. His work has appeared in most

of America’s leading magazines and newspapers,
such as The New Yorker, Time, Fortune,
Smithsonian, and Sports Illustrated. He has Educational Press Association of America
Golden Lamp Award Academics Choice
illustrated ten books, including the best-selling Distinguished Achievement Award Smart Media Award

Casey at the Bat, Calvin Can’t Fly, and Calvin,

International Reading Association
Look Out! He has also won the prestigious Paul A. Witty Short Story Award
1988–1993, 1997, 2003, 2004, 2006,
Silver Funny Bone award from the Society of 2007, 2009, 2011–2015

Illustrators. He lives with his artist wife, Betsy, 

on an old farm in Ancram, New York.





National Magazine Award Society of Midland Authors

finalist in the category of Award for Excellence in Parents’ Choice
General Excellence Children’s Literature Gold Award

CRICKET magazine (ISSN 0090-6034) is published 9 times a year, monthly except for
combined May/June, July/August, and November/December issues, by Cricket Media,
Inc., 1751 Pinnacle Drive, Suite 600, McLean, VA 22102. Periodicals postage paid at
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1-800-821-0115 continued on page 47
 5 The Secret Perfume Recipe by Susan Hall
12 Favorite First Sentences from Cricket readers
13 California Lee and Me by Heather Emme
18 Together and Apart by Shelley Holt Campbell
19 Malyon and Mayana by Edilberto C. Cruz
26 Scotch Broom by Loralee Leavitt
33 My Luve’s Like a Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns
34 On Uppermost Winds by Alexis A. Hunter
38 Saving Freyfaxi by Christy Lenzi

2 Letterbox
4 Cricket Country by Carolyn Digby Conahan
25 Ugly Bird’s Crossbird Puzzle
45 Cricket League
46 Cricket and Ladybug by Carolyn Digby Conahan
48 Old Cricket Says

cover and border art © 2008 by Keith Bendis

 THIS ONE’S
FOR YOU. MEWY YAY!

Dear Cricket, the magazine. That never happened, OHHHHHH, STORIES– wasn’t so old. I love reading those liter-
Congratulations on your fiftieth birthday! but in the October 2014 issue, my REACHING DIFFERENT ary adventures that always make me
I am one of the lucky kids who was an original eight-year-old daughter won third READERS IN DIFFERENT see life in a different way than before.
subscriber. And yes, I loved them so much that place, which was possibly even better! WAYS! IT’S MIND- Cricket has never disappointed me.
I saved them all. But the impact of reading and I was reading Lloyd Alexander’s BOGGLING. I especially love the stories during
rereading those magazines was greater than just a books and loving them for years before Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year,
small archive of memories. Subscribing to Cricket I realized he was Old Cricket! Trina but not because I get presents (though
impacted my life, career, and quite probably the Schart Hyman was and is one of my all- I do very much enjoy that). But it’s the
lives of many children. time favorite illustrators. I, too, had a copy stories, especially the ones that involve
You see, it was Cricket that introduced eight- of the Cricket album (on cassette tape) and people in the military coming home for
year-old me to wonderful children’s literature. listened to it over and over. Christmas. My brother is in the army, and there
Many years later, when I was in college taking a Over the decades I have toyed with the idea have been times he hasn’t been able to come
children’s literature class and we were assigned to of allowing my subscription to lapse: wasn’t I too home for Christmas. But that doesn’t mean we
read Lloyd Alexander, Trina Schart Hyman, Astrid old, at fifteen, to keep getting this magazine? don’t get him gifts. We still love to give him gifts
Lindgren, and other award-winning authors and How about when I started college? Or when my and we know he will get them, he just won’t open
illustrators, I felt like I had been reunited with be- husband and I were first married and money was them with us. Even though he is not there, I just
loved old friends! Soon after, I changed my major tight, could I justify the luxury of my Cricket sub- think of the stories, and it’s almost like he is.
from education to library science. scription? And later, weren’t my kids too little for Ana
Since then, I have had a wonderful and reward- Cricket? (Yes, they were. They got Babybug and via email
ing career as a children’s librarian. I have spent Ladybug, but I never stopped getting Cricket.)
almost thirty years sharing the joy of reading with I still devour each issue upon arrival. The Dear Cricket,
young people and have heard from parents that stories and poetry, artwork, features, fun recipes, I love your mag! I love to read, so that’s why
my story times and book recommendations helped and, of course, Ugly’s crossbirds are priceless. To Cricket is right for me! My favorite book series is
make their child a reader. Sharing stories, books, all the many talented, dedicated artists, writers, The Chronicles of Narnia. Do any Cricket readers
and nurturing readers has allowed me to pass along illustrators, designers . . . everyone who makes this have good book recommendations?
the joy I felt when getting lost in a story as a child. gem of a publication happen: thank you. Thank To Wolf Howler (February
My own children were also raised on Cricket you, thank you, thank you. You make the world a 2023), I love gaga ball! I WAS HERE AT THE
publications. One of my daughter’s first words was warmer, better, more joyful, more caring, more Cricket, happy fiftieth BEGINNING, TOO! SO
“ba-ba-buh”—Babybug! So thank you, Cricket, colorful place. The world needs you. anniversary! HAPPY ANNIVERSARY
for all the joy you’ve brought me, my children, and Much love, gratitude, and all good wishes, Isabel, age 11 TO ME. HRUMPH.
the many children I have served over the years. Linda Cook, age 57 Indiana
Here’s to many more years of bringing the wonder Colfax, Washington
of reading to children everywhere! Thank you. Dear Isabel,
Jenny W. Dear Cricket, You can find book recommen-
via email Happy fiftieth birthday! It’s kinda weird to dations from other Cricket readers in
think you’re almost as old as my mom! I have been almost every Letterbox, plus in Cricket Readers
Dear Cricket and Everybuggy, receiving your magazine for a little over two years. Recommend and Favorite First Sentences (see
This letter has been writing itself in my head all Before, I would get Spider and even before that, page 12). We love to keep adding to our booklists,
year, and now it is finally getting put down when I first started to learn to read, I got as readers continue to send us their favorites!
on paper! My first Cricket magazine I DON’T KNOW High Five. Happy reading,
came in the mail in November 1973, WHAT TO SAY... (BLUSH) Cricket has really made me fond Cricket
not quite at the buggining, but EXCEPT MAYBE CRICKET of literary adventures. I love to open
close. I was instantly enthralled, READERS ARE our mailbox and see that my latest Hello, Everybuggy!
being a voracious reader. I have THE BEST! issue of Cricket has arrived. In some I love your mag a lot! I am obsessed with many
never stopped being enthralled. of your latest issues, I really enjoy books, especially the Keeper of the Lost Cities
As an aspiring writer, I dreamed of seeing the writings of former Cricket series. I also read lots of graphic novels like Phoebe
being published in a story contest in subscribers, back when Cricket and Her Unicorn, Katie the Catsitter, and New Kid.

2
 I love musicals like Hamilton and In the
Heights.
OOO! I LOVE
MUSICALS, TOO!
To answer some of Kiirana P.’s SO MANY GREAT
questions from the May/June 2023
SHOWS...
issue, my favorite characters from
The Land of Stories are Conner and
Little Red Riding Hood; in KOTLC are
Dex, Ro, and Keefe; and in Harry Potter
are Luna, Dobby, and Hagrid.
Hamilton fans, who’re your favorite
characters? Mine are Thomas Jefferson and
Aaron Burr.
Hermione the Unicorn, age 12
Ashland, Oregon
Dear Everybuggy
I have only had a subscription to Cricket for
two months, but I LOVE it so much! I love animals
very much, too, and hope to get a Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals membership
when I am older. I have one dog and one fish. The
dog is named Jack, and the fish in named Han
Solo. He has a slight scar, so that makes sense to
me.
Pussywillow, what is your favorite pastime?
And Tater, have you extracted strawberry DNA?
Happy fiftieth anniversary! You guys are great!
Animal-Loving Annie
via email
Dear Animal-Loving Annie,
Pussywillow likes to listen to stories. As for that
DNA, I’m working on it!
Love,
Tater
Dear Everybuggy,
I haven’t been reading long, but I think your
magazine is great. I love the crossword and the
stories. Can you publish stories about these
things: space, unicorns, cooking, music, and
magic? Can you also publish recipes, basketball
tricks, songs, and magic tricks, and a magazine
about how to be environmentally friendly? I want
people to save the world. Thank you!
Doria Degenkolb
California
P.S . Ladybug, you’re my favorite!
Hello, Everybuggy,
I got Cricket a while ago, but my subscription
ran out and I just got a new subscription! I love
reading books like Percy Jackson
Harry Potter, and Nevermoor.
STORY TIME! I like ice cream, not-my-
MEWY PURRR! generation music, and
writing/reading. To Líadan
(July/August 2023), I suggest
a book called The Someday
Birds by Sally J. Pla, because
it’s about travel and animals. To Lolbit
the Robotic Fox (July/August 2023),
I love Keeper of the Lost Cities! My
favorite fruit is a tomato, or is that a
veggie? To Hic, haec, hoc, I love how
you switched up the rhythm!
I have a question for all Chatter-
boxers: What is your favorite book and
why?
Girl Keefe
Texas
Dear Everybuggy,
How are you all? What are your favorite
hobbies? Mine are giving cats crazy hairdos and
listening to music. Do you have any recommenda-
tions on any good music?
I am the proud parent of two cats: Ax Head and
Felix. Does anyone else have any crazy cat names?
IceFox
via email
P.S . My favorite hairdo for a cat is a mohawk.
Dear IceFox,
We like reading, all kinds of art, and most kinds are brave, daring, and kind, and have sworn to
of music—classical, folk, Broadway, country, rock- protect their homeland till their dying breath.
’n’-roll, and movie music, to name a few. I suggest
you listen to a variety of music and build your
own list of favorites.
Love, GREGORIAN
Old Cricket CHANTS! WHAT A enough if you need some soothing music.
SOUND. GIVES ME
Hello there,
I previously wrote to the
Letterbox in November 2022.
Lots of things have changed since
then, but I still love reading these
magazines! I have a large stack that
is currently kept in my desk drawer,
but I think my collection needs a new
place since they’re taking over.
How has everyone’s year been going so far?
Any new hobbies, friends, challenges, or discov-
ered likes/dislikes? Personally, since my last email
I’ve discovered that I’m a Slytherin and murder
mysteries like One of Us Is Lying and Truly Devious
are quite amazing.
Amaya S.
via email
Hi!
I live in Hawaii, on the same island that was
recently decimated by several wildfires in 2023.
Thankfully, they were nowhere near me, but thou-
sands of people were displaced, and others died.
Of late, I’ve been volunteering at shelters and with
groups, trying to help wherever I can, because so
many need help.
Shining Star, age 14
Down to Earth, Chatterbox
CHIRPS FROM CRICKET’S
LET TERBOX AND CHAT TERBOX
Every February 14 we have a reunion thread on
Chatterbox where old CBers pop in to say hi. It’s
really cool to see everyone!
Periwinkle
Chirp at Cricket
Here’s a quote I love from Abraham Lincoln:
“We can complain because rosebushes have thorns
or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.”
Celine Burning Bright
Down to Earth
My favorite book series are Keeper of the
Lost Cities, The Land of Stories, and Wings of
Fire. I think my favorite characters are Moon and
Tsunami from Wings of Fire.
Daisybelle
via email
In the snowy tundra of Péqunes, the fabled
Dragon Riders that live in the Northern Mountains
Tracer, age 13
Inkwell
I cannot recommend Gregorian chants
They’re songs that used to be sung by
SHIVERS. monks in the Middle Ages and they’re
really calming. The ones I like best
have the effect of making everything
stressful seem suddenly unimportant
until only peace and tranquility remain. I
don’t know how, but they do.
Poinsettia
Chirp at Cricket
I love the sound a typewriter makes! It makes
me so happy!
Nyxie
Down to Earth
My favorite part of Cricket is “Cricket
Country,” and my favorite character is Ladybug.
Ladybug is funny, nice, and cute.
Hannah
New York
Send letters to Cricket’s Letterbox,
P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354,
or email us at cricket@cricketmedia.com.
Letters may be edited for length.
V i s i t t h e C h a t t e r b ox a t :
c r ic ke t ma g k i d s .com /c hat te r b ox
3
 WELL,
WE WERE THEN WE
DIGGING ...SO WE CAN THERE’S SOMETHING VERY FISHY
START SEEDS FOUND AN IT’LL
AN IT’S A I HEAR ABOUT THAT SMELL!
YUCK! ADDITION AND EXTEND UNDERGROUND BE
VERY MUD IS
I’M VERY TO THE THE GROWING SPRING, AND GREAT
NICE OH! WELL, WE
SENSITIVE MANSION SEASON. (SIGH) THINGS GOT WHEN
MUD
GOOD DID SPILL SOME HA! THIS NOSE
OH, MY. WE MISS THE MESSY FOR A IT DRIES FOR FISH FERTILIZER, KNOWS! I SHOULD
THIS IS TO WITH LIGHT BIT. ALL GOOD OUT A HOLE, THE DEVELOP MY OWN
SMELLS, WELLS GARDEN, RIGHT SKIN. CLEARING SPACE
A LOT AND THIS TIME OF FUN! LITTLE. TO DIG... SCENT, AND MAKE
OF MUD. YOU TO THE NOW. BUT... MILLIONS!
I’M KNOW. SURFACE... YEAR.
SMELLING (SNIFF)
A SMELL. YOU ARE
GOOD AT
MAKING A
STINK.

WHY
ALL WE SETTLE FOR WITH SCIENCE!
NEEDED WAS A WE’RE BUGS. OR STOUT- WE’LL
“BETTER”? WHY WOULD HEARTED, THE
HOT SHOWER TRY MY MMM... ISOLATE AND SOUNDS SMELL
TO WASH THE WE WANT BRAVE, INCORPORATE
NEW SECRET SMELLS TO MAKE AND TRUE. SUBLIMELY OF A
MUD AWAY. SIGNATURE YUMMY! LIKE SCENTS THAT SUBLIMINAL– NEW
BETTER NOW? OURSELVES (H’M. HOW BUT INSPIRE THE
SCENT, CHOCOLATE SMELL YIKES! WOULD AKA SNEAKY. BOOK
AND SMELL CHIP COOKIES. I’D HOW DO INSTINCTIVE INTERESTING, ALWAYS
YUMMY? THAT WE DO REACTION WE
MUCH LADYBUG RATHER SMELL?) TOO. LET’S DO IT! MAKES
FRESH! THAT? WANT. ME
BETTER! SHHH! SMELL
THAT’S BIG AND SOUNDS LIKE HAPPY!
SECRET. FIERCE HOMEWORK.

WHOA! WELL, IT IS STRONG.

THAT’S AN... AND SPORTY. (AS IN:
INTERESTING REALLY RIPE STOP!
AROMA YOU’RE RUNNING SHOES!) (COUGH-COUGH)
BREWING, YOU SMELL THAT’S ENOUGH!
SLUGGO. LIKE WARM I NEED TO WORK
EGADS! MILK AND ON MY SCENT. POTENT
I WANT TO MAGIC, IT’S BASED ON REALLY? MAYBE
SMELL SPORTY, DOES THIS (COUGH-COUGH) BECAUSE IS RIGHT!
WHAT KIND OF PUSSYWILLOW. SEA BREEZES AND (SNIFF- ESPECIALLY
SWIFT, AND SMELL FIERCE, SNIFF) SOME OF
AND LARGE? BEAR SIGN? NO, WHAT’S THE ADVENTURE! MIXED TOGETHER.
STRONG! RECIPE? I CAN’T THE OTHER
IT’S BASED ON WAIT! DON’T SCENTS ARE THE FUMES ARE
TELL ME. MEWY SMELL IT MAKING ME
BEAR SIGN I AT ALL. SO, UM,
COLLECTED IN (COUGH!) JUST POTENT? DIZZY.
THE WOODS. ME.
IT’S ALL
GETTING VERY
SMELLY!

WHUT SMELZ SO OOKY DELISHUS?

NOW
FUMES? THAT YOU DID YOU
SMELLY? MENTION IT, USE EGGS IN AND I’M THINKING SOMEBUGGY SMELLS LIKE
LADYBUG. USED GYM SOCKS IN THEY JUMPED IN THAT IS A GOOD
YOUR COOKIE QUESTION–WITH AN
YES! IT’S “FRAGRANCE”? THEIR “SCENT.” WITH BOTH FEET!
POSITIVELY WHO WANTS UNFORTUNATE
BECAUSE I ANSWER.
MIASMIC. THINK THEY’VE NOT SAYING I DID, BUT TO SMELL LIKE
GONE OFF. IT IS A SPORTY THAT?
SMELL...

4
 The Secret
Perfume Recipe
by Susan Hall
Salma was waiting impatiently to
unpack the glass perfume bottles. It had
been her favorite job for as long as she could
remember—even before her father died
and her mother took over their perfumery
business. As she pulled the packing straw
from the basket, her hands trembled with
excitement. What colors would the bottles
be this week? The sun had just risen above
the pyramids, flooding their workshop with
golden light and touching the small glass
bottles with a dazzling brightness. Cradling
one in her palm, Salma stroked the shining
bands of glowing red, blue, and yellow glass.
Shaped like a long teardrop, the bottle had a
tiny lid that fitted its narrow neck.
“Be careful!” her mother reminded her,
looking up from the flower press. “Those
bottles are really expensive.” She was twisting
white water lily pulp in a cloth and collecting
in a jar the liquid that ran out. Handing the
jar to one of the women assistants, she joined
Salma to admire the bottles, wiping her fin-
gers on her apron.

SECRET PERFUME RECIPES? H’MMM. MEW?

I KNOW ALL ABOUT GOOD SMELLS,
AND SECRETS.
Illustrated by Carolina Altavilla
text © 2024 by Susan Hall, art © 2024 by Carolina Altavilla 5
 I’M GOING TO MAKE MY VERY OWN
SECRET RECIPE! THEN EVERYBUGGY
WILL KNOW IT’S ME.
“I’ve found a trader who can take our
samples to Queen Cleopatra,” she whispered
in Salma’s ear. “The queen wears perfume
and hair oil every day, and she even scents her
bathwater.”
“Do you think she’ll choose ours?” Salma
asked hopefully.
“Up to now, she’s only used perfumes
made in palace workshops. But it’s worth a
try.”
“Which one will you send?”
“My rose perfume, of course,” her mother
replied, smiling. “I’ve heard that she loves
roses.”
Everyone wanted to please the young
queen. If she even adopted a new hair style,
then the wealthy women in Egypt all styled
their hair to match.
“Maybe we should add another ingredient
to make it unique, just for the queen?” Salma
suggested. Now she was twelve, she was
almost ready to create perfumes of her own.
“Good idea!”
Salma glanced over to the pots of herbs
and spices on the shelf. The rose perfume was
beautiful: a scent of roses mixed with myrrh,
cinnamon, fragrant oils, and some secret
ingredients that only she and her mother
knew. She had learned the recipe by heart.
First, you had to soak rose petals in warm
water . . .
“Can I learn a new perfume recipe
today?” a voice broke into Salma’s thoughts,
making her jump. It was the new assistant,
Dina. Salma felt uneasy around her, although
she couldn’t put her finger on why. Was it
A LITTLE OF THIS... A LITTLE OF THAT... MAYBE A
LITTLE MORE... IT SHOULD BE POWERFUL, LIKE ME!
MEWY STRONG! COUGH COUGH.
6
BUT... DON’T WE ALREADY
KNOW IT’S YOU?
the way she crept up behind Salma like a cat?
Was it her quick fingers, always touching the
herbs and picking up the perfume bottles?
“Of course,” Salma replied. “Which one
would you like to learn?”
“The water lily oil for the skin,” Dina
suggested, “and the special rose perfume.”
“Let’s start with the lily oil,” Salma
answered, ignoring the second request. Surely
Dina knew that the rose scent was a secret
family recipe.
“Start with the juice from crushed water
lily roots,” Salma instructed Dina. Dina was
older than she was, and at first Salma felt
awkward telling her what to do. But she soon
got her confidence back as she showed her
how the oil was made.
When they had finished, Salma called
over the other new worker, Anat, a shy, very
young girl whose parents were paying for her
apprenticeship. Salma liked her.
“Dina, please can you show Anat what
you’ve learned, and I’ll watch to make sure
you have remembered how to make water lily
oil correctly.”
Anat flushed, and her face took on a look
of extreme concentration. After watching for a
while, Salma moved on to her next task, soak-
ing dried red fruits and berries.
All that day, Salma and her mother
tested new ingredients for their rose per-
fume. Did it need frankincense, cardamon,
saffron, or perhaps sweet wine? They shut
themselves away in the cool storeroom at the
rear of the workshop, so they could experi-
ment in secret. Salma was proud that her
 HEY, NO PEEKING! I’M STILL WORKING ON MY
FABULOUS TOP SECRET RECIPE!
suggestion of adding honey was a good one,
and the final perfume was like the wonder-
ful smell of sweet roses and dates on a warm
day. They poured it carefully into five of
their best glass bottles. If Queen Cleopatra
liked their perfume, perhaps they would
receive thousands of orders! In her mind,
Salma imagined the new double-stringed
necklace she might be able to buy, with
beads of real turquoise. She was so deep in
thought that she didn’t notice Dina coming
up behind her, or Anat peeping round the
storeroom curtain.
Quickly, Salma threw a linen cloth over
the selection of fragrances that they had cho-
sen for the new perfume.
UM, WHAT?
I WASN’T!
“I’m sorry, mistress,” Dina was apologetic.
“The palace trader is here.”
Excitement surged through Salma, and
her legs started trembling. Even her mother
looked nervous.
“Well, Dina, sit him down, and offer him
some wine and almond cakes.”
Salma followed Dina to the front of the
workshop, where the windows opened onto
the road. The palace trader wore a pleated
tunic, silver jewelry, and sandals with curled
toes, the latest fashion. Salma’s mother fussed
over him as he ate his cakes greedily. Finally,
he asked for a sample of the perfume. Salma
carried one of the five bottles from the store-
room. She pulled out the stopper.
7
 SNIFF THIS, CRICKET. WHAT DO YOU
THINK? I’M GOING TO BE RICH-RICH-
RICH, RIGHT?
“H’m . . .” he considered, wrinkling his
nose. “It’s unusual. Nefertem, the god of
perfume, may decide you have overreached
yourself. But if the queen likes it, then obvi-
ously Nefertem approves.”
The palace trader took the precious bottle,
wrapping it in a cloth, and hurried off.
Salma rushed to her room and knelt in
front of her statuette of Nefertem, which
stood in a little shrine. Please favor our work-
shop, she prayed. We made this perfume in your
honor.
When she returned to the storeroom to
tidy up, for a moment she thought that her
eyes were playing tricks. There were only
three bottles on the table. They had filled five
bottles and given the trader one. There should
be four left.
“Mother!” Salma called out in a desperate
voice. “A bottle of the queen’s perfume has
been stolen!”
Salma’s mother dashed into the storeroom.
“No!” she cried. “I assured the palace that
the queen would be the first person to wear
the perfume. If it gets sold elsewhere before
she tries it, that will ruin our chances.”
A dart of suspicion ran through Salma.
“Dina was watching us,” she told her
mother pointedly.
“Oh, Dina’s a good worker, she wouldn’t
take it.” Her mother turned her head in disbe-
lief, her beaded braids swinging. “It must be
somewhere. I’ll search the workshop.”
Salma didn’t reply. She ran wildly through
the shop and out into the street to search for
Dina.
8
WHOA.
POWERFUL!
Salma’s sandals scuffed up yellow dust
as she hurried to follow Dina’s route home.
She’d catch up with her and accuse her! Soon
she reached the market, a large area shaded by
cloths held between poles. Traders sat on col-
orful mats all around the space, their goods
spread enticingly in front of them.
Despite the late hour, the crowd was still
large. Salma could smell sweat and hair oil,
sizzling fat, overripe fruits, and rushes and
mud that wafted in from the River Nile. Her
sense of smell had been trained over many
years with her mother, identifying fruits and
herbs so she would be ready to take her place
as a perfumer. Sometimes it was overwhelm-
ing. Yet, despite all the mixing aromas, she
suddenly smelled something instantly recog-
nizable—their rose perfume!
The crowd parted for a moment, and she
saw two familiar figures, Dina and Anat,
walking fast one after the other. She elbowed
past women haggling by a fish stall and tried
to follow the two employees into the side
streets.
The setting sun flushed the sky pink, the
pyramids silhouetted as dark triangles against
the evening light. Soon night would fall sud-
denly, as if a lamp had been turned off, and
she’d never find them. But, rounding a cor-
ner, Salma saw Anat in front of her.
“Anat!” she called out. “Did you see
which way Dina went?”
As she caught up with Anat, Salma
abruptly stood still, as if she’d seen a snake.
Anat smelled of roses! All this time she’d been
worried about Dina, but now small things
 TA-DA–MY TOP SECRET, EXCLUSIVE
FORMULA IS READY FOR YOU, BUT
ARE YOU READY FOR IT?
came back to her troubled mind. Anat hang-
ing around the storeroom that day. Anat’s
cautious questions that suddenly didn’t seem
innocent any longer.
“Oh, Salma!” Anat’s face looked panicked
as she turned around, but her voice remained
10
WHOOPSIE–JUST REMEMBERED
I HAVE TO RETURN MY
LIBRARY BOOK...
calm. Her hand tightened on the bag that
usually contained her lunch. “What’s the
matter?”
“I know you’ve got it—the rose perfume,”
Salma said angrily.
“N . . . no, I haven’t.”
“I can smell it—you’re wear-
ing it!”
Anat’s face fell, and tears
spilled down her cheeks. She
fumbled in her bag and held out
the perfume bottle.
“I didn’t want to steal it,”
she sniffled. “Father made me.
Please don’t report him, I don’t
want him to be beaten. And the
perfume’s so beautiful, I couldn’t
resist trying it.”
Salma thought carefully as
she took the glass bottle. What
should she do?
“I won’t report you for steal-
ing,” she finally said, quietly.
“But you must bring us twice the
value of the perfume, that’s the
law for stealing. You know how
much it’s worth. Your father can
send us goods of that value. Your
time in our workshop is over.”
Anat had frozen like a fright-
ened rabbit to hear what her
fate would be. Now she nodded
thankfully.
“I’ll wash off the scent now,”
she promised, pulling out her
water bottle and a cloth.
“I THINK YOU did the right thing,” her
mother said approvingly, when Salma
returned to the workshop. “We have our
precious perfume back, and Anat’s father
must pay us compensation. There’s no
point in further punishment. It would be
vindictive, and I doubt they’ll try their
tricks again. I’ll spread the word among the
perfumers.”
Three days later, when Salma and her
mother entered the workshop, Dina met
them at the door. She could barely speak
for excitement.
“Guess what? The q . . . queen,”
she stammered. “She loves it—the rose
perfume. She wants you to move your
workshop into a palace building and make
more unique perfumes for her!”
There was a small silence before all
three started shrieking and yelling, holding
hands and jumping with excitement. Dina’s
face was glowing as she asked, “C . . . can
I come with you to your new workshop,
please?”
“Of course!” Salma answered, receiving
a nod from her mother.
“You’ve got a lot of potential, Dina,”
her mother added. “We need you.”
Salma blushed, remembering how many
incorrect assumptions she’d made. She still
had a lot to learn.
That evening, Salma knelt in front of
her little shrine.
“Thank you, Nefertem!” she whispered
to the god of perfume. “Thank you so
much for your help.”
READY? READY! HA. HA. HA. WE’LL SEE
LET’S PLAY WHO’S LAUGHING WHEN
“WHAT’S THAT I MAKE MY MILLIONS!
SMELL?” GRRRR!
HISTORICAL NOTE In Ancient Egypt, unlike
in other ancient civilizations, women were
allowed to run businesses and control their
own property if their husband died. Educated
women could go into teaching and become
doctors. Some women set up weaving and
perfume businesses or became singers and
musicians. Others worked as weavers, bakers,
brewers, or shoemakers. In tomb paintings,
women are shown selling their own goods at
market, along with men. Other women worked
at home, looking after their house and families.
Perfume was very important to Egyptians.
After initially being used just for religious cere-
monies, it was soon part of everyday life. There
was even a god of perfume called Nefertem.
In pictures, he is often carrying water lilies, a
popular ingredient in ancient perfume.
Many plants, herbs, and spices were used
to create perfume, scented oils, and incense.
Flowers used included daisy, poppy, anemone,
chrysanthemum, jasmine, rose, water lily, and
lotus. Not only were the petals used, but also
the leaves, roots, and stems. They could be
crushed, dried, or heated in oil to release their
fragrance. Nut and olive oils were also used,
plus spices such as cinnamon and cardamon,
and myrrh and frankincense (both made from
tree sap).
Perfume bottles became treasured items,
and these have been found in tombs and
archaeological sites. These small bottles were
made from stone, ceramic, or colorful glass.
Sometimes they could be in the shape of gods
or animals.
OH, MY! (GASP,
COUGH)
11

“That fool of a fairy
Lucinda did not intend
to lay a curse on me.”
ELL A ENCHANTED
by Gail Carson Levine
submitted by Geraldine E. via email
“One morning shortly after
Wren turned seven years
old, her parents wrestled
her into her best blue wool
dress, pinned her down to
oil her curly hair, and took
her up the mountain to be
eaten by a dragon.”
DR AGONSL AYER (Wings of Fire:
Legends) by Tui T. Sutherland
submitted by Lauren H. of Texas
“Nory Horace was
trying to turn herself
into a kitten.”
UPSIDE- DOWN MAGIC
(Upside-Down Magic, Book 1)
by Sarah Mlynowski, Lauren Myracle,
and Emily Jenkins
submitted by Katrina H. via email
Send it to Cricket / Favorite First Sentences, P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354.
Please include only one sentence and be sure to write your complete name and address on the letter.
12 Or send your favorite first sentence to: cricket@cricketmedia.com
LISTEN
I’VE GOT ONE
TO THIS! THAT’S EVEN
BETTER!
“Wilma Tenderfoot wasn’t
quite sure how she’d managed
it, but somehow she was
hanging upside down from a
meat hook in the pantry.”
WILMA TENDERFOOT: THE CASE
OF THE FROZEN HEARTS (Wilma
Tenderfoot, Book 1) by Emma Kennedy
submitted by Hannah Ford of Cortez, CO
“There were big days
and there were small
days and there were bad
days and there were
good days and I suppose I
could pick any of ’em for
my ‘once upon a time.’”
THE REMARK ABLE JOURNEY OF
COYOTE SUNRISE
by Dan Gemeinhart
submitted by The Elephant Spirit
via Blab About Books, Chatterbox
“We must, by law,
keep a record of the
innocents we kill.”
SCY THE (Arc of a Scythe, Book 1)
by Neal Shusterman
submitted by Charlotte Meadows of Maryland
Have we missed your favorite first sentence?
JUST
READ!
“From the very
beginning there was
not the slightest doubt
that Olga da Polga was
the sort of guinea-pig
who would go places.”
THE TALES OF OLGA DA POLGA
(Olga da Polga, Book 1) by Michael Bond
submitted by Poinsettia
via Blab About Books
“On the morning of its
f irst birthday, a baby was
found f loating in a cello
case in the middle of the
English Channel.”
ROOF TOPPER S by Katherine Rundell
submitted by Blue Moon
via Blab About Books
“It was our Friday
Baby-sitters club
meeting, and Kristy was
calling it to order.”
THE BABY-SIT TER S CLUB: THE
TRUTH ABOUT STACEY (The Baby-
Sitters Club, Book 2) by Raina Telgemier
submitted by Doria Degenkolb of Lomita, CA
 and
HETTIE PALMER HEFTED
her hockey bag onto her shoulder and
Me by Heather Emme
followed her mother and her brother up the
stone steps. Once in the doorway, she let
the bag drop with a thud and turned to hug her
mom, who kissed her on the top of her head.
“I’ll call you tonight before bed,” her
mom said.
Hettie nodded and tried to smile. Then
she took out her key and unlocked the door
to her dad’s house.
As her mom’s minivan pulled away, Hettie
closed the door behind her and shouted to
her brother, who had already pushed past her,
heading downstairs to the rec room. “Mitchell!
No cartoons until we put our stuff away!”
“I’m watching TV!” he shouted back.
“Come on!” She was annoyed now. “We
have to empty the bag before dad gets home.”
Mitchell trudged up the stairs, thumping
as loudly as he could with each step. “Who
made you boss?” He asked this every week.
“Dad did.” She gave him the same answer. old teddy bear, Cookie, and sat him on her
Unlike Mitchell, who emptied the bag as bed leaning against a pillow. She took out the
fast as he could, Hettie always took her time three books she was reading. She could never
unpacking. She liked to examine all of the pick just one book, preferring, instead, to
treasures that traveled back and forth between have several on the go. Finally she unpacked
her parents’ houses. She gently lifted out her her school uniform and hung it in the closet.

IN CANADA AND OTHER BRITISH

Illustrated by Rebecca Green COMMONWEALTH COUNTRIES, MANY KIDS
WEAR UNIFORMS TO SCHOOL. 13
 Under her kilt, Hettie saw a magazine
that she didn’t remember packing. She picked
it up and read the Post-it note her mom had
stuck to the cover.
Page 8! So Cool!
Love, Mom
Hettie grinned at this. Every few weeks her
mom slipped a little surprise into her bag.
Holding the magazine, Hettie hopped onto
her bed and snuggled into the pillow, next to
Cookie. She pushed her braids out of her face
and flipped the magazine open to page eight.
There was a huge ad: “DO YOU WANNA
BE CALIFORNIA LEE’S BFF? Make a
video telling us how much you love her and
you could win a day
14
with Pop Teen’s rising star CALIFORNIA
LEE!”
Hettie tried to see the Cally she had known
through the makeup, the fancy clothes, and
the magazine’s airbrushing. Her eyes sparkled
the same emerald green as they had in Hettie’s
backyard when Cally told her the big news.
“I got the part!” she sang out as she
bounced up and down on the swing while
Hettie gently glided back and forth.
Hettie had been excited, too. She had seen
her best friend in a few plays and in commer-
cials that played between Mitchell’s cartoons.
Cally had really wanted this part, though.
It was in Rock Club, a TV musical on Pop
Teen. It was, she said, how all of Pop Teen
Channel’s stars started out.
Then the movie came out and Cally,
now California, was busy all the time. The
last time the two girls had seen
each other was at Cally’s birthday party.
Even in her best dress and new shoes, Hettie
had felt young and out of place. Half of
the people at the party were grownups, and
most of the other kids were actors. Big boxes
wrapped in extravagant paper with massive
bows covered the birthday present table.
Overwhelmed and feeling shy, Hettie had
taken her small gift bag and spent most of
the party in the basement bathroom. No one
came to look for her until her dad arrived to
pick her up.
Cally moved to Los Angeles with her
family, and Hettie stayed in Toronto.
“DAD,” HETTIE PICKED at the noodles in
her spaghetti. “I want to enter a contest.”
“For?” her dad asked, swallowing a
mouthful of food.
“Just a thing in my magazine, to meet a
star. I have to make a video.”
“Sure. Just make sure you show me what
you’re doing before you send anything off.”
“Can I be in it?” Mitchell had not both-
ered to wipe the spaghetti sauce that had
dribbled down his chin.
“No. You’re gross,” she responded
automatically.
“Hettie!” Her father gave her a stern look.
“Sorry,” she answered quickly. She didn’t
want to ruin her chance to see Cally again.
“BYE SWEETIE, I love you!” her father
called out as she closed the car door, her
magazine tucked under her arm, her book bag
over her shoulder.
WE SHOULD HAVE OUR
OWN SHOW–WE COULD
CALL IT “BUGGY IDOL”!
After assuring herself that no one in the
schoolyard was watching, Hettie dropped her
bag on the ground, pulled out her phone, and
stood in front of the kindergarten area. She
was wearing her dress uniform, and she had
put her braids up in a ponytail with clips that
matched. She held the phone as far as she
could from her face and pressed record.
“Hi! I’m Hettie, and here’s why I’m
California Lee’s BFF. In kindergarten, I won
a chocolate bar for my painting and I split it
with you, Cally.”
She paused the video and went inside the
school and upstairs to the library.
“I’m your BFF because I know your favorite
books are scary ones, even if they make you
afraid to sleep, and that’s why I bought you a
flashlight for your last birthday.”
Throughout the day, whenever she saw
something that reminded her of her bubbly
best friend, she added it to the video. She
YES! AND I’LL
ROCK IT!
UH-OH. I THINK I HEAR MY
LIBRARY CALLING ME… 15
 WHO’S YOUR BFF, CRICKET
BABY? ME, RIGHT?
even stopped at the ice-cream parlor while
walking Mitchell home.
“I’m your BFF because I know that you
like Gummy Ripple, but you hate that it
turns your tongue blue.”
Finally, at home by the swing set, Hettie
recorded the last part of her video. “I’m your
BFF because I’m so happy you got to go to
LA and be on TV.” She turned off her phone
and went back inside.
That night, instead of working on her
English essay, she edited her video. Hettie
knew that her dad wanted to see the video
before she sent it, but how could she explain
that she was entering a contest to see some-
one who used to come over for play dates?
Instead, she watched it one more time and
then sent it to the email address in the maga-
zine. Tired, she brushed her teeth and crawled
into bed. She snuggled Cookie and wondered
how long it would take before she heard back
from Cally.
“MITCHELL!” SHE SHOUTED down the
stairs, trying to be heard over the TV. “Come
and unpack the bag!”
“Hey, Hettie! Cally is on TV again!”
She ran downstairs so fast she almost
stumbled down the last three. Hettie read the
words flashing on the screen: California Lee
and Pop Teen Contest Winner!
The girl with Cally looked at least two
years younger than Hettie and was holding
a Rock Club Cally doll. Cally, looking a
little bored, patted the girl’s arm. “It’s nice
to know I have a big fan like Amanda to
16
THAT’S CALIFORNIA
CRICKET BABY, TO YOU.
be my BFF for the day.” She smiled her
TV smile.
“See?” Mitchell poked his sister.
Hettie’s chest felt tight and her mind
raced. When was the contest announcement?
Had it been a month already? She pulled out
her phone and checked her email: Message
from California Lee. She clicked it eagerly.
Hey Superfans!
Thanks for entering my contest. Sorry
there can only be one winner, but
you’re all still my BFFs! Make sure to
buy the novelization of Rock Club and
to watch for my concert tour, starting
soon!
Love,
California
HETTIE’S DAD TRIED to open the front
door, but it bumped up against the still full
hockey bag.
“Hettie?” He called out, moving the bag
into the foyer. From there, he saw Hettie, sit-
ting on the couch, her eyes red. “Sweetie, are
you OK?”
She didn’t say anything. He sat on the
couch beside her. She pulled out her phone,
found the video, and pressed play. He
watched. Soon his arm was around Hettie’s
shoulder. By the end of the video, she was
crying against his chest.
“I didn’t win,” she managed to say
between sobs. “I miss her so much!” She cried
until Mitchell, bored with his cartoons, came
upstairs.
 “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, toss-
ing a toy train in the air and catching it.
Hettie pulled away from her dad, wiped
her eyes, and gave Mitchell her dirtiest dirty
look. She grabbed her phone back from her
dad and ran upstairs to her room.
Ten minutes later, she heard a soft knock
at the door.
“It’s dinnertime.” Her dad was using his
super-nice voice.
“I’m not hungry,” she lied.
He opened the door just a peek. “Hettie,
who would you say is my best friend?”
“Uncle Mookie?” She thought about the
laughing man who came over for pizza and
football games on TV.
“Exactly. And when did I meet Uncle
Mookie?” Her father was now kneeling beside
her bed.
She thought about it. “I don’t know.”
“In eleventh grade,” he answered. And I He closed the door as he left.
met Dar in college and Peter at work.” Hettie looked at the phone in her hand.
She knew what he was trying to say. One last time, she read Cally’s email, then she
“But it still hurts.” She didn’t look pressed delete.
at him. She looked at the magazine on her dresser,
“I know.” His voice still open to page eight. “Bye, Cally,” she said,
was gentle. “You want closing the magazine and slipping it onto her
me to bring dinner up bookshelf.
here?” Taking a deep breath she left her room,
“No, I’ll come closing the door behind her. Halfway down
down.” She wiped the stairs, Hettie stopped for a moment and
her eyes again. tried to imagine what the friends she would
meet as she grew up might look like. She
couldn’t quite see them, but she knew they
were out there somewhere. She couldn’t wait
to meet them.
TIME WILL TELL! SOME
HOW CAN YOU TELL IF A FRIENDSHIPS GROW STRONGER,
FRIEND WILL BE A REAL SOME GROW IN DIFFERENT
FRIEND OR A PHONY? DIRECTIONS. YOU’LL SEE ALL
KINDS IN YOUR LIFE. 17
 TOGETHER And with the magic of time
Their fur became
Roaming alone
Eating together
Colored and patterned Climbing
and In ways Exploring
Distinctly their own Resting
APART Eyes opened
Movements became
Becoming every day
Even more
Less reflexive themselves
by Shelley Holt Campbell And more chosen
And checking in
The neighbor’s cats
And now I see them From time to time
Are brothers
Climbing high branches “How are you?” they ask
Taking their first breaths
Hunting With no need for words.
On the same afternoon
Wrestling Growing and being
Eyes unable
Wandering away Both together
To welcome the brightness
Sauntering towards And apart
Of daylight
Napping together
As they searched blindly
In pockets of sunlight
For milk and warmth
Now welcomed

18
text © 2024 by Shelley Holt Campbell
 Malyon and Mayana
A story from the Philippines
by Edilberto C. Cruz
A long, long time ago in the
Philippines, when most of the islands were
still green, there lived a young man named
Malyon. He was handsome and skilled in
the ways of hunting. He was also helpful and
kind, for he shared everything he had with
the people. The villagers loved this strong
but gentle person. They said that the woman
he would choose to marry would be a lucky
one indeed. But no damsel in the village
attracted Malyon. Maybe it was because
he was too shy with women. Maybe it was
because he was away hunting most of the
time. No one really knew.
One day Damtuan, the village elder,
spoke to him. “You should think of getting
a wife, Malyon. Your parents are long gone.
You will need somebody to share your life
with.”
Illustrated by Camilla Konradsen
text © 2024 by Edilberto C. Cruz, art © 2024 by Camilla Konradsen
Malyon smiled at the old man. “Someday,
noble Damtuan, I will find her. When I do, I
will present her to the village, and you, your-
self, will perform the wedding ceremony.”
And so, the people became used to seeing
Malyon alone. They stopped wondering when
he would settle down. The girls of the vil-
lage who once swooned over him turned their
attention to other men.
But one cold December morning, the
whole village was astir. In front of Damtuan’s
hut was a group of men. In the center stood
Malyon. He was carrying the limp body of
the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.
“Who is she? Where did you find her?”
asked the village elder.
“We don’t know who she is,” said one
of them. “Malyon said he found her in the
marshes, lying unconscious among the reeds.”
19
 Damtuan looked at the strong figure of great beauty. The villagers would often see
Malyon before him. Then he heard the young them together, talking under the shade of the
man speak in a tone of utmost respect. acacia trees that grew by the rice fields. It was
“Noble elder, if it will not be of great bur- a perfect match, they would say. And sure
den to you, I would like you and your good enough, what must happen finally did.
wife, Bidasa, to take care of this woman for “Mayana and I love each other very
me. In return for your kindness, I shall share much,” said Malyon, standing tall and proud
with you half of the venison the god of the before Damtuan one morning. “I would like
forest shall grant me to have.” to have her hand in marriage.”
The old man admired the resoluteness “She was yours from the very start,”
on the young man’s face. “We shall care replied Damtuan. “I was only your humble
for her without payment,” said Damtuan. caretaker.”
“Bidasa and I shall consider her our very own
daughter.”
And so, the mysterious woman was nour-
ished back to health by the family of the
village elder. When she could finally speak,
she could not remember her name nor where
she came from. Damtuan assumed she must
have been left behind by a seafaring tribe that
traded with the island’s many villages every
year.
The woman turned out to be as kind
as she was beautiful. She would assist with
the housework and often help their neigh-
bors, when needed, with cooking or washing
clothes. She would also gather the village chil-
dren at late afternoon and tell them stories of
fairies and treasures. She captured the heart
of the villagers with her warm and true ways.
Because of this, they named her “Mayana,”
which in their language meant “the gracious
one.”
Every day, Malyon would visit her bring-
ing food from the hunt. Sometimes he would
give her ornaments that enhanced her already

VENISON IS DEER
MEAT. RESOLUTENESS
IS DETERMINATION.
20
 Damtuan immediately made the
announcement to the whole village.
Everybody was excited and volunteered
to help in the preparation. The wedding
banquet lasted for three days. No one could
remember a feast as merry and abundant as
this one.
The couple lived happily for many
months. Mayana was the perfect wife, and
Malyon did everything that would please her.
Then one misty December dawn, a full year
after he had found Mayana, Malyon woke up
alone in bed. Seeing his wife nowhere about
the house, he rushed outside.
“Mayana!” he called out. “Mayana! Where
are you?”
He saw her standing in the fields, sil-
houetted against the pale moonlight. She
was singing, in a most hauntingly melodious
voice, a song of pain and separation. Malyon
slowly walked up to her. Mayana sensed his
presence and turned around.
“I remember now, though I wish I
hadn’t,” Mayana said with sorrow in her
voice. “My name is Shi-shen, daughter of
King Han-shi of the Kingdom of the Sky. My
sisters and I travel on the wings of the purple
herons every year when they escape the harsh
winter. On our stopover here, I lost my way
among the reeds. My sisters could not wait
for me, or they, too, might be left behind. But
as they flew off, they mercifully scattered a
fragrance of forgetfulness over the fields, so
that I would feel at home with whoever would
find me.”
Malyon listened to Mayana in quiet won-
der. Then he heard her speak the words he
dreaded to hear.
“In a few moments, my sisters will arrive
and take me with them. Where I will go, you
cannot go. But I will be back after a year, at
this time and in this same place. If my sisters
find you worthy, they will allow you to come
with me.”
As Mayana spoke, Mayon heard the rush
of wings above. He looked up and saw a sedge
of purple herons circling down, each bird
ridden by a little woman as beautiful as his
21
 A FLOCK OF CRANES OR PLAINTIVE MEANS
HERONS IS CALLED A SEDGE. DIMINUTIVE SORROWFUL,
VERMILLION IS A BRIGHT AND BRILLIANT MEANS BROKEN-HEARTED.
RED. ALSO BEAUTIFUL. AHEM. SMALL.

wife. The whole heaven burst with the golden
color of dawn, and a soft orange vermillion
glow surrounded Mayana. As the light grew
brighter, Mayana became smaller, until she
was as diminutive as her sisters. One of the
lilac-feathered birds glided down softly and
landed beside her.
Singing her plaintive song, Mayana sat on
the back of the stately bird. Then, one by one,
the herons climbed the heavens again with
Mayana in their midst waving a teary farewell
to her grieving husband.
Malyon was saddened greatly by the
departure of his wife. He did not come out of

22
his house for many days. The villagers were
alarmed. They began to wonder what had hap-
pened to the couple who had helped them so
much. They decided to ask Damtuan for help.
Damtuan led the villagers to Malyon’s
hut, where they found a very weak and thin
man with long unkempt hair. Gently, the vil-
lage elder prompted the young man to tell
why he was alone again.
Out of respect for Damtuan, Malyon
broke his silence and told them what hap-
pened that early dawn when Mayana left him.
As he told the story, the villagers looked at
each other in amazement. Surely, this good
man would not tell such a lie. They turned
to look at Damtuan hoping for answers from
their wise man.
The village elder gazed at the lonely fig-
ure before him, in silent marvel at what he
had just heard. Then Damtuan turned to the
villagers. “Many years ago, my grandfather
spoke to me of the purple herons that visit
us each year and warned me against hurting
them. He said they were creatures favored
by the Sky King and his spirited daughters.
If Malyon’s words are true, we are indeed
blessed, for one among us has married a prin-
cess of the sky.”
The people nodded with wonder at the
words of Damtuan, but Malyon refused to be
comforted. He missed Mayana so much, and
only her return would bring joy back to his
heart.
As the days passed, the villagers got used
to seeing Malyon by himself again. And as
the days turned into weeks and weeks into
months, they forgot all about Mayana. Some
even began to regard Malyon’s story as a fan-
ciful tale to explain the absence of his wife.
For all they knew, she could have simply
returned to her own tribe.
But Malyon remained true and faithful
to Mayana. Each dawn, when the moon still
lit the sky, he would go to the fields and look
above hopefully, expecting to hear the rush of
wings presaging his beloved’s return.
Then very early one December morn-
ing, as he stood beneath the acacia trees,
he heard it. At first, it was like the whisper
of winds over the reeds, but then it grew
louder. Suddenly, the sky was radiant with
colors again, and the heavens were filled with
gleaming purple creatures. Slowly they circled
the place where Malyon was standing. Then
one by one, as if directed by an unseen leader,
they floated down and settled gently upon the
reeds of the watery field.
Malyon watched with wonder and hope.
On the back of each creature, he could dis-
cern the shape of a small, beautiful woman.
Could Mayana be one of them? he wondered.
He was so ardently searching out the form of
his wife that he hardly noticed the last of the
purple-winged birds alighting softly beside
him. He quickly turned, and at that moment
his heart seemed to stop beating. There before
him stood Mayana, more beautiful than she
had ever been. She was smiling and holding
out her hands to him. He rushed toward her
and knelt before the small but dazzling form.
“Mayana,” he said, his voice trembling.
“Mayana, you kept your word!”
PRESAGING MEANS FORESHADOWING,
HINTING AT WHAT’S TO COME. 23
 “My sisters have found you worthy and
have allowed me to return,” the warm small
voice of Mayana said. “I have come back to
take you with me.”
“Yes, please, take me with you,” Malyon
whispered tearfully as he touched Mayana’s
tiny hand. Suddenly he was covered with
sparkling light, and he felt himself grow-
ing smaller and smaller. When the last color
twinkled away, he saw Mayana standing
before him, bidding him to rise up.
The two embraced each other, and cheers
from many tiny voices filled the air. Together
they walked toward Mayana’s heron and
climbed on its soft, gleaming back. Then the
wings of the mighty creature flapped again,
and they were at once airborne, leading the
sedge as they climbed the heavens and disap-
peared into the horizon.
SUCH A BEAUTIFUL STORY.
24 FAREWELL, MY CRICKET!
Malyon was never seen again. Men from
the village searched long and far for him,
but it was in vain. Some say he could have
drowned sailing to a neighboring island
to look for Mayana. Others believe he was
killed by wild boars while hunting in the
forest.
But noble Damtuan knew. Whenever he
looked at the sky at dawn, he would remem-
ber Malyon and where he had gone. And
true enough, whenever the cold month of
December arrived, hunters of migratory birds
would return to their village empty handed,
and trembling with excitement, tell an amaz-
ing story. Right there in the marshes with the
wild birds, they would swear, they saw the
small shining forms of a man and a woman
traipsing in the moonlight, singing of love
and the joy of being together.
UMMM... HELP?!
 1 2 3 4 5 6

7 8 9

10 11 12

13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24

25 26

27 28

29

Solution on page 47

Across
1. This valentine is _______ you!
4. What Cupid carries Down
7. It goes with 4 Across 1. Openly, independently
8. Roman god of love 2. Spoken, not written
10. She _______ her valentine out loud 3. A fishing pole
12. A hill of sand 4. A flower not fully opened
13. A fish that looks like a snake 5. A numbered musical composition UGLY
GOT A
14. It grows inside a pod 6. February is a _______ month VALENTINE!
WHERE’S MINE?
16. Station (abbreviation) 7. A section or region of land I HOPE YOU’RE
17. Nickname for Albert or Alfred WORKING ON
9. Opposite of alive SOMETHING,
18. Valentine shape 11. Ocean CRICKET.
20. Nickname for Edward or Edgar 14. A human being; an individual
21. Valentine’s Day comes once a _______ 15. Quarreled HOW ABOUT
23. He was a frequent movie_______ 18. It grows on your head A POEM?
25. “My country, ’_______ of thee, . . .” 19. Throw lightly
26. It’s no _______ crying over spilled milk 22. Extraterrestrial (abbreviation)
27. Flowers often sent on Valentine’s Day 24. Electrical engineering (abbreviation)
29. Move your head up and down 28. Male child
ROSES ARE PRICKLY,
LIKE SOME BUGS I KNOW.
BEFORE THINGS GET SICKLY,
I HAVE TO GO!
25
SCOTCH BROOM
by Loralee Leavitt

MARIA SAT ON the doorstep, watching the sun set. Suddenly she
saw a stranger trudging up the hill.
“Papa!” she called. “Somebody’s coming!”
As the stranger approached, she could see that he was a young man,
probably not much older than she was. He looked very dirty and very
tired. “Hello,” she called. He stopped in front of the house.
“I am looking for José the blacksmith,” said the stranger. “Do you
know where I can find him? I asked for help at the castle of Don Sancho,
but they just laughed and sent me away.”
Maria’s father came out. “I am José,” he said. “Will you join us for
dinner?”
Grateful, the man came inside.
Over dinner the man told them his name was Alexander. He was from
a faraway country called Scotland.
“What brings you to Spain?” asked José.
“I am an apprentice to a blacksmith,” said Alexander. “My master used
to be the best blacksmith in town. But a Spanish man just moved in, and
now everybody buys their swords from him. My master sent me here to

AN APPRENTICE IS AN ASSISTANT WHO

Illustrated by Emma Shaw-Smith CONTRACTS TO WORK FOR A MASTER
26 CRAFTSMAN TO LEARN A TRADE.
learn how to make Spanish swords.” He pulled out a dagger to show José.
“This is what I need to learn.”
José turned the dagger over in his hands, examining it. He smiled.
“This is junk!” he exclaimed. “Your Spanish swordmaker is a fake.” He
grew serious. “The Spanish do not give away their secrets. I would not
teach you all I know unless you were my own apprentice or my son. But,”
he waved the dagger in the air, “I can teach you to make better swords
than this in just a few months.”
“Will you?” asked Alexander eagerly.
“I need a helper,” José said thoughtfully. “Yes. I will teach you.”
Alexander stayed for several weeks. Maria saw him often. Sometimes
she helped in the blacksmith shop, pumping the bellows to make the fire
hot while José showed Alexander what to do. Sometimes Alexander helped
Maria gather eggs or work in the vegetable garden. He told her about
Scotland—a cool, green, rainy land. “But it is very beautiful,” he said, and
his eyes looked far away.
“More beautiful than Spain?” asked Maria, and she showed him the
countryside. They wandered through meadows full of creamy white dai-
sies and red poppies, and splashed in the stream behind her house to cool
their feet. They climbed the hill behind the house and looked down over
the whole green valley filled with rows of gray-green olive trees.
“Isn’t Spain more beautiful than Scotland?” Maria asked.
“Spain is very beautiful,” he said. He took her hand. “And so are you.”
That night at dinner, José asked Alexander, “Why don’t you stay here?
I have no sons, no apprentices, only Maria to help me.” He smiled at his
daughter. “And she is very busy. I need someone else in the shop, and
someone to take over the business when I retire.”
Yes, stay, thought Maria, but she didn’t say anything.
Alexander didn’t reply. He reached for a loaf of bread and cut a slice.
Then he started ripping it into pieces as he thought. Finally he looked up.
“I can’t stay,” he said. “I have to work for my master three more years
to finish my apprenticeship.” He looked over at Maria. “But when I am
done, I will come back.” He seemed to be speaking only to her.
That night, Maria and Alexander sat on the step, enjoying the
warm summer air. “How do I know you’ll come back?” she said.

27
 “Maybe you’ll get back to Scotland and change your mind. Maybe
you’ll forget about me.”
“When I get to Scotland, I’ll send you a letter,” he said. “Then you
can read it every day and know that I am thinking about you.”
“I can’t read,” said Maria.
Alexander thought for a minute. “There is a bush that grows in
Scotland,” he said at last. “In the springtime it is covered with bright yel-
low flowers—as bright as my love for you. I will send you some seeds to
plant. Then every time you see the flowers, you will know how much I
love you.” He squeezed her hand. “I will come back.”
Soon it was time for Alexander to leave. José gave him a big hug.
“Please come back,” he said. “We need you.”
Maria took Alexander’s hands in hers and stepped close to him.
“Promise you’ll come back?” she whispered.
“I promise,” he said. Then he shouldered his bag and walked away.
Maria sat on the doorstep and watched him get smaller and smaller, until
he disappeared.

AS THE WEEKS passed, Maria waited for her message. Her love
made her grow more beautiful every day.
Don Sancho, the lord of the land, liked to ride around the country-
side. One day, he saw Maria working in her garden. Her hair was tangled
and she had dirt on her face, but still Don Sancho thought she was the
most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He rode over to her, trampling
her bean patch.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Maria kept her head down and pretended not to hear him.
“Do you know who I am?” he said.
Maria said nothing.
“Idiot,” muttered Don Sancho. Then he rode in a circle around her,
trampling her garden. After he had smashed every plant he could see, he
left.
A few days later Don Sancho was riding near Maria’s house when a
messenger stopped him.
“Do you know where I can find Maria, the daughter of José the black-
smith?” asked the man. “I have a message for her.”

28
 Don Sancho pretended to think for a long time. “Ah,” he said finally,
“she lives far away, in those hills.” He pointed to the horizon. “It will take
you all day to reach her.”
“Oh,” said the messenger, discouraged.
Don Sancho smiled at him. “Would you like one of my men to take
the message for you?”
The messenger hesitated.
“You can stay the night in my castle,” Don Sancho continued.
“All right,” said the messenger. “This is the message: Alexander of
Scotland loves her and remembers his promise. He also sends this.” He
handed Don Sancho a folded packet.
Now I know why Maria wasn’t interested in me, thought Don Sancho.
He beckoned to one of his guards and said, “Show this man the way to
the castle.” After the messenger was out of sight, Don Sancho ripped open
the packet. Seeds trickled out onto his gloved palm.
“Ha,” he laughed. “The man is too poor to send a real present. Maria
will soon forget him.” He threw the packet to the ground.

29
 Don Sancho began to visit Maria often. He brought presents—a new
shawl, a chicken, a necklace. But she never spoke to him and she never
accepted the gifts. All winter Don Sancho persisted. All winter she refused
him.
One day Don Sancho brought a different present—a ring. “Marry me,
Maria,” he commanded.
“I will not marry you,” she said. “I love another man.”
“What makes you think he still loves you?” mocked Don Sancho.
BUK-BUK-BUK-
ACK! “Have you heard from him?”
A CHICKEN “He promised to come back,” said Maria. But she sounded doubtful.
MAKES AN “He has forgotten you,” insisted Don Sancho. “He will never come back.”
INTERESTING
PRESENT. “And I will never marry you, whether or not he comes,” said Maria
defiantly.
NORMALLY, I LIKE Don Sancho leaned close to her. “If you do not marry me,” he hissed,
PRESENTS. BUT... “I will ruin your father’s business. I will forbid people to buy his swords.
NO THANKS!
You will starve together.” He threw the ring at her feet. “You decide.”
Then he stormed out.
For days, Maria anguished over the threats, feeling alone and disheart-
ened. She didn’t tell her father what Don Sancho had said. She knew her
father would do anything for her. But could she let Don Sancho ruin his
life? Besides, Alexander had been gone for months, and she had received
no message from him. Maybe he had really forgotten about her. Maybe
she should give up.
Finally Maria made her decision. “I have no choice,” she whispered to
herself. She put on the ring. It felt cold and heavy on her finger. Then she
began walking toward the castle. But she had not gone far when she saw
something surprising. She stopped and stooped down to look.
Growing at the side of the road was a small, scrawny bush, covered
with bright yellow flowers. She had never seen anything like it. She
remembered Alexander’s words: It is covered with bright yellow flowers—as
bright as my love for you. “It’s Alexander’s bush!” she whispered to herself.
“How did it get here?” But she knew it was from him. She knelt down in
the dirt and dug until she had freed the plant from the soil. Then she car-
ried it home and planted it in her garden.
A few days later Don Sancho came for his answer. “Have you come to
your senses yet?” he demanded. “Will you marry me?”

30
 Maria stood up straight. She glanced at her bush, which had grown twice
as high since she brought it home. You are strong, little bush, she thought. I
can be strong, too. She pulled the ring from her pocket. “Take your ring and
go,” she said, dropping it in his hand. “I will never marry you.”
Watching him ride away, she heard a sound behind her and turned to
look. Her father was standing in the doorway.
“I heard everything,” he said quietly and held out his arms.
Maria ran to him and let him hug her. “He will be angry,” she whis-
pered. “He will try to ruin your business.” She looked up into her father’s
face. “Did I make the right choice?”
“Oh, Maria,” he said, stroking her hair. “I only want you to be happy.”
He stepped back to look at her. “We will have to work very hard if Don
Sancho turns against us—can you do that?”
Maria nodded.
“Then we will wait for Alexander together.”

31
 LIFE AFTER THAT was hard. Many people, afraid of Don Sancho,
stopped coming to her father. José had just enough business to keep going.
Maria continued to help her father in his workshop, and she also doubled
the size of her garden. It was hard work. When she was tired, she looked
over at her bush. It gave her hope. In the fall she carefully gathered some
seeds to plant the next year.
But the bush didn’t need her help. By the next year it had spread so
many seeds that new plants were springing up all over. Maria pulled doz-
ens out of her garden, planting them instead by the side of the road. She
found that the skinny, stiff branches were perfect for brooms, which she
made and sold for extra money.
The next year the bushes had spread even farther. Maria’s house
was like an island in a bright yellow sea.
Don Sancho rode up one day, scowling at the flowers. José
met him outside. “What do you want?” José demanded, as
Maria watched. He’s probably come to ask me to marry him
again, she thought. But Don Sancho surprised them.
“My sword is broken,” he growled. “Will you fix it?”
Once the people knew that Don Sancho had asked
José to fix his sword, customers came flocking back.
Suddenly, José had more business than he could handle.
A few weeks later Maria looked down the road and
blinked in surprise. Some of the bushes seemed to be
floating in the air, moving slowly toward her. She sat
down on the step to watch this strange sight. As the
floating yellow cloud grew closer, she saw it was really a
horseman. Huge bundles of yellow flowers hung from
his saddle, his saddlebags, and even the horse’s tail. She
ran toward the man as he slid down from his horse.
“Alexander!” she cried, and threw herself into his arms.
He held her for a long time, then pulled something
from his pocket. It was a gold ring engraved with com-
plex knots of her bright flowers. “I made it myself,”
he said. “Now you won’t need a bush to remember I
love you.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “Will you
marry me?”

BUT IT DID WORK OUT IN

SIGH... NEVER DOES THE THE END.
COURSE OF TRUE LOVE RUN
32 SMOOTH. MEWY SIGH.
My Luve’s Like a
Red, Red Rose
by Robert Burns
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,

And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Though it were ten thousand mile.

Illustrated by Alexa Ruther ford

33
 “PAPA?” ASYRA ASKED as she
crept across the creaking floorboards.
Mama had propped him up on the bed
with several pillows. His head lolled to the
side, beams of hazy sunlight illuminating his
sagging features. A burning sensation returned
to Asyra’s heart—one she felt every time she
looked upon her father lately.
She moved to sit on the small, worn stool
by his bedside.
He opened his eyes and tried to smile. Asyra
blinked away the tears that blurred her vision.
“Papa, today is the day.”
He slid his hand across the sheets. She
grabbed it and stared at his calloused fingers.
His hands used to be strong, veins and muscles
popping out as he helped her bend iron or
hammer copper. His fingers had been nimble,
perfect for inserting the smallest gears and
springs into the villagers’ clocks and machinery.
“Can you come?” she asked.
A pained expression flickered on her father’s
haggard face. She wished she hadn’t asked. His
lips parted. His thin, raspy voice was so unlike
the thunderous tones he had used to bring to
life tales of the dragons of old. His eyes would
shine as he spoke of watching the magnificent
creatures cut through the summer sky. She
worked beside him, learning to fix clocks and
create new ones, but her mind always drifted
with his—high on the winds, dreaming of
creatures she’d never seen. But that was before
the sickness.
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Syra.”
ON UPPERMOST
34
Asyra shook her head. She knew he
couldn’t muster the strength to put the last
gear in place on their special project. She’d
known it all along, just as she knew Papa
wasn’t going to get better. Not ever. Mama
tried to pretend otherwise, but Asyra knew.
Still, for some reason, she had let her-
self hope that somehow Papa would recover
enough to stand by her side and fit the last
piece. She was silly to have dreamed that
dream. She knew that now.
Papa didn’t speak as he removed his hand
from hers. With pained effort, he reached
over to the bedside table. He tried to open the
drawer, but couldn’t. She leaned forward and
pulled it open for him. Inside lay a glitter-
ing round bit of copper that would finish the
project.
Asyra clutched the gear in her hands. She
pressed a kiss to her father’s forehead, leaving
behind a wet smear of tears. As she shuffled
past Mama and out into the yard, she put a
little bounce into her step, because she knew
Papa was watching.
TH E R IC H SC ENT of oil and metal
filled the workshop, bringing to Asyra’s mind
a dozen happy memories of times spent there
with her father. She stopped just inside the
weather-beaten building, staring up at the
magnificent mechanical dragon perched on a
low table in the midst of the room. The beast
was a mass of coils and gears, its two wings as
long as Asyra was tall.
 SOMETHING
BIG!
WHAT DO YOU THINK
THEY’RE BUILDING?

Long ago, the last living dragon in the
land was killed. Asyra didn’t think it was
fair. They were such powerful and beau-
tiful creatures. Who could possibly kill
them? Who would want to? But someone
had, and one day, a few years earlier,
Asyra had insisted they bring dragons
back.
“How?” Papa had asked, eyes twinkling.
“You can build one.”

WINDS Part 1 by Alexis A. Hunter

Illustrated by Anna Bron
35
 A flash of eagerness had filled his voice—he
had never built anything so big or so special.
She still remembered the way he had smiled, so
proud. “Why don’t we build one, Syra?”
Asyra turned to a massive sheet of paper
tacked to the wall. Its edges curled up like
A dying leaves. A schematic, Papa called it. A
SCHEMATIC
IS AN map to tell Asyra how to build the metal
ENGINEER’S
DIAGRAM, OR dragon. Only he hadn’t finished the draw-
PLAN. ings. His lines remained, clear and crisp with
detailed sketches of how to construct the
intricate joints and engine. Asyra had taken
over after he got sick. Her wobbling lines
FULL OF and scribbled out calculations now marred
DELICIOUS
TECHNICAL the paper’s surface.
DETAILS.
YUM! But she had done it.
Still gripping the last gear, she turned
back to the dragon and climbed up onto the
table beside it.
She heard the soft whisper of fabric
behind her and turned to see Mama watch-
ing. Asyra swallowed hard. For one moment,
she thought Papa had made it after all. Her
shoulders slumped as she leaned into the dragon
and slid the gear deftly into its heart. The last
one. Papa would have given her his proud grin.
Maybe even ruffled her shaggy red hair.
“It’s beautiful, Asyra,” Mama said.
Asyra didn’t answer. She carefully fol-
lowed her father’s instructions for starting the
dragon’s puttering engine. After a few turns
of the winch, the beast puffed to life. Asyra’s
heart stuttered inside her chest as she hopped
off the table and watched the metal creature’s
wings beat twice, slowly.
Something didn’t feel right.
36
“What’s . . . ? There’s something missing,”
she said.
Mama stepped closer, peering. “It has no
soul. No fire in those eyes.”
Asyra looked to the eyes—the bottoms
of two glass bottles, one blue and one green.
Mama was right. This was no magnificent
beast. It was only a machine. And Asyra had
vowed to bring a dragon back to the world, not
a machine.
She shut the dragon down and headed for
the door.
“Where are you going?” Mama called
after her.
“To get him a soul.”
ASYR A ST EPP ED INTO the shadows
of Vaori’s Emporium. The scent of strange
herbs, spices, and roots thickened the air.
Asyra pushed through toward the back of
the shop, weaving her way around jars and
bottles full of bizarre creatures and slimy
things.
“Ms. Vaori?” she called.
A tat-tat-tat echoed from the back room
as Vaori shuffled out, leaning on her cane.
Everyone in the village came to Vaori for poul-
tices and potions of healing—but none of those
things could fix the woman’s own twisted leg.
“Aren’t you the clockmaker’s daughter?”
the woman asked as she stopped behind the
counter.
Asyra straightened her stance. “I am. I
need a dragon soul.”
Laughter made Vaori’s blue eyes dance
with a light all their own.
 Asyra blushed, but she didn’t
back down. “I need it for my
mechanical dragon. He lacks a
soul.”
The woman’s laugh died. She
moved out from behind the coun-
ter and lowered herself into an oak
rocker near a barrel of crow’s feet.
“You made a mechanical dragon?”
“Yes,” Asyra replied, pride in her
tone. “Papa and I did.”
“Well, aren’t you a clever girl.”
Vaori tapped her long fingers absent-
mindedly against the metal brace on
her leg, a brace Asyra’s father had
fashioned years ago to ease the wom-
an’s pain. “And how are you going to
pay me for this dragon’s soul?”
Asyra hadn’t even considered
payment. She didn’t have time to
scrounge up money. She had to make
the beast fly for Papa before . . .
She pushed away the heavy
thoughts. “What payment do you
want?”
“Have you any gold?” Asyra nodded.
“No.” Asyra sighed. Vaori’s eyes narrowed. She tapped her
“Silver? Gems?” fingers on the brace again before rising
“No.” to snag a piece of paper from behind the
Vaori shrugged her thin shoulders. counter. “It’s a deal then. But I cannot
“Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, dear.” simply hand over a soul. I can, however, tell
“But you must,” Asyra protested. “Please. you how to raise one.”
I can . . . make you a clock? Or . . . an Asyra grinned. Relief seeped through her as
automaton to clean your shop?” Vaori scrawled an incantation onto the paper.
The woman’s eyes glimmered. “You can
build such things?” to be continued

AN INCANTATION IS A
MAGICAL CHANT OR SPELL.
37
 Saving Freyfaxi
A Tale of Tenth-Century Iceland
Part 2 by Christy Lenzi

Kadlin is excited when her father’s
longship appears on the horizon.
He and his men have spent the
winter a-viking, and now they are
returning with much plunder. The
household springs to life, prepar-
ing a victory feast.
Kadlin can’t wait to share
her secret with Father. In his
absence, Grandmother Thora
has been teaching her to read
and write runes, ancient alpha-
betic symbols. But the best
part is that Kadlin is learning to
see into the Other World. She
hopes to become a wise and
respected seeress, just like her
grandmother.
Father and his men, however,
have news of their own. Kadlin’s
uncle Grimolf has been wounded
in battle, and Father has brought
home Freyfaxi, a horse fit for the
gods. He announces that Kadlin will
be the one to watch over Freyfaxi
every day as he grazes. She will
have no more time for lessons.

THE AROM A of hot bread and roasted
pig filled the air, along with the clank of
drinking horns and shouts as Father’s men
hallowed the hall with sacred toasts to the
gods and the ancestors. Uncle Grimolf
called Grandmother Thora to the high seat
to look into the Other World and offer the
people words of wisdom. Soon Grandmother
would ask Mother to sing the circle song
to draw the spirits near. It was time for
Kadlin to lock the doors against outsiders,
but she wanted to be as far away from the
merrymakers as possible. Father’s news
had turned her heart cold. Feeling like an
outsider herself, she slipped through the door
instead of locking it, and ran to the sacred
birch grove.
Water gurgled from the spring into the
brook. The last of the sun’s evening rays
slanted through the net of tree limbs. Kadlin
knew no one would come after her; it was
unlucky to leave the hall after the circle song
had drawn a protective ring around it. She
drew her shawl around her shoulders and sat
down on a log to think.
The wind blew dry leaves over the ground,
and a slow chill crept into her bones. It would
be dark soon. She thought about the two out-
laws Father had banished. Her friends told
tales about the men being shape-shifters who
turned into wolves at night. Hungry, angry
wolves, looking for revenge.
A rustle of leaves behind Kadlin made her
jump. She turned to find Grandmother Thora
entering the grove, her rune staff in one hand
and a horn of mead in the other.
“Grandmother!” Kadlin cried. Her heart
was racing like a rabbit’s, but she was glad to

Illustrated by Ingrid Kallick

38
see the old woman’s comforting face. “What
are you doing out here? You cannot leave the
feast—they need you!”
“Aye, they do, but they can wait. The
circle song has not yet been sung.” She
turned toward a flock of noisy blackbirds
settling in the trees. Closing her eyes for a
moment, she listened to the meaning of their
calls as she sipped the mead. Then, hand-
ing Kadlin the drink, she said, “When I was
a twig of a girl like you, my grandmother
taught me how to see into the Other World.
At first it was difficult—like trying to watch
a spider spin its web in the dark.” The old
woman shook her head. “But now, ’tis the
other way around. The workings of this
world I have trouble seeing clearly. It is best
when both are in focus.”
Kadlin breathed in the sweet honey smell
as she took a drink of the mead. She tried to
39
 picture her grandmother as a young, rosy-
cheeked girl, but she could not imagine away
the hooded robe, calfskin boots, and wispy
white hair that floated about her like an
autumn mist.
“How did you know you were meant to be
a seeress?” Kadlin bit her lip, thinking
of her own murky future. “What
if . . . what if you had not
practiced? What if you had
the sight but never used
it—what would have
happened then?”
Grandmother
gazed at the sky.
“Asking ‘what if’
about the past or
future is like trying to
catch a shadow.” She
smiled at Kadlin. “But
asking ‘what if’ about
the here and now—ah,
that’s like trying to catch
sunlight.”
Kadlin’s heart beat faster.
“Can we catch sunlight?” Hope
fluttered in her chest.
Grandmother drew a smooth silver charm
from the pouch at her waist and held it toward
the golden rays filtering through the trees.
She tilted the charm a little until the reflected
light danced over Kadlin’s knees and up her
arm. Kadlin laughed and pretended to catch
it, but Grandmother shifted her fingers, and
it darted away. Giggling, Kadlin held still
and let Grandmother direct the glow into
40
the palm of her hand. Slowly, she closed her
fingers around the light, knowing they
would pass right through it.
She sighed. “We cannot catch sun-
light any more than we can catch shadows,
Grandmother.”
“Aye, we can catch a little of
both.”
“What do you mean?”
Grandmother leaned
against her rune staff. “I
know people who spend
their time chasing the
past or the future—
hunting a shadow.
When they come to
me, I already feel its
cold bitterness cling-
ing to their hearts
or see it darkening
their faces with worry.
But just a moment ago,
Kadlin, you caught a bit of
sunlight.”
“Me?”
“Aye, when you were paying
attention to the here and now. It lit up your
eyes from the inside. I saw it bright as day.”
The molten gold of the sun spread along
the edge of the horizon. Kadlin squinted
toward it, thinking about the here and
now. Right now, she thought. But as soon
as she thought it, she knew the moment
had already passed. Yet, here it was again.
Now. And again. Now. Each new moment
glowed then slipped away like the rays of
the melting sun. Kadlin swallowed and took
a deep breath. She was determined to seize
the next one. Now.
She stood up. “I’m going back inside
to talk to Father.” She smiled, feeling the
warm snatch of light Grandmother had
seen inside her.
The blackbirds rose like a cloud of
smoke and flew toward the sea. Grand-
mother Thora nodded at Kadlin and took
the drinking horn. She rested her finger on
her chin and closed her eyes, listening to
the call of the birds.
Kadlin hurried to the hall. An idea had
come to her like a rune sign written in the
clouds. Bjorn could be Freyfaxi’s keeper! Her
brother had already proclaimed his admira-
tion for the horse, and ten years was plenty
old enough to handle such an easy job. She
must tell Father how important becoming
a seeress was to her. She would make him
understand how learning to read the runes
and see into the Other World made her feel
more alive, as if anything were possible. He
should know that the people would need a
seeress like her one day when Grandmother
was gone. She would convince him that
Bjorn would make a better keeper for Frey-
faxi anyway. Surely in his good mood,
Father would agree. Kadlin whispered a
prayer to the goddess Freyja as she stepped
over the threshold.
“Kadlin!” Father’s voice boomed through
the hall. “We have been waiting for you and
Old Thora.” He held his staff out in front
of him, the way he did when he wanted to
address the entire community about some-
thing important. Uncle Grimolf and Bjorn
stood on either side of him.
Kadlin hesitated. The determined set to
Father’s smile made her falter. She felt her
moment slipping away.
Then Grandmother joined her in the
doorway. Her presence was like a bellows
fanning an ember. Right now. The words
rose up within Kadlin.
She made herself walk toward the high
pillars to join her father and take his hand.
“I—” She licked her lips. “I need to speak
with you about something important—”
He squeezed her hand. “I am sure you
have many stories to tell about what I have
missed, and I want to hear them all. But
right now, there’s an even more important
matter.” He cleared his throat and raised
his voice. “Gather round, good kith and
kin. I have an oath to swear!”
Everyone quieted down and turned
toward Father.
“You men know of my brave brother
Grim and his heroic deeds. You saw with
your own eyes how he saved my life.”
The men lifted their horns and nodded
their heads toward Uncle Grimolf.
“Battle poems will be sung about our
Grimolf and stories told for years to come.
But stories and poems will not heal his
wounded leg. Old Thora has done what she
can, but it will never be the same.”
Uncle Grimolf watched Father without
expression as he leaned on the crutch Grand-
mother had made from a forked branch.
41
42
 “A man like Grim would never complain
of such a blow, but crops must be planted
and animals tended. I owe him my life, and
in my stead I give him my son, Bjorn, as a
foster son to be a help to him. This is my
word.”
Kadlin felt her inner flame flicker and dim
as the hall filled to bursting with cheers and
toasts. Her brother’s joy was unmistakable—
surely he would thrive working with Uncle
Grimolf at his nearby farm. She should feel
happiness for him, but could find no trace of
it in her heart.
Her uncle clasped hands with Father in
thanks and put his arm around Bjorn, who
basked in the sudden glow of attention. The
warmth spreading around the room did not
touch her. With Bjorn gone, she would have
to care for Freyfaxi. A shiver ran down her
back. Grandmother’s sunlight no longer
danced inside her; a dark shadow had slipped
quietly into its place.
K A DLIN SAT on a rock next to the river,
trying to remember Grandmother Thora’s
lessons. It had been a fortnight since she’d
given up her training as a seeress and been
made Freyfaxi’s keeper. The memories of
Grandmother’s words flitted in and out of her
mind like butterflies.
Once you know what to look for, you begin
to see runes everywhere, not just on the staff.
They’re in the branch of a tree, the crack of the
ice. You learn to bind runes together to make
words, meanings. The signs from the Other
GLISTENING LINES IN THE DIRT… IT’S
A SIGN! MADAME LADYBUG MUST
CONSULT THE SPIRITS AND SEE WHAT
IT MEANS.
World that I read for the people are found in
such a way.
Freyfaxi neighed behind her, but Kadlin
barely blinked. She would not be bothered
to show him any attention beyond Father’s
orders to guard him and take care of his
needs. She did not like the way the haughty
creature held its head so high and watched
her when she just wanted to be left alone
with her thoughts.
You begin to see runes everywhere. They’re
in the branch of a tree, the crack of the ice.
If she had been allowed to continue her
lessons, would she have learned how to find
runes everywhere she looked? She might have
figured out how to see things that others
could not. Would she ever become a seeress?
Gray clouds had gathered overhead,
and thunder rumbled in the distance, but
Kadlin did not care. She was picturing a
shining gold rune mark floating by on the
surface of the water. Next she visualized a
silver one in the dirt. Ref was nibbling the
clover at her feet, and she shooed the goat
away. Then she arranged pebbles and stones
to form the runes of her name, imagining
what it would feel like to discover such signs
revealed in nature.
Freyfaxi nudged Kadlin out of her day-
dreams and sent her flying off the rock onto
the mossy ground. She scooped up a clod of
dirt and threw it at the horse. “Go away, you
nosy fool!” she shouted.
Startled, Freyfaxi reared up and galloped
off in the direction of the moors. The valley’s
I THINK IT MEANS
SLUGGO RECENTLY HEH-HEH-HEH.
PASSED THIS WAY. ’SCUSE ME.
43
 steep cliffs rose on all sides as a natural face as Kadlin sank to her knees. She imag-
barrier, but Freyfaxi was headed toward the ined the stormy look on her father’s face and
narrow pass—the one way out of the valley. his thunderous voice when he learned that his
Kadlin’s heart sank. Now she would have Freyfaxi was cold, muddy, and lost somewhere
to spend the rest of the afternoon on the moors.
coaxing him back with the bag Kadlin slumped against
of carrots and feed. the sod wall of her ancestors’
She started running, burial mound. Sometimes
but Freyfaxi had already after Father sacrificed
galloped across the a wild boar to Frey,
meadow and disap- Grandmother would
peared behind the climb to the top
ancestors’ burial of the mound at
mound. Kadlin midnight with the
could not see animal’s hide, pull
whether the horse it up over her, and
was headed beyond sleep under the
the cliffs in the stars. She said the
direction of the ancestors gave her
harbor or around dreams, counseling
the hill toward the her when she needed
lava fields. wisdom.
Big drops of rain Kadlin did not
smacked the earth and have a sacred hide, but
pelted against Kadlin’s skin she desperately needed
like cold little fists. Soon the counsel. She dumped out the
dirt would turn muddy, and any contents of her sack and climbed
tracks Freyfaxi might leave would vanish. up the wet wall of the mound. Pulling
By the time Kadlin reached the mound, gasp- the sack over her chest, she stared up into
ing for breath and soaking wet, Freyfaxi was the gray sky. The rain attacked her eyes like
nowhere in sight. daggers, and she squeezed them shut, pray-
She threw the bag onto the ground and ing the ancestors could hear her plea. What
kicked it. Ref, who had followed her, bleated should I do? What should I do . . .
indignantly and trotted away. Angry tears
mingled with the rain streaming down her to be continued

I’D PLAY DUMB.

OH NO! SHE LOST FREYFAXI! PLAY?
WHAT WILL SHE TELL HER DAD?
44
 WHAT
DRAMA!

WHAT
TALENT!

WAIT FOR ME!

WINNERS
OCTOBER 2 023 A RT CON TEST
Monsters
First prize 10 and under First prize 10 and under First prize 11 and up
Julian Burgoon, age 10 Dustie Riley, age 9 Ranvir Sharma, age 12
Westfield, NJ Shawnee, KS Norwalk, CT

Monster Pumpkin Exploding Pumpkin Wicked Witch on Her Zombie Dragon

Rotten Cheesecake, Candy Corn,
Fish Bones

First prize 11 and up Second prize 11 and up

Kelsie Young, age 13 Margaret Covington, age 12
Ellsworth, ME Second prize 10 and under Santa Barbara, CA
Emily Shu, age 10
Johns Creek, GA

45
 Second prize 11 and up Second prize 11 and. up Third prize 10 and under
Tang Li, age 11 Anna Uszok, age 15 Olivia Bonney, age 9
Palmetto Bay, FL Pensacola Beach, FL Leander, TX

The Green Snake

Inspired by a Chinese Folktale

YOU MUST BE
JOKING–I’M SOME OF OUR UGLY’S
QUICK! IT’LL NOT HIDING IN SCENTS
HE’S A DISGUSTING MEWY RIGHT
WE BACK HIDE US, WERE MORE OUTSIDE!
(WHEEZE) FOLLOWING
HAVE TO TO THE AND MUD HOLE! CANNONBALL! ABSORBS FOUL THAN
CLOSE TOO HOW DOES OUR, UM, ABSORB TOXINS, DIVE,
SCENT LOSE THE MUD FINE. DIVE,
ONE! CLOSE! HE KEEP STINK! HOLE! SMELLS, TOO.
(PUFF- (HUFF- FINDING TRAIL. TOO! DIVE!
PANT) PUFF) US?

THIS IS GOOD MUD! LOVELY.

SUPER SOOTHING TO THE SKIN.

WHY DIDN’T THAT’S IT! I’M

MEWY ANYBUGGY TELL BRILLIANT! FORGET
WHEW! IT YAYYY! ME IT WAS A WARM STINKY SCENTS. I’LL
WORKED! HE’S (SPLAT- SPRING? THIS IS CREATE A SPA. I’LL
SPLASH- I’M OUTTA
GONE. NICE! LIKE SPA MAKE MILLIONS! HA HA! HERE! LATER,
SPTLOOT!) RACE YA!
TREATMENT...OH! A SPA? BUT LADYBUG.
OUR SEED
STARTS...

46
 Third prize 11 and up Third prize 11 and up Honorable Mention
Frank Altieri, age 12 Giada Aston, age 12 Alessandra Gruber, age 8, Fort Lauderdale, FL
New Kensington, PA Brookfield, CT Iwen Huang, age 12, Alpine, UT
Faith Hubbard, age 12, Chicago, IL
Monster in the Goo Declan Masters, age 8, Shawnee, KS

To s e e m o r e w i n n i n g C r i c ke t L e a g u e
e n t r i e s , v i s i t o u r we b s i t e :
c r i c ke t m a g k i d s . c o m /c o n t e s t s

Solution to Crossbird Puzzle

N

D O N
Third prize 11 and up S E S
29

O R
Haley Velin, age 13 28 27

Anaconda, MT E S U
26
S I T
25

R E O G R A E Y
24 23 22 21

D E T R A E H L A
20 19 18 17

A T S A E P L E E
16 15 14 13

E N U D S D A E R
12 11 10

D I P U C W O R R A
9 8 7

W O B R O F
6 5 4 3 2 1

N E W P O E T RY CO N T E S T: F R I E N DS
In “California Lee and Me,” Hettie recalls happy memories of when she and Callie were best
friends, and she looks forward to meeting new friends in the future. In “The Secret Perfume
Acknowledgments continued from inside front cover
Recipe,” Salma misjudges who is and is not a true friend. Friendships are important to us all,
Grateful acknowledgment is given to the following publishers and copy-
but sometimes they can also be complicated. (Just ask Cricket and Ladybug.) For this month’s right owners for permission to reprint selections from their publications.
contest, everybuggy would love to read your best poem about friends. All possible care has been taken to trace ownership and secure permission
for each selection.
Maybe you will write a valentine to your best friend, remembering the things you love to “California Lee and Me” text © 2016 by Heather Chaytor, art © 2016 by
Rebecca Green.
do together—like riding bikes, or going on great adventures, or helping each other on a school “Scotch Broom” text © 2004 by Loralee Levitt, art © 2004 by Emma
Shaw-Smith.
project—and why you make each other happy. Or you might write about making an unexpected “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” by Robert Burns, 1794, art © 2004 by
new friend. Will you write about friends who are just alike—always laughing together and enjoy- Alexa Rutherford.
“On Uppermost Winds” part 1 text © 2014 by Alexis Hunter, art © 2014
ing the same things—or friends who may be very different, like the kittens in “Together and by Anna Bron.
“Saving Freyfaxi,” part 2 text © 2010 by Christy Lenzi.
Apart”? Perhaps you will write about a time when a close friend moves away, or about old friends Photo acknowledgements: 18 (BC) barberry ann/Shutterstock.com; 18 (BG)
who make up after a spat. You could also write about animal friends in nature, or the many mamaruru/Shutterstock.com.

friends you hope to meet in the future, or your friendship with your pet or even a stuffed animal. February 2024, Volume 51, Number 5 © 2024, Cricket Media. All rights reserved,
Whatever you decide, all the good friends in Cricket Country will be laughing—and including right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form. Address
correspondence to CRICKET, 1 East Erie Street, Suite 525, PMB4136, Chicago,
arguing—around the mailbox as they look forward to sharing your best poem—of 24 lines or IL 60611. For submission information and guidelines, see cricketmedia.com. We
are not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts or other material. All letters and
fewer, please—about friends. contest entries accompanied by parent or guardian signatures are assumed to
be for publication and become the property of Cricket Media. For information
regarding our privacy policy and compliance with the Children’s Online Privacy
Contest Rules Protection Act, please visit our website at cricketmedia.com or write to us at CMG
1. Your contest entry must be your very own original work. 4. Only one entry per person, please. COPPA, 1751 Pinnacle Drive, Suite 600, McLean, VA 22102.
Ideas and words should not be copied. 5. If you want your work returned, enclose a self-addressed, From time to time, CRICKET mails to its subscribers advertisements for other
2. Your entry must be signed by your parent or guardian, stamped envelope for each entry. Cricket Media products or makes its subscriber list available to other reputa-
stating that it is your own work, that no help was given, 6. Your entry must be received by February 29,2024 . ble companies for their offering of products and services. If you prefer not to
and that Cricket has permission to publish it in the maga- 7. Send entries to Cricket League, P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL receive such mail, write to us at CRICKET, P.O. Box 6395, Harlan, IA 51593-1895.
zine and on our website. 61354. (No faxes or email submissions, please!) Printed in the United States of America.
3. Be sure to include your name, age, and full address on 8. We will publish winning entries in the May/June 2024
your entry. issue and on the Cricket website. 1st Printing Quad
Sussex, Wisconsin January 2024

47
 D O N ’ T L A U G H ! N O T yet. Laughing is very mysterious. Yes, we laugh
when something’s funny. But tickle our ribs or the soles of our feet, and we can’t
keep from laughing, even if we don’t think it’s funny at all. Nobody knows exactly
why we make these particular laughing sounds instead of others. We don’t learn to
laugh. We’re born with that gift. We keep it all our lives.
Scientists have been studying laughter for centuries. In 1662 the Italian scholar
Damascene claimed that he could tell what ailed you by the way you laughed.
For example, he believed the “heh-heh” kind of laugh meant you had indigestion.
“Ho-ho” showed you were in fine health. Imagine a doctor today, instead of taking
your temperature, saying, “Stick out your tongue—and laugh.” The idea is—well,
laughable! Yet, laughter is one of the best exercises. It starts when a broad muscle
above the stomach begins fluttering, and spreads from there. It makes our lungs
and muscles work, we breathe deeply, we feel better right away. What marvelous
medicine! We don’t even need a prescription!
Stranger still, we can’t force ourselves to laugh. We can pretend, but it’s not
quite the same. Laughter just happens. We can’t decide to do it ahead of time. It
simply comes as a joyful surprise, often when we least expect it. We enjoy our five
senses; but, in addition to them, the happiest is our sense of humor. All right, you
can laugh now if you feel like it. But remember: One thing about laughter, you
can’t take it seriously.

48
HAPPY LUNAR NEW YEAR 2024!
2024 is the Year of the Dragon, one of the 12 animal signs in the
Chinese zodiac. Name them all by completing this crossword puzzle.

1 2

3 4

5 6

7 8

9 10

11

ACROSS
1. As I hop around, I spread good luck,
mercy, and beauty.
3. People with my zodiac sign are often
honest and hard working, but we can
also be stubborn.
7. I am considered the unluckiest zodiac
sign and look similar to a sheep or ram.
8. As a mythical creature, I’m seen as very
lucky and powerful.
9. I come first in the zodiac signs and am
known to be a little judgmental.
11. Swinging from tree to tree, I have a
zest for life and endless curiosity.
Answers: (ACROSS) 1 Rabbit, 3 Ox, 7 Goat, 8 Dragon, 9 Rat, 11 Monkey; (DOWN) 1 Rooster, 2 Tiger, 4 Pig, 5 Dog, 6 Snake, 10 Horse
DOWN
1. People think I crow only at the crack of
dawn, but I actually crow all the time.
2. I am a powerful, striped hunter,
symbolizing strength and courage.
4. Like Wilbur from the famous children’s
story, I am a logical thinker and kind—
making me a wonderful friend.
5. Viewed as humankind’s best friend, I am
loyal and have a strong sense of justice.
6. In Chinese culture, I’m seen as a small
dragon and therefore carry similar mythical
meanings.
10. I love to gallop through open spaces, making
me a symbol of freedom and courage.

Celebrate Lunar New Year with us! Join us for special events or try a Chinese language
class. Go to cricketmedia.com/eLearning to save your spot today!
February 2024 Volume 51 Number 5 cricketmedia.com $6.95