Something Called A Brick

Something Called a Brick

This book was written by the students of 826LA’s 2025 Summer Writers Workshop.

The views expressed in this book are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of 826LA. We support student publishing and are thrilled you picked up this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Este libro fue escrito por los estudiantes del Taller De Escritura En Verano en 2025.

Las opiniones expresadas en este libro son las de los autores y no reflejan necesariamente las de 826LA. Apoyamos la publicación de jóvenes autores y estamos felices que hayan recogido este libro.

Todos los derechos reservados. Prohibida la reproducción total o parcial de este libro sin autorización escrita del editor.

Editor(s):

Trevor Crown

Cover Artwork and Book Design:

Tzasná Pérez Espinosa

Typefaces:

Trickster

Canela Text

Baskerville

Echo Park 1714 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90026

Mar Vista 12515 Venice Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90066

Illustration by Loris Lora

In celebration of our 20th Anniversary, 826LA dedicates this publication to all of those who have helped make our community what it is, what it was, and what it will become.

Thank you to the students, volunteers, educators, donors, staff, community partners, and time-travelers who have filled the last 20 years with such creativity, joy, and hope.

We look forward to another 20 years in partnership!

Table of Contents

Rian E.

Jesus A.

Adella Q.

Jamison K.

Jameson V.

Jocelyn R.

Zoe B.

MayaRose Y.

Theodore I.

Anne S.

Aurora L.

By Hanna A.

Nehemias B.

Omar S.

Grace T.

Antonio M.

T.

Yeva K.

Amaya E.

C.

Foreword

By Dennis Lehane

One of the reasons I stopped teaching college courses in creative writing was because far too few students seemed acquainted with actual literature. Their writing was thinly disguised screenplay with little grasp of either nuance or significant detail.

The teens and pre-teens who wrote the stories in this volume do not have that problem. In fact, I would happily teach students with this level of talent, which far surpasses an unfortunate number of college students I’ve encountered. The stories found herein are all mysteries, they all have an expected turn, many have a larger twist, but none of those elements feel cheap or unearned.

What struck me most is how lived these stories feel, how connected the authors are to the worlds about which they write. The city of Teotihuacan, the Civil War South, a rainy crime scene, the imaginary and hilarious world of Dunderville—to name just four—come alive in the hands of these talented scribes. The reader is immediately placed in the world and in the story. Then that story unfurls organically. Naturally. The way story is meant to flow.

What one hopes when one opens any book is what one finds—in ample supply—here: vivid details, rich characterizations, dialogue that sounds authentic to the ear (and, on this particular note, I must commend every one of these authors for how adroitly they render dialogue), and a story that carries the reader along. These stories will carry you along. And maybe, as they did for me, they’ll give you some hope. Because if very young writers are capable of writing this well in our post-literature, postcivility, post-culture age, the future is brighter than I thought. And these kids—with their honest, hyper-talented approach to the written word—are lighting the way.

“Your methods,” said Watson severely, “are really easily acquired.”

“No doubt,” Holmes answered with a smile. “Perhaps you will yourself give an example of this method of reasoning.”

–– Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, “How Watson Learned the Trick”

Something Called a Brick

Mysteries by the Students of 826LA’s 2025 Summer Writers Workshop

A Criminal Present

By Aina F.

I was at an event at Misty (my sidekick)’s school. “That’s my locker.” she said, pointing to a locker on the other side of the hallway. But I had a more intriguing topic on my mind. Some lockers lacked locks. “Do all of the lockers have an owner?” I asked Misty, a sly grin spreading across my face. “N-No, I think some are empty.”, Misty replied, anxious to see what I had in mind. I looked the rows up and down, searching for one without a lock. Jackpot! I thought, whipping open a seemingly vacant locker. Inside lay a crumpled 20 dollar bill, along with a bit of loose change. I rubbed my paws together in a mischievous manner. “SCORE! Wanna go get food afterwards?” I asked, grinning. Misty looked around nervously, playing with her paws. “I don’t know, what if it belongs to someone?” she argued hesitantly. “Nah, you shouldn’t worry.” I brushed her fur out of her face playfully. “Let’s see what else we can find.” I opened a few more, to Misty’s dismay. Nothing. Nothing. Some probably out of date textbooks. “Let’s go. It seems that was our lucky find of the day.”

Whatever, I thought. 20 dollars is 20 dollars. That’s when I noticed it smelled kinda weird. Eh, probably just normal middle school smell, I figured. I turned around to see probably one of the last uninhabited lockers. The glimmer in my eyes returned. “I have a good feeling about this one.” Misty nodded, probably because of a lack of much to say. I opened the door dramatically, hoping to see something of interest. The body of a wolf, blood pooling from their neck. It fell to the ground, as if it had been hastily stuffed in the locker. She began to take steps away as the blood spread across the floor. I opened my mouth to say something, but was abruptly silenced.

“HALT IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!” a booming voice commanded.

“Rude.”

It was a member of the town police force. I wondered what they were doing here.

“I’ve finally caught you in the act. The mayor will be

pleased to know that all the people you’ve harmed will finally be done justice.”

I took a look at her badge. Officer Clover. She was a grayish brownish wolf, with abnormally blue eyes that shined in the harsh overhead lights. We all stood there in uncomfortable silence for a solid 10 seconds, watching the body lay lifelessly.

“Now, now, aren’t you being a bit hasty? You have no proof it was me.”

Officer Clover took a few steps closer, glaring. “Then explain that. Why were you, a known criminal, caught right next to a crime scene?”

Misty looked up, tears in her eyes. “He didn’t do it.”

Clover looked down at her, a small smile forming. “You don’t have to lie. Where are your real parents, not this… thing.”

I scoffed in an offended manner.

She grabbed Misty’s paw. “I know he’s threatening you to lie, but tell me the truth. I won’t let him hurt you. You can tell me anything.”

She looked up, her gaze piercing through the officer. “He didn’t do it.”

She let go of her, sighing.

“Misty can vouch for me. She was with me the whole time,” I nodded convincingly. Clover shot a glare at me once more.

“You really think you can prove you didn’t do it?”

I nodded, grinning ear to ear. Of course.

“3 days. You have 3 days to get to work. If you can prove it wasn’t you, then you get off scot free. I can no longer stand idly by and watch everyone I love be slaughtered by some… alley cat.” I giggled. Not really a misleading or insulting title. “However, if you fail…” she withdrew her pistol from her tool belt and raised it to the sky. Did she really believe I hadn’t dodged literal bullets before? On second thought, she did have the entire force on her side. Not my first time dealing with them, either.

“You promise?” I asked.

She sighed once more. “Promise.”

“It’s a deal.” I held out my paw to shake. She looked at it with scorn, but ultimately decided to shake it.

“So, what’s our first stop?” I asked Misty, who still looked

stunned. “Maybe there’s something left on the corpse?” she suggested tentatively. I bent down, studying the wolf’s fur. “What’s this?” I pulled a hunk of white fur from the subject’s fur. As far as I could remember, white isn’t a color that this breed of wolves could be. I peered down at my own pelt. Gray, orange, and… white. That wouldn’t be great in my defense. “We’ve got our first clue.” Misty looked up at me, a bit of her smile returning. “Let’s question the nearby staff. Maybe they saw something we didn’t.” She nodded.

The teacher’s lounge. Pretty much all the staff were hanging out. I had snapped a photo of the deceased to show around. Surprisingly, I hadn’t spotted anyone with white fur so far. I snapped my head around, having caught it just in the corner of my eye. White fur.

“Excuse me? Have you seen this wolf recently?” The white figure turned around. It was a weasel, covered in fur the color of snow.

“Oh! Yes, he’s one of my students. Basil. Why? Was––was he getting into trouble again? I––I apologize if so.” He seemed oddly shifty. Misty eyed me, wondering what to tell him. “What’s your name?” I asked, staring into his soul. “I’m Mr. Jay. Nice... to meet you?” He extended his hand, but I didn’t care to shake it. I wrote that down. What could I ask him without seeming too obvious? Then it hit me.

“I’m with the police force. We would like to see your security cameras.” The weasel instantly began to fidget. Well, more so than he already was.

“Sure! Right––right this way.” He brought us to a room in the back of the lounge. “All the security footage from the last few weeks is on these tapes right here.”

I walked toward the basket containing the tapes. All sorts of monitors filled the room. They all showed different areas of the school. One showed the field. Another, a classroom. “We have all we need. You may leave.” I began to shuffle through the tapes. Every tape had a date. After a few minutes, I found the date of the crime. I grinned at Misty, who had been anxiously shuffling around next to me the entire time. I put the tapes in the coat pocket of my obnoxiously long trench coat and turned towards her. “Let’s review these using the tape player back at the house.” Being at home would make

sure no one could sabotage my plans.

It was the next morning. “Misty… wake up.” I shook her lightly. She opened her eyes, confused. “The tape contained some very interesting things.”

She sat up in a flash. “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you at the police department.” She smiled for once, stars in her eyes. I couldn’t wait to show her the footage. We both had that extra pep in our step as we walked to the department. On our way to the station, we passed something. I pretended not to notice. A missing person poster for a wolf named Basil… no matter. We did what we had to. This was it. The determination of my fate. And honestly, I couldn’t have been more confident. The cards were in my favor, and even Clover couldn’t deny it.

Officer Clover was waiting for us. “You sure you know who it is?”

I nodded smugly. I pulled out the bag I had kept the fur in. “This fur is a match with one of the school’s employees, Mr. Jay. And, AND, we have footage of him hiding that body.” I slid the tape toward her. She pulled out a tape player, shaking. It was too late to go back now.

“Not him. The shy math teacher?”

We said nothing, but the silence was enough. Trust no one, as I always say. She’d been a fool, as usual. She played the tape, still in complete disbelief. Not him. Anyone but him. I contained my laughter as I watched her and Misty take in the contents of the tape. A hooded white figure that matched that of a weasel’s, hastily stuffing Basil’s limp body in a vacant locker. Jackpot.

“No, NO. I SWEAR I didn’t do it. He was one of my students! I knew him like a son! Please, don’t do this”, Mr. Jay shrieked as he was dragged into the police car. He’d probably be fine. Weasels were notoriously slippery creatures.

I looked down at MIsty, smiling ear to ear. “We did it. I never thought being a detective was that easy.”

Misty looked thoughtfully at me. “It was easy.”

“That’s because I was innocent.” She smiled. I hugged her. “Thanks for believing in me.”

She hugged me back. “You saved me. Of course I’d believe

in you.” Tears sprung into her eyes. I couldn’t help but feel comforted. Everything was alright. I was finally a free cat. I chuckled to myself and crept back to my room. I still hadn’t cleaned the blood off of the knife. The wolf put up a good fight, but folded when he had pulled it out. I was so glad that white was a common fur color to have. And that tape footage could be overwritten fairly easily. Nobody would ever know, nobody could ever know. Poor, poor Misty. Poor, poor Basil. I walked through the dark, and creaked open the door to Misty’s room. She was sleeping peacefully. She would never know the trouble I had gone through to conceal my true self from her. A criminal past, a criminal present. She would never know or understand the pleasure I had taken in the crime. I giggled. No one would ever know my true colors. And I’d like it to stay that way.

His name is Aina, and he’s in sixth grade. He likes drawing and collecting small items in his free time.

The Royal Centauri

By Sequoia B.

In the depths of the Caverns of Algoria, Stratmore Dunsworth prepared to fight his mortal enemy, the Great Mauser. As he readied for battle, his lion stalked around him, offering advice and increasing his health. Taking a deep breath, Stratmore stepped into the faint light of the Great Cavern. A voice boomed, reverberating from the walls. “Stratmore!” it announced. “Come to defeat me at last? How foolish of you to try. Nobody has ever bested me in battle, and I doubt that someone as puny as you could try.” As the Great Mauser spoke, his immense form rose from the ground. He readied a paw to smash Stratmore, and the lion jumped to stop him. Before the companion made contact with the paw, everything stopped. The cavern disappeared, then the Great Mauser and his minions. The screen blacked out and the arcade machine powered down.

“Come on! I was just about to beat the final boss!” Sammy exclaimed. His cat, Gerald, put down his controller and nuzzled up against him. Across the arcade, whines and moans could be heard as the machines shut off. The lights in the room turned off and the emergency lights activated. Over the loudspeaker, a voice announced, “Due to unforeseen circumstances, the mall on the Royal Centauri has been closed for the evening. Please return to your rooms.” Sammy looked at Gerald. “What was that about?” Gerald nuzzled him and tried finding the exit.

The Royal Centauri was the size of a small town. It was an exclusive vacation, a cruise to see the wonders of outer space. It was well stocked for this grand adventure: it had three decks, each with a different purpose. The lower deck was the living quarters; most of the apartments were there, though the center deck housed some of the penthouses. The upper deck was the control center for the whole ship. It was mostly off limits for the passengers of the ship, except for field trips to the farms and the observatory, and so remained a mystery to Sammy and Gerald. The center deck was where most people on the ship spent most of their time. It had many enticing attractions to keep people busy, including a water park, an auditorium with daily performances, and the mall. It even had a school for kids

to keep up with their studies on this vacation! The mall was where Sammy and Gerald were located right now, trying to find the exit to the arcade.

After they stumbled outside, they found Sammy’s parents waiting for them. “What happened? Why is the whole mall powered down? You didn’t have anything to do with it, did you?” Sammy’s father asked. Sammy laughed. “No, I was just playing a game and the power shut off.” They followed the crowd of people to the lower deck until they got back to their room.

As Sammy packed up his bag for school and got ready for bed, Gerald snuck out of the apartment. When he got to the mall, he noticed flashlights beaming out of the arcade. As he snuck closer, he heard some people talking inside.

“So, Fabenhaven, what happened here?” one voice asked.

“I… I… I’m not sure, Captain. We had a power issue down in the reactor room, and we had to shut down the mall,” replied another.

“Brill? Could you accompany Fabenhaven down to the reactor room and find out what is going on?” the captain said.

Another voice spoke up. “Certainly, Captain. Lead the way, Fabenhaven.”

The door to the arcade opened and the captain strode out, followed by the first mate and a scrawny gentleman with glasses Gerald hadn’t seen before. They were all wearing name tags: “Clyde Fabenhaven - Senior Technology Officer,” “Argus Brill - First Mate,” and “Eliza Clerkenwell - Captain.”

As the captain walked by, Gerald stepped out of the shadows and followed the first mate and the technology officer. They strolled through an employee access door and down a long, slanted hallway until they reached the reactor room. As they entered the reactor room, they were met with the sight of a towering column of chambers and wires stretching towards a ceiling as tall as a ballroom. The chambers on the bottom were pulsing a bluish-purple color, but further towards the top they looked grey and deactivated.

Gerald almost lost himself in the sight before he realized that the technology officer was talking again. “The power dropped almost 10 percent in a matter of minutes. If we hadn’t shut down the mall, the reactor would have overloaded and blown up. We’d probably be floating pieces of space junk by now. I’m currently running

a few tests to figure out what’s going on, but they probably won’t go through for another few days!” Clyde exclaimed. Argus comforted him. “Just please try to figure out the source of this problem quickly, our guests will become very anxious if we leave them in the dark for too long.” The first mate led the technology officer out of the reactor room and down the hall.

Gerald turned to leave, but stopped when he noticed a trickle of dust coming from a slightly ajar panel in the wall. He padded over to the panel and pawed it open. Behind it was a room filled with a glittering pinkish-purple dust, with tall tubes puncturing the ceiling and leading back into the reactor room. There were a few markings on the wall: “Aurorite Holding Room,” “Danger: Carcinogenic,” and “Minimum Supply Level.” The final one labeled a dotted line on the wall that wrapped around the entire room. The dust was almost halfway below that line. Gerald leaned in for a closer look, but almost slipped on some objects on the floor. He looked down and saw two gas masks and a few airtight sacks. Taking note of this, he exited back through the panel and traveled back to Sammy’s room. He laid down at the foot of Sammy’s bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, Sammy took his backpack and walked with Gerald down to the school. He sat down at his desk and took out a writing tablet; Gerald jumped up and sat on his lap. The bell rang and Mrs. Jeanne started giving her lecture. “Today, we are starting our unit on aurorite. Can anyone in this class tell us what this is?” Sammy looked at Gerald and rolled his eyes. He raised his hand and started speaking. “Aurorite is the 132nd element on the extraperiodic table. It was first discovered one hundred years ago in 2056. It has the ability to produce immense amounts of energy from starlight, and is the only source of power for space travel. Without it, we’d probably still be stuck back on earth.”

“Very good, Samuel. Yes, aurorite is the most powerful element on the extraperiodic table. It is also extremely harmful for humans to inhale, but can increase the brainpower of non-humanoid animals. Now everyone, please direct your gazes towards your screens. I have a video to show you.”

Sammy opened up the classroom app on his desktop screen. Petting Gerald absentmindedly, he looked up at the clock on the wall. Strangely, the hand did not seem to be moving. As he raised

his hand to ask Mrs. Jeanne to fix her clock, the room plunged into darkness. The lights blacked out and the emergency lights turned on again. Gerald jumped out of Sammy’s lab, darted through the door and started racing through the halls. Over the loudspeaker, a voice announced, “The school has been closed. Everyone please proceed back to your rooms.”

Short of breath, Gerald reached the reactor room, where he heard voices again. “What happened now, Fabenhaven? Are you going to continue ruining the fun of everyone on this ship?” he heard the first mate ask.

“Sir, I swear that I don’t mean to do this! For some reason, the reactor core’s capacity is dropping faster than I’ve ever known to be possible! If it continues like this, we’re going to have to turn back and dock on Earth!” Clyde responded.

“Well, fix it, Fabenhaven, and fix it fast. Because I’m not going to lose my life over a little malfunction, and I don’t think you want to either.”

Gerald jumped back as the first mate stomped out of the room, with Clyde scurrying far behind.

After waiting for a few minutes, Gerald thought it safe to return to the reactor room. He dashed inside and noticed two figures in hazmat suits and gas masks climbing out of the panel in the wall. He followed them out of the room and down the hallways. They opened a door labeled “Employee Quarters” and walked inside. They stopped in front of a wall of lockers and typed “16-32-67-13” into the lock. An entire portion of the wall opened up and revealed a room. Gerald peeked inside and found a huge collection of aurorite dust sealed in hazardous material containment bags.

The thieves turned around and Gerald scampered out to avoid being seen. Getting an idea, he slinked back to the reactor room. He jumped up to one of the computers lining the walls, which was luckily not turned off. He tried accessing the camera footage, but it just said “Permission Denied: Enter Administrative Passcode to Proceed.” He tried the numbers that the employees had used to open the secret aurorite locker, and the computer let him in. Checking the cameras in the aurorite supply room, he found that the same employees had stolen aurorite around the same time that the arcade shut down before. Gerald printed out the photo and logged out of the

computer. He took the picture in his mouth and ran back to Sammy’s room.

Gerald woke Sammy up and encouraged him out of the bed. “Fine, Gerald, but whatever this is better be good,” Sammy yawned. He followed Gerald until they got to the “Employee Access Only” door. Sammy looked at it and said, “I don’t think we’re supposed to go in there, Gerald.” Gerald dropped the photo on the floor and meowed at it, drawing Sammy’s attention. “You found people stealing aurorite? Show me!” Sammy followed after Gerald with renewed vigor. When they reached the employee quarters, Gerald input the code into the computer and showed Sammy the stolen aurorite stockpile. Sammy looked at Gerald. “We’ve got to tell the captain about this!” So they closed the door and headed to the captain’s quarters.

Once they left, the door to the stolen stockpile opened again and the two employees stepped out. One of them took out their phone and dialed in a number. “Sir, we’ve been found. Could you cover our tracks?”

“Certainly. By whom, exactly?” a voice responded.

“A kid and his cat.”

“I’ll give them what they deserve. Make yourselves inconspicuous; we wouldn’t want our whole operation in shambles.”

Sammy and Gerald stopped in front of the door to the control center. Behind it, they could hear the first mate and the captain talking: “Eliza, this appears to be a very pressing problem. Clyde can’t figure out what’s going on, he says that we’ll have to turn back if this continues! You can’t just let this keep on happening every day, so what are you going to do?”

“I have full faith that Clyde will fix this. Now please, there appears to be a situation in the control center that I must attend to.”

The captain opened the door and spotted Sammy and Gerald. “What are you two doing here? This area is strictly off-limits for kids and pets!”

“Ma’am, we’re sorry, but we think we’ve discovered the problem with the power! We can show you, if you’d like.”

Argus stepped out as well. “What’s going on here?”

“This kid says he knows what the problem is with the power. I highly doubt it’s credible.”

Argus looked down at Sammy and Gerald with a pitiful

I think you deserve a little break. I’ll take over for a little while, okay?” Argus replied. Gerald heard Clyde’s footsteps exit the room while Argus stayed. Suddenly, a bag swooped over him and carried him out to the reactor. “We got him, boss. That pesky cat that you warned us about,” one said.

“Yes, yes, very good.” Argus responded. Gerald heard his footsteps approaching.

“Well, well, well. You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble for us, haven’t you? Sneaking around the ship, trying to uncover our plans. It’s lucky my two henchmen were there to watch you show that kid the aurorite supply. Now that he’s been punished, I just knew you would come back here. Everyone else thought the kid was in charge, but I know that you’re the one I need to worry about. I think I’ll put you just where animals like you belong: in a cage.” Argus declared. Gerald could feel the lack of oxygen making him tired; gasping for air, he passed out.

The next morning, Sammy’s family was on the way to the auditorium for a performance and passed by the first mate’s quarters. Gerald looked outside and saw him. Since the first mate was gone, he started banging on the walls of his cage and meowing. Sammy’s father looked at the first mate’s room in disbelief. “Wow, he has a really loud cat, doesn’t he?” he said. Sammy looked as well, and spotted a cat that looked very similar to Gerald in the window. “Yeah… I think I have to go to the restroom. Be right back!” Sammy called as he ran away.

He snuck into the employee access hallways and stopped by the first mate’s room. “Gerald? Is that you?” he asked. Gerald meowed back in response. Sammy tried opening the door with the code for the stolen aurorite, and it worked. “Good thing this guy never changes his passcodes! Did the first mate do this to you?” Gerald nodded and meowed. “Well, at least we know the source of the problems. Let’s check his computer, see if we can find any more evidence.”

While walking out of the room, Sammy took a remote from the coffee table. “This should come in handy,” he said as he slipped it into his pocket. He and Gerald then walked back to the auditorium, where a band was playing pop music. When they reached them, Sammy’s father looked at them suspiciously and asked them

what took them so long. Sammy opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the first mate walked up onto the stage and started speaking.

“Attention, everyone! Sorry to interrupt this lovely performance, but I have an announcement to make. Due to recent power failures with the reactor core, we have been forced to turn back the ship. We have not found out the source of these problems, or anyone involved in their origin, so to prevent catastrophic failure we must take drastic measures. Everyone can please return to their rooms now and get ready for hyperspeed travel back to earth.”

Sammy stood up. “I believe we have found someone involved in making these problems,” he announced. The first mate rolled his eyes. “And, pray tell, what is the proof? Camera footage that ‘mysteriously’ goes missing? A hidden stockpile in the bathroom that doesn’t exist? Oh, please, spare us your theatrics.”

Sammy smiled. “Why don’t you tell them yourself?” he said as he pushed a button on the remote.

The lights cut out. Unlike before, however, they turned back on after a few seconds. During that time, everything had changed. The room had turned into an auction hall. The seats were now made out of expensive velvet. A huge pile of aurorite encased in a glass box started rising up from the stage in the center. On the stage, a 3D screen started projecting an advertisement.

“Brill Mineral Services is pleased to present the gift of the century! Over five tons of pure aurorite, specially mined from our own extraterrestrial outposts, is yours to use for whatever purpose you desire. Think of everything that this could bring you: an endless supply of power to your mansions! Space travel! And most importantly, lots and lots of money! This is your only chance, folks! Starting bid is 23 trillion dollars.”

Argus was caught in the spotlight, looking bewildered and confused. “Argus, what is this?” the captain’s voice asked from backstage. “I… I… It’s obviously a hoax! A practical joke, put on by those kids! They’re trying to frame me! I would never do something like this. You know that, right, Eliza?”

Just then, the doors swung open and Clyde ran into the auditorium. “Captain! Argus! My tests just finished! I had some people investigate the supply room and the reactor, and they found

that someone was stealing the aurorite! I hope I’m not interrupting…” He paused as he looked around. “...anything?”

Suddenly, Argus burst into a run. Startling everyone in the room, he dashed out the door and into the hallways. The captain yelled, “Follow him!” and started sprinting after him. Clyde, Sammy, and Gerald closely followed, leaving everyone in the auditorium in stunned silence.

They followed him through the employee access corridors, down into the control center, and up onto the hull of the ship. He quickly entered one of the escape pods and input the code to launch off. As the captain finally caught up with him, the escape pod took off, leaving a sparkling pink trail behind.

The captain stomped her foot on the ground. “Darn it!” she swore. “How could he do this? Why did he do this? I should have caught him! I was so close!” she was muttering when Sammy caught up to her. “Captain! Are you okay?” he asked. She sighed. “Yeah. I guess I should’ve listened to you sooner, kid. You were right all along,”

“It wasn’t just me. Gerald, my cat, did most of the work, actually. But you don’t have to worry yourself that you didn’t catch him. The important part is that he’s gone, and we can fix everything.”

Gerald came up to Sammy and started licking himself. Finally, Clyde arrived at the escape pod launcher, tired and out of breath. “Wh… what’s going on? I just found out that someone was stealing aurorite, and suddenly we have to capture the first mate? I… don’t think I can take this…” he said, and then he fainted.

Argus was furious. His plan had failed, and his reputation was ruined. He started breathing slowly, in and out. “Pod, please take me to Planet BXC3 in Alpha Centauri. Access code: 16-32-67-13.”

“Planet: accepted. Starting hyperspeed travel now.” Argus sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Not everything was over. He still had the emergency aurorite supply in the pods, which could sell for billions if he found the right place. Using that money, he could get surgery done and look entirely different. As long as he stayed in the shadows until then, everything would work out.

He was about to fall asleep when he realized that the pod

had not entered hyperspeed travel yet. He cracked one eye open and saw that the console on the pod was blinking red. The screen read, “Unauthorized passcode detected. Activating emergency override.” Argus sat up with a jolt. He realized that the pod was traveling back towards the spaceship! He tried everything that he could to turn on manual control, but it was no use. He was locked out.

As he reached the docking bay, he saw the captain waiting there, along with that nerdy little technology officer, Clyde. Next to them, that irritating boy was standing there stroking his meddlesome cat with a smug grin on his face. There were two police officers waiting to take him away.

When the pod docked, the cockpit ejected and he landed face-first into a hover cage. The police officers dragged him to the jail, kicking and screaming all the way. As the sounds of his rant grew quieter and quieter, Clyde looked up from his micropad and turned to the captain. “You know, he always uses the same passcode.”

Sequoia B. is a seventh grader from Glendale, California. He has many hobbies, including coding, music composition, and animation. Right now, he’s probably reading one of his favorite book series and drinking tea.

The Fitzgerald Secret

By Carmen D.

Loyal by day. A traitor by night. Elizabeth Fitzgerald is the daughter of the well-known Confederate General Charles J. Fitzgerald. Always overlooked by her father as his lesser child, Elizabeth is always searching for a way to get her revenge. And in order to do so, she must avenge the life that is not her own… at least not yet.

As a child, Elizabeth was always curious. Always wondering about her family’s enormous white house. Always finding new things. Always searching for the answers to her incessant questions. Then, she grew up, no longer a girl but a woman.

In Elizabeth’s adolescence, her mother began to teach her the ways of becoming a “proper young lady.” Stand up straight, but not too straight because we don’t want it to look like you think you’re better than others. Don’t talk unless you are spoken to. Let the men think they are smarter than you even if they aren’t. These rules as well as others soon became the mask that Elizabeth would put on in front of others. One day, coming back from another one of her lessons, she overheard her father talking to her brother about what his role in life was––completely different from Elizabeth’s. She soon realized that when you are a woman in these times you cannot call your life yours, because it isn’t. The life of a woman is about living for others. Living for your family. Your husband. Your children. This was when she decided to grab her life by the reins, and steer it in the complete opposite direction from where it was headed. Hiding from her mother and spending most of her time in the library, she stumbled upon a hidden collection of books titled “Mystery.” Enthralled by this new discovery, Elizabeth put her curiosity that never left to good use.

Two Years Later

Elizabeth had always disagreed with her father’s political views. However, the opportunity to defy the typical view of the world never arose until a letter mysteriously arrived at the window of Elizabeth’s room.

about to drop dead, the same masculine voice said, “Apologies, but we had to make sure that you definitely didn’t know where we were headed.”

Slowly opening her eyes, Elizabeth took in her new surroundings. She appeared to be in a dimly lit study, and in front of her were the culprits. The woman in the red dress. And a man that must have been C.F Brown.

“Hello Ms. Fitzgerald,” the woman said, “I’m Josephine Brown.”

“Brown?” Elizabeth thought. “There’s another one?”

“This is my younger sister,” the man said, “and I’m Christopher.”

“I don’t need nor want introductions,” Elizabeth said coolly, “What I want is to know why you drugged me, why I’m here, and how you know my secret.”

“Well, Ms. Fitzgerald,” Josephine replied, “We are here because we have recently discovered that some men are planning to kill Abraham Lincoln, and that your father might be working with them. And I’m not the one who heard about your secret. You’ll meet this person later.”

She rolled her eyes at this new information. “And what does this have to do with me?” Elizabeth asked.

“And that is how your secret coincided with this. We know that as well as your investigating business, you are secretly working with the Union and giving them incredibly important information on the Confederacy’s next steps in this everlasting Civil War. And we too work for the Union, undercover just as you do.”Christopher said quietly.

“So what do you want me to do?” Elizabeth said, leaning back in her chair, finally interested.”

“Well,” Josephine said while her and her brother glanced at each other, “we need you to find as much information as possible about what your father and these other men plan to do to President Lincoln.”

Close to midnight that night, Elizabeth sneaked to her father’s office while everyone was asleep. She grabbed a sharp pin from her hair, and began to pick the lock on her door. Elizabeth carefully opened the door, and made sure it didn’t squeak. She made

her way to her father’s desk. As she frantically opened drawers, searching for something, anything, to help with her mission. She heard footsteps in the hallway. But it was too late. Her father opened the door to his office the rest of the way. His piercing blue eyes made contact with her brown ones. And all she could hear was the thudding of her heartbeat.

To be continued…

Carmen D. is a 9th grader who is an avid reader and has an affinity for writing fiction. Carmen enjoys spending time with family and friends, and can’t wait for her journey in writing to progress.

The Potion Of Persuasion

By Liam S.

It was 1980 and there was a detective known as Alchemist Brunalleschi––previously known as Alchemist Bob, but after studying history throughout the world, he’d recognized the architectural impact that Brunelleschi had had on the world. The Alchemist also recognized his own nature inside this Italian architect. They both were exceptionally smart, made advances in many fields, recognized the importance of past civilizations, and both of their philosophies could be applied to the present-day world. They were also never understood by the public, except for one person: Cosimo de Medici for the architect, and the Baker for the Alchemist. Alchemist Brunelleschi also happened to be a falsely convicted criminal, who got out of jail early because he solved his case by himself from his cell.

Alchemist Brunelleschi, before this series of events, was not a detective and had no experience whatsoever in being a detective. He had majored in alchemy, the science of turning, changing, and combining certain liquids to create another. He was quite a good alchemist. It was rumoured that he could make a potion where the drinker was able to persuade any living organism to do whatever he wanted. It was called the Potion of Persuasion. (His success and advancements in alchemy were actually only a small portion of what he succeeded in making.) Brunelleschi’s potion recipes included strange ingredients such as condensed dirt (preserved at the right moment), and the leg of a blue jellyfish, very rare and hard to catch. Brunelleschi was a very smart person with a thirst for knowledge and a hunger to figure out the truth using the knowledge he gleaned. He was convicted of murder but only because there was no other person close to the scene. He was convinced that the murderer was after him because the victim just so happened to look like Brunelleschi and was going the same way as him. Brunelleschi decided to get out of jail and solve the mystery by himself. Using convincing words and well organized speech, he convinced the court to let him go using his spare Potion of Persuasion, which unknown to the public, he had already made. However, in his hometown, the townsfolk still suspected that the detective had committed the

murder. The detective didn’t mind, however, because that meant that he could go about his business without any interruptions. The court trial, a very famous trial that made it to the front page in the newspaper, was known as the Trial of Persuasion. Despite a lack of popularity amongst the townsfolk, Brunelleschi still had one person that trusted him: his best friend, the Baker.

The Baker was kind to anyone and had an unnaturally good sense of whether a person’s heart and moral beliefs were good. The Baker and the Alchemist decided to work together to figure out who it was that seemed intent on killing Brunelleschi. The Baker worked on who this secret murderer could be while Brunelleschi worked on figuring out the murderer’s motives for attempting to assassinate Brunelleschi. The duo had already worked out a contingency plan for if one of them died. The contingency plan, made so that one of them could learn what the other learned before they were killed, was that two diaries were hidden in a secret place, (this being the secret floor underneath the bakery), and recorded the last memories leading to the murder. The diaries used a secret potion that made the drinker see someone else’s memories and changed all dialogue into code. This code utilized knowledge only the Baker and the Alchemist would know.

When the Baker was found dead a fortnight later, Brunelleschi knew that he must solve this case. To do that, Brunelleschi’s first task would be to find the diary that was hidden somewhere in the secret meeting place, and fast, because it wouldn’t take long for the police to accuse Brunelleschi. Brunelleschi quickly searched the entire floor, and found it right behind the baking powder, the ingredient the Baker used in every food he made. This wasn’t any regular baking powder, however, because it had been arranged to spell, “Don’t give up hope.” Grabbing the diary, he found the potion and quickly drank. It turned out that before the Baker had been killed, he’d found a police hat near the crime scene. The police hat was unlike any other hat, it had engravings on it. Before the Baker could use his secret technique of finding a fingerprint on an item that a person had touched, someone had come up behind him and shoved a green bottle of poison into his mouth, and he died immediately.

After seeing the memories, Brunelleschi’s first observation was that he had to make the Potion of Persuasion again because it

would help reveal if the murderer was a police officer, which would make guessing who it was much easier. After thinking about it, with a horrible feeling, Brunelleschi replayed the memory in his mind and saw that the green poison was familiar. He recalled the day when he had first named the potion the Essence of Instant Death and remembered that there were details in the memory that proved that it was the Essence of Death. For example, the fact that as soon as the poison had hit the Baker’s mouth, he’d instantly died, or the fact that he hadn’t tasted anything when the poison hit his tongue. Now that Brunelleschi thought about it, however, he had never revealed that particular poison to the public.

After he finished observing, Brunelleschi concluded that the murderer had been watching him for some time––which would explain how they knew to make the Essence of Instant Death––and that Brunelleschi ought to collect the extra Potion of Persuasion hidden in the floor under the Bakery so he could grab a police officer and ask him who the hat belonged to. So, he grabbed his spare potion and headed to the police headquarters. There, he drank the Potion of Persuasion and persuaded an officer to come to an empty room and asked him to tell Brunelleschi truthfully who the hat belonged to.

The officer told Brunelleschi that that hat was a Special Forces hat, a government force bound to do the mayor’s bidding and paid handsomely for it. The Special Forces held as much rank as a sheriff did, were trained to work alone and in secret, and also only contacted the mayor, not one another, in case one of them might be a spy. The only thing distinguishing a police officer from someone in Special Forces was their hat. A Special Forces officer’s hat was an incredible artifact if it wasn’t in the hands of the officer. Any bounty hunter would kill for it. After they retired, the Special Forces officers burnt their hats so no one could infiltrate their network. When asked how an officer would know if a Special Forces officer had infiltrated headquarters on orders from the mayor, one officer replied with a chilling “No one knows if someone is a Special Forces officer or not, unless the officer reveals themself.” After interrogating the officer, Brunelleschi thought that, whether loyal to the mayor or for their own personal gain, the murderer had to have been a Special Forces officer. With that in mind, he now needed to make one more Potion

of Persuasion to try and persuade the mayor to tell Brunelleschi which one of the forces could have a separate agenda. However, this struck a problem in itself, that being the fact that the rarest by far of the ingredients was a condensed diamond, found only in certain caves, and which had to be preserved at the right temperature. One person could spend their entire lifetime finding one, and even then there was a small chance that the diamond might be preserved at the right moment. There was one person who had a stock of those diamonds, that being the mayor of the town, a fat, rather pompous guy who sat around boasting about his riches and who spent his free time guarding his treasure most preciously. In fact, at one point, it was rumored that he had spent more money on protecting the riches than the riches themselves were worth. The main problem was that Brunelleschi had already stolen three of the mayor’s precious condensed diamonds to make three Potions of Persuasion for himself and the Baker, in case they needed it, and the mayor would definitely arrest Brunelleschi for thievery. While Brunelleschi was thinking this over, he realized that if the murderer had checked the Baker’s pockets, he would’ve seen the Potion of Persuasion and would use it against Brunelleschi. So, Brunelleschi’s next course of action would be to try to create a more powerful Potion of Persuasion, one that would overpower someone who drank the original Potion of Persuasion. The problem was, Brunelleschi couldn’t think of what ingredient would make an already almost omnipotent potion more powerful. Then, the idea struck him. He needed to make a potion that would make the Potion of Persuasion less powerful, because then it would negate the original Potion of Persuasion because of the Law of Negation, which stated that a less powerful potion would negate the effects of the more powerful potion and give the regular effects of the less powerful potion. So, after staying up the entire following night trying to come up with ingredients that would make the potion less potent, Brunelleschi finally thought of the answer. It was so simple, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought before. Instead of adding an ingredient to make the potion less potent, he would subtract the most potent ingredient to make the potion less potent, that ingredient being the condensed diamond. So Brunelleschi leapt to action, collecting the ingredients he needed to make the Potion of Persuasion once again, except without the condensed diamond.

He made the potion right before the police grabbed Brunelleschi, and Brunelleschi quickly stuffed the potion right under his hat. The police mistakenly thought that Brunelleschi had somehow poisoned the Baker, and put him under questioning. However, Brunelleschi was not disturbed that he was suspected to have murdered the Baker because he was now provided with the chance to observe these police officers. He wanted to see who could be the murderer, what evidence the police could have found, and what deductions the police came up with from these pieces of evidence. Additionally, he could even get more details about this mysterious Special Forces, and possibly even lure the murderer to him and use his revised Potion of Persuasion against the murderer. In the interrogation cell, Brunelleschi was interrogated by many police officers, but none of them wore a Special Forces hat. As the interrogation went on, Brunelleschi noticed that there was a rift between one of the police officers, Bob, and another, Troy. Troy kept arguing that they must have gotten the wrong person and seemed to idolize Brunelleschi’s work in alchemy, while Bob, the older and seemingly higher ranked officer was arguing that they couldn’t have gotten the wrong guy. Most of the officers seemed to agree with Bob; it seemed Troy was unpopular. Bob, after what seemed like hours, had finally won the argument. Brunelleschi was being guarded in the cellar part of the police headquarters and officers took shifts guarding Brunelleschi. Once it was Troy’s turn, she said that she had been studying Brunelleschi’s work and really admired his advances in alchemy as well as his thoughts on philosophies. Troy accidentally let slip that she knew about the Potion of Persuasion hidden under his hat, but didn’t seem to know that he had edited it. After Troy’s shift ended, Brunelleschi thought about what Troy had said and wondered if she knew about this murderer. Could Troy possibly know about the murderer that Brunelleschi didn’t? After all, Troy was in the police force and could have been one of the officers on the murder scene. That thought immediately brought up another question. Was the Special Forces hat just a decoy, possibly to make Brunelleschi think the murderer was in the Special Forces? But as Brunelleschi thought about it, the officer he had persuaded seemed pretty confident that the hat was a Special Forces hat. Unless it was an actual Special Forces hat and the murderer had somehow taken a Special Forces

hat, which means the murderer must have killed a Special Forces officer, since no officer would willingly give their hat. This thought chilled Brunelleschi, even though the sun was up because this meant that the murderer had no moral laws and wouldn’t stop until they reached their target. As he was thinking this, another thought came to Brunelleschi, and this one genuinely scared him, which was saying something, because Brunelleschi was never scared. The thought was that any person could be the murderer, seeing as it wasn’t so difficult to glean information about the Special Forces. With this in mind, Brunelleschi now had to use his potion wisely, because he only had one chance, one advantage, to turn the tables on the murderer.

Before turning the tables, however, he first needed to trap the murderer fast, before the murderer could kill any more people. So, to do this, he waited in the police headquarters for the murderer to catch the bait for what seemed like forever. Finally, he heard someone coming in. It was Troy! His hunch was right all along. With stunning speed, he entered the hall from his hiding place and immediately forced the Potion of Persuasion into Troy’s open mouth and forced her to tell him everything.

It turned out that the cop was also like Brunelleschi and had created a name for herself as well, Officer Moriarty, a Sherlock Holmes reference that she took on for herself because she felt a connection to this fictional Moriarty. This fictional Moriarty was often enemies with Sherlock Holmes and was always a step or two in front of Sherlock. Moriarty had been following Brunelleschi for some time, admiring the decisions he made as well as his opinion on many matters. However, as most loyal followers turned out to be once they had a glimpse at power, Moriarty gradually became obsessed with Brunelleschi and seemed to have considered Brunelleschi her rival. It seemed to Brunelleschi, as he was watching her memories, that she was just jealous that Brunelleschi had made a friend, the Baker, and that she thought he was just like her; someone with no friends, but after he made a friend, she realized that she and him weren’t the same person. She grew jealous of his later successes, such as his publishing of The Many Laws Of Alchemy and Alchemy For Beginners, and became steadily insane after her alchemic advances were unsuccessful, using a potion she invented called the Essence of Insanity. She then plotted revenge and killed Brunelleschi’s only friend and forced

him into jail. When she found out that Brunelleschi was alone she seized her chance. Little did she know, it turned out to be a trap. This concludes The Potion of Persuasion.

Two Flashlights

By Beatrice C.

In 2003, Charlie and her little brother Ben were left alone because their mom had to go to work. They were just chilling on the couch watching TV, until there was a crash. Charlie took a look, but nothing was there. Then she heard a scream, and she ran back but her little brother was gone… one of the windows was broken. She ran out the door but he was nowhere to be found. She rushed to call her mom but she didn’t pick up, so she desperately went to her neighbors’ house. Her neighbor Annie opened the door, and Charlie started crying, telling her everything. Annie started putting her jacket on and she said, “Let’s go save your brother.” Annie got two flashlights and asked all her neighbors to help.

They looked overnight but they couldn’t find him. Even the New York City Police could not find him. Charlie’s mom finally came back home and Charlie exploded, telling her mom everything. Her mom said, “I think I know who it is.”

Charlie said, “Really?” She started to wipe her tears off. Charlie said, “Where is he, who took him?”

Mom said, “We might need to go to the abandoned warehouse.”

Charlie said, “You mean that one––” Mom cut Charlie off. “Yes, I think I need to explain a little bit.”

Charlie said, “What, were you hiding something from me?”

Mom said, “I’m sorry but it was for the better, you were just too young. But let me explain: your brother was adopted and his mom went crazy after she gave him up. She tried to break in many times, so that is why we moved, but she didn’t let go. So she lived at the abandoned warehouse and she was planning this a very long time ago.”

Charlie said, “WHAT? Why didn’t you tell the police?”

Mom said, “I did but they said there was no proof.”

Charlie said, “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go save my brother.” They rushed to the abandoned warehouse, but they didn’t see Ben anywhere. Then her mom got a call from her boss and her boss said, “YOU BETTER GET HERE NOW OR ELSE YOU

ARE FIRED!”

Her mom said, ‘I’m sorry sweety I have to go to work. I will help you find him later.”

Charlie said, “I’m going to find him myself. You always care about your work more than us.”

Mom yelled, “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.” Then she walked away.

Charlie sighed. “I’m losing everything.”

The next day, Charlie’s mom said, “Come down. We need to talk.”

“Coming mom,” she yelled running downstairs.

Charlie’s mom said “They are two hours away.”

They hopped in the car and her mom said, “I didn’t actually go to work. I went to see your brother and I put a tracking device in his pocket while they were sleeping.”

“WHAT?” Charlie said. “HOW? IS HE OKAY?”

Mom said, “I thought it would be too dangerous for you, and he’s okay for now. Let’s just drive.” They sat is silence

Three hours later, Charlie’s mom said, “Let’s go to this gas station. Here is 10 dollars. Get yourself something.” She went and bought some food and she saw a glimpse of her brother Ben. She whispered to her mom, “MOM, COME OVER HERE.”

Her mom started to walk to her and saw Ben. “Oh my god, that is him!”

Charlie said, “We need to save him.” She frantically started to call the police, but then the other crazy mom started to make Ben get up and they hopped in the car and started to drive off.

“What are we waiting for?” Charlie said. “Let’s go.” They started to drive.

“911 what is your emergency?”

Charlie said, “We are on Interstate 87 heading north. WE NEED HELP, MY BROTHER GOT KIDNAPPED! Their license plate is 19W4D00.”

“Okay,” the operator said. “We are sending units. They are 15 minutes away, just follow the car for now. Do you know if they are armed with any weapons?”

“No, I don’t think so. Well, I don’t know.”

“Okay, help is on the way.”

Charlie’s mom said, “Shoot, we lost them,” bonking her head on the steering wheel.

Then Charlie looked out the window and saw the New York City Police chasing them. Her vision started to get blurry then she blacked out.

She heard a beep beep beep. She woke up in a sweat and said, “BEN! I thought I would never see you again.” Charlie started to cry. Then she pulled Ben in a tight hug.

Ben said, “You finally woke up!”

The doctor came into the room and said, “I will get your mom.”

Charlie’s mom said, “Oh my god, you’re awake.”

“What happened?” Charlie asked.

“You couldn’t let him go so you started running to find him, but a drunk driver hit you.”

“I don’t remember that,” Charlie said. “But all that matters is that Ben is here.”

Charlie’s mom started to cry and said, “Ben tried to break out of the car and his mom pulled out a gun and said if I’m dying, you’re dying with me, and shot herself and Ben.”

Charlie started to cry and she said, “How did I see him?”

Charlie’s mom said, “You must have seen his spirit.”

A week went by. Charlie got out of the hospital and started to take therapy. 10 years later she died of depression, and her mom died seven years after that from old age. But the four of them lived happily together in heaven.

Beatrice is in seventh grade. She likes to do mushroom art.

The Reason I Didn’t Get the Good Life

By Cassidy C.

I, Spoingus, am seven years old (in human years). I’m a furless cat and I have a very good sense of smell and taste. I live with Bingus, my brother. I am a full-time house cat. My job is to eat the food and rip the curtains and the couch. I trust whoever feeds me. You can find me in my natural habitat- the house. When my family is gone I watch the mystery crime series Who Did It?! on TV or I stand on two legs and walk to the deli. Why? Because I don’t eat pet brand food. I have something called standards. I mostly chill on the couch and sleep after being lazy. I often enjoy sandwiches, tuna, and deli meats.

As usual, one day I go to the sandwich shop, only to find everything messed up and the glass shattered.

I ask the shop owner what happened as he’s sweeping the glass and the shop owner says, “We’ve been burglarized, and the town’s detective has no interest in taking the case.”

This deli is my favorite, and knowing all eight seasons of Who Did It?! I put my thinking cap and monocle on and start investigating by looking at the grease marks.

I look for every detail and hint I can get, not missing anything, and interrogate the victim like they do in the TV series. I see something that appears to be a cat’s paw print on the glass of the deli’s meat display.

I sniff it, and out of all the cats in town and suspects, I smell one cat in particular––Larry, a supervillain who is infamous for a lot of crimes, one being that he tried to steal the golden nugget (very important to keep peace in the universe). Without it the world would explode. If it’s in the wrong hands (or paws), things can go very bad.

But innocent until proven guilty, so I must investigate and interrogate the town’s cats, about eight total. In this town I start with Mr. Meowskers, and he says he was at home yesterday.

Then with Mr Gingesky. “I was home.”

After interviewing five other cats, I’ve got nothing but the same answer. That leaves me with one house left: Larry’s.

As I walk up to Larry’s doorstep, I hear ravaging and

muffled speaking. I go towards the window and get a glimpse of what looks like Larry grabbing bags, and I see deli meats all over the place. It smells like tuna, caviar, and sandwiches. I am on the other side of town because Larry lives right on the edge of Tunaville and Cat Valley, but the problem is that I have to be back at the house at 6:00 PM because that’s when the family gets home. I knock on the door, and Larry scrambles in place, thinking of a plan.

He hides all of the meats he robbed and answers, “UH, what’s up Spoingus? What brings you to my house?”

“Oh, not much, the Deli just got broken into so I wanted to ask a few questions.

“UH, YEAH, I UH, THAT SOUNDS TERRIBLE, WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING? I don’t have much time today, maybe come back another time?”

As he tries to shut the door on me I push the door open saying, “You don’t have much of a choice…”

He makes a run for it and I follow as we run through the street. I wave down the police and as they speed off to block Larry from running he stops and says, “Okay, you got me, but do you have this?” He pulls out the golden nugget right before my eyes.

“Larry, think smarter. You’re better than this.”

“Oh am I? Remember, I robbed the deli this morning. I’m a supervillain unlike you weak, lazy, couch-loving Spoingus.” He laughs, then I hear FIRE! and see the officer grab the nugget from his paws. Larry punches the cop. Another officer shoots tear gas, tases him, and deploys a net over him.

“YOU ARE NOW UNDER ARREST, LARRY.”

As Larry gets put into the cop car, Officer Joe says, “You’re welcome to join our detective unit.”

I take off my monocle and call it. “Case solved.” Meanwhile Larry is yelling, “THIS ISN’T THE END! I WILL GET MY REVENGE SOON!”

I walk my way back home and Larry parts ways to the Tunaville county prison. Later in the night I sit eating dinner at 5:40 PM, my tuna sandwich. I get a call from the police station saying, “Larry broke out of prison but we will do our best to look. Sorry about that.” Then I look out my window and I see Larry.

Larry breaks my window and says, “You are the reason I didn’t get the Good Life.”

Larry and I both used to be in the Cat Valley adoption center and, well, Larry wasn’t treated the best. When people adopted him he was always trouble, and was always into something bad. Basically no one wanted Larry, but one day a family came looking for a cat and when they saw Larry they liked him. As he was about to get adopted, the family saw my brother and I, and they wanted to adopt us instead of Larry. He was mad and that was the last time I saw him for a long time. Eventually he grew out of the adoption center and lived on the streets for a while. While it was tough, he got around. Being a criminal, he would typically rob people out of a high end pasta restaurant, and that’s how he got around most of the time. He has a history of crimes including the golden nugget incident––though it’s clear he replaced the legit one with a counterfeit because he had the real one before we arrested him. I always felt bad for Larry because he never really found a good home, but that just doesn’t justify what he’s done.

He climbs through my shattered window with an evil glare in his eyes. If I don’t act fast I’ll be as good as rotten tuna. I tell him to get back but he doesn’t listen. I go for a knife and as he tries to claw me, I stab Larry. “Larry,” I say, “you took it way too far.” As he lays on the ground gasping for air I call the EMTs and they presume him dead.

But later, as Larry is about to be buried, one person opens the coffin and sees it empty.

Cassidy is in 10th grade. He is a fingerboarder from West L.A. who runs a fingerboard shop and skates. He enjoys surfing, racing go karts, RC cars, and music production.

Silvia’s Silver

By Jackelyn Arellano

It was a sunny afternoon in the middle of a forest, where Loreal was exploring a river. Loreal suddenly tripped as she was admiring the mountains behind her. “Yeowch!” Loreal groaned. As she slowly opened her eyes, right beside her was the head of a skeleton. She screamed, her heart pounding. She quickly backed away from the skull.

Her hand reached for her phone that was inside her backpack. It felt like she was losing air just knowing a dead body was right in front of her.

Loreal sat far away from the skeleton. “Who are you?” she whispered. By the time the Boston Police arrived it was dark. After a long time searching the forest, the police decided to take in Loreal and the skeleton for further investigation.

Back at the police station one of the officers questioned Loreal. “So you’re sure you didn’t see or hear anything in the forest?” Loreal slouched in her seat, her mind racing with different thoughts. What happened at the river? Who is this? “Ma’am?” the officer placed a hand on Loreal’s shoulder.

Loreal blinked and looked up, “Sorry… Um, yeah, no, I didn’t hear anything strange.”

The officer let out a heavy sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back on the table. “Well we can’t solve this mystery. You can go home now.” The officer opened the door. As Loreal sat up from the chair she frowned, clenching her fist.

“Wait, but can’t you look for more clues? Clearly something happened in that forest… I mean, I could help!” But it was no use, the police had refused to solve this case and were clearly not interested in helping.

Loreal went home that night, and she couldn’t get her mind off the skeleton. It was like the mystery was calling her name. Loreal looked at the ceiling. She let out a sigh and reached for her phone, scrolling for over an hour before she finally decided to go back to the river.

Loreal flashed her light over where the skeleton used to be, seeing a ton of bugs run away. “Gross…” she scoffed. Her eyes then wandered to a silver bracelet on the ground. She squatted down and picked it up, looking at it intensely. She noticed a name carved into the back of it. “Silvia.” The only Silvia that Loreal knew was an old lady who worked at the record store. She knew where to go now. This was her new mission, to find out who the body belonged to.

Early the next morning, Loreal would head over to the record shop.

As she entered the store a small bell rang above her. “COMING!” a voice yelled out. It was Silvia. Silvia walked to the front of the counter carrying massive boxes. “Ah, hello there, what’re you looking for today?” Loreal looked around the store seeing music records dating all the way back to the 1960’s. Loreal smiled, taking one good look at Silivia before speaking.

“Hey, um, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about this bracelet.” She set down the bracelet with Silvia’s name on it. Silvia frowned.

“I haven’t seen that bracelet in over 30 years…” Silivia got quiet, her voice sounded raspier than earlier. “I would wear it everyday when I was young. The last time I ever saw it was when I was camping with my best friend. Of course we had to leave early since she got sick from something.”

Loreal tilted her head, her eyes wandering back to the bracelet. “What happened to her?” Loreal ‘s eyes widened when she heard best friend. She raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. “Do you know where your friend is?” she asked eagerly, thinking she might have just cracked this case.

“Oh no! I haven’t seen her in years, although…” Silvia took a long pause. “Maybe check her family’s farm. I know her brother still lives over there.”

Bingo.

Loreal smiled. She thanked Silvia and ran out to her car. Her next stop would be a farm. It was 5 PM and the sky was dark, almost as if it were about to rain. As she parked her car, Loreal noticed how dead this farm was. Slowly walking towards the big concrete house, she saw that the door was already open. Her stomach flipped. “What am I doing?” As she got to the steps, she

clutched her chest L’oreal’s eyes widened “What is that…?”

To be continued…

Jackelyn A. is an 8th grader who has played three different sports: tennis, basketball, and a bit of badminton.

Hamster Detective: The Case of the Dead Fishes

By Tito O.

Hi. So first I wanna tell you that I’m a hamster. I know most people don’t think that hamsters can talk, let alone write, but I can! Okay, well I’m not a big writing fan, I’m just doing it to get my story out! Before I write my story, I want to tell you who I am. Okay, so first I’m a hamster, like I already said. I don’t have a name––I didn’t know my parents long enough to get one. They died when I was super young. They both died in this freak accident. I don’t wanna get into detail but it’s something to do with being next to a chair and the owner sitting down on the chair and squishing them.

Wait, I forgot to tell you about the pet store we live in. It’s called the SeaRabbit. The store’s called that because it sells fish and rabbits. Well, bunnies, not rabbits, but they’re basically the same thing. The owner is a nice old man. He always wears blue polo shirts and khaki shorts. His hair is greying, but it’s okay because he’s always happy to come into work! He really cares about us, he feeds us––unless he forgets, which he does a lot, and he also always cleans our cages and tanks at the end of each day. He’s always bringing his wife and daughter to the store. His wife doesn’t really spend time with us, usually in there for a couple of minutes and always having to leave as soon as she gets there! Though the time she does spend with us is always splendid. She always feeds us when she comes, and she also stares at us, not in an uncomfortable way, but in a caring way like she understands us and cares about us in her own way. With me she picks me up and starts to pet me with her index finger. I love her rubs. She normally needs the owner or their daughter to help her move around, usually limping as she walks. When she leaves, the owner follows her, leaving their daughter here to keep us company. Of course he leaves at night to go home and sleep and such, and when that time comes around she’s not here. But when his daughter’s here it’s always a treat because she gives us extra care! She’s always walking around and checking in on us, instead of just sitting at the counter. When she is sitting, she usually brings one of us to the counter, and either plays with us or just pets us as we fall asleep on her lap.

In the store we have three bunnies, 10 fish, two dogs, one cat, and even a snake! The animals are really fun to be around––well, except the snake. She always tries to eat me. It’s getting really annoying at this point. I’m the only hamster that senses my parents’ death. I love talking with the fish. We both have this shared connection with running around our cages, even though they swim instead of running, but they don’t know that. We like to talk about the same topics over and over again, as if they were new and something that we’ve never talked about. That’s what I like about the fish, the way they see the world, like everything is new to them even though they’ve seen it hundreds of times over. Me and the bunnies also share the connection of running around our cages, but the bunnies are always busy. They’re always focusing on their food and hopping around the store, like they have somewhere to be. I always try to catch them to talk to them, but they usually say, “Sorry hamster, but I’m busy today––maybe next time.” The dogs are fun to hang out with too, but they’re so narrow-minded, they only look ahead and never take a second to talk. I would go up to them and ask them about their day and they normally respond with one word: “good.” They’re kind of like the bunnies. They never seem to have the time to talk. The cat’s nice to chat with every once in a while, but he’s always laying down and never really doing anything. I would go up to talk to him, and we would for a bit, but then he would decide that it’s his nap time, and he’d rather go to sleep than chat. I don’t feel like he’s really enjoying his surroundings, and I can’t imagine sleeping both in the day and night! But to him he’s enjoying it, so who am I to judge?

Sorry for getting sidetracked from the main reason I’m writing, but I told you this so you could fully understand what’s going on because I feel you need all this to understand––at least I would. Okay, what happened: I was on my way to talk to the fish like I normally do on a Saturday. Their fish tanks are situated in the very back of the store, not really seen from the counter because they’re covered by the rows of pet food aisles and other pet accessories. They are situated in two different tanks, each having five fish in them. So I go over and we start to talk about the little plastic plants they have in their tank and how pretty it is. Then I heard something new while

we were talking. It was one of their stomachs rumbling. I didn’t even know fish had a stomach since they were so small. The more you know! So I asked them what the matter was, and they told me, “The owner has not fed us in four days!” Another fish piped up and asked me, “Hey, can you go see the other fish in the other tank for us, if we haven’t been fed then they might have not been either!” That conclusion made sense because the second fish tank was further down the aisle and in the very corner of the store.

I went over to the other tank and it was revealed to me that all the fish were all floating upside down. First I thought they were sleeping, but then I really thought about it: “It has to be really uncomfortable sleeping upside down as a fish. It would be like doing a handstand while sleeping.” So I came to the conclusion that they had to be dead! I ran back to the other fish and told them the news.

They said “Oh god… Do you know how it happened?!”

I shook my head because I honestly didn’t know. They had no scratches on them, and they had no injuries. I don’t normally go to their tank because it’s farther away from my cage but one thing I did notice was that they were much skinnier than usual. So I told that to the fish and they looked around at each other whispering.

One gasped and then turned over to me and asked me, “Hey, can you go see their food can? The last time we ate, he had to open a new can, and usually when we run out they run out because we get fed the same amount. If it’s near the top then it means they haven’t eaten in a while.”

It made sense: if they hadn’t eaten in a while, it would explain why they looked skinnier than I remembered. So I went back to their tank, and the fish told me their food would be in a little can on the top of their tank. So I climbed my way to the top of the tank, trying to not smell any of the dead fish, and found their food. I pushed open the lid and found the food to be nearly full! So they had starved to death. Now the real question was how had they gone this long without being fed by the owner. I went over to the fish to give them the news and they all started to freak out.

One of them pleaded with me, asking, “Can you give us some food before we end up like them?” So I quickly got up to the top of the cage and pushed the can in the tank. The whole can fell in and the fish looked at it like they’d just hit the jackpot. I walked back

to my cage wondering how the owner could forget. I mean, yes, he does forget every once in a while, but never long enough to kill us!

So I decided I’d go talk to the bunnies and see what they had to say.

The bunnies said, “Thank you for telling us but we don’t know what you want us to do about it. We don’t have the time right now to worry about that.”

I try to explain to them that if he’d forgotten to feed one of us for that long, then it could happen to any of us. They told me, “Don’t worry, hamster. You should be like us and worry about more important things, like the time you spend on things.”

To be continued…

Santiago “Tito” O. is a senior in high school. He is an aspiring filmmaker and a photographer. He’s currently watching movies and writing screenplays.

Fraudmaxxed

By Joel W.

“Hey, I’m Kay and I am going to bring down the people who lie about their glow up.”

Shoot, I keep messing up the lines. I get on my phone because I might be practicing at a different time. As I scroll I see someone lying about maximizing their looks, and I hate them… I hate the people who would lie and deceive to fabricate a reality that isn’t true.

The public just takes his lies like foolish people. They believe everything he says like uneducated idiots. They believe he achieved his look naturally. But I don’t think––no, I know he did it through surgery. Not only is that foul individual using surgery, but he also lied about it and he is trying to make the public follow fake tutorials and steps to achieve a better look naturally, and what he yaps about is not true. The public has not caught on to his lie, because they are blinded by their hopes that if they follow his doctrine they will be able to look better. But he is making people follow rules and rubrics that are not just inefficient but biologically backwards. He is fraudmaxxing and I absolutely despise him.

Specifically Blank––he has made countless videos about how you can change the depth of your eye or change your bone structure. The thing is, you can’t change your bone structure. Specifically not by massaging it, but he is telling his community it works. That is how Blank is going to lie to the media, and since improving your looks has gone mainstream, it’s giving people like him an opportunity to capitalize, especially to scam, and I will uncover his lies, starting with his social media. I grab my phone and sit down. When I open my phone I go to Blank’s page and start scrolling. As I scroll through my phone to find any kind of evidence I see that he has a video of him when he was young. In the picture he looks around sixteen. As I watch the video I take notes. I take notes on how his nose is shaped, on how his eyes look, his jawline, and his overall face structure. Then I keep scrolling down, unfortunately finding no other videos of himself when he was younger. I keep looking and finding nothing. I go onto one of his second accounts and still find nothing. Even though I

only have one clue it might be enough. After making sure I’ve missed no details, I study his face in the video I saw, then onto the next part of my plan: his “transformation,” or should I say his surgery.

This is an important role to play because society believes if you lie once then you were never telling the truth in the first place. In other words society thinks if you lied once then you are lying about everything, and I will use this against baby. I will show he was lying about his transformation and then convince the public to stop following his “glow up tutorials.” Because then they won’t be able to glow up. As I compare his before and after pictures I see his nose has a noticeable difference in the before picture than the after picture. In my head I know I’ve got him. I know I’ve trapped him in a corner and he doesn’t even realise. But that’s about to change.

I gather up my evidence, getting ready to confront him. Then I do it… I send him a direct message to his social media account.

I say “Hey Blank, I know your secret. I know you got surgery on your nose, and I know that you are telling the public that it is not true.” Then I wait. It feels like endless days and endless nights till I get a response, but then… I get it. As I slowly open my messages I see it.

He’s sent a message… a message saying that he already posted videos regarding his nose… lying about his nose. I sit there distraught thinking that I’m going insane. I could’ve sworn I checked all of his videos. But then I see the one video I missed––I skipped the video of his younger self. The one video that I got my notes from. Then it hits me, I only remember looking at that video about his nose for clues. I didn’t fully watch the video. Then he sends me another message saying that of course he would cover his tracks.

Blank intentionally covered his lies up with more lies… It is over. The clue I had is now irrelevant. I feel a weird sensation of opening my eyes. I feel as if I can see through my eyes, and as though I’m actually back in my own body. Then I grab my phone which is right next to me and check my messages from Blank. He tells me to go “look at the nose,” and as I sit watching the video I realize he confessed… No, he didn’t confess to his lies, he just never lied in the first place. It all came to me when I was dreaming. I’m that committed to the goal of exposing the people who lie about their

transformation. Am I so concerned about my goal? Is it really a goal or is it an obsession? I thought before my whole life changed. To be continued…

Joel W. is a student going into the 9th grade who has travelled internationally more than three times. Something Joel loves to do is playing a game called Minecraft.

The Python

By Wallace W.

My origin? Well that’s an interesting question. I guess it began on May 28, 1999 in Orlando when I was 10 years old. It was the opening of a new and revolutionary theme park that had me jumping out of my shoes. I begged my parents to take me, but they said no. I kept asking for weeks and weeks if I could go, not taking no as an answer, and finally they said yes.

I knew everything about the park from the delicious food you would find at the themed restaurants to the thrilling, top notch rides. I wanted to do the most heart-pounding rollercoaster there, the Python. We got in line, my heart pounding more and more. Then we were finally at the boarding station when I saw a shadowy figure tearing apart wires in a control box. But in the blink of an eye the figure was gone. I thought maybe it was my imagination. I got on the ride and we launched off but then the seat belts, which felt secure, flew off. I had quick reflexes and grabbed on as tight as I could, but everyone else in the vehicle fell out. I reached my hands to my parents, but my hands were so sweaty they couldn’t grab on. I shouted out to them, but it seemed everything went silent as I heard the sickening splash of their bodies on the ground. That’s when I heard a maniacal laugh and saw the shadowy figure again, but just for a second. When the vehicle came back to the loading station a swarm of people asked me if I was okay, but even though I’d had a near death experience, I was only interested in finding out who killed my parents, thinking about the shadowy figure, thinking of a way to find him. After that I lived on odd jobs, while I never stopped looking for the person who killed my parents.

In a small town in Oregon there was a dock where our story takes place. The dock was flooded, and it looked like it could break at any point. The rain was pouring down. Thunder and lightning illuminated a group of people on the dock carrying a large box onto a speedboat that looked like it wouldn’t last much longer in the storm. One of them said, “Hurry and get it onto the boat.” Suddenly the box fell open and a round pearl fell out.

One of the masked people noticed and said, “It fell out, we need to grab it!”

“Start the engine, I’ll grab it!”

The masked person ran for the pearl when the dock started to crack. The weakened dock broke and the masked figure fell under, saying, “Help me!”

As the figure fell underwater holding the pearl, the two other people knew they needed to go. They left their comrade behind as they sped away. After the storm had passed they came back and searched for the pearl. They found the body of their comrade drowned, but could not find the pearl. They felt sadness that their friend had died, but mostly they were disappointed that they could not find the pearl.

Deep in thought while they were walking, they both realized that someone must have seen them with the pearl and retrieved it after the storm. They realized that they needed a private eye to help retrieve it. Of course they went to the best one in the city, Grey Johnson.

My door swung open, and two tall shady looking figures entered. I’d seen their type before. I usually sent them out of the door without a second thought, but they seemed different. They seemed desperate, so I listened to them. Their story intrigued me, and then I heard about a pearl they’d lost. I thought to myself, “Could they be talking about the bane pearl from the adventure tale?”

Curious, I asked them to describe it, and it matched the description from the story my parents read to me when I was young. They must not have known it was valuable, so I told them its value.

They said “We were going to sell it, but we didn’t know it was that valuable.”

I asked, “Where did you get it from?”

To be continued…

Wallace W. is in seventh grade. He likes to design theme park rides and attractions. He also likes to read manga.

Through the Glass

By Noe A.

There was a detective named Jim Cooper who loved snakes and hated ice cream. He didn’t like dark humor because he was very, very nice. He was always nice to everyone. It didn’t matter the situation––you could be mean to him, you could hit, and he wouldn’t even flinch.

He was on to this huge crime scene with Officer Bob Fred Johnson III. When they arrived, they got their weapons out because the criminals were there, hiding four bodies and breaking many laws in the process, one of their crimes being MURDER. Detective Jim Cooper and Officer Bob and whatever else his name was came out of their super high-end, high-tech car and arrested the criminals. They were later identified as Liam and OLIVIA; she was the most wanted person on the face of the earth. And guess who caught her: Jim Cooper and Bob Fred Johnson III.

Jim went into a room to talk to Olivia and even to her he was very nice and agreeable. When Olivia said, ‘’I hate everyone and everything and I hate you the most,’’ even though she was being very mean and immature, Jim Cooper was still being super duper nice. On the other hand, Officer Bob Fred Johnson III was being very mean with Liam and even smashed him through the glass that didn’t shatter because Liam was being really nice, and Officer Bob Fred Johnson III hated nice people because they liked everything. Then Olivia jumped through the window, down two floors, and ran to the gate that she ended up jumping over because she couldn’t get it to open.

To be continued …

Noe A. is 12 years old. He is going into the seventh grade and he LOVES ice cream and he also hates snakes.

The Day I Went for a Walk

By Jesus A.

l went for a walk in the city and there was a statue in front of an office building. A mysterious statue. It had never been there before. It was a large, silver lion. The funny thing was only some people, like me, were looking at it. The lion looked angry. Its mouth was wide open, and I could see its sharp teeth. It stood there with its feet raised and its paws in the air. The lion’s eyes were orange and black, and it looked like it wanted to eat me. I was afraid of the animal, it was moving a little, like an egg about to hatch… but then I remembered that it was only a statue.

To be continued…

The Montgomery Mansion Perished People

By Adella Q.

This story begins with a young woman named Cherry who admired Enola Holmes. She wished as a girl to one day be just like her. Her dream vanished as the years went by. She forgot about it, then one day as her mom was laying in the hospital bed, her mom reminded her about it.

She said, “Please do one thing for me, do what makes you happy.” Cherry knew her mom was getting worse and worse everyday. As Cherry looked at her mom with a soft smile and tears running down, she noticed her mom had closed her eyes. Then she noticed she wasn’t moving at all. Cherry shook her hard but she still didn’t move. She called the doctor and nurses for help but sadly the doctor announced that she had died.

Cherry cried for days. But when her mom had said to do something that made her happy, she remembered that she had wanted to be a detective. So with the little money she had she started a small detective business.

She noticed that her spirits were better and she seemed to be in a better mood too. The first week no one came. The second week no one came. Cherry started to wonder if her detective business was a good idea, because she was running out of money. She went to bed that night and cried, prayed, and questioned her decision. After a sleepless night, she decided to close the detective business.

As she was putting up the closing sign on her door the next morning, a middle-aged woman came running up to Cherry. Cherry noticed her immediately because of her fast walking and the clunking sound of her heels. Then she shouted, “ARE YOU A DETECTIVE?”

“Um, yes ma’am, I am. Do you need anything?” Cherry looked nervously at the lady.

“OH THANK GOODNESS I REALLY NEED YOUR––Sorry, I should probably stop shouting,” the lady said.

“Yes, maybe you should,” Cherry said.

“Anyway, I need your help immediately,” said the lady.

“Really?!” Cherry said in excitement because it was the first

time someone had asked for her help. “Ok, what do you need?”

“Well, I own a big mansion. It’s on Montgomery Street so I call it the Montgomery Mansion. It’s very beautiful, but that is not the point. The point is that it is so big that I have many servants, maids, and chefs to help keep the mansion in good condition. As you can see, I am very rich, but something terribly concerning keeps happening each day, and I have tried the police but everytime I call them they say there is not enough evidence, and I am starting to get worried and––”

“STOP, please,” Cherry screamed. “First tell me what is going on.”

“Oh, okay, sorry. Let me explain this shortly. Everyday, one of my maids, servants, or chefs dies mysteriously, and everyday I find one of them on the floor. Please, you have to help me, you’re the only detective in the city that’s left.”

“Wait, what do you mean that’s left? ” Cherry said in a questioning tone.

“Well, you see, every time I hire a detective to come to my house and investigate, they all die. So that’s why there are no more detectives left in the city,” the lady said in a quiet voice.

“WHAT?” Cherry shouted.

“I know it’s a dangerous case. If you don’t want to take it, I understand.”

Cherry thought about it for a few seconds then said, “Please tell me your name and phone number and I’ll get back to you tomorrow.”

Without questioning, the lady said, “My name is Ms. MaryJane.” Then Ms. Mary-Jane gave Cherry her number. “Oh, by the way, what’s your name young lady?”

“Oh, my name is Cherry Parker.”

“Oh, what a wonderful name! See you tomorrow, and please consider my offer.” Ms. Mary-Jane walked off into the distance.

That night when Cherry got home she thought about the case. She knew it was a dangerous one, especially since many people and detectives had already died. Cherry didn’t want to risk her life, but money was tight and she didn’t want to go back to the sad life of a barista, so she decided to take the case. She named it “The Case of the Montgomery Mansion Perished People.”

Cherry knew that this case would get her recognition if she solved it, and tons of money too, which she needed. So the next morning, she called Ms. Mary-Jane to tell her that she would take the case. Ms. Mary-Jane was ecstatic. As Cherry drove to her house, she kept one thing in her mind the whole way: “Don’t die.”

When she got to the Montgomery Mansion it was the most beautiful place Cherry had ever seen. The yard was green and crisp and the house looked like heaven. Right outside was Ms. Mary-Jane. She ran to go hug Cherry. “Thank you so much, Cherry! You’re my last hope. This is my husband Mr. Henry.”

“Hello, Mr. Henry,” Cherry said. “Well, why don’t I go inside and see if there are any clues or hints that could potentially tell us who the murderer is.”

They all went inside and there was yellow caution tape all around. It seemed like the police had been there many times. Then Ms. Mary-Jane said, “Well this is it, this is our home. The police have taken out many dead bodies, but they are still not sure of the cause.”

“Hmm, that’s not a lot of information that could help me. But do you know who died first?”

Then Mr. Henry explained: “It was definitely our head maid. Her name was Margaret. She led all the maids and servants, and told them what to do and what things needed to be done.”

“Interesting. What time did she die and what day?”

“Well, she died in the middle of supper, so around 7:30 PM. And it was on Friday last week, because on Fridays we let them eat supper with us to celebrate the end of the week.”

Ms. Mary-Jane said with confidence, “It was very shocking because as she sat down to eat, she died right there on her chair.”

Cherry ran to the kitchen without saying anything. She checked everything. She noticed pots, pans, plates, utensils, and food were scattered all over. Then she asked, “What’s with the mess?”

“Well,” said Ms. Mary-Jane, “you see, we asked the rest of the maids, servants, and chefs to stop working here for a few weeks to prevent any more deaths, but because our mansion is so big I haven’t dared try to clean anything.”

To be continued…

Adella Q. is in seventh grade. She loves to act and sing. She also likes to write fantasy, mystery, and drama.

Dirt at the Golden Donut

By Jamison K.

Bob was eating happily and thinking about reading Dog Man, because that was favorite book, when his phone rang. Bob asked who it was, and it was his friend Max. He asked Bob if he could say to him that someone had robbed the Golden Donut, and that he needed to find out who’d robbed it. Bob said in a serious voice he would be there soon.

There were five people who could have done it, and the police said they were not easy to get a word out of. Bob asked where all of them were when the Donut was robbed, and they answered one by one.

Number One said he was working on his broken roof. Number Two said he was out buying snacks. Number Three said he was asleep. Number Four was building something, and Number Five was diving with someone he didn’t know. Bob asked a few more things, like, “What were you doing before it was robbed?” Then he went to the scene and saw something.

There were a lot of broken windows and so much dirt from foot prints. Bob went to look at it and asked if he could look at all five of the people’s shoes. He knew that the robber would know and switch their shoes out, but Bob looked and saw that only one didn’t, and it was Number One. Number Four said he didn’t know Number One, but he might have been lying.

Bob said, “Let me look at the outside camera.” He saw that there was cop car on the tape, so it might have been a cop. But when he looked closely, he saw that it was a fake cop car, so that meant that there was a fake cop there.

Bob looked and saw through the window that the cop’s number was 86, which he knew wasn’t a real cop’s number, so he knew this fake cop had helped Number One. He ran as fast he could but he didn’t make it in time. Number One went to jail with Number Four, but the fake cop got away. Bob swore he would find him one day.

Jamison K. is in sixth grade. He likes to play games like Roblox and Plants vs. Zombies, and he loves pizza and fires. He also loves playing games with his friends and reading Dog Man and that’s all.

Nine Lives

By Jameson V.

They are a cat. They’re evil, but they are becoming nicer. The cat is an orange cat. The cat lost a lot of their memories, and they’re getting the memories back. One of them was that they killed someone. The cat wants to know who they killed.

Jameson V. is an eighth grader. He plays the trumpet. He is writing a book called Shadow Fox.

The School Mysteries

By Sabine S.

I don’t believe what everyone else thinks. I was always different from the others. For example, I always did my math correctly, but I always found out a different way then other people. But I aced all my tests. So I was okay with that. My friends were always kind to me. So I decided to hang out with them this afternoon. But just when math class ended, Mrs. Son asked to talk to me in private. I gave my friends a dreadful look and disappeared into her classroom.

When I asked what this was about she gave me a nervous look. I thought maybe I’d gotten a bad score on my math test or something. But when she told me what she was going to say I thought it was a dream, because she told me something that no other adult had told me.

She said, “Asher, I know you are the smartest one in the class.” I wondered what she was getting at. So I said, “What are you talking about?”

She smiled. “ Listen, I want you to work on this case for me… ” I couldn’t believe my ears. I had never been asked to do a case by an adult. So I said, “Yes, I would love to do a case for you.”

Mrs. Son kept watching me nervously for a while and then said, “I will give you some gold if you do the case. Also, do you mind not telling anyone? The new principal has made it a rule to not talk to students like this.”

Since I really wanted to take the case, I said okay, even though it was a bit suspicious. Then she said that she would give me the information in the coffee shop on the left street after school. So after school I had no choice but to go to the coffee shop. I told my friends that I was going. I said I was sorry, then I texted my mom that I was going to go to the coffee shop with the teacher. She texted straight away as if she knew that I would text that. She said, “Okay, be back at 5:00 PM.”

So I set off into the cold afternoon and when I got to the coffee shop I saw that Mrs. Son was already there. I hurried over to her. Excitement was coursing through my body. When I sat down she looked as though she had not slept in days. I also noticed that her eyes

were really red. Like when my family had to think too hard. I looked up at her and said, “Are you okay Mrs. Son?” She looked at me like I was the strangest thing in the world.

I said, “So, you were going to give me the details on the case.”

After staring a while, Mrs. Son said, “What? I do not remember that I was going to tell you anything.”

I focused very hard and thought of everything that could have happened. Was she lying, losing her memories, or was she just really tired? I didn’t know but I had to find out. I left the coffee shop thinking very hard. But I certainly didn’t care about the gold, I just needed to find out what was going on for myself, even if I wasn’t going to get paid.

I walked home, but when I came in the strangest thing happened. My mom was there. But she was supposed to be back at 5:00 PM. Also, she wasn’t cooking dinner like usual. She’d bought it from the sandwich shop next door, which she usually never did because we don’t have enough money. We usually only eat from a restaurant if it’s someone’s birthday or something like that. But when I asked why she bought dinner instead of making dinner, she didn’t respond. When I took a step closer she turned her head and I saw that her eyes were red like when she thinks so hard that she has red eyes. I’d only seen that once on my mother––when my father died, and she was thinking very hard while she was crying her eyes out. I thought that was a bit suspicious but I didn’t say anything.

Just then my little sister Rose walked in wearing a pink bow and said, “Oh, hi Asher. I was just upstairs figuring out if I should wear my pink bow or my blue bow. But of course I chose pink.”

But I wasn’t dumb. I noticed something a bit odd. Rose’s eyes were super red like our mother’s, which only happened in this family if they were thinking very hard. It never happened to me because I was always really smart and never needed to think too hard. That’s because my dad had been one of the smartest people in the world. I got my intelligence from him. I thought that my family must be thinking very hard about something. I wondered what they were thinking about. They were being very suspicious. I had never seen red eyes on my sister. I told them that I was going to go to my room. In my room I was thinking, what could possibly make Rose think this hard? Rose was also pretty smart, but not as smart as me

of course. But she was really smart and got pretty good grades. So that left me thinking: What was my family thinking about? But I couldn’t think of anything except that maybe somehow the principal dying, my teacher possibly losing her memories, and my family were somehow connected. So I got my case and started writing down all the stuff I knew about this case. I knew that the principal had died, the teacher had possibly lost her memory, and my family was acting very suspicious and weird. I thought maybe my family had also lost their memory because later that night they never called for dinner or said goodnight. So I went to bed thinking that they must’ve lost their memory.

The next day I didn’t feel like going to school. So I texted my friends that I wouldn’t be going to school and told them that I would be going to school tomorrow. Surprisingly, my mom didn’t even make me go to school. I actually didn’t see her all morning, which was surprising because she worked at home. I was a bit worried but I thought she must’ve gotten coffee with her friends or something. I stopped myself from worrying too much and I went back to the case. I thought it must not be somebody in the school because nobody had ever been in my house. That’s because I’d just moved to a new house. I’d moved because my sister was getting a new puppy, so we needed the space (she’s in love with dogs). She had already named her puppy Sal. But Sal was a golden retriever, so she was really big. Sal had her own room filled with toys that had their heads taken off by Sal. I was in my room thinking about the case, when I got an interesting idea. What if it was my mom that was murdering and removing people’s memories? But my mom would never do that. So I thought that someone had probably hypnotized her and made her do these murders. Or she could have done it herself for some reason. I knew my mom. She sometimes did bad things if a person was rude or took something from her. Like one time the manager of Target said that she had to pay an extra five dollars because she didn’t like her. Mom said no and she went out of Target. But she came back with a fake dollar bill, ripped it, then shoved the bits of paper into her hands so she had to clean it.

But surely all these people would have done bad things. Right? I thought for a moment. My brain was swimming with thoughts. Then I had it! The principal must have taken something

from mom. Then the teacher knew she killed her, so mom brainwashed her, then Rose got a bit suspicious about why mom came to pick her up from kindergarten so early––because usually her friend’s mom picked her up. So my mom brainwashed her own daughter without knowing it.

I sank into my bed and started calling my mom to see if she was okay. But she never answered. I started to worry. What if she was being attacked right this second? I packed my bag. I was ready for a long journey. I went out the door and started looking for any clue that she was still alive. What if both of them had been taken yesterday? So I went to the police station.

To be continued…

Sabine S. is going into fourth grade. She loves to read long books like Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. She gets very nervous when everybody is staring at her, and also loves to write. But her hands hurt when she writes a lot. She likes to do art and read a lot in her free time. She also loves watching TV shows.

The Girl with Big Curiosity

By Jocelyn R.

This detective has a sense of humor, can be moody, and thinks fast right away. Renesmee Jones at your service, granddaughter of Georgia Jones. An 18-year-old teenage girl that is also organized, has solved many mystery cases, and is about to be an adult soon.

Ever since she was little, Renesmee has always been curious about the world, sometimes about herself and her family. She is inspired to solve mysteries by her grandmother because of all the movies she was in. One of Georgia’s most famous cases (which she solved) was who was behind the mask of Jack the Ripper.

After all the investigations Renesmee has done over the past 18 years, she’s realized that she doesn’t need anybody’s help with the cases. But that all changes when Renesmee has a thought she was supposed to think long ago… What happened to the box of toys she had? She thinks hard about it, making her realize that she should have answered this question already.

To be continued…

Jocelyn R. is going to be a senior soon. She likes to do grid drawings for art. She likes to read poetry books, watch romantic comedy movies, and shows as well. She doesn’t think she’s really good at making up stories, but she tries to be as creative with them as she can.

A Billion-Dollar Break

By Rian E.

Detective:

The detective in this story is 35 years old and she is a woman. Her name is Lila. She is an extrovert and loves making friends and talking to people. She is really smart and she loves Asian food. She is Japanese and she is really funny. She is also very interesting––she thinks about things in a way nobody thinks about. She usually lives in Japan, but she came to live in America to solve murder mysteries. The time is 2025. She likes to travel around the world when she is not solving mysteries, and she also likes to try new food. She trusts and relies on her sister Sophia.

Why She Became a Detective:

I was five when it happened. That day everything changed. I was standing on the playground, next to the slide, waving at my mom. She waved back. She was smiling. The light turned green and she walked across the street, coming towards me. Suddenly a black truck came driving towards her. My mom was still coming towards me, with a big smile on her face. I was shouting at her to come quickly. Then, everything went wrong. The truck drove over her.

It was a hit and run. Back then there were not many security cameras around the area we were living in. The police couldn’t find a trace of the black truck that destroyed everything. I was too young to understand what was happening but I knew one thing: The black truck had taken my mom away. The only family member I had left was my dad. From that day on, I decided to never let anyone take away anyone else’s loved ones.

The Crime:

The crime that happened in LA was big. It was the murder trial of the heir of a billion-dollar business. This business was a family empire making billions of dollars. The current owner was a person named David Lim. The next heir was his daughter named Lily Lim. She had a sister she loved a lot. She was the next heir to the billion-dollar business.

Lily was working on her next project for the company in her office when suddenly a bullet came through the window. There was

a big crash and tiny glass shards flung everywhere, one glass shard scratched lily’s knee leaving a big open wound. She was so shocked. This was where Lila came in. They hired Lila to investigate this situation.

The Suspects:

There were two suspects, maybe more. The first suspect was a man named James, who’d been caught on camera running away in front of Lily’s office. Lila suspected him because he looked shady and had something in his hand that didn’t look clear through the security camera. Lila did a background check on James. James was a librarian at a middle school. He’d gone to a community college and was living alone right now.

The second suspect was a woman named Daniela. Lila suspected her because she’d been sitting on a bench in front of Lily’s office and wearing a black sweater and dark jeans. She had a black trash can that had an object in it but Lila couldn’t tell what it was because the security camera didn’t have good quality. Lila also did a background check on her. She was an office worker at a company called Papple. She’d gone to college at US Community College and was living with her grandmother. Lila followed the both of them around for a couple of months but there was nothing suspicious.

Lily’s

Point of View:

After the incident, I always had bodyguards around me, even in the restrooms. The incident was all over the news and my mom was so worried about me. She requested that she and I should go on a vacation to Hawaii for a month but I refused, knowing that I still had to work on my project for the company. My dad also requested that I take a break from work and relax. I didn’t want to, but he went out of his way to force me into taking a break. I eventually did because my whole family was pleading with me to take some time off. After that I kept on staying home with bodyguards standing outside of my place. There were only family members allowed. I got so bored I started doing ridiculous things like balancing on my head or trying to make edible chocolate for my dog.

To be continued…

Detective Pop (Character Description)

By Alejandro V.

Name: Sponge Pop

Description: He is yellow and a little short, and he is 49 years old. He is trying to find out who robbed the bank for money and a gold bar.

Alejandro V. is going into fifth grade. He likes soccer and he likes to swim.

The Mystery of Art

By Ariana R.

Art is a way to express yourself. Art can tell your feelings.

I think that art is so beautiful. I love art. I can just imagine how beautiful it is. Art makes me feel like myself. To be continued…

Ariana R. is going into sixth grade. She likes scary movies. Her brother taught her how to bike.

Grimble & Christopher

By Yahir R.

A warm afternoon gleams over a nice suburban house. An elderly man sits down as he greets an interviewer with a nervous smile on his face. The interviewer proceeds to ask the old man his name.

“Sorry to ask, but could you please repeat that?”

He chuckles and restates his name. “Henry… Henry Anglo.”

The interviewer asks him a question. “So, Mr. Anglo, I’ve been told you worked on a famous franchise when you were younger. Is that correct?”

He replies, “Yes, I did. I worked on Artie Grimble with my late friend Christopher Thorne.”

“Mr, Anglo, could you please enlighten me on the history of your creation… Artie Grimble, you said?”

He agrees, talking about the beginnings and how they started. “Well, it was during the 1950s, when I was working as an intern for the local newspaper where my father worked. I was 23 around that time. My father worked in illustrations for the Star News, and so they had me clearing ash trays, cleaning their desks, replacing ink cartridges. Later, they were low on staff and they asked me for an idea for a comic that was going to print, something where the writer had left for rights reasons—I don’t remember—and then the publisher came in and started yelling at my boss saying, ‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE LEFT? THE PAPER IS DUE ON FRIDAY. WE NEED A FUNNY PAGE AND WE NEED IT NOW!’ What I pitched right then and there was Tipsy Tiger.”

The interviewer interrupts him. “I’m sorry, Tipsy Tiger?”

He confirms. “Yeah. As I pitched it, the publisher came to me and asked me to elaborate, so I told him, ‘Tipsy is a funny tiger that would do something that would go wrong, such as baking a cake that explodes in his face.’ It was the ‘50s, those types of jokes were fairly new at the time. After the pitch, the publisher told me to get my… you know… in the writers’ room and start writing. I had barely drawn him, so the publisher grabbed a new guy and this new guy was my buddy Christoper.”

The interviewer asks what Christopher’s attitude was like. “Excuse me, Mr. Grimble, may I ask what your interactions were like with Mr. Thorne during those times?”

Henry answers back. “He was very mad at first. He was so red it looked like he was going to blow himself up with his own anger, but he was a professional. After the first strip of Tipsy Tiger came out, we were shocked to see that the paper loved it.”

The interviewer questions Anglo with a single comment. “Really?”

“Really,” he says. “It was flying off the shelves. We ended up writing up several more strips for Tipsy. Chris and I looked at each other pretty dumbfounded to say the least. After work, I invited Chris over for dinner. We ate out at this place called SuperStars. It was a fine dinner, nothing to make a fuss about, but I noticed Chris had a big bag around him. Being curious, I asked him, ‘Hey Chris, would you mind telling me what’s in your bag?’

He said to me, ‘It’s nothing, really.’ So I kept pushing him. He said, ‘It’s just a bunch of dumb sketches I made.’

And I was like, ‘Pal, what are we talking about? Your drawings are freaking great.’

So I kept nagging him until he blew a gasket saying, ‘Fine, gosh, here.’ I saw his drawings and many of them were pretty good but lots had a rejected mark on them.

I was like, ‘What? That doesn’t make sense… Why were you rejected? These are great.’

He told me, ‘I tried to publish my own stories but the companies kept saying that they was crap.’

I asked him, ‘Why don’t you write about superheroes?’

He said, ‘I’m not interested in capes. I never enjoyed the costumed heroes. I more so enjoyed the adventures of Doc Savage.’ When he told me that, I saw some cartoon versions of the Doc. It was kind of usual but it was a fantastic sight.

I asked him, ‘Hey Chris, what is with this cartoon of the Doc?’

He said, ‘It’s not the Doc, it’s a cartoon I drew but I can’t come up with a name. I’ve tried Jack Mawer, Alfred Winster. I can’t crack it.’ At the time I was also trying to make a similar story like Chris and I came up with a name.

I said, ‘What about calling him Artie Grimble?’

He looked at me when I suggested the name and he ended up thinking for a good while before saying, ‘Yeah, I like that.’”

The interviewer asks him to clarify the time period. “So to backtrack, you said this was in the 1950s?”

He confirms. “Yeah. During that time, people had just gotten back from the war. The news kept telling us Russia was gonna spread their communist ideals to the American public, so me and Chris decided to throw our hats in the ring and fight against it in the first strip of Artie Grimble. When we were done, we showed the publisher, but he rejected us, saying, ‘Listen, I hate the commies as much as you do, but this is sensitive to publish. Heck, it nearly got the Legends book canceled when they talked about communism.’

I told him, “Come on, chief, we’ve got a chance to show the American people the strength of democracy and freedom and how we can beat those commies.’ The publisher still wanted to go in a different direction.

‘Listen boys, I’m sorry but you’re out of luck. Please work on something else.’ After leaving his office, I still championed the book.

I remember saying, ‘We can still publish the strip, Chris.’

Chris looked at me like I was a nutcase, saying, ‘How? That was our only chance of getting the comic properly published.’

Then I said, ‘Well let’s get it published ourselves.’ Chris still looked at me like I was being stupid. I said, ‘Come on, Chris. We have to publish, and we can do it in-house.’

Chris was still not convinced, saying, ‘What if we lose our jobs? I can’t drop everything for this book. I still got kids at home to feed.’

I said to him, ‘Trust me, we’ll make more money doing it ourselves than letting somebody else publish it. Besides, it could help feed your kids and then who knows? Maybe they’ll go to college with the cash we get.’ Chris told me that he was in and then we ended up working on the book in secret. Heck, Chris was doodling while making the newest Tipsy Tiger strip.”

The interviewer asks him another question. “So how long did it take you guys to finish it?”

Anglo tells him. “It took us seven months give or take, but we were able to get it copied and published. The hard part was the places to take it. Many libraries and newsstands rejected the book

outright, saying that we were fellas with a downright nutty idea. We kept searching and searching and searching until we both sat down at a bus stop. Chris told me, ‘Henry, this was a stupid idea.’

I told him, ‘Look, you just gotta trust the process.’

He said, “What process?! We’ve been looking for days for someone to take the damn book. I’m tired of waiting around for a dream that will never happen.’

He started to leave so I decided to join him saying, “Alright fine, look, there was a setback. But hey, we could still turn this around.’

Then he spoke to me sarcastically. ‘Oh, please tell me how? How will the book get into the hands of children?’ I looked around and I noticed an unusual store. It was a comic book store. Nowadays they’re everywhere, but before, many people either got their comics from the newsstands or grocery stores. It was a new store that had comics. It was weird really.

I looked at Chris and told him, ‘Here. Here is where we will make it.’ We went inside the store and we talked to the owner and he told us that they had a small stack to sell and we gave him a copy of Artie Grimble and he loved it. Heck, he took most of the books to sell in the store, leaving Chris dumbfounded. I said to Chris after leaving, ‘See what I told you? People like our book. Now we get to swim in cash pretty soon.’

Chris told me, ‘Look, one place buying our book doesn’t do anything. We need to be smart about this.’

I told him, ‘Relax pal, just wait. You’ll see.’

For months we waited and waited for our checks for the book. After we were about to move on, I got a call on my office phone, so I answered it. It was the owner of the store. He said, ‘Do you have more prints of that book?’

I told him, ‘Yeah.’ He proceeded to ask me to give him more copies. I forget how many. I think it was a few hundred copies. But people were liking our book. I rushed to Chris’s department, pulled him from drawing Tipsy Tiger, and told him the good news. I told him, ‘Chris, the book… It’s selling like hotcakes.’ Chris didn’t believe me, but I told him that the owner wanted more copies of the book.”

The interviewer interrupts Anglo. “I’m sorry to backtrack,

but what about your payment with the owner, did he properly pay you two or… ?”

Anglo responds. “Oh right. He gave us a check for a couple thousand, which I split with Chris. Anyway, we printed more copies of the book and we were getting check after check with this book, so I asked Chris, ‘Chris, do you think we should make another Artie Grimble book?’

He told me, ‘No. God no. It nearly got us in trouble. Are you crazy?’ I was able to convince him with the amount of money we got from the check from before, and we got right back to making another one.

After publishing the second one, I was walking around the office until the publisher burst through the door of the editors’ floor and started yelling, ‘WHO’S THE CLOWN? WHO’S THE JOKESTER USING MY SUPPLIES AND MAKING THEIR OWN BOOK?’ I was scared out of my mind so I told him that I did it. He was so mad, madder than you can imagine. He was so mad that I thought he was going to turn into a bull or something and fling me around the office. But he calmed down out of nowhere and said to me, ‘Henry, I was thinking how this could be the start of the Star having its own comic division.’ Of course I told him yes, and I was able to have Chris as my right-hand man. Now Artie Grimble was able to publish monthly. We had a few more artists working on the book. Heck, me and Chris were living the dream life.”

The interviewer then asks Anglo if they ventured to other media. “So Mr. Anglo, I’ve been told that there was other media based on the titular character.”

Anglo replies, “Oh, yeah. I remember the start of Artie’s first toon. I was in my office, reviewing the Artie Grimble story, when I got a call from the publisher telling me to meet him at his office. I went and I saw him and another fat cat sitting down with him. He said, ‘Henry, I want you to meet Rick Turner, owner of Turner Toons.’

I greeted him and shook his hand and the fat cat told me, ‘I’m here to purchase the media rights for your little comic and make it an animated show.’

I told him, ‘Look, I’m not interested. I don’t want to make a deal without Chris.’

The publisher asked the fat cat to go out for a bit and the publisher said, ‘What are you doing? This could be a way to turn your book into gold, and you turn it down for friendship?’

I told him, ‘This isn’t just me. It’s also Chris’s work, and I ain’t trying to do anything without him.’

Right as I was about to storm out the publisher said, ‘Look Henry, I get that friends are valuable to you, but if you let this pass you by, you risk Chris’s job.’

I turned back to him and said, ‘What does that mean?’

He told me, ‘Nothing, if you take this deal.’ I paused, thinking about it. He went on to say, ‘Oh come on, Anglo, what is one cartoonist when you can make millions? Enough to help Chris.’

I had no choice. I told him I would take it. He got the fat cat back in and negotiated a deal stating that we would split a 50% cut, with 10% going to me and Chris and the other 40% going to the publisher. I went home that day feeling guilty, feeling something eating me from inside. I couldn’t sleep. Heck, I couldn’t close my eyes even if I wanted to. I avoided Chris for a while until he took me back to SuperStars. Chris was looking at me all concerned but I tried to ask him about his family.

‘So Chris, how are the kids doing?’

Chris told me, ‘They’re doing fine, Honestly, it has been quite a handful with kids since they keep on fighting, but they are getting along.’

I said, ‘Really! How about that.’

Chris asked me, ‘Are you ok, Henry? You seem as off as a carrot in a butcher shop.’ I reassured him I was fine. After a while we ate and I dropped him home. When I was about to leave. I saw Chris and his family, all hugging each other. I just drove away in a flash, wanting to get away from Chris, from the guilt, from everything.

The next morning, Chris walked into my office and shoved me saying, ‘Where do you get off, huh?’ I got up, trying to explain myself. He goes, ‘You know, when I met you I thought you were a good guy. I thought I could trust you, and what do I see my kids watching on Saturday morning? I can’t believe you would do this, making a secret deal behind my back.’

I tried to get up and then the publisher arrived and decided to handle the situation. Chris yelled at the publisher, saying, ‘I didn’t

approve anything about a cartoon being produced. Why are they using my character without permission?’ The publisher told him, ‘Artie Grimble is property of the STAR Comics Division and in turn STAR Publishing, meaning you own nothing. Only the head of the division can approve use of “your” character, and seeing as you are a work-for-hire employee, you are terminated for assaulting your superior.’

Chris pleaded for his job saying, ‘Please, I have a family.’ Without a beat the publisher said, ‘Well, you should have thought of that before.’ Chris looked at me and left, furious at me, and I didn’t feel anything but more guilt.”

The interviewer questions Anglo. “I’m sorry to hear that. So, what happened with Mr. Thorne?”

Anglo replies, “Well, throughout the 60s and 70s, Chris tried to sue us, first by filing a suit against STAR Publishing, claiming that we infringed on his copyright of Artie Grimble and abused power to make unauthorized content and all that buzz. However, the judge ruled it out due to Chris being on a work-for-hire contract. STAR proceeded to make cartoons, toys, and a terrible film in the 80s. We kept making so many Artie Grimble stories that sometimes we thought about ending it, but the publisher told us to continue the book.”

The interviewer asks Anglo a personal question. “Did you miss him, and did you talk to him again?”

Anglo replies with sadness in his voice. “I did. It was late 2010 when I last saw Chris. I got a call that he was in the hospital. When I came to visit, he was already gone. The doctor told me he had died of kidney failure. Apparently he had been a heavy drinker for a while. I walked out, not knowing if my friend had forgiven me. I retired from STAR a while ago, but Artie Grimble had an animated movie in 2011, and I was invited to the red carpet. I was still thinking about him when I was there.”

Yahir R. is in twelfth grade and enjoys superhero media as well as other fictional media. He is currently doodling up ideas for stories and superheroes.

The Stolen Amaryllis Heirloom

By Zoe B.

The two detectives are an inseparable duo, one for their critical thinking and one for their skill in writing. Wisteria Eveningstar is able to write down each and every thought from Kai and remember smaller details in places or items her partner may not have seen. Kai Mavebrook, on the other hand, is able to think in many different ways that the normal human brain cannot comprehend.

It’s late in December, in the year of ‘82, that Kai and Wisteria encounter a peculiar case that catches their eye. One that they both find quite… interesting. A challenge, I dare say. A case that they will forever remember, one that they can peacefully take to the grave. The cold, windy, winter day takes off with Kai already in his office, organizing files and Wisteria taking notes on a few recent cases.

Ring! Ring!

Wisteria glances at the phone, turning to Kai’s office and yelling down the hallway, “Kai! We have a call, sending them to your line now.”

His eyes shoot towards the ringing telephone on the other side of the room, dark black with white details. Kai drops the files with a thud and runs over to his desk, over the scattered papers of past cases. He picks up the call, answering with “K&W Detective Office. This is Kai Mavebrook speaking.” A light English accent followed his words.

“I am Amelia Amaryllis. I have a report on a missing––er, stolen heirloom! Please take this case, it’s a very important item of our family.” Her tone is slightly rushed and anxious.

“Of course, madam. If you don’t mind, I’d need a bit of information on what is currently going on.”

“Oh,” she pauses for a second. The silence is overbearing and Kai can tell she’s thinking. “Why yes… I do suppose it is necessary for, uhm… right now?”

He responds with a soft hum, waiting for her to continue. The words she speaks he quickly transcribes onto a piece of paper with a black ballpoint pen.

“Today is my eldest son’s 30th birthday. Of all our family

traditions, this one may be the most important: to pass down the necklace worn by my ancestors to the generations that come. You see, the tradition is to pass the necklace down to one of our children––for us, our two children. Only if they are between the ages of 25-30. My daughter is at the age of 26 and, obviously, my son is 30.”

“Mhm… so you have two children and the tradition to pass down an old necklace… correct?”

“Yes, two children.”

Kai ponders for a second. Why did she repeat having only two children and why in that tone? He takes a second, but brushes it off and sputters out a few words, “Ah, yes madam. Two.” He takes a bit to write down a few questions on a separate paper from the information she told him. The first question being: Does she really have only two children?

“Uhm, hello?” the lady calls, impatience filling her tone.

“Right, I apologize for the few minutes of silence. We’ll meet you at the front gate by 11:00 AM sharp.”

The call ends with no response from the woman after his last words. He lets out a deep sigh and places the phone down. Leaning against the table he scans around his dimly lit office, papers scattered against the ground, books half open and inconsistently stacked among the shelves. Thin curtains barely cover the windows, the morning sunlight forcing its way inside. It’s quiet in his office. The only sound is the tapping of his foot and the faint footsteps from Wisteria in the hallway.

Knock, knock. A gentle tap against his door followed by a familiar voice: “May I come in? Kai?”

He clears his throat and speaks up, turning his back to the door to face the curtain-covered windowsill. “No need to be so formal, Wisteria. But yeah, you can come in.”

She opens the door, cracking it open just slightly first then pushing it to the side as she takes a step in. “What’s the case?”

“Notes are on my desk.”

“Ah… right,” she walks over, stepping over the carefully written papers, hoping not to ruin a page with her dirty footprints. Her hands pick up and hold the papers near the telephone and the edge of his dark and wooden desk. Wisteria reads each word, her eyes gliding across the paper, reading what she can in Kai’s quite

messy handwriting. She chuckles, “You know, you’re lucky I can read your handwriting.”

Kai just lets out a slight huff, his eyes tracing along each feature on Wisteria’s face. His dark brown meeting with her gray eyes. “And you’re lucky you’re my best friend… or else I would have gotten tired of your teasing by this time.” She just laughs in response and Kai just scoffs. “Let’s go. We’re gonna need all the time we can possibly get.”

Wisteria nods and grabs her empty brown messenger bag, filling it with a few notepads and a pencil. The notepads each have a different purpose: one for sketches, one for notes and one for specific clues. Each time a new case starts, she titles it something that seems most fitting. She doesn’t know what to title this one just yet, but she knows that it’ll come to her sooner or later. She lifts up her bag, hanging it on her left shoulder, crossing over her body to swing against her right leg. Her hands follow in a movement to tie her long hazel-caramel colored hair into a high bun that sits right on the back of her head, sticking a light brown 4B pencil between the bottom of her tied hair and head.

Kai glances over at her for a split second, watching her pack her things into the bag she wears quite everywhere. He takes his solid black trench coat off his wooden chair and slips it on, stuffing a couple items into its pockets. A magnifying glass with a carved wooden handle. A black pen with golden details along parts of the metal. A pair of dark brown leather gloves and a small notepad. He takes a nice long look at his brown plaid detective hat before lifting it off the stand and placing it on the top of his head, covering most of his solid black hair. His hands swipe at the half empty cup of coffee on the edge of his desk, bringing the cup to his lips and downing all of it within a couple seconds.

Kai lets out a slight sigh before mumbling to himself, “Alright. Let’s do this.” He throws the cup into the small trash can as he walks past the doorway. His eyes meet with Wisteria already waiting for him by the front door. His footsteps land with soft thuds as he walks down the creaky wooden stairs, his trench coat gliding behind him after each step he takes.

The two push the door open and a light breeze is the first thing they feel. Kai holds onto his hat as they walk down the street

to catch a taxi. In the next few minutes, the two are driven to the Amaryllis household, presented with a large iron gate with tall hedges guarding the mansion within. Kai pushes the gates open, a loud SQUEAK alarming the family as the gates open. A cobblestone path leads past a garden and a marble water fountain to the front doors of their client’s abode.

They walk through their front lawn on top of the pathway, letting it guide them to their location. Wisteria knocks on the door, waiting for someone to let them in. The door is opened by a girl who looks about the same age as them.

“Ah, I suppose you’re the youngest sibling?” questions Kai.

She smiles, responding with a soft tone, “Ah… technically middle child, by just a few seconds.”

Kai tilts his head. The same reaction from Wisteria. So there are more than two children. Why would their mother even lie about that? “Pardon? How many siblings do you have?”

“Two. One older by 4 years and one younger by a couple seconds.”

“A couple seconds?” asked Wisteria, “So a twin?”

“Correct.”

Kai and Wisteria look at each other, obviously thinking about the question Kai wrote down. Does she really have only two children? At the same time, they look back at the girl. Kai speaks up, “Uhm…may we come in? We were hired to help figure out the missing heirloom.”

“Oh––oh yeah. Come in.” She takes a step aside to make space for them to walk in. They take their first couple steps inside, listening to the door closing behind them. “The living room is here, on the left. Just follow me.” They nod and follow close behind.

In the living room, she points at a solid white couch behind a glass coffee table. Wisteria and Kai both sit down, slightly sinking in. Every item in the living room is mostly white––the fluffy rug, couch pillows and even the walls. It’s a calm color, and helps them focus quite nicely.

“We have to interview everyone in the household. Just a few questions. If it’s alright, can we start off with you?” Kai leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.

“Oh yeah, sure.”

He nods and starts off with his short questions, “We need you to be completely honest and state everything we ask you to. Okay?” She nods, a signal that makes Kai continue. “What is your name?”

“Michiko”

“Okay…” Wisteria writes down her answers after each question.

“What is your role in this household?”

“Uh… one of the twins or the middle child.”

“Mhm… ’kay. Where were you last night?”

“By 10:30 PM I was in the garden, listening to the night wind and watching the clouds push through the dark blue sky. I was sitting on a stone bench, a book in my hand, one about butterflies. I think I went back inside about an hour later.”

“Mhm… did you see anything suspicious or out of the ordinary once you came back in?”

“Oh… I did see the light in the library on. Usually no one is there this late but I figured it was just my father out late studying again, so I didn’t bother to check on it.”

“Well… can you show us the library?”

“Yeah… come this way.”

They stand up, an indent in the couch showing where they just sat. She walks them out of the living room and leads them down the long hallways, decorated with plaques and metals, holding the names of the eldest son, father and supposedly older family members. They stop at two large doors located at the left of the hallway; Michiko turns around to look at Kai and Wisteria. She points at the wooden sign that has LIBRARY engraved on it, traced with gold. The two detectives nod in response, watching as she pushes the doors open with both hands. They all take a few steps forward before walking into the room that should be the most helpful to them out of the whole house.

The library is larger than they expected––bookshelves crowd the far ends of the walls and the left side of the room. Framed newspapers, pictures and a couple metals hang against the right side. A wooden desk is on the right, next to a glass display case. Scattered papers lay flat against the table, a banker’s lamp and a pencil holder against the edge of the table closest to the wall. The centerpiece of

it all is the glass art on the large window at the farthest end of the room. The fine little details compared to the bigger pieces of stained glass combine to show off a dragon.

The more Kai wanders around the room, the more impressed he becomes. He mumbles without knowing the words have slipped past his lips. “Whoa…”

Wisteria turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow and questions the whoa he just sputtered. Then turns to Michiko, stating, “He’s really not that easy to impress, but this spot seems to be doing a pretty fine job.”

Michiko just smiles and nods after listening to her before turning around and walking over to a bookshelf, scanning for a book.

“She really is quiet, huh…she’s really nice though––compared to the rest of her family,” thought Wisteria. Her opinions are most likely shared thoughts or feelings with Kai, she can tell. She spots the glass display case next to the desk and decides to examine it. It’s filled with more newspapers and a couple trophies, although something catches her eye. A closed, hard-covered book laid on the bottom of the inside of the case. The thoughts whirling through her head disappear the moment Kai calls out to her.

“Wisteria, come over here…”

She looks over at him and jogs over, crossing the well polished wooden flooring to be by his side, “What’s up?”

He points at a newspaper in a dark brown wooden frame hung up on the wall, “There are only two things highlighted on here.”

Wisteria looks at the newspaper, scanning for the highlighted parts, “Page… 56?”

“What do you think it’s for?” questions Kai, fumbling with his hat.

“Uhm,” she pauses for a moment, wondering if this is possibly a clue. “We have to find a book, don’t we? Then, uh, see if there’s anything on Page 56.”

“How are we even supposed to do that? This is a library, Wisteria. There are thousands of books.”

“Then we’d better get to work, wouldn’t you say?”

He sighs, pointing at the wall with the entering doorway, “We’ll start on the side we entered from. I’ll go from the right, you go from the left. Okay?”

She nods and walks over to her side of the room while Kai does the same. Michiko just sits on a leather couch, reading a book and occasionally glancing up at them.

About 30 minutes later they’ve checked about half of the books in their assigned sections. They start to think it’s unnecessary to pull a book out, flip to page 56, find nothing, put it back into the shelf, and repeat. Kai is getting tired, so he calls out to Wisteria, “Wisteria, this is the stupidest thing we have ever done in our time as detectives. There can’t possibly be an answer in the books that seem normal. Have you seen any other books that are separate from the rest?”

“Uhm,” she thinks for a second, “I don’t think––” Then it clicks. She grabs one of her notepads and looks through her notes. She catches a glimpse of the book in the display case, “Yeah… actually I have… and I just remembered that it was tagged with the words PAGE 56…”

Kai is confused, tilting his head and responding with a single, “What?”

She sighs, telling him to follow her lead and jogging back to the glass case. She crouches down and nods towards the book on the bottom shelf. There on the spine of the book, written with a thick black marker, was ‘PAGE 56 ’.

“You couldn’t have told me about this 30 minutes ago?” His tone clearly shows a little bit of annoyance.

“Okay okay, my bad. Sorry.”

Kai shakes his head and looks at the book, mumbling to himself, “How are we supposed to get you out…” the display case is locked so they need a key.

Michiko is so quiet that she’s able to back behind them without any sound and overhear Kai. She responds with, “Check the drawer that’s attached under the desk. It’s a reasonable spot to put the key.”

Wisteria jumps at the sound of her voice and Kai is his usual unfazed self.

“JESUS,” Wisteria says. “You scared me.”

“My bad.”

Kai stands up and walks to the desk, opening the drawer and rustling through the papers and envelopes. In the bottom corner

is a key. His hands wrap around it as fast as when he grabbed the coffee off his desk. Then he stands up, walking over to them and pressing the key against the keyhole. It doesn’t fit.

Kai is a bit shocked it doesn’t work. “What––” he puts the key back on the table as Wisteria sits against the wall. He looks around a bit before tripping on his shoe lace and falling. Both of the girls laugh at him, which annoys him. “Shut it.” Right before he’s about to sit up, he notices something reflecting under the glass case. He stands up and moves the display case, revealing a key, one that looks like it might fit the hole. He holds it up and smirks, glancing at Wisteria and Michiki.

The key is golden with a clover shaped top. Three small white gems shaped like diamonds fit the holes. It shined in the light just like when the sun shines through a window with water droplets. “Who’s laughing now? Hm?”

Wisteria rolls her eyes. “Okay, whatever. Don’t get all snotty now.”

“I’m just saying–”

“Hurry up and just unlock it.”

“Okay okay, sorry.”

He inserts the key, turning it and unlocking the case with a small click. The front of the case opens and he reaches for the book, picking it up and placing it onto the desk next to him. He opens the book to page 56 and encounters something that looks like a blackout poem. His eyes glide over the page, reading the words that aren’t covered.

He reads it out loud, his eyes transferring from one line to the next. “When the… sun… is setting… trace your steps… from the… beaming… red… then your… answer… is… right ahead.”

“What?” Michiko tilts her head, looking at the page from over his shoulder.

He repeats it, “When the sun is setting, trace your steps, from the beaming red, then your answer… is right ahead?”

Wisteria stands up and looks at the page over his other shoulder, then turns around, glancing around the room. The first thing that comes to mind is the sun shining through the window––the stained glass window.

“Hm…” she mumbles to herself, walking over to the window

and looking up at it, trying to notice any small detail that someone may not notice. “When the sun is setting, trace your steps, from the beaming red…” Then she thinks, “Red… the sun shines through the window, at the perfect angle… the light must shine to project a blurred replica on the floor. Wait. The dragon’s eyes are red.” Her eyes widen and she turns to Kai, calling out, “Kai! What time is it?”

“Uh…” He glances at his watch, “Exactly 2:00 PM… why?”

“Perfect.” She looks at the floor where the window’s art would reflect. The dragon’s eye is the only thing red, making her run over and stand on top of the eye. “Trace your steps…?”

Kai finally catches on and yells at her, “I have to admit, you’re being really smart right now.” His eyes scan the room once more, to see if there can be any more clues that match the poem.

Michiko sighs, telling Kai a few words, “So much hidden under some place perfect, hm.”

“I see what you mean… yeah.”

To be continued…

Zoe B. is an 8th grade student who finds an interest in writing songs, poems and novels. Both of her parents being teachers (art and music) gave her access to large creativity.

The Poison in Your Heart

By MayaRose Y.

When I was in 7th grade, I somehow produced these talents and powers that later on gave me a great advantage while solving mysteries. The first time was in my history class. In every presentation, my teacher would start off every slide with a photo of the place we were going to learn about. As soon as I saw the photo on the teacher’s slide, something clicked. That dusty storefront? London, no doubt. I didn’t know how I knew. I just did. This made me wonder if I could recognize another place. So slide after slide, I was able to decipher each and every photo, with almost no hesitation. On top of this new found talent, I learned a couple days later that I not only somehow knew what different herbs were used for and what types of poisons could do different things, but was also immune to many poisons. With these strengths, solving mysteries and problems came somewhat easy to me. This ultimately sparked my interest in becoming a detective. My name is Samuel Gordine, I’m 14 years old, and am currently attending high school in Los Angeles.

On this particular day, we were all having dinner together at Jasper’s house. My best friends are Jasper Denovan-Day and Drake Gross. We have been friends since first grade. Jasper is a tall guy, with long slightly wavy blonde hair. He likes to play video games and cook in his free time. Drake on the other hand is a rather short fellow with short brown hair, in his free time, Drake enjoys playing soccer. Dinner at Jasper’s house was always chaotic in the best way. The table was piled with bowls of thinly sliced meats, leafy greens, little packets of noodles, mushrooms, tofu, and dipping sauces. Drake reached over me to grab the hot pot ladle, splashing a bit of broth on my sleeve.

“Dude,” I said, laughing, shaking my arm off.

“Sorry!” Drake said, but he was grinning. “You always sit in the worst spot.”

“That’s because you always take the good one.”

Jasper brought over another plate of vegetables and quietly slid it onto the table.

“Thanks, chef,” I said without looking up. I was too busy arguing with Drake over who got the last slice of beef.

Jasper sat down without saying much. I think he tried to say something about the dipping sauce, but Drake cut in with a story about his soccer game, and we all got distracted again. I don’t even remember what Jasper was saying. It was just another night: games, jokes, the usual. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but what happened next changed everything.

The next day, another normal afternoon, Jasper and I were headed over to Drake’s house. We went inside and up to his room only to find him lying dead on the floor, saliva dripping from his mouth. We both jumped at the sight, ran out the door and slammed it shut. We stared at one another until we calmed down. I was shocked and scared, all I could think about was why my best friend could have died. He’d been fine yesterday, laughing over hot pot at Jasper’s house. So how could he be dead now? I had to figure out what happened, I had to know what had happened to my best friend.

After I found Drake dead on the floor, I promised myself that I would solve the mystery of his death, not for me, but for him. I sat down at my desk with my notebook out. There were so many things that could have happened, I was completely unsure of where to start. I invited Jasper over and together we made a list of things we knew and a list of things we wanted to figure out.

“This is what we know,” I thought, “Drake Gross was found dead inside his room on July 17, 2024. I saw him the night before, happily enjoying hot pot at Jasper’s house. There seemed to be no wounds on his body, but there was saliva coming out of his mouth. His parents said he got home at around 10 o’clock last night and never left his room.”

I turned to Jasper. “I just… don’t think this was natural,” I said, staring down at the paper. “Something’s not right.”

Jasper shifted on the couch. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” Jasper said too quickly. “The doctor said he probably just…died in his sleep. Maybe he fell off the bed or something.” But I couldn’t let it go.

I began retracing every step from the night before, especially the food. That’s when something clicked: I remembered a faint bitterness in the broth, something unfamiliar. A very specific aftertaste.

I dug into my notebook and herbs guide. A rare mushroom, Jack-o’-lantern. Slightly toxic. Not usually lethal, but if prepared in

the right way… I started checking photos we took during dinner. Drake posted a story of his plate. I zoomed in, the mushrooms were slightly orange, faintly glowing under the kitchen light. I opened the trash bin at Jasper’s house while he was upstairs. Among the wrappers and bottles, I found an empty package labeled “Autumn Spice Blend” Inside? Dried Mushrooms. No list of ingredients.

I confronted Jasper the next day, casually.

“What was in this spice blend?” I asked.

“Just something I ordered online. I wanted to try something new,” he answered.

I nodded and said nothing. But I started digging.

A few receipts later, I confirmed it. The blend came from a sketchy online seller that dealt in “experimental cooking ingredients.” The mushroom had been shipped to his house only hours before we came over. Still, something didn’t add up. The mushroom wasn’t enough to kill on its own. Until I remembered the hot pot broth. Jasper said he had bought it as an instant soup package, but from where? I asked him for the ingredients of the soup.

That’s when it hit me. A mix of three mild toxins, each harmless alone, but deadly if combined over time. But it still didn’t make sense––both of these things, the broth and the mushroom were delivered to his house only hours before we came over. Jasper wouldn’t have had enough time to create such a poison.

After days of digging, I was sure I was close to the truth. Jasper and I continued to look for clues. One afternoon, Jasper invited me to his house.

“I found something interesting,” he said, holding a crumpled receipt.

“Look, this shows the spice blend came from a different vendor. Not the one you found online.”

I frowned, taking the receipt from him. The vendor’s name was unfamiliar, but Jasper sounded so sure.

“Where did you get this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “From a friend of a friend. Maybe someone wanted to throw us off.”

I hesitated but decided to check it out.

The next day, I visited the second vendor listed on the receipt. The small shop was dusty and quiet, with little foot traffic.

I asked about the “Autumn Spice Blend.”

The shopkeeper shook her head. “Never heard of it.” I showed her the receipt.

“That’s fake,” she said flatly. “We don’t sell anything like this, and this receipt looks altered.”

My heart sank. Jasper must have been mistaken.

Back at home, I compared the two receipts side by side. The fake one had blurry fonts and mismatched dates. Whoever made it didn’t realize it was fake. But I also noticed something else: the genuine receipt from the online vendor had a small smudge of green powder on the corner, the same color as the leaves in the hot pot broth.

My mind raced, but I continued to investigate. I had gathered a few clues about different stores that might sell similar ingredients. I decided that I would go around to each location to see if I could find anything.

Jasper handed me a crumpled piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

“This is where I got the spice blend,” he said, sounding sure. “Check it out for yourself.”

I hesitated but trusted him, or at least I thought I did. The address led me to a small shop tucked away in a crowded street market downtown. The neon sign flickered above the doorway: Golden Dragon Spices. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of star anise, cinnamon, and something faintly metallic. I asked the shopkeeper about the “Autumn Spice Blend.” He shook his head. “Never heard of it,” he said, polishing a brass mortar. “We have all kinds of blends, but not that one.” I showed him the receipt Jasper gave me. He squinted at it.

“This looks fake. Don’t know where you got it.”

I left the shop with a sinking feeling but told myself, Maybe Jasper just got the address wrong.

Next, I followed the trail to a warehouse on the edge of the city. The gates were chained and padlocked, but a small side door stood ajar. Inside, crates stamped with foreign labels were stacked to the ceiling. I found one marked Rare Edible Mushrooms: Keep Dry. I pulled back the tarp and spotted the unmistakable orange glow of the Jack-o’-lantern mushrooms. I snapped a quick photo. Suddenly,

footsteps echoed behind me. “Hey! What are you doing here?” I ducked behind a crate just as a shadow passed. Heart pounding, I slipped out through a side exit.

The next clue led me to a tiny delivery locker in a dimly lit alley. A series of photos on my phone showed Jasper picking up a package here the night before. I scanned the lockers until I found one with a recent delivery slip. Inside, a small sealed jar labeled Autumn Spice Blend. The label looked homemade, handwritten and slightly smudged. I pulled out my herbal guide and compared the ingredients listed on the jar with the ones Jasper had shared. The list included a poisonous herb called monkshood. A chill ran down my spine.

I sat back at my desk and spread out the receipts and photos. I stared down at the table, receipts spread out like puzzle pieces. The ingredients didn’t lie, the mushrooms, the herbs, the missing packaging. Everything pointed in the same direction. And the person who had led me to it all…

My chest tightened.

“This all makes sense now,” I whispered.

There was only one person who could have been the murderer of my best friend.

MayaRose Y. is a ninth grader who is a new whodunit writer. She has a younger brother and likes to use her friends as main characters in her stories. She enjoys doing sports in her free time, and has finished two LA Marathons and has a black belt in karate.

The Dunderheads of Dunderville

By Theodore I.

The small town of Dunderville was not a large town. Its buildings were square and old, sagging down at the edges. A high noon sun hung over the town, and people were sweating. Most people were not wearing sweaters.

I exited my family’s small flat for my weekly grocery trip. It was one of a few rare occurrences where I was forced to brave the outdoors and feel the thing known as fresh air.

My mom called to me from the kitchen around the small hallway in my flat.

“Goofus!” she hollered, making my eardrums vibrate violently. “Hey, Goofus, remember to ask the store manager about a job after you get the groceries. You’re 38.”

She had a point. I thought about my last jobs. Me as a pizzaman had gone wrong when I was feeling quite hungry one night, and another time I got laid off by my boss when I brainfarted and misread “Malcolm Avenue” as “McComb Avenue” and delivered five million dollar violins to the wrong address.

I waddled down the sidewalk, making my way to the supermarket. I saw the cracked sidewalk and remembered when I was three and didn’t want to break my mom’s back. The sun made me very hot and sweat started to roll down my back and I stuck out my tongue like I heard dogs do when they’re hot. As I jumped over the cracks heavily, a rock caught my shoe and I stumbled. I wheeled my arms wildly. And that was when something hit my arm.

I looked up into the terrified face of Sheepman James. He immediately scuttled across the street away from me, eyes rolling and face bleating out in terror. A passing racecar honked. James’ reaction was understandable. If I saw a crazed, grinning, chubby 38-yearold man crash into me with his tongue hanging and arms out like a passionate hugger, I would also bleat in fear and scamper across the street like a squirrel. I knew because I had done so before.

I stopped playing the game because I did not want any more incidents. Instead of a crazed, grinning, chubby 38-year-old man with a tongue hanging and arms out like a passionate hugger,

I would just be a grinning man with arms out like a passionate hugger, dropping the hanging tongue but hopefully also losing some perceived craziness.

As I walked, I passed Joe in his usual alley banging his head against his usual trashcan. As usual, the words he chose to grace this earth with were too great for my comprehension.

“MOTHER WHERE’S MY MILK I WAITED TWO YEARS FOR THIS I WANT A PEANUT BUTTER JELLY BANANA APRICOT JAM SANDWICH WITH WHITE BREAD AND NO CRUSTS OR I’LL FRICKING FLOG YOU WITH MY BAT YOU FRICKING––”

His brilliant words passed out of my hearing range. Here in Dunderville, everybody knew each other very well. I thought warmly upon the list of names: Brain-Dead Jim and Foul-Mouthed Janet and the three triplets who were absolutely convinced they were unicorns, only a few among many others.

I was now three quarters of the way to the supermarket, but I really needed to pee, and I took the opportunity when I saw a small patch of trees. I planted myself among the plastic bags and mice nests and unbuckled my belt. My belly flopped out and I peed all over the tree. I hoped it was grateful that I was watering it. Once finished, I pulled my pants up.

As I walked back out of the little patch, I saw a heap on the ground. Ambling over, I realized it was the body of Jack of the Wandering Eye (among other maladies). He was still. Bottles and containers lay strewn about him: baby formula, coconut oil, sugar, Kool-Aid powder, Cheeto dust in a bottle (I didn’t know they sold that but now that I did I needed to add it to my shopping list), and a powder-holding container without a label, all emptied. Drool and powder dribbled down his face. The cause of death was obvious: someone had fed Jack poisonous substances to kill him.

It wasn’t wild to come to that conclusion. Jack wasn’t a popular figure in our community. During our Sunday Donut Worshipping Congregations, he had made a few controversial comments about Chase from Paw Patrol and Catboy from the PJ Masks that had earned him a few enemies.

I whipped out my phone, swiping past my wallpaper of the Bubble Guppies, and pulled up Instagram so I could DM the police

about what happened. They would handle it. A few minutes later, after I realized I couldn’t use Instagram to contact the police, or TikTok, or Whatsapp, I successfully called them. I ran all the way home, without getting the groceries, fearing that someone would step out from behind a trashcan and smother me in chloroform-spiked rags like I had seen in movies and visually re-enacted novels (I never read the actual books).

The sun beat down on me through the window, and I adjusted my position on the couch while focusing my attention on Bluey. I was the only person I knew who got sweaty watching television. Currently I was binge watching the first season of Bluey, and I was on my favorite episode. My favorite line of Bluey was about to be spoken, and I poked my head towards the TV like a chipmunk. My eyes bulged.

Before I could start panting with joy - what I did every time I watched my favorite TV character - my phone pinged. I looked at it. Apparently the police did have an IG handle - at least the Dunderville Police. It told me to “git over to the police ofice rn”.

The police station was a former donut shop - until deep-fried strawberry guava jelly filled donuts stopped being trendy. The police officers, Jorge and Jacque III, dragged me to their interrogation table, while I screamed all the way like a senile man, “I DIDN’T DO IT, I PROMISE YOU. PLEASE, I’M NOT

LYING. I DIDN’T KILL JACK, I PROMISE.”

Jorge sat me down and opened his mouth. “Man, shut up.” “Yeah,” said Jacque. I blinked.

“We’re just here to ask you a question. We don’t think you’re a suspect. Heck, why would any decently intelligent person think an unemployed 38-year-old man who is ninety percent Cheetos who dropped out of middle school would be capable of sourcing the materials and formulating a plan to poison a man to death?” explained Jorge. “Yeah,” said Jacque. I blinked.

“So,” Jorge went on. “No one else can find the murderer - our other option was that nutcase Jeremy until he hospitalized himself eating thirty bars of deodorant for an experiment.”

“Yeah,” said Jacque. I blinked.

“Like, what else do you think is going to happen?” soliloquized Jorge.

“Yeah,” said Jacque.

I blinked.

“Anyways, we wanted to tell you that, yay, you’re hired.” said Jorge.

“Yeah,” said Jacque.

I blinked.

“Now get the frick out of here,” exclaimed Jorge. I finally managed to find my voice but I only got out, “mhmuuhg.”

I shifted in my seat in my new attire. The unspoken rule of being a detective required one to get a trench coat and a magnifying glass––both of which I had acquired––but when I got the pipe, the apartment owner kicked me out of the building, grunting towards the “no smoking” sign. The heavily incensed smell of smoke still lingered in the air.

I got up to rummage through my Cheeto horde, entering the password to the pantry. My mom had placed a lock on it to limit my Cheeto consumption. Driven by a frenzy fueled by Cheeto withdrawals, I had managed to find the password: QW03KE9JIW02. My mom called it selective application that I could do that, but not solve the square root of 25.

I took out a bag of Cheetos, and immediately poured half of it into my mouth. Cheeto dust swirled around me and colored my shirt orange. I was reminded of the Cheeto dust in the bottle, and almost immediately my stomach growled. I decided I would go over to the crime scene so I could pick up the bottle, and also take a look at the other evidence as an added bonus.

I got out the door and walked over to the patch of trees

where Jack died. His body was gone, but all the evidence was still there: the baby formula, coconut oil, sugar, Kool-Aid powder, and Cheeto dust in a bottle. I bent over the Cheeto dust in a bottle, which still had some highlighter orange residue, and gave it a test lick. It still tasted good, although it was understandably stale.

I had no pockets and forgot to bring a bag, so I tucked in my shirt and dropped the containers through my collar. My shirt bulged outwards with lumps, and the containers rolled around as I walked, tickling me. I started giggling. People gave me strange looks as I walked by.

As I passed the bar, Inebriation Appreciation, I heard voices talking loudly.

“...ya’ll hear about what happened to Jack?” a male voice asked. “Who ‘dja think did ‘im in?

This could have given me new leads. I leaned against the cardboard wall (a bulldozer had gone through here previously, when the driver had been given the wrong address, and you know, this whole city was on a budget).

“Dunno, man.” This was a female. “Just anyone with some Cheeto dust, baby formula, Kool-Aid powder, sugar, and some yellowish substance.” She bursted into raucous laughter, like my mom did on Wednesday nights when she had her gallon ‘o vodka.

I leaned closer. This was getting very suspicious. The frail cardboard gave under my weight, and I fell through with an oomf, head on hand, and the other arm resting on my hip. The small company barely glanced at me, then continued talking. The woman I heard talking earlier who I recognized as Crystal spoke: “Well, howdy Goofus.”

She introduced me to her company and invited me to the conversation like nothing suspicious had happened. Through careful detective observation (me nodding along and asking Crystal to repeat suspicious-sounding sentences) I learned some very important pieces of information. By the end of the conversation, half the group had joined fellow barsmen in rolling around on the ground––I was quite tempted to join––and the other half had huddled together with arms over each other, singing some song. Crystal was among them.

“Do you have paper or something I could use to write on?” I asked, innocuously. I batted my eyelashes for added effect and

broke out into a winning smile.

“Indeed I do,” said Crystal. She rummaged through the pockets of her jeans. She looked up at me. “Ya want boogers or no boogers?”

“Umm,” I said. “Hard pick. But I’ll choose no boogers.”

Crystal handed me a crumpled napkin, which, granted, had no boogers. It was pockmarked with stains. I sniffed it and it reminded me of the gummies that had fermented on the floor too long. I walked away covertly, until I remembered that pens and pencils had a purpose. Luckily I found a pen on the floor, covered in sawdust. It was dry, so I sucked on the tip, until people started giving me weird looks. In chicken scratch, I wrote down what I knew:

SUSPECTS: Crystal

* She knows about the sugar and the Cheeto dust (remember, shopping list)

* She seemed to know a lot about what happened

“Whatcha writing?” Crystal leaned over my shoulder. Caught off guard, I did the only respectable thing to do. Pointing behind her, I said to Crystal, “Look! A zebra!”

With Crystal distracted, I waddled my getaway out of the place. I did some sort of combination of panting and jogging and rolling the whole way home, noticing that people around me gave me a wide berth. Once I got home, I immediately opened my laptop. It was past eight, and I was feeling hungry for Cheetos again. But I had something even more important to do at the moment. The label on the bottle of Cheeto dust had a website written on it, and I used it to find out where I could buy this wonderful gift from heaven.

Sadly, the website stated they were out of stock of Cheeto dust in a bottle - the only thing they sold. I guess there were a lot more avid Cheeto consumers than I had thought before. But when I looked again at the website, I noticed that they had an address: 0001, Skid Row, Dunderville, California. I had been there before! In my excitement, I jumped up and ran out the door, the only time I had ever achieved a speed higher than 10MPH.

I stood outside the hovel before me, at 0001, Skid Row. A security guard paced in the front. Since she was the only person I saw, I walked towards her.

“Hey––” I started.

Suddenly, I was in a lock in some sort, and the woman had her hands poised on my neck. Her morning breath––that apparently applied to nighttime too––washed over me.

“Whadya want?” she barked.

It was uncomfortable being dominated by someone else who was threatening the straightness of my neck with her hand, but I couldn’t keep an excited smirk from creeping across my face.

“Um, you know, the Cheeto Dust.” I winked. I couldn’t help it.

Surprisingly, the security guard, who I would now call the Pitbull, released me from the hold.

“Ah, the Cheeto dust. I see,” Pitbull said knowingly. “Come along, come along now.”

She led me to a backroom around the side of the shack. Bins of powder were housed inside of it. She nodded at a rambling woman inside. “That,” she stated, “is Jamison. She’s the boss ‘round here. But first-” she leaned toward me, and grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want it flaming or Xtra hot?” She gestured towards the bins.

I felt cornered. This was obviously an innuendo of sorts. My eyes darted around nervously. They landed on one of the bins, which was half-empty, while all the other bins looked undisturbed. It held the same powder that was also at the crime scene. Aha! I thought. Another suspect!

I was scared, but this was my duty as detective––however unwillingly I had become one––so I whispered to Pitbull. “Can I,” I squeaked, “talk to Jamison?”

Pitbull shoved me towards Jamison, which I took to be some sort of yes.

“Yo,” I said to Jamison, because I was a cool dude and totally unsuspicious. “Big boss, man––I mean woman––I have a question for ya. Yeah, that’s right. You.”

Jamison slowly turned towards me. She had a glassy look in

her eyes. She studied me intensely, like she was senile. Maybe she was. “Whatisit?”

“Tell me, dude––” I wavered under her intense stare. “Tell me, what’s in the big box over there? Yeah, that one, dude––what’s the big deal about it?”

Jamison ran over and planted her face in the Suspicious Powdery Box. She stayed there for a while, until I thought she had passed out or something. But then she snapped back up, and shook my shoulders violently. “IT!” she shouted. “IT TASTES LIKE RED!” Powder residue clung to her lips, and she swiped her tongue over them. And then, abruptly she shouted. “FIVE BUCKS! NOW!” She frantically gestured at the SPB.

Obviously not wanting to be caught by officials with Mystery Powder on my hands, I hightailed it out of there. On my dash out Pitbull waved to me cheerily. “Bye!” she grinned. “Come again!”

It was the next day. My napkin was newly updated. It now looked like this:

SUSPECTS:

Crystal

* She knows about the sugar and the Cheeto dust (remember, shopping list)

* She seemed to know a lot about what happened

Jamison

* Nutcase

* Has “Mystery Powder”

I was thinking about who the suspect was when my phone pinged again. It was the police. The message said: “new info. come over rn”

The interrogation table was the same as before, but thankfully the police weren’t. Instead of that curmudgeon and his parrot, a mean, stern lady named Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. was updating me. She looked

like she lived and breathed The Law.

“So,” she said brusquely. “We can confirm the incident occurred at exactly 4:09 AM from an eyewitness report. However, when questioned about what occurred during the duration of the incident, said witness declined to comment.”

“Alright, dude, sounds good to me,” I said. At that moment, my phone pinged. I looked at the message and started tapping away, while Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared at me from across the table. It said that “the mayor, unfortunately, has died due to excess sugar ingestion during a filming for a ‘TikTok challenge’. The deputy mayor’s inauguration shall occur at 3:00 in the town square tomorrow.”

“Ahem,” Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. cut through the sound of tapping on touchscreen. Just then, my phone pinged. I looked at it again.

In the Donut Munchers group chat, Julius had texted: “Yo”.

Jeffrey had responded, asking if we and the other members of the Sunday Donut Worshipping Congregation had seen the news about the mayor’s death.

I responded. “Dood, my freind tried it out the TikTok 2 but he only pased out. my belly can’t wait for toomorrow.” All the while Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared at me from across the table.

“Oh yeah. About that.” Jeffrey texted. “If the inauguration is at three in the morning then we can’t have donut time. Are you guys free tonight? Meet me for worship right now if you can.”

I looked at the time. It was nearing nine at night. I was feeling extremely tired, and could use some donuts to pick me up. Last week was also our Holy Day of Abstinence, and I didn’t want the effects of donut withdrawal to grow even stronger. As an added bonus, I could escape Jane Jr. Jr. Jr.’s stink-eye of doom.

“So––” she said. “We also have another piece of information vital to the investig––”

“Not right now,” I interjected. “Gottago.”

I sprinted out of the police station, turning my head back to holler back the words: “See you never!” I grinned. Almost immediately I could feel the omnipotent glare of Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. making my neck feel hot and sweaty.

When I arrived in front of the place of worship––Winchell’s Dough Circles With Holes In Them––I could see a small crowd had already gathered. They were the other loyal believers of Donutism. Once he saw that everyone who would be coming to the Congregation had arrived, Jimmy Johnson Junior, who would be leading this worship, waved everyone inside.

Inside the donut shop-converted sanctuary, I could feel the musk and sweat of the hundred-some middle aged men as they herded in anticipation for the service and donuts. When most everyone had gathered together, Jimmy Johnson Junior rang the Gong.

“Let us thank the Donut Lord, Creator, for his gift to us,” he began.

We hummed the Prayer of Creation together, and I got swept away by my passion and love for the Creator and his Creations. At the end of the service, Jimmy Johnson Junior blessed the Holy Donut, and we partook in its heavenly goodness. We all uttered a silent prayer of adoration and worship in our heads while our tongues explored the heavenly goodness that the Creator blessed our lives with. Behind me, a scuffle broke out between two people over whether one had received a slightly larger portion than the other.

And then the lights went out, and we were stuck in darkness, because the electricity had reached its time limit for the day and apparently the owner of the shop didn’t want to have a really big electricity bill.

The light of the streetlamps flooded the town square. It was 3:00 AM.

Yawns rippled through the crowd. The new mayor––JeanPaul Mateo something something or other––had already made his speech: “… I promiseth to lead as example for all aspiring sociopaths, lunatics, and Cheetoheads in the town of Dunderville that I hath taken under my leadership and guidance as newly crowned mayor, and that I may doth good on my Pledge of Incontinence later on in my life, as is the standard for all ye fogies in Dunderville…”

The dude had now started his Oath of Senility. I looked around at everyone else, who were nodding along with half-closed

eyes. All except Crystal, who was tapping her feet nervously as she repeatedly glanced at the place where Jack of the Wandering Eye (among other maladies) had fallen. Something was definitely up with Crystal. I made a note to investigate her house later.

Except that I didn’t have a paper, so I awkwardly scrawled on my forehead: Chk crystal hse l8r 4 sus things. Nobody stared at me when the inauguration ended. That type of stuff was usual in Dunderville.

The crisp morning air ruffled my hair as I strolled over to Crystal’s house for investigation. I had wholly forgotten about my note until I did my morning routine of flexing my biceps in the mirror. I had decided to go immediately before I forgot again.

My note had not been completely washed off my forehead, and there it stayed, smudged. A woman jogging across the street nodded to me.

“Yo!” she proclaimed. “Nice forehead, dude!”

I reached Crystal’s house. I knocked, and silence answered. I knocked again, more forcefully, and only succeeded in bruising my hand. Frustrated, I kicked at the door with a shout. One of the neighboring houses’ doors opened and shut, and a frazzled looking man walked out. He turned, facing me. “Some of us are still trying to sleep, you know. What do you think you’re doing here, at Crystal’s?”

I cleared my throat importantly and my belly jiggled. “I am here to interrogate Crystal about Jack’s murder. I just need her to confess, and then I can arrest her. It’s that simple.”

“You won’t find her here. She’s gone on her 4:00 run and won’t come back 8:00 or so. Now, what else do you want so I can go back to sleep.”

“Lemme search her house for evidence. Do you know how to get in?”

“Sure,” the man said. “I don’t have a key but––” he leaned forward a bit, and said with a whisper, “there’s something called a brick.” He straightened up. “Now let me sleep.”

I found a brick lying in Crystal’s yard, and hefted it into my

hand with a grunt. In a matter of seconds my face’s hue turned into that of a tomato, and I gritted my teeth. I ran forward, and tried my best to toss it into the front window of the house, but in the process the momentum carried me forward. I face-planted into the ground and dirt smudged my face.

After I had gotten up, I saw that I had created a large hole in the window. I ungracefully crawled through it and landed in the reeky house of Crystal. Wine and beer bottles rolled around on the floor, wine and beer bottles stood on tabletops, and wine and beer bottles existed in various points around the house. This was a good start. An alcoholic was probably more likely to murder someone than your average Joe.

An hour or so later, I had rolled (walking was too painful) around the entire house without spotting a single trace of evidence. I saw no baby formula, coconut oil, sugar, Kool-Aid powder, Cheeto dust in a bottle, or suspicious yellow powder. But I felt I had reasonable evidence; how else would Crystal know about the crime details without being the murderer? Plus, being curiously absent when I tried to interrogate her was suspicious. I decided that I would pay the police station a visit and give them my leads.

The stern face of Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. stared up at me for a while. Then she said: “So - you’re saying that you have reason to arrest this ‘Crystal,’ and that the only reason is suspicious knowledge of the crime? Nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” I stated. “But how else would she know about the Cheeto dust and stuff?”

“Look,” Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. serviced me with another stink-eye. “We have reason to believe that Crystal was not the perpetrator––in fact, she was the eyewitness report that provided us with information on the murder.”

“Alright,” I said. “But how does that prove her innocence? She could have killed Jack and then told you what happened because she was the one who did it.”

“We have additional evidence,” said Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. tersely. “An autopsy conducted by one of our many amateurs has

led us to the conclusion that Crystal did not commit the crime. Additionally––”

“Okay, okay,” I cut in. “Fine. I’ll believe you on that. But I’ve got no time for you. Now that you’ve told me Crystal is innocent, I have a certain Jamison to arrest.”

Looking myself in the mirror, I examined my body––traveling down from my face, down the buckteeth, down the smudge of Cheeto dust on my chin, down to the grease stain on my shirt, down to my slightly bulging stomach. I was attired in my trench coat and hat.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “Come on Goofus, you can do this.” I took a deep breath and walked out the bathroom door, out of my apartment, down the elevator, exiting the building.

I strode importantly down Skid Row. A whiskered old man drove by, shirtless, on a motorcycle. “WHEEE,” he shouted. As he sped down at what must have been no less than ninety miles per hour, I saw him crash into a trash can. Just as soon as his motorcycle went down, the old geezer got back up, blearily. He straddled the cycle, which was now sporting a flat front wheel, and revved the vehicle once more. “WHEEE,” he shouted, and crashed into a trash can further down.

When I had finally reached the old hovel, I could already see Jane Jr. Jr. Jr., who, as always, seemed incapable of smiling, alongside the curmudgeon and his parrot, the one and only Jorge and Jacque III.

Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. reached out, a handcuff in her hands. I swiped it.

“Thanks,” I said. “Good foresight. I forgot it.”

“No,” Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. barked. “That was not its intended purpose. It was to serve as warning to you if you do not cooperate with the officials first. As I have previously said, there is a crucial piece of information that will greatly impact your investigation of the incident. Please wait before proceeding with any action involving arrest.”

I ran into the back of the hovel, not heeding Jane Jr. Jr. Jr.’s words. Jamison was roaming around, talking to herself.

“Jamison!” I announced. “You are under arrest for the crime of murder and assault! Put your hands up in the air where I can, um, see them!”

Jamison did put her hands up in the air, but, also, at the same time dunked her face in the still uncovered bin of yellowish powder. She smacked her lips quite loudly as she made sucking and slurping sounds.

“IT TASTES ORANGE TODAY!” she proclaimed, before stumbling, woozy, and collapsed on the floor.

And that was when I realized my mistake.

Jorge, Jacque III, and Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. sat opposite me on the interrogation table.

“I TOLD YOU TO WAIT!” Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. yelled.

“She was just about to fricking tell you,” stated Jorge.

“Yeah,” said Jacque.

I blinked.

“IF YOU HAD WAITED FIVE SECONDS,” Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. started, but then her voice cracked. She tried again: “Ihh- UhAhhh-” Her voice went out. She resorted to glaring at me.

“The nuthead Jack did it to ‘imself, idiot,” said Jorge. “I mean, this is Dunderville.”

“Yeah,” said Jacque. I blinked.

Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared.

“Crystal was on her morning run when she saw Jack stuffin’ himself. At first she thought nothing of it, and turns out she didn’t need to cause Jack only passed out. He’s not dead.”

“Yeah,” said Jacque.

I blinked.

Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared.

“And obviously Jamison didn’t do it. You saw her stuff her face full of the powder, and she’s still alive. And all the other substances aren’t enough to kill.”

“Yeah,” said Jacque. I blinked.

Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared.

“Good job,” stated Jorge. “You’re fired.

“Yeah,” said Jacque.

Jane Jr. Jr. Jr. glared.

I finally managed to find my voice. I said, meekly: “Do I still get my paycheck?”

Theodore I. is a 7th grader. He likes reading, writing, playing video games on his Switch, and playing tennis. You can usually find him cleaning up his room, which his mother told him to do.

The Adventures of Cutie Bunny

By Anne S.

Dear brand-new diary,

Hi! I’m Cutie Bunny—the world’s very first bunny detective! You may wonder why I chose to become a detective. Well, it all started in a random park when I was just a toddler. It’ll make sense soon, I promise.

The Day It All Began

One day, I was playing at the park when an adult bunny came running up, crying, “Something terrible has happened to my baby! Someone, please help!” I was only three years old, and my parents never let me go anywhere without supervision.

Anyway, back to the story. I quickly told my mom and hurried off to try to help. When I caught up to the crying lady, she was still sobbing. Long story short—I solved the mystery! Right then and there, I knew: I would become a detective when I grew up.

Life as a Detective (in Fifth Grade!)

Now I’m in fifth grade, and I already have an assistant, just like Sherlock Holmes! His name is Corey, and together we solve all kinds of mysteries—from missing lunch boxes to kidnapped pets. Even though I’m still a kid, I’m a very famous detective. But today, I had a different kind of challenge: a very, very, very, very, VERY hard math problem. It was… (ONE HOUR LATER…) Finally! I figured it out! (P.S. The answer was 12.)

I put on my shoes, my detective jacket, and my detective hat, then rushed outside to meet Corey.

“You’re late,” Corey said, tapping his foot.

“That math problem took forever,” I groaned.

A New Case!

Just then, a bunny came running toward us. “Are you Cutie Bunny?” she asked.

Corey and I nodded. I looked closely. Wait a minute—wasn’t that Mary from Room 12? What was she doing here?

“You guys know I’m in charge of cleaning the science lab, right? A few minutes ago, I heard a ‘pop pop pop,’ and then a loud ‘pow.’ It came from the refrigerator!” Mary explained, looking worried.

“Okay,” Corey said, “but anyone who wants us to solve a mystery has to do a kind deed for someone else.”

Mary nodded. “Deal!”

We held up our paws and chanted together:

“We are detectives and we can solve this mystery!”

Investigating the Science Lab

That evening, after dinner, Corey and I met Mary at the science lab.

“I have a plan,” I said. “Let’s check if the wires are connected properly.”

We entered the lab and took a look around. “They look fine,” said Mary.

“There might be someone inside,” Corey suggested.

“Let’s see,” I said, feeling nervous.

Corey knocked three times on the fridge door. “Is anyone in there?” he called.

“If someone was in there, they wouldn’t answer,” Mary said smartly.

“Oh yeah! I forgot,” Corey admitted.

“I think you did forget,” I teased.

Then Corey reached for the freezer door. I quickly slapped his paw away. “Wait! Mary, do you remember what you put inside?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Just three sandwiches, two popsicles, and one can of Coca-Cola. Why?”

I gasped. “You didn’t put the Coke can in the freezer, did you?”

“Yeah, I did. How’d you know?”

Danger in the Freezer

“Oh my gosh!” I said. “When a can of soda freezes, the carbon dioxide inside

builds up pressure. It could explode at any moment! We need to evacuate—NOW!”

“Huh? Speak English, please,” Mary said calmly—too calmly.

“She means: GET OUT OF HERE!” Corey translated.

“But why?!” Mary panicked.

“No time! Just GO!” Corey shouted.

As soon as they were outside, I opened the freezer, grabbed the can, and quickly moved it to the fridge. Then I slammed the fridge door shut and ran outside.

(Diary, all of that happened REALLY fast!)

Mystery Solved

We met up again outside. Everything was okay. Then we went home and brushed our teeth. And while Corey and Mary are tucked into bed, here I am—writing in you, my brand-new diary.

Good night. Sleep tight. And don’t let the bedbugs bite. Detectively yours,

Cutie Bunny

P.S. Today is July 24, which is Amelia Earhart’s birthday!

Anne S. is a mystery writer who lives in Los Angeles, California. She loves learning and is heading into 4th grade. She has no siblings, no pets, and no weird odor. (Har, har, har.)

Spotted in an Unexpected Place

By Aurora L.

Smiskis are green, small, and hidden. Glowing in the dark, spotted in an unexpected place. Another surprise on my shelf: going to bed and seeing him there. I love my smiski but he’s always somewhere new. He’s a mysterious smiski.

Aurora M. is a creative person that likes to draw and play grow a garden she likes to hang out with friends

The Butler Did It

By Lyla P.

Police sirens blared through the property. Mr. Campbell’s own hands in handcuffs. His old wrinkly hands. Michael Campbell didn’t resist because he knew who did it, and it wasn’t him. He knew he’d get justice.

Two Months Earlier

“We regret to inform you that Mr. Westbrook has been murdered,” Mr. Smith said as shocked cries filled the room. Mr. Campbell looked around the room and realized that 34 out of the 36 employees’ mouths were open, and the other two had a frown and tears slowly streaming down their faces.

The dining room erupted in yells and screams.

“What do you mean?”

“This can’t be real.”

“I can’t lose this job!”

“Everybody, I know you’re upset but please, calm down,” said Mr. Smith, the main usher at the Westbrook mansion––well now just a mansion now that Mr. Westbrook was gone. “Detective McDaniels is looking for clues as we very speak”

“Detective McDaniels? Why him?” Mr. Campbell thought. Michael Campbell had worked at the mansion for 10 years. He was the head butler, and was trusted by everyone.

“Isn’t it weird that a murder happens while a detective is here?” The butler whispered to Sam while the questions and chaos were still going on.

“I mean, it’s the biggest party of the year, it makes sense that out of the 450 guests, one of them is a detective,” Sam whispered back. Sam was the lead janitor at the mansion. Sam and Michael had started training together their first day and bonded over their love of mystery. The two of them had been best friends ever since.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mr. Campbell whispered back. Then they both stood back up in their chairs and decided to listen to the chaos.

A Week and a Half Later

“This is absolutely ridiculous! No way detective McDaniels has found only two clues in a week and a half! He’s so slow!” Mr. Campbell cried while in the kitchen

“It’s okay! Everyone has their own process,” Sam said back, trying to comfort the angry butler.

“Okay okay, pea soup ready!” said Chef Katie. “And please eat and talk outside the kitchen! I’m trying to work!”

“Typical Katie,” Mr. Campbell tsk-ed while walking out the kitchen.

Sam and Michael went to the staff break room a few doors down, then sat down in their usual chairs at the desk in the corner. The two of them had sat there for the past 10 years. Everyone at the mansion knew their seats, and left the spots for Michael and Sam just in case.

The one time someone had broken that rule was when a maid, Layla, started working at the mansion two and a half years ago. Of course Layla had decided to eat in Michael’s seat at the very same time when the men were going to sit there. Michael and Sam looked at each other, then at Layla, and decided they were going to tell her that those were their seats. When Layla heard the message, she said “Hm, well I guess we’re all going to sit together because I’m not moving.”

The men sat with her, and had respected Layla ever since.

“Sam,” Michael said, “y’know what I should do?”

“What?”

“I should solve this crime!”

What?!” Sam exclaimed

“Yeah! Why not!” Michael said.

‘Well we already have a detective for starters.”

“He’s not doing anything! I’m solving this crime whether you like it or not!”

“Uh, okay”

To be continued…

Lyla P. is going into 8th grade. She loves the arts, like acting and drawing. Writing has always been a passion to Lyla, and she’s excited to take this next step.

Yet More Alive

By Reagan M.

I fall to the floor

I feel like time stops as glass shatters

The figure disappearing from the door

I hear each shard as it clatters

It seems more real than the others

The skin of it seems pale yet more alive

It stays a distance while the others smother I close my eyes and count to five

I sit up making sure not to get a cut

I look around and sigh

Knowing it was fake, I slam my door shut

Trying to make sure I don’t cry

The words that I repeat to keep me sane

You’re just seeing things, you’re just seeing things

Blast in my brain

Im waiting for the comfort these words are meant to bring

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling

The random stain that’s caused hours of fear

The random paint peeling

Giving the vibe of grossness or a leer

The bedsheets feel rough on my skin

The pillow causes scratching sounds

The grains on my wooden floor looks like a grin

This has happened so many times, yet I’m still scared

I close my eyes and say my words again

This isn’t even the worst compared

Reagan M. is going into 8th grade. She’s big into 2000’s alt fashion, like y2k, emo, and punk.

Flowers on the Floor

By Shiloh C.

The night of October 27, 2001 was a rainy one. There had been a persistent thunderstorm all week and unfortunately tonight was no exception. The heavy rain beat on the roofs of all the police cars outside. Locals and reporters surrounded the police tape as officers in yellow raincoats tried to hold them off. The crowd shifted as another man in a raincoat pushed through the crowd. He was quickly led under the tape and towards the house. He entered, pushing the hood of the coat off his head. The noise from the rain felt like he was still outside. His frizzy curls were damp, and he coughed from the cold.

“What took you so long, Frasher?” Detective Rowland shouted.

“L-longh-horn traffic s-sir,” Frasher muttered back.

Detective Rowland looked him up and down with an unsure look as he spoke. “Yeah, well get in here.” He turned to walk into the living room but Frasher stopped him.

“W-what is it?” He asked.

“A murder, Frasher. We’re homicide, why else would we be here?” he said walking off.

Frasher took a deep breath and rubbed his tired eyes below his glasses. Just walk in. It’s not bad once you get in there. He took another slow breath before walking in. He walked in and his eyes quickly scanned every crevice of the room. He immediately stumbled back. His mind went fuzzy and so did his vision. He knocked over a vase off of the brown side-table behind him.

“Goddamnit Frasher! Get your head on straight!” Detective Rowland yelled, throwing his hands up.

“S-s-sorry d-d-d-detective,” Frasher muttered, picking up the vase from the floor. His hands were shaking. He set the vase down on the side-table, and tried to turn his attention back to the scene. There was a young couple on the floor, a pool of blood under them, but more under the young woman. They both had two diagonal cuts down their forearms, seemingly deep enough to go almost all the way through. A vase full of Pansies between the two unfortunate lovers on the floor, obviously placed after their death.

“What kind of scumbag leaves flowers at his crime scene?”

Detective Rowland said, walking around the scene.

“Maybe he felt bad? Was saying sorry?” Derrick, one of the first year forensic guys said from the corner.

Detective Rowland shot him a demeaning look, and he quickly shifted his focus back to his work. “What do you think, Frasher?” Rowland asked. When he looked back, Frasher was gone. He had run out after looking over the crime scene.

Frasher had grabbed an inhaler from one of the ambulances outside. He sat in the back of the ambulance and took deep long breaths trying to calm himself down. After about a few minutes an older woman with deep red hair climbed into the back and sat alongside him.

“How’re you doing Mac?” Lt. Morsten asked.

“I-I’m f-f-fine. J-j-j-just n-needed my inhaler,” He replied, taking another puff.

“Heard from Derrick you seemed pretty shaken up in there,” She gave him a concerned look. She knew how he felt about violence, especially the more gruesome acts. But he’d chosen homicide, and his work spoke for itself, so she did her best not to give him a hard time.

“A-air. I only n-needed air,” he spoke, attempting to give her a reassuring smile.

“Alright, well we could really use you back in there Mac.” She gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder then climbed out of the ambulance.

He was only half lying. Truth was the whole crime scene had freaked him out, more than they usually did. It gave him flashbacks to one he’d seen way before he’d even considered being a cop. It was freakishly identical. The cuts, down to the smell of what could be bad cologne or cleaning supplies, or both.

To be continued…

Shiloh C. is a soon-to-be 12th grader from Los Angeles California. He is currently practicing for his drivers test by downloading loads of practice test apps and watching videos. When he isn’t writing he loves watching The Flash and other super hero stories.

The Puppets Turn Silent

By Salma H.

I consider myself a silly person, you know? It could be the fact that I’m 26 years old and still love puppets, or that I can actually talk to puppets. Here in Dusky Acres, I guess life is a little too gray. So at Dusky Acres Summer Camp, I like to turn up the color. Just this morning, like any other morning, I unlocked the clubroom door. Like always, I turned up the fan just to see how the campers liked it. Now the most exciting part, and my best friends: the puppets.

Before I introduce the puppets, I skip up towards the vivid door of flashing red. I hear the excited bangs on the door, not the ones in my head. I spiral the knob and let the campers in. Each one is all merry, full of life, and they greet me with open arms as their counselor.

“Good morning, Miss Marion.” God, I love that sound.

“Where are the fuzzy little people?” another kid utters.

“Is that how you refer to…dun, dun, dun,” one of my grand performances, puppet behind my back only to be revealed: “One of our best friends, Calvin the Caterpillar!”

This is what it’s all about. Being surrounded by the kids, while feeling like a kid. Giving story ideas for their puppets up on the stage. Showing them how to treat my felt friends, from Ellie the Elephant to Muhammad the Mouse.

These are my good friends, not the other counselors.

Good friends don’t leave you out of counselor meetings.

Good friends don’t make excuses to not spend time with you during summer.

I don’t need them to pass the time.

My friends actually talk to me, in the dust and beautiful darkness, when I’m behind the stage. Rows of them, just hanging on the wall when none of the campers are around.

“Hiya Marion.” A jolly hello from Ellie the Elephant. “I had fun with the campers today!”

“I’m glad you did!” I acknowledge, giggling.

“Little kids are too squeaky though,” utters Muhammad the Mouse, with his ears down, “I hate it here.”

“Anyways…”

“The little girl that played with me was truly an artist,” another puppet spouts hanging on the wall.

“Hey.” I twist around. It’s Frank, my co-counselor. The puppets turn silent, and the world becomes gray again, “Who in the world are you talking to right now?”

I don’t like the way Frank just comes in and wrecks my rainbow. I don’t like the way he always points out the bags under my eyes. Everything is fine in my world, I don’t need my meds. But the only thing he came down for was to give me a bag of candy for the fundraiser: the Summerween Trick-or-Treat event.

It feels like the stage for a whimsical play is set for tonight, and the kids are the actors in their costumes even though they’re just retrieving candy. Door to door, kids walk to a clubroom with a smile and get a piece of candy. Frank looks over the register in the main office while Carmen, the arts and crafts counselor, is doing face paintings outside. I’m one of the people she paints on. Everything is planned, everything is colorful, and for one night I can wear my giraffe unicorn costume with no one to judge me. What could go wrong other than the thoughts banging in my head?

Well, the next morning, for the first time in a while, I’m called in for a counselor meeting. Money in the register went missing last night, and rumor has it that it was stolen. We’re all asking the questions, just most are asking the wrong ones, at me.

To be continued…

Salma H. is going into senior year of high school. Despite watching some horror and thriller films, she is a whimsical and funny person who grew up loving cartoons along with an occasional puppet phase.

There’s a Lot You Don’t Know About Me

By Bernardo G.

I was 18 when I first got into the academy. Before that, my life was a mess. I was kicked out of my home at 15 with no food or money. That’s when I met them: a group of kids in the same boat, with nothing to do but commit robbery. Jeremy Renner was the leader, the professional of the gang. We got high on the rush and success of the crime, living the life we dreamt of. We became more and more reckless, robbing more frequently, getting caught, and doing the cycle over and over. We were always caught by the same cop, John. Like a cat and mouse I guess. He always looked disappointed when he saw us again like he was our dad. As we did more and more robberies, Jeremy and I got guns, yet I never loaded mine.

It ended on that day in December. We pulled up and when we showed him our guns, John no-scoped Jeremy as he fell down on the floor. We were stunned, paralyzed with fear, with everyone realizing what had just happened. Fight or flight kicked in and we ran. Jeremy was the leader, and his death was the end of our robbing. We split up as I headed down to the police station to turn myself in. The holding cell felt even colder that night. I sat there, at my lowest point, with no friends and nowhere to go. There was a clang and when I looked up, someone said I made bail. I looked around until I saw John. He looked sort of happy, like a proud father. I asked why, but the look in his eyes told me everything. He gave me a piece of paper, a pen, and money, telling me, “Fix yourself up and join.”

I went home that night with nothing but those three things. I went to this bath house and bought clothes at a Goodwill. It was around 10:00 PM when everything started to die down. I was walking to nowhere until I heard a yelp. I looked down and saw a baby alligator chomping on some Coco Puffs off the floor. It was yelping as if calling for its mother. I looked around, but the mother seemed to be nowhere in sight. I decided to take the alligator with me on my journey to nowhere and find some grub before I slept.

“Plop,” the case said as it fell on my desk.

“Hey Kyle, got a major case for you,” Huck said. I opened

the file with a multitude of photos, timeline, and suspects already inside. A millionaire named Maillot was found murdered in his house after a retirement party.

“There were a total of six suspects. Find out who did it and put him in prison. You won’t be going alone this time due to the nature of this case. I’ve assigned Danny and Curat to the case with you,” he said.

“What? But Danny is such a buzz kill, can I please get Detectiv? He’s my best friend, please?” I pleaded.

“Yeah, let me go with Kyle, we’ll be great together!” Detectiv said.

“You’ve got cases to work on, Detectiv! Also, just because you guys are best friends doesn’t mean that you work well together,” Huck said.

“What? We’re awesome together, right Dectectiv?” I said.

“Yeah! Like two peanuts in a shell!” Detectiv said with peanuts in his hand.

“Yeah, close enough. Please?” I pleaded.

“Okay, fine… well only if you give me a week of free overtime,” Huck said.

“YES,” I said. “Wait what? Well, who are we working with?”

“There’s the maid, the chef, the two twins, the wife, the tall one, the dead guy, and Maillot,” Detectiv listed out.

“Wow, better get started,” I said with a determined face.

“Well, actually no because we’ve already got a timeline plotted and a bunch of other stuff,” Detectiv said.

“Oh… cool,” I said.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious it’s the tall guy. He won’t say what he was doing at the time of the murder.”

“I’m not sure. What were the others doing?” I asked.

“They were all in the same room, with two or three leaving at the same time, mainly being the tall one. Everyone can clear everyone else with the chef and maid being in the kitchen and two or more people being able to see each other in some way. The maid was cleaning while the chef was making desserts in the kitchen. The maid went to clean the hallway leading to the kitchen, but the chef could vouch for her,” Detectiv said.

“Dude, that was a lot. I already forgot. Let’s check the kill room,” I said.

“Everything looks normal,” I said looking into the wine room.

“Someone definitely tried to clean their tracks.”

“Well, no blood, no trabajo” I said. “I’m like Dexter,” I whispered to myself.

“Move,” Curat said as he entered the room. Curat started spraying a liquid on the wall of the room.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“I learned this when I was a kid. Blood can be found by using luminol,” Curat said.

“What childhood did you have?” I asked.

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Curat said. I shut off the lights and began to wave a UV light stick around. The sides began to glow a luminous blue and show blood spatters hidden around the sides. I began to take notes about the splatter while Curat and Dectectiv watched because he was also there. “I already know who it is,” I said, with everyone agreeing.

We went back to the police station and reported it to Huck.

“The maid killed him,” I said. “She was the only one that wasn’t seen by two or more people, and she had the ingredients at the ready. The chef could have aided her to the murder,” I said with a smirk.

“Well done, detective,” Huck said.

Bernardo G. is a ninth grader. His favorite gen is gen seven. He bikes sometimes.

The Savior

By Jonah M.

So first let me get this straight: I’m a vault dweller. I was from Vault 120. It’s the best vault. We were trying to save America, so we helped the vault until one day The Overseer said the vault was in danger and that the electricity was damaged. So we went to The Wasteland. We saw a bunch of vault dwellers dead, and we were attacked by raiders. My friend and I survived.

Now we’ve survived ghouls, raiders, robots, gunners, mutated animals, super mutants, The Legion, and many more.

Now, we found New Vegas. It was awesome. My friend and I got NCR money and we went to gamble. We met Mr. House, and he said that we had to help him get rid of The Legion.

We got rid of the legion and I fought face to face with the people. The people who killed my friends, we killed them, and we survived. We went back home and then The Overseer said we’d saved the vault, but then we realized that the raiders were with The Overseer, and he’d paid the raiders to cause the massacre. The Overseer grabbed a gun and killed my friend, and I fought The Overseer, so now I wander the wasteland. And I also found out it was not the real Overseer, so that was my journal log.

Real Detectives

By Andrea N.

Sofia walked into her school: packed hallways with barely any space to move. She stopped at her locker, putting everything in its place. Sofia looked at the posters with school announcements. Every one of them was about school stuff like upcoming plays and after-school programs and clubs. But one of them was different: two missing people from her school.

Sofia has always loved mysteries and detectives. REAL detectives, like the ones that work at the police department. She always found it fascinating when they would arrive at a crime scene and try to find clues. Sofia kept looking at the “Missing Persons” poster. She had an idea: she was gonna look for those people. When she got home she tried to find as much information about those two people missing as she could. She looked at websites with little information about them. Both missing girls had gone out at night to hike in the forest and didn’t come back. Over the weekend, Sofia went to retrace their tracks and she found a few interesting things.

To be continued…

Andrea N. is going into eighth grade. She is from LA and plays soccer as a defender. She can be shy at first but opens up once she feels comfortable. She can be VERY childish but eventually stops.

The Path I Chose

By Edna G.-C.

When I was a teenager, my parents would take my phone away when I got in trouble. Every time they did, I would do my very best to solve the mystery of where they had hid it. It was actually fun pretending to be a detective. I wouldn’t have minded doing it as a career, becoming a detective, but I wanted to become rich. And I did. I am now fabulously wealthy! I have a mansion by the sea and a successful company.

To be continued…

Edna G.-C. is going into twelfth grade at Venice High School. She likes reading and strawberry ice cream.

A Chorus of Thieves

By Andrew P.E.

My name is Gojira Serizawa, and I am a famous detective. I have a wife named Mosura Mana and we became the world’s most famous detectives together. We became detectives not to do all that justice and search for clues, finding the bad guys blah blah blah––ew, such rubbish coming out of my mouth. No, we became detectives to become thieves. It’s a simple form of trickery where you become the enemy so the enemy thinks you are an ally when in reality you are an enemy making the enemy think you are one of the enemies when in fact you are an ally in disguise! Wait, what…. No no no, that’s not right, okay okay, here is a simpler version of what I meant to say: the bad guys go good so that they can stay the bad guys, yeah? That should make it much clearer now.

Anyways I’ve done multiple heists in my time and all my friends are in on the whole dupe thing. I got connections all over the place within my area and everyone knows one another. I came up with the idea and everyone was skeptical at first, so they laughed at me, but instead of getting angry or lashing out I joined in on their laughter, and boy was it funny: they thought I was a madman! So once they saw how serious I was, I put my plan into action, and after quickly reducing crime by a significant rate in the city (as it was quite easy to catch these guys, since it takes a thief to catch a thief) I was quickly cracking more cases than there were coming in! It also helped that my wife was in on the job too, with her group as well. There were a bunch of stolen items ranging from people to pets to precious stones, and a bunch of other random valuable objects. I would get paid of course and since crime in this city was high, I got paid in the billions just to catch these guys. But going back to my point: I used my hard-earned money to bust my friends out of jail so crime could rise back up and the cycle repeated all over again. How do I not get found out by random pedestrians when I’m busting out my friends? Well, here’s the thing about that.

*Shifts to a song explaining how things work around the city for the main character and his villainous friends, then will shift to someone who suspects the couple to be thieves in disguise.*

Looking up at the city lights

Illuminating the sky so bright

Never knowing when the time is right

To come out and do some crime. Crime runs wild and free, in this city full of entropy, while the hero here, may catch us, never trust the pages written on a book!

*Jazz plays in the background as multiple thieves and robbers come in to sing in unity as the chorus starts.* In the dead of night, we thrive, The city lights illuminating both of our sides, The path we took, and the path we strayed, And we couldn’t be happier with the cards we’ve been given to play.

*Jazz continues as we enter the second verse introducing our side-character-turned-protagonist later.*

Andrew P.E. is a rising Sophomore this year. He is a video-gaming, people- and animal-loving person who always loves meeting and making new friends! He plans to make it to the Pokemon World Championships one year and win the title of Pokemon World Champion at the Pokemon World Championships, wherever that may be.

For the Money

By Arturo G.-C.

March 1st, 2001. It was a cold dark night. Detective Cosmo was sitting in his office looking over all of his previous cases when he got a call from Timmy Turner’s house. His wife Malia was speaking.

“My husband Timmy Turner was murdered!” said Malia.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right there,” said Cosmo. He quickly got into his car and started going to Timmy’s house in the Hollywood Hills. He got out and saw a trail of blood that led to a garbage can and the windows shattered. He rushed in to see Malia crying on the floor next to his body.

“Malia, where were you on the night of the murder?” said Cosmo

“I was at a party all night. I didn’t come back till 6:00 AM.” Malia says.

Cosmo went to the neighbors’ houses. One neighbor said, “I saw Malia come out of the house carrying a trash bag and she seemed to struggle carrying it.”

Another said, “I heard a scream from inside their house.” Cosmo went to Malia again and interrogated her. “Where were you actually on the night of the murder?”

”I was at a friend’s house and I didn’t come till 2:00 PM.” Cosmo went to look around the house and found prints that matched Malia’s fingerprints, and he found a tape of security camera footage. He collected the information and realized that the killer was Malia.

“You’re under arrest for first degree murder,” Cosmo said.

Later, in the interrogation room: “Fine, I did it. I killed Timmy Turner,” said Malia.

“But why?” said Cosmo.

“For the money,” Malia said.

“Well, you’re going to jail for a long time,” said Cosmo.

Wide of the Post

By Pedro S.

Hugo was very funny and had a good sense of humor, but also had his dumb moments where he didn’t even know what was going on. He was five-foot-seven. He had started off as a normal 16-year-old guy, but had gotten interested in solving mysteries because he had once lost his favorite soccer jersey and had to look around, only to eventually remember that he had forgotten it at the park when he went with his friend to their semi-final soccer game. They had won and made it to finals.

Somebody had kidnapped his best friend Jake, who was also the goalie on their soccer team, and they needed him to win their soccer game. Hugo was trying to find him by tracking his cell phone, and was able to track him down to an old ice cream van. He went inside to investigate and found Jake trapped in the refrigerator, freezing to death. He lured the old man in the van outside, then freed Jake from the locked fridge and hijacked the van to drive it to the police station. He explained to the police officer and they left in time to make it to their game.

The final penalty kick was a moment suspended in time, the weight of the entire season resting on Jake’s shoulders. The striker launched the ball with precision, aiming for the bottom corner, but with a last-ditch dive, Jake stretched every muscle in his body, fingertips grazing the ball and sending it wide of the post. The stadium erupted into a frenzy of cheers as his teammates swarmed around him, lifting him in pure joy. With that one save, he had won the game, securing the victory that had seemed so impossible just moments before.

In that instant, he realized that it wasn’t just the glory, but the years of effort and belief that made the victory feel so sweet.

Pedro S. does hobbies like play soccer with his friends and play for his school team. He likes to play the guitar, not just the regular six string guitar but also the 12-string.

Running Amok

By Elijah B.

It was a simple day. Lottie the highland lynx cat was sitting down, perched upon a brick wall like always. But there was something bothering her. She saw with her eagle vision that there was a mouse running amok in the grass of the backyard like he owned the place. Lottie jumped down from the high brick wall and silently made her way onto a table outside, so that the mouse wouldn’t be able to see her. She imagined her soon-to-be victim petrified with fear and utterly helpless under her superior paws. Oftentimes the thrill of the hunt was more exhilarating than the catching part. Lottie began to tiptoe in the dainty way that cats are experts at, and saw her prey enjoying a little nut that had fallen from a tree. Thank the tigers for that, because now her prey was distracted! Lottie began to slowly but surely creep up on her unsuspecting prey… slowly… slowly… slowly… closer… and closer… and POUNCE! Lottie had the mouse in her mouth and began to devour her prey like the great ancestors of her lineage. Lottie wondered how a real lynx might have done it, and wished sometimes that she were bigger and faster, since then she’d be a force to be reckoned with in the world of mice and men. But for now, playing the role was good enough.

The mouse had left her paws a bit dirty, so Lottie found a table near the window to begin licking her paws, when she heard something on the television that piqued her interest. She heard her owners watching the news: the man and woman who occasionally touched their lips together, which made Lottie feel an unexplainable feeling of disgust. Their two younger offspring were not present at the moment though, probably in their rooms beating each other up. The couple were transfixed on the screen, and soon Lottie was too, as the story the strange man announced was quite unusual, even for detective Lottie. The news male said:

“On Today’s News, there has been a recent outbreak of zoo animals running around the city of Bakersfield, California. Reports say it started just this morning at 7:00 AM and several wild, dangerous animals were seen roaming the town. The zoo in question is the California Animal Center, whose team is on the search for

these animals running amok. Reports have said that tigers, lions, monkeys, and pandas have all been sighted. The zoo has said that they were sure everything was locked properly, and they are sure that the cause of this outbreak was a deliberate move by a worker. When asked for the reasons why, members of the zoo stated that security footage showed a man dressed up in the work uniform was seen unlocking the cages, yet they were unable to see the man’s face as it was obscured by masks and sunglasses. Citizens are encouraged to report any and all animals you see that may be part of the zoo, as many zookeepers are already working on detaining some of the animals again. On the next story…”

But Lottie had heard enough. Her catty eyes widened when hearing that tigers and lions were on the loose. Lottie longed to see large felines at least once in her life. The best she ever got was watching her owners watch animal documentaries, though Lottie didn’t know how these animals suddenly appeared on their black windows. Seeing those huge cats slice and dice at their prey and rule over their territory was just too exhilarating to watch. Lottie was a killer but she couldn’t intimidate a 4 year old.

She wondered: “Meow meow meow meow” (Translation: “What does it feel like to be the biggest, bestest, baddest kitty on the planet? How could I ever measure up? Will it ever be possible for me to be on their level? To take down zebras or wolves or even other tigers?” The mere thought of it all made Lottie feel a tingling sensation in her tummy and made all her hair stand on end with her tail straightened to attention. The excitement was just too much for one day and a bit out of character for what she normally presented herself as.

“Meow meow….” (Translation: “Keep it together Charlotte…”) She thought to herself.

Lottie remembered she had no time to fantasize about being a big feline. She had a mystery to solve. That zoo situation sounded like a very interesting case. Normally, Lottie was used to solving crimes related to theft from poor people, or birds who’d stolen the babies of other birds to eat (though it was hard to restrain herself from eating the baby birds herself). This was something different, and much more exciting. A mysterious man had let all the dangerous animals free, and not only would Lottie get to meet them, she’d get

to be their hero also! She’d get to be the whole city’s hero. Lottie was not a detective for no reason after all, as all cats love the thrill of the hunt. A furry feline enjoys nothing more than to stalk their goal and to achieve it successfully, but Lottie’s idea of “prey” was a bit more advanced than some cats, as in solving crimes and catching criminals dead in their tracks. Her prey was the criminals who disturbed others’ peace, just like a mouse in her backyard acting like he owned the place. An annoying pest who had to be caught and given due justice for crossing into territory where they didn’t belong. And this scamming zookeeper definitely didn’t belong in that zoo, letting all those wild animals free. He’d crossed a line, and Lottie intended to put him in his place: jail.

It was time to hunt.

To be continued…

Elijah B. is 16 years old and about to go into 12th grade. He loves to draw, play piano, play video games, listen to music, read, and spend time with family. He suspects he may have autism (not to self-diagnose, but he’s done a lot of research).

Crim vs. Crime

By Yara B.

Wednesday, April 2

To do list:

Grade papers

Figure out what class should do from the 15th-17th!

After organizing the homework assignments––as always, giving full marks to anyone who turned it in––Crim started toward the door.

“How’s my favorite, uh, anyway, what are you doing Friday night?” asked Karl while blocking the door with his hand, and a stench of coffee and deodorant.

Crim rolled her eyes and pushed passed him.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” said Karl, approaching her.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I don’t want to spend a beautiful Friday night going to see a stupid movie,” responded Crim, purposefully spitting as she talked.

“It’s not a ‘stupid movie,’ it’s a classic murder mystery represented in the art of cinema,” offered Karl, exaggerating his hand gestures.

“Respectfully, I’d rather write this 500-word essay on ‘a controversial opinion of yours’ myself than attend a movie theatre,” whispered Crim so none of her students that might still be roaming around would hear.

After arriving at home, she could think of nothing to do but lie in bed, but instead she ordered and ate pizza and then worked on grading her papers first.

“HAH! I actually finished something on the list the day I wrote it. I’ll take that as a win,” bragged Crim, talking to herself. A sudden noise came from the bushes outside, startling her. Crim immediately announced that if someone were there to kill her, they’d better make it fast because she was not letting that cut into her sleep time. Her humor didn’t reassure her, so she decided to ignore the sound and go to bed.

In Hungrebuild, April 3rd was a holiday, and not one of the hundreds you would find while searching. It was Savior Day, basically the day that they were introduced to the technology of the other parts of the world. But most importantly for Crim, it was a day off of school/work.

“Wakey wakey, Cree-Cree. I got some lasagna for breakfast. For breakfast, lasagna,” chanted Cindy, Crim’s roommate.

“Great. Turn on the news, won’t you?” asked Crim, half asleep.

“When are you going to move out? I’m practically begging for all the free space,” mentioned Cindy as she changed channels, going through five that were talking about Savior Day. Crim rolled her eyes.

“By the way, Seggio wants to talk to you,” continued Cindy. “He walked over here and screamed at me to tell you so.”

“Oh gosh, and oh gosh to me saying oh gosh, the school’s ‘offensive words’ rule really got to my head. Uhmm, right, that. Why does he basically host meetings when he has to complain about something? He lives next door,” blabbed Crim, pouring herself some coffee. She decided to brush her teeth extra that night to make up for it.

“I’ve been waiting for three hours to tell you, but I gave up,” mumbled Cindy as she got ready to leave for a jog. Instead of asking why she would jog when she could sleep, Crim got dressed and headed to her neighbor’s house. Crim had a system for Seggio’s complaints. She clicked Voice Record on her phone and slipped it into her pocket.

“Knock knock,” said Crim, accompanying her knocking on the door.

“Finally you came,” started Seggio, and Crim zoned out for the rest of it, only saying things like, “Oh no, really?” and “I’m sorry,” and “I’ll get on that.” When Crim was about to walk away, she noticed that Seggio’s son was recording a video of him playing a game, which she only noticed because his mother was loudly whispering that he should be doing something else with his life. Crim went on to her errands of the day, exhausted when she came home. She started to load the fridge, listening to the TV that was still playing the news.

“...a man was found dead by Creek Valley, though identity is

still unknown. Detectives are almost sure that he was Michael Preter. Mr. Preter was a Ca––” Announced the news reporter. Crim froze. Michael worked at her go-to grocery store. He was always so cheerful and fun to be around. How could something like this happen? Crim finished filling her freezer with five different frozen pizzas and made her way to the couch. Though ashamed of doing so, she turned off her TV and sighed heavily.

“Hola amiga! Yo boughto helay-la… I give up. I bought ice cream for a movie night!” Cheered Cindy as she danced into the kitchen.

Instead of talking, Crim just nodded and laid flat on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” asked Cindy, now frozen and tilting her head.

“Nothing, just another day.” Replied Crim, trying not to tell a complete lie knowing Cindy could see right through her. All of a sudden, her phone rang.

To be continued…

Red Card

By Annalia D.

Miranda started to solve mysteries when she was on the Mexico national soccer team and the equipment started to slowly disappear. Miranda Alla was a center back (CB) on the Mexico team. She had played on the team since she was 16. Miranda was telling her best friend that she thought she had short term memory loss because she remembered that there were 10 extra soccer balls, but now only counted five. A couple days later she went back to the equipment room and there were only two soccer balls left. Miranda told Lucey that she was going insane, because she swore she’d seen that there were five soccer balls left. Lucey told Miranda that she was perfectly fine.

Lucey said, “You did say that there were five soccer balls left. l remember, you told me.” Miranda was confused. Miranda knew something was wrong, so she went back to the equipment room and took a notebook with her. She wrote down every piece of equipment and how many pieces of each there were. After three days, Miranda went back and the only thing that didn't have the same amount left was the pumps. To figure out what was going on, Miranda put a camera in the equipment room. The next Monday there were no more balls or pumps, so she checked the camera to see what had happened. The camera showed that someone was stealing, but it could only be one of the teammates or the coaches, because only the team had access to the equipment room.

To be continued…

Annalia D. is going into eighth grade at Ocean Charter School. She has played soccer since she was four and is recovering from an injury.

Mysterious, Powerful, and Quiet

By Hanna A.

Part I

A chunk of amethyst lies nearby, catching the light in every shade of purple, from soft mauve and lavender to deep indigo and rich African violet. When I touch it, it feels so natural, earthy, and precious. The sides are smooth with gentle ridges, and the top comes to a sharp point, almost like a tiny dagger. Looking at this beautiful crystal makes me feel calm, but also curious. What forces came together to form something like this? What rocks, elements, or chemicals shaped it over time? This crystal reminds me of nature: mysterious, powerful, and quiet.

Part II

Aggie is a Detective for the New York City Police Department. She has just been assigned a strange new case: an old man was found dead in his apartment in Lower Manhattan, with the door locked from the inside and no signs of a struggle. He was slumped in his chair, his eyes wide open as if he had seen something just before he died. The only thing out of place was a deck of cards scattered on the floor.

Aggie crouched beside the body while Ratty, her pet rat and silent partner, scurried around the room, sniffing as if he was already onto something. She trusted Ratty more than she trusted most people. Her instincts told her this wasn’t just a quiet death; it was planned—clean, careful, and definitely not an accident.

To be continued…

Hanna A. is going into 12th grade at Wish Academy High School. She has three birds and a cat. She loves reading and studying history.

Under the Streetlights, Under the Sewer

By Nehemias B.

One day, Adam and Sam were walking down a street when they saw a light flickering, and for the next two blocks all the lights were flickering, up to Adam’s and Sam’s houses. Adam was really scared but Sam said, “Don’t be scared. It’s maybe just the electric company.” Adam thought he might be right, so he didn’t worry about it.

The next day when they woke up, the lights were still flickering. When they met up they were both scared, and they went down two blocks and the lights were still flickering. Then they saw something unusual––the sewer top was open.

They went down into the sewer and saw something like a house or an apartment. They were surprised that it was almost empty, so they went deeper in. What they saw was scary: there was broken glass stained with blood. Then they heard something CRASH and Adam said, “Let’s get out of here.”

They both ran towards the door and when they were just about to get out, the door shut hard. “We’re trapped,” they both screamed.

And in the shadows they saw a smile, and it was big. To be continued…

Destruction Site

By Omar S.

The character’s name is Juan, and he’s 30 years old. He lives in Mexico in 2020. He likes to eat tacos. The crime Juan has to solve is at a construction site, where an explosion happened and many construction workers died because somebody planted bombs in the roof and left the construction site without being spotted. Even though they weren’t spotted, there were security cameras that caught them on film while they planted the bombs during construction of the building.

Juan also has some clues in this crime. The suspect used the same TNT that the construction workers were using to get rid of an abandoned building and start constructing the new building.

To be continued…

A Habit of Writing Things Down

By Grace T.

I started doing all this mystery stuff when I was young, in fifth grade. I was a quiet person, didn’t really do much, but did have friends who I’d stuck with till now. But I had to switch schools because my parents didn’t think I was outgoing enough. They thought this would help me, but besides that, I just took an interest in listening to people and also connecting all these little things I hear about them together. It’s fun. I’d say it’s like a game where the pieces fall into place slowly. I have fun writing these down and telling my friends about them later. They really eat up the stuff I write about.

But it isn’t fun transferring to another school in the middle of the 10th grade, in the second semester. School is about to end anyway.

“Alex?” The teacher calls my name.

“Here…” I say in an unconfident tone. I just want this year to be over. I mean, if you were in this situation wouldn’t you hate it too?

I have this habit of writing down things I find interesting. It is honestly just drama that I find funny or dumb. I started doing all this in 5th grade when I was more quiet than others, but I was still able to make friends––I CAN talk to people, I just decided not to over the school years. I do have friends, but my parents didn’t think my friends were fit for me.

I flip my head up to hear my teacher yelling “STUDENTS. PAY ATTENTION. THIS IS IMPORTANT FOR YOUR ENDOF-YEAR TEST.” Her name is Ms. Greenwood and from being in this school for a couple of weeks––probably around two––I can say she is quite a character. She is mean, loud, annoying, and grump. No one really likes her.

“For this assignment, you guys have to work in a group of four, and I will choose the groups too.” Great. I hate group work. After announcing the fifth group Ms. Greenwood walks over to me and says, “Now, for the final group, you boys. Josh, Sebastian, Jake, and Alex will be in a group.” Then she whispers to me, “I hope you can help me straighten them out.”

I can’t help them. They are loud and they think they are funny. They think so highly of themselves. I’m nothing like them, but

nonetheless I nod, put my head down, and let out an exasperated sigh.

Since they all already sit next to each other, I have to get up and take a seat next to them. “Hey… uhm, I’ll just do the stuff. You can just suggest stuff. I might ask questions once in a while,” I say to them, just want to get this over with.

“Alright Alex, go ahead and do your stuff,” Josh says to me while the other two are in a conversation.

“Hey Josh, what if we pull this sick prank on the teacher?” Sebastian says. Then they huddle together, muttering and whispering to each other. I pull out my little notebook in my pocket and write down Sebastian, Josh, and Jake plan on pulling a prank. Check tomorrow.”

“Okay guys, let’s come back here after school!” Jake says with so much enthusiasm.

The next day, Ms. Greenwood tells us, “Hey, I’ve been telling every class about this. Since this morning, my chair’s arm rest has been missing. Clearly. Look at it. It’s not there. I know someone must have done this after hours because when I left school yesterday the armrest was still there. Whoever it was should come clean. When I figure out who you are I’ll make you take two whole weeks of detention.”

I look behind me to see the 3 snickering like this is totally not their doing at all.

To be continued…

Grace T. is a 14-year-old who never knows what to do when bored, even if she knows many hobbies.

To Not Blame A Cow

By Antonio M.

We all got neighbors, but isn’t it such a surprise that in my hometown, there is a placeholder to where I specially have a dedication. Nice to meet you, I’m Lhyme. I don’t like the introduction of a first name, so I like to reverse the method, and when you don’t make things simple, it’s because you have too much info to exploit. My parents were mobilized to the max. They had never had the understanding that they could sulk as was the common practice of their caretakers in poverty. So much so that they grew up to have jobs with the best benefits for a couple, and with no hesitation they had a child (me). It did not live up to their expectations and they were exhausted, not having seen hardships in the fine print.

When I got older, I grew to be quite the unhappy infant. Pouting at every event. My parents found the reaction to have no physical effect. But they were tired of me being the unhappy one, and after it started to show in their demeanor, they decided to make me the happiest. They found out what I was sensitive to in order to find what I enjoyed. Mind you my parents wanted me to find the same lucrative life route as theirs, but side effects would be emotional malnourishment to make the workplace acceptable. They understood, and allowed me to be carefree, to no avail of any prosperity.

I’ve since then set the lifestyle to be a branch of everyday life. To speak of everyday, it’s always the same social status I’ve endowed upon relationships. There’s Ramon, the elder who’s the watcher himself. Luis, who has been the editorial approver of the daily newspaper, always giving me the latest excerpt. There’s Mia Juana who has the dislike in a very playful manner of her age, riding alongside me up onto the villa where she runs over my foot with her bike. “Apologies,” she repeats in insincerity as she continues. But to redeem the incident, nearby clerk of the tienda, Klora, decides to call out Mia Juana for her animosity against me, and always tells me a curita would do the trick. Sometimes she even offers a glass of chocolate when she perceives the peeving as extensive. I always gladly decline her help, and instead thank her in euros, which she too rarely accepts. But after a coveted intro to the concido, nothing matters more

than the parlor owner, Beto. The mainstay of his consideration is the way he’s an outgoing gentleman to most of his customers. A talk with him, and a sleeve of his inescapable gelato, has you more invested in him being your fair person to know and learn.

“Ficke! Is there accommodation I can provide?” He smiles as I smirk.

“You tell me Beto…” I reply to him immediately, taking out a common cup of orange gelato, as my smirk starts to enliven in his attention. I take a seat and grab hold of the spoon.

“Anything ongoing, Chico?” He questions as my face starts to look deadpanned.

“Pa wants me to have my first liquor, to celebrate my maturity…”

Beto looks questioningly. “Perhaps, I mean you’re quite docile to your own extent. Out of curiosity, what is he planning for you?”

“A Sangria… until summer starts…”

“Ah… I mean my niece has taken hers with the paleta for garnish…”

“Sounds like she’s sweet to her deceiving…”

“Verdad, she can’t fully envision the twists ahead…”

I nod as I’m midway through my cup, until my face looks scolded, as the taste has become pungent somehow. “Since when did you change your recipe…?”

“I have not… unless by mistake…” He repeats, as my face goes quizzical towards him, until he can’t intimidate me and sighs.

“Pues, I just had to change the milk because of my concerns.”

“You know better, Beto.”

“Just, it’s more financially beneficial! It’s cheaper by my calculations, but it seems to have a better effect on my audience than I supposed and understood!”

My face turns more serious. “Are you liquidating it at this moment, Beto?”

“No, and I promise I’m being honest!”

“Can I at least see what you’re inputting?”

He rolled out some milk bottles that read, “Linda Leche.”

“Well, may I just advise: it’s horrendous for the taste and the mismatch of the label. Can you just work your signature ingredient back in?”

“Ficke, I know I can resign to your thoughts right away, but I’d like to be clear. I’ve reworked it, and that’s my choice.”

My face turns cold and he looks apologetic. “You may expect more quality, but I have to deny it, and if you can’t accept that, this is just not gonna work. If you like we can have separate conversations, but to subside the ordeal about this… entiendes?”

To be continued…

Antonio M. is going into 10th grade. He is a writer, an artist, and a baker. He is a mentality-infatuated teen who needs all the latest things artistic and creative. It’s nicknamed his high fidelity. He has a sister, and should have eyes that look more lopsided to show his intensity. He can’t always be sane.

Ezrah Riley (Character Study)

By Marlene T.

Character 1: Ezrah Riley

Grade: College

Age: 22

Specialties:

* Having an absurd amount of random facts in their head

* Writing

* Surprisingly good at singing.

Traits that could make them standout from others: How do they talk:

Flaws that will come into their development:

Hobbies:

Fears:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Relationship status: Majors in college:

Backstory that i need to work on first before continuing to write anything else or everything will go to chaos:

A Bright Red Ruby Ring

By Yeva K.

CHARACTER:

The name of my character is Cyris, and she is 17 years old. Cyris has some things in common with me but she’s still different. Cyris is so smart that people call her a human calculator. She seems mysterious because she lives in an eight-story building on the seventh floor, where an old man used to live. It’s been rumored that before the old man died he hid an ancient Egyptian artifact that had belonged to an emperor. The year Cyris lives in is 1978.

THE MYSTERY:

Inside a pyramid there is an ancient secret room that nobody has ever found because you need a bright red ruby to get in. There is a man who is always stealing gems and rubies from museums to try and open the secret room. Cyris has the ruby and doesn’t realize it, but the man sees that she has a bright red ruby ring, so he comes up to her and asks questions until he tries to steal it, but Cyris manifests her escape.

CLUES:

Cyris goes for a walk to get a newspaper sees the news. To be continued…

Yeva K. is going to sixth grade at the same school she’s gone to since third grade. She can play the drums.

With No Concept of Cleanliness

By Amaya E.

I had first started noticing and solving things other people couldn’t when I was about 10. My mother had lost her favorite pair of earrings, a rare set of rubies that my father had gifted her when they first started dating. My mother went ballistic, screaming at and accusing every person in the household to try and get them to confess to taking them, even me and my brother. It ended up being the dog who had swallowed them by accident. I was the one who figured that out, when no one could find them. I figured since all the housekeepers, my family, and any other people who had been in my house had already been investigated and searched, it must have been someone or something we hadn’t thought of yet. So I came to the conclusion that the family dog must have accidentally swallowed my mother’s precious earrings. It was a wild guess, but I suppose ten year old me must have finally run out of options, because my curious kid self––with no concept of cleanliness––started looking through the dog’s feces. Not with my bare hands though, I wasn’t that disgusting. As I looked through the canine’s feces, I discovered the pair of ruby earrings. Now, being the good child I was, I washed them off and returned them to my mother, explaining how I discovered them and solved the mystery. Naturally, she didn’t believe me, so I spent three months grounded under the suspicion that I had taken them. That situation is similar to the one I’ve found myself stuck in, currently being interrogated by the LAPD, apparently under suspicion for murder of one of my closest friends, Jake Morrison. I didn’t kill him and I don’t know how I’m going to prove it, but I can assure you I will solve the murder of Jake Morrison and figure out who accused me of doing it.

Chapter 1:

If I have to tell the cops in front of me one more time that I didn’t kill my closest friend, I might actually commit a murder. Considering my current circumstances, that is a joke. To be continued…

Amaya E. is going into eighth grade at Mark Twain Middle School. Her favorite bands are Hole, The Pixies, Mindless Self Indulgence, and Radiohead.

Detective Ruby (Character Study)

By Fatima G.

Detective Ruby has silky jet black hair. His eyes seem black but when the light hits them just right, you can see them in their true color, a wine-like red. He’s five-foot-nine with scars on his arms, always walking with a limp from something or other.

To be continued…

My Living Room TV (Object Study)

By Nathalie C.

I love my TV. It’s big and it can play whatever I want it to play. It’s black and it’s very fragile because it is so thin. Most of the time when I see it I get happy and immediately look for the remote control. It’s fun to just sit and watch TV. My TV is important to me because without it I would be really bored and I wouldn’t be able to watch my favorite shows on a bigger screen. To be specific, my living room TV is important to me because it’s the biggest TV in my home, which is why I like it so much. The TV in my room is still big but not as big as the one in my living room, so watching on the one in my living room makes the viewing experience so much more immersive. I love my TV!

I also like speakers because they can play music or make the TV louder. The speaker for my TV is long and rectangular. It says “Bye” in the corner of it after I turn off my TV, and says “Hello” when I turn it on.

Nathalie C. is going into 9th grade next year. She has a bunny and a cat. She likes to play video games.

Bonding With the Shadow

By Tucker M.

My Father’s watch stopped at 6:03 PM, standing still. He had worked his words to exhaustion, and his arrival home from work had changed the policy of the home, grinding the industrial strength of the family frenzy to a halt. He had been a detective for so long his skills in everything but his work had evaporated.

His passing nine years ago had left a need for a new person to take his role. In the need for a replacement, the mayor had taken the first moderately willing person as the victim for three years of extensive education and evaluation. My mentor was the detective who had replaced him. I was taken on as an apprentice of that man, in order to prevent those three years of lawlessness (as it was legally considered) from repeating when he eventually resigned from the job or life itself.

But as that man who was my mentor had now passed, I had been at the mercy and helm of this role for many months now. Cases of lost people, lost money, and whatever individuals had determined valuable enough to complain about had sat in my office, consumed in dust and worn out by the ever increasing sunlight that drifted in as the summer months approached. Atop the stack of murders and their melodies sat a case, the case faded out by many months of sunrise and sunset, the case that detailed the murder of that man, my mentor. The case was never closed or resolved, just struck out of chord and wasted away, by more “important” (popular) cases taking its place. People always spoke to the detective, not the man behind it. Maybe that let the most dangerous poisons settle down to the bottom of the mug, or maybe it let the man behind the wheel take a stroll off the path. Either way, it let a life stuck in the walls of the halls of justice out of the insulation and investigation and set it on the window sill.

Now that the stack of demands had dwindled down to that case, it was its turn to hear the open air and the noting pen. My mentor had died from a fall, out the window of this office. Maybe it was guilt he had floating up to his consciousness like a slick of oil or maybe an outside hand pushing a card out the deck and onto the

table. Anyways, the only clues that had been found thus far were: 1) testimony from the phone operator recalling a man with a hurried and serious voice talking about calling to police, but quickly hanging up before he could be transferred over, and 2) two hundred dollars folded in my mentor’s pocket. What the money was for only you can determine, but that wasn’t money to just carry.

But back to the case: I had heard the week he died that the photographer was taking portraits that night. Now, months later, I had an appointment slotted to have my portrait taken for my new job as a detective (at least it still felt new), and I resolved to talk about it then and see what cards he had in his hands.

Along the walk down the clobbered cobble streets I felt the sun beam across my father’s face, reading with downturned hands, 4:40 PM, two hours of daylight left. As I arrived at the only photography shop in town, I saw him, an old man who had come here nearly 30 years ago, his eyes darting along the edge of the sunlight, stopping at my wrist, and stumbling on my face. He held a camera that nearly weighed more than the bucket of water that he had from the rain eleven days prior. That sat in the corner with a wooden toy boat that his grandchildren might have played with, floating on those raindrops that had been collected and hoarded by him. Nearby sat a desk enclosed by walls of bookcases filled with tomes of people’s pictures and the library of memories that were told by it. Finally before I chose to speak and handed over the dollar necessary for my necessary identification, my eyes drifted over the collection of chairs sitting in front of the window of the room, with the sunlight etching its pattern on the pieces that resided there.

“The sun is setting soon. Let’s take your portrait.” He led me over to the chair basking in the most light. I sat in that seat, waiting and watching him slowly adjust the camera with every flick of his finger demanding a slight change from the camera stand. As I developed these thoughts of escapist monotony, I zoomed my eyes in and across the room, back to the shelves, and read the dates: one year ago, two years ago, illegible (but I assumed three years ago), and winding back to a finely written date that I couldn’t figure out. After he finished his photography, I asked, “Do you have any portraits from the night of the 12th, three months ago?”

Walking toward the bookcases he grabbed the large binder

that my eyes had landed on, with this year finely marked on the side. As he opened across the stretch of pages and on to the photographic course of that day, he spoke about the buildings in that area and how they had been covered in hanging clothes years prior, but had recently been infiltrated with toy stores and shops for the “unnecessary.” He continued to rant on, till he landed on images of his grandchildren, running in the park. Those memories weren’t lost but saved by the flick of his camera, and maybe in ten years when he might die, those memories he had would be corroborated by another photographer’s family. The time coated on those portraits told a story, a story remarked by fathers and sons. I deliberated over whether the slow close of the case of my mentor’s death would be a better end than overthrowing the status quo of the town in investigation. I was reminded of the night my father wrestled with the same burden. As I recalled my father years ago swinging open the door, I could see the light bonding with the shadow of his figure, his hand resting on his briefcase. It had looked like his work had gotten ten pounds heavier, or he had been whittled down to a skeleton of the enthusiasm that used to lift his fingers and make notes across the page. But as he sat down in the uneven chair, I saw it wobble, then falter. Annoyed with this, he shoved his briefcase under the leg of the chair. But seeing him struggle to push it under, we both knew fixing it would be the better solution. We spent four hours fixing the chair, and grinding it back into form. As the sun set and chased along the room, I knew that I would need a solution to this case for myself, if for no one else. I picked up the binder the photographer had put down, and scanned the storefront images for details. In one of the upper windows, I saw two hands and a familiar watch sticking out the window, and a man falling out.

After I had a short talk with the photographer, he turned his back. I grabbed the picture and I hurried off into the serious night, looking back as the sun made its final dance along the stones. Then I walked off, leaving the door open.

Tucker M. is a junior in high school from Venice, California. He likes to produce music, play volleyball and waterpolo, and enjoys going surfing. He also likes to study history.

Termination the Destination

By Piper C.

Chapter 1

For generations upon generations, the Jackson family has been known for solving things. They make it look easy, a piece of cake, whether it’s a mathematical equation or solving a murder. Say, whenever you hear the word “special” what do you think of?

Most people may think of being on the spectrum, or a disability. But me, I’m a different kind of special. To keep it short, let’s just say that I’m a pro at solving things. Hi, my name is Brooke Jackson and I am an attending junior at Euphoria High in Athens, Greece. I live with my mom and my older sister who comes to visit us from time to time. She lives in California.

20 years ago my mother became a new member of the Jackson family with my dad. Two years ago my dad died from a bullet wound while solving a case which his partner finished for him. He was one of the best detectives in the country and I want to be the one to continue his legacy and walk in his shoes.

My best friend’s car honks loudly from our driveway. I’m going shopping with her at the mall down the street. Back to school shopping over the summer with your bestie is a must.

“BROOKE!” my mother yells from the kitchen.

“Yeah, I heard it mom!” I yell from my room. I pull a sweater over my head, the same one that my grandpa gifted my dad when he was my age. I grab my purse and my phone and I head downstairs.

I walk quickly toward my mother, who is in the kitchen making mango shaved ice cream. It’s a family tradition we start before my dad’s passing, perfect for hot, sunny days. “No later than 5:00, missy,” my mother informs me.

“You got it, Mom.” She kisses my forehead before I walk out the front door, heading toward my best friend’s car parked in our driveway. Sophia and I have been friends since birth. We literally grew up together and we’ve never been separated, except for that one time my mom and I flew to the States to visit my grandma in

Colorado for three weeks.

We’re more like sisters than best friends, and we made a promise to each other in 4th grade that nothing would change, no matter what happens. I open the passenger door of her car, and I can’t even get my butt in the seat before she instantly bombards me with questions.

“Girly, have you been on the news lately?” Sophia asks, her eyes slightly wider than usual.

“Wow. I’m good, thanks for asking. How are you? And no, actually, I haven’t. Why, what’s up? Did something happen?” I ask while sitting on her leather seats, closing the car door, and putting my seatbelt on.

“Ha ha, very funny.” She says sarcastically, before turning serious again. “Yeah, something did happen. You remember Jason Cash, right?” She asks while shifting the car into reverse, carefully backing out of my mom’s driveway and making her way to the mall. Sophia just got her driver’s license not too long ago. I still don’t have mine yet because my mom wants me to wait just a bit longer, so Sophia is like my little chauffeur.

“You mean the Jason Cash who chipped my tooth with a rock in preschool and convinced the whole class in 6th grade that you and he were related? Yeah, I remember.”

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to him.”

“Perhaps I will. Jason made my life a literal hell, remember? Anyway, what happened to him? Did he move?” I ask, rummaging through my purse to find my wallet.

“No. He died.”

I immediately stop what I’m doing and look up at her face. All the color drains from my face, almost like I just saw the Bloody Mary ghost. I definitely wasn’t expecting that. I mean, Jason is always a huge pain in my butt, and sometimes I’ve wished for something to happen where he isn’t around me anymore, but at other times, I really do enjoy his annoying yet comforting company. Now that I know he’s not around anymore for good, it kind of makes me feel a certain way. He’s almost like an annoying little brother that I never had.

“Are you being for real right now, Soph? It’s not funny to talk about people dying.” Whenever I hear someone talk about

death, I always remember my father and how he’s not here with us anymore.

“I’m not kidding, I swear. I would never joke around like that. I know how sensitive you are around those types of topics. But yeah, it was on the news this morning.”

“Thanks. But are you sure about that, Soph? I’ve been up since 6:00 AM this morning, and I never saw anything.”

“Yeah, because it came on the news at about 2:15 AM. You would’ve missed it anyways. I can’t believe he died.”

“Yeah. That’s terrible, I can’t even imagine that. It’s absurd to even think about. Did they say how he died? He always talked about how he loved the blessing that God gave him life. It’s not like him if he killed himself.”

“Yeah. It really isn’t. I remember him talking about that. But the news only said that his body was found floating around in the Mayhem River.”

The river sounds oddly familiar to me. And then it clicks. That’s one of the spots where my dad was investigating his case. The same case he was working on before he died. But it’s also the same river that’s five blocks from our school.

“That’s awful.” I say while going back to digging through my purse to find my wallet.

“You’re right. I feel really bad for his parents. They’re already going through a rough time as it is,” Sophia replies as she parks into the mall parking lot. The Cash family’s oldest son, Jack, had some type of depression issues and tried committing suicide a year ago. He’s in this mental home where they tell him how fantastic and important life is and other things to try and get his mind in the right place before they send him back to live with his parents. But when he’s notified that they found his younger brother Jason floating in the river, they’re going to keep him in that mental home for the next eight months.

The parking lot is overly packed with cars and people flooding the streets, holding like 10 bags in each hand. I even recognize some kids from our school. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the mall like this before. I suppose lots of other people had the same idea as Sophia and I to go back-to-school shopping. Sophia turns the car off and takes the key out of the ignition. I take my seatbelt off as

Sophia looks at me with eyes that say, “Are you ready to go?” I put my phone in the back pocket of the washed-out blue, baggy jeans I’m wearing. I take the debit card I got for my 14th birthday when my mom and I set up a Clear Access Banking Account for me at Wells Fargo. I put it in the little front pocket of my jeans, and Sophia and I get out of her Black Honda Accord and walk toward the entrance of the mall.

Sophia squeals. She’s always so thrilled to go back-to-school shopping—or should I say, shopping in general. “This is so exciting! We’re gonna buy some cute clothes that’ll get us all the huzz. Maybe we can find someone we can hook you up with while we’re here! What do you think, Brooke?”

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t even hear Sophia talking to me. How could Jason have died? What was he doing at Mayhem River? Everyone knows that the Mayhem River is dangerous. It’s closed off and abandoned for a reason. Did he want to commit suicide? No—he couldn’t have. All he ever talked about was how great he lived his life and what he wanted to do when we graduated. Then, I hear someone calling my name.

I snap out of my deep thoughts about Jason, looking at Sophia, who has her head tilted and her hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah? Sorry, what’s up?” I notice that we’re already in Hollister, one of the hundred stores Sophia and I favor the most.

“Girlie, I’ve been calling your name for the past 15 seconds. You were like zoning out or something. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m all good. Never better,” I say while exhaling a breath I didn’t even know I was holding. “Did you say something before?”

“Were you really not listening to me?”

I give her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’m listening now. I promise.”

“I said, perhaps we could find someone to link you up with while we’re at the mall. Trust me, girl, this is where all the fine boys come out of their hibernation burrows of playing video games and sleeping. Please?” Sophia knows better than anyone I know—even better than my mom—that I don’t date, and I don’t want a boyfriend. Or, it’s not that I don’t want one, it’s just that I find them to be extra drama and a distraction, and those are the last things I

need in my life right now.

“Soph, no. You already know how I feel about boyfriends and dating. I’m good, but thanks. Maybe we could find you one instead.” I walk toward the cute summer tops hanging on the racks.

“Worth a shot,” I hear Sophia mumbling. I continue looking around the store for things I find cute. I’ve already got a basket full of colorful tops, light-colored jeans, and some earrings and rings to go with them. But then I see the most beautiful top I’ve ever seen. It’s cropped about mid-torso, right above the belly button. The unique flower design has a pink, orange/yellow fusion. This is the one. I pick it up off the rack and lift it to my chest, turning to look at Sophia. “Whaddya think?”

“Wow…” She can hardly tear her eyes away.

“It looks so cute, doesn’t it?” Sophia walks closer and touches the fabric of the shirt. She believes that when choosing the perfect outfit, looks aren’t the only thing that matters. She always says, “You must feel after you look.” Sometimes, I honestly can’t tell if she’s talking about clothes or something else. But I trust her and go along with whatever she says.

“You’re totally getting this. You’d look so hot in it.” She takes the shirt out of my arms and drops it into the basket full of other clothes and accessories. Then she basically rushes me toward the checkout register.

We pay for our clothes and swiftly walk out of the mall since it’s getting close to 5:00 PM, and I need to get home. As we’re driving back to my mom’s house, we pass by Mayhem River. And lo and behold—it’s still closed off, like it has been for the past five years. No one knows why it was closed off, at least no one who currently goes to Euphoria High. Ever since we started middle school, the place has been completely off-limits.

As we pass by, we notice something. Almost like a shadow. Of something—or someone.

“Wait, wait. Soph, slow down.”

“What? No, I can’t. There’s someone behind me. We have to get you home, or else your mom is going to yell at me. I don’t want that to happen. I hope you haven’t forgotten what happened last time.”

“Yes, I know. And no, I haven’t forgotten. Just slow down

and look over there.”

Sophia eases her foot off the gas pedal, and I point to the overgrown grassy shrubs sitting just off the edge of the river, on the other side of the gate.

“Is that… a shadow of a… man?”

“Yeah, it’s weird, right? The river is supposed to be closed. It’s literally banned.”

“I wonder who that is. And more importantly, why are they over there when they just announced on the news this morning that someone died there? Can you see their face?”

“No. I think he… or she… is wearing all black. Like they have this ski mask on. Like what Tim and the Baby wear in Boss Baby in that one scene. And they have a hoodie on, so there’s no chance of me even getting a glimpse of their face or hair. Oh—and they have a… duffle bag?”

“Well, let’s not worry ourselves about that right now. One— it’s really dark out. Two—we have to get me home or else my mom is going to crash out on you. And three—it’s really creepy. Just forget about it, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Sophia speeds up the car and basically races toward my house. Even though she tells me to forget about it, I can’t help but wonder what on Earth is going on. Was it a he or a she? Why were they at the river? Could this have something to do with Jason’s death?

Chapter 2

THREE WEEKS LATER

It has been three weeks since our last shopping trip and when we found that mystery person near Mayhem River. In those three weeks my mom and I flew to grandma’s house and spent a couple nights. We went to a fair and went swimming before we flew back to Greece. Then school started. Yup, the first day of junior year. I basically already knew the people’s names who were in my class, and have mastered the ones of those who are in the higher grades than me.

When school ends, I write in my journal and reflect on how my first day is and it isn’t half bad. I say half because everyone won’t stop looking at me. Everyone knows that Jason and I had this “frenemies” relationship going on. Now that he’s, well, dead, they won’t stop looking and talking about me. They make it seem like I’m the one that killed him. And worst of all, they’re not even trying to be discreet about it. Well, now I know that this year is off to a fantastic start. Not even a week in, and I’m already the talk of the town.

I come home from school with a project that my English class will be working on. We have to find something that means a lot to us and then write about it. It’s the first day and we already have work to do. Great, my day can’t get any better. I don’t have a problem with it, I mean this seems like it could be fun, but my only issue is, what on God’s green Earth––which he created in six days––am I supposed to write about? Plus, it’s like individual work, AKA no partners. Mrs. Dean says that she wants it to be original, almost like she’s “taking our brains out of our skulls and reading them,” so the moral of the story is that everyone has to do it, no exceptions. Unless you miraculously just drop dead.

The light bulb goes off in my head. Bingo! I know what I can write about now. I can write about Jason. I really care about him and I know it sounds emotionless for me to do this when they just announced his death three weeks ago. But I refuse to believe that he killed himself. He wasn’t like his brother. He never had dark thoughts like that. I should know. I knew him very well, heck I’d been stuck with him ever since I started kindergarten. I believe that someone murdered Jason Cash and I’m gonna find out who.

I’m currently upstairs in my room starting my assignment. It’s due in four months because Mrs. Dean wants us to work really hard and put a lot of effort into it. And trust me, I am going to do just that. I’ve picked up some techniques that my dad used when solving his cases, so I know that this is probably going to be a lot of work.

Chapter 3

THE NEXT DAY

Have you ever gotten that feeling where you know what to do and what you need to do to get there, but you just can’t quite figure out how? That’s exactly how I feel right now. I know that when solving a murder you must gather valid and important information, so…

NOTE #1

STEP ONE: LOCATE/INTERVIEW ALL POTENTIAL WITNESSES AND OR SUSPECTS.

QUESTIONS I HAVE ANSWERS TO:

WHO’S THE VICTIM? Jason Cash.

WHAT HAPPENED? Jason Cash was murdered.

WHERE DID THE CRIME OCCUR? Mayhem River.

WHEN DID IT HAPPEN? August 2. Time: Unknown.

QUESTIONS I DON’T HAVE ANSWERS TO:

HOW WAS THE MURDER COMMITTED?

WHY DID THE MURDER OCCUR?

QUESTIONS TO ASK MYSELF: WHERE WAS HE LAST SEEN? WHO WAS HE WITH? WHAT WAS HE DOING?

This is when I find out that this is going to be harder than I think. I mean I had no doubt that this was going to be hard but I didn’t think that it was going to be this hard. I have no idea who Jason hung out with. I don’t even know who his friends were. I mean, I know one, that one being my biggest crush since sixth grade. He

always hung out with him but they weren’t that close, not like how Sophia and I are close. I need to get some things straight and make a plan. The first thing that I know I have to do is confront Dexter and ask some questions about Jason. But I also want to see Detective John Lawson. He is my dad’s former partner. And even if they weren’t on the job, they still hung out. He even came to one of the New Year cookouts that we hosted. But that was before my dad died of course. Since he died, John’s always been around to help my mom whenever she needs it. I see him more like an uncle than my dad’s business partner. He’s the best person to talk to about this stuff because I really need some help on this… case.

Chapter 4

It’s the next morning and I need to get down to business. I wake up, get dressed, brush my teeth and skip downstairs. My mother is already awake as I can smell the coffee brewing. My mom always says that coffee is the number one thing that she must have so she doesn’t look like those zombies from the Walking Dead movie as soon as she wakes up.

“Good morning my dear mother.”

“Morning sweetheart. How did you sleep? And where are you going?”

“I slept well, mom. I’m just going to take a walk at the park. You know, get some fresh air.” I obviously can’t tell her the actual place I am going. She would freak out. She hasn’t even set foot anywhere near the police station since dad’s death. Unfortunately for her and fortunately for me, it is just down the street.

“Okay, sweetie. Be safe and don’t be long. Also take your key with you because I’m going to go to the store later on.”

I walk towards the front door and I put my hand on the doorknob opening the door. “You got it mom. Also can you buy me some Taki’s please? I need to feel the spice rush this week. Love you, bye.” I exit the house and I close the door behind me making my little adventure towards the police station where John works and where dad used to work.

I open the police station door and I walk towards the front desk where one of the police operators is sitting.

“Hello. Welcome to the E.P.D. How can I help you today?”

“Hi. Um, is Detective John Lawson here today?”

“Yes, he’s here. Let me give his office a call. What’s your name, so I can tell him who’s here?”

“Right, yes. My name is… Brooke Jackson.”

“Okay, Brooke. Stand by, I’m giving him a call right now. You may sit down in the chair behind you if you’d like to wait until he comes.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The operator picks up the phone and dials John’s office phone. I walk towards the chair that he offers me to sit in. A couple minutes later I see John walking towards me.

“Hey Brownie.” John has always called me that, because once when I was little I puked up brownies on him.

“Uncle John!” I stand up and I walk towards him a little faster than usual and I engulf him in a tight hug.

“How are you doing? Is your mom okay?” he asks while hugging me back.

“I’m good. And yes, mom’s okay.” We break the hug and we walk to his office.

He closes the door. “So, what brings you here? Come here to spend some time with me?” He says with a hopeful smile.

“Uh… no. As much fun as that would sound, I actually came here to ask you a question. Sorry Uncle John. Next time,” I say while sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his office desk.

The corners of his mouth turn down dramatically. “Okay, I guess you don’t love your uncle anymore. I’m not getting any younger here, soon I’ll be an old fart. But fine, ask your questions.”

I chuckle. He is known to be overly dramatic at times. My nickname for him is The Drama King of All Time. “Okay, so I’m working on an assignment for English class and I think that I could use your sense of direction to help me as I’m hitting a roadblock.” I don’t really want to tell him the whole truth because I know that he is going to turn me down and not help me. He’d most likely say that it is too dangerous and that I’m just a kid and should leave this to the grown-ups and detectives like him. Something along those lines. But technically I am not lying to him. I’m just not telling him

the entire truth. Right?

“Okay, that’s cool. Sounds good. What are your questions?” he asks while propping his hand under his chin.

“Perfect. So, when solving a murder case and you know what you’re solving for, how exactly would you do that? Like I obviously know what to do, but how would I do it?”

“Good question. That’s really good actually. Okay, um, well first you need to re-evaluate the motive and its implications.”

1. I would want to figure out who would’ve had a reason or passion to murder this victim and who has the potential opportunity to do so. Also if there were any staged elements.

2. Initial Assessment. Identify the victim. Who was murdered? What was their cause of death? Were they drugged, drowned, strangled? Figure out what happened. Inspect the victim’s body to gather some clues about what could’ve possibly caused their death.

3. Gather evidence. Look for physical evidence. Weapons, fingerprints/footprints, fibers. Find and interview witnesses or statements who might’ve seen what happened.

4. Establish a Motive. Who would’ve wanted to harm the victim? Who do you think that potential suspect could be? That’s where you will use your investigation skills.

5. Timeline. When did it happen? Where?

6. Interview & Interrogate Suspects. Kind of like a good cop. bad cop type of vibes. Sometimes when you use some type of force when investigating you’ll kind of push them to confess something that they don’t want you to know. It’ll get the job done so much better. But you shouldn’t use it immediately. Kind of ease your way into it. You feel me?

7. Elimination Process. Eliminate the suspects who don’t exactly fit who you’re looking for as the murderer. This is very important because it’s easier to determine the suspect or suspects when there are less people.”

“Wow. That’s really detailed.” I just realized that I had so much more work to do. I was in for a huge ride. “Thank you so much Uncle John.”

“No problem, brownie. I’m glad I could be of service.”

Me and uncle John continue talking for a while before I eventually walk back home. My mom isn’t there of course because she told me earlier that she was going to the store. I walk into the house, locking the front door after me and making my way toward my room. When I reach my room I sit down at my vanity and sigh. This just got a lot harder. But I’ve got this. Next step, confronting Dexter. A piece of cake. Or is it?

Chapter 5

TWO DAYS LATER

I’m sitting in my 4th period. Math. My least favorite subject since sixth grade. It’s not that the work is hard for me, it’s actually really easy. I just get so bored all the time from knowing all the answers and not having anyone challenge me. I’m a very competitive person. And I know what you might say, “Oh, Brooke just take a different class. It’s not that hard.” Well, you see, I already do. This is the highest math class in my grade and I’m not about to take a senior math class as a junior. No way, Jose.

But there is a specific person in this period who makes it, shall I say, less boring. You guessed it, it’s Dexter Lockwood. Gosh, he’s so hot. But I can focus on his looks later. Right now I need to solve this case and get down to business. The classroom is so quiet, we can literally hear the non-existent crickets in the room. The only sound that is there is Mr. Davis’s chalk scratching on the chalkboard and the air conditioning buzzing. I glance at Dexter who is just a couple of seats away from me.

“Psst… Hey… Dexter, over here.” I whisper while having half of my body leaning over the chair. I can’t believe I’m about to have a conversation with my crush.

He slowly turns his head, looking in my direction before looking back at Mr. Davis to make sure that we don’t get caught talking during class. “What,” he whispers back, his voice slightly hoarse.

“How are you? Are you okay? Like actually okay?”

He averts my gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You know, you don’t have to hide how you actually feel. I get it. It’s only been roughly three weeks since… You don’t have to hide how you actually feel. You’re human after all. There’s nothing you can do about it. Let yourself grieve. I miss him too and I’m sure lots of other people do too.”

He doesn’t say anything back, instead he just looks at me. I can tell that Jason’s death is really affecting him in some ways. He has eye bags. Like lots of lack of sleep. I feel so bad for him. I mean, if he looks like this, I can only imagine how Jason’s parents look.

“I’m so sorry Dexter. I totally get how you feel. Trust me.” Basically everyone at school knows about my father’s death. It was on the news just like Jason’s. Dexter gives me a comforting yet weary smile. I smile back at him.

“Thanks, Brooke. Really, I needed that. Thank you.”

“No problem Dexter. And if you ever need to talk about something or even just need to get away, I’m always here.”

Dexter nods his head and our conversation is ended by Mr. Davis’s talking. I kinda feel good but at the same time I feel bad. I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s almost like I want to feel good because I’m helping and comforting Dexter but at the same time I’m gonna have to ask him questions about Jason and I know that it might trigger something in him. But we’ll have to try. This is important. After all, it’s easier to get over things if you just talk about them. Maybe I’m actually doing him a favor.

I find Dexter walking in the halls during the passing period. This is the last period of the day before school is out. I’m really hoping I can get something good out of this.

“Hey, Dexter,” I say a little bit higher than my regular voice. I skid next to him, walking at his pace.

“Hey, Brooke. What’s up?”

“Hey, um… I have a question.” You know, with me standing next to him I never really notice the crazy height difference between us. He is like Goliath and I am like a newborn ant.

“Yeah. Sure. What’s up?”

“I know that you were one of… Jason’s… friends, would you happen to know of anybody else who hung out with him or who was really close with him?”

He goes silent for a while. Now I feel bad.

“You know what, I’m sorry. I know that this is a hard time for you right now. I shouldn’t ha—”

“No it’s okay. Sure, I know some people.”

“Are you sure? And I mean if you don’t feel comfortable talking about it, then we don’t have to. I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

“Yeah, no of course. I understand. Believe it or not, Brooke, you might actually be helping me. It might just be better to talk about it than to keep it to myself. I definitely know some people.”

Wow, am I glad that he said that. One, I’d be totally screwed if he’d said something else. And two, I’m glad that I’m helping him. That’s one way to get closer to Dexter. Wait, no. Snap out of it Brooke! Now’s not the time. I need to concentrate.

“Okay, that’s great. I’m really happy to help you. You were saying?”

“Yes. So I know that he hangs out with Harmony, Demetrius and Angeliki. Besides them and me, I really don’t know of anyone else. I hope that helps you.”

“Thank you so much Dexter. You’ve helped so much. And I hope that me talking about him doesn’t make you feel too bad. Just remember that it’s okay to grieve. Okay?”

“Okay, Brooke. Thanks for being my free therapist and mentor it seems,” he says with a sly smirk while opening his locker. I chuckle while looking up at him, “Uh, yeah. You’re welcome, Dexter. No problem at all.”

“Bye Brooke, see ya around.” He grabs his books before closing and locking his locker.

“Yeah. See ya.” I turn around and I walk the other way. Ugh, I really wish I could talk to him for much longer. Just looking at his face makes me happy. Oh my gosh Brooke, why are you so lovestruck? Okay, let’s stay on topic. Thanks to Dexter, I’ve got three more friends to interview.

THREE HOURS LATER

I’m at home now. Mom isn’t home as she’s working a little bit later because someone called in sick today. My mom is a doctor so she’s got quite a lot on her plate. Luckily for her, we think the

same half of the time. So she doesn’t really have to worry about me. I only have a phone number for one of the friends that Dexter told me about: Harmony. Me and Harmony are actually pretty good friends, but not close like how me and Sophia are.

I text her to ask if she can meet me at the park. But I don’t mention the part where I’m going to ask her about Jason because why would I do that when I’ll just talk to her at the park? And also because I know that if I tell her we’re going to talk about him she’ll probably say something like, “Sorry, I can’t. busy rn. Talk later.” or “babysitting my cousins, byeee.” Just something along those lines.

Now I’m walking to the local park to meet her. I see her sitting on the table that’s under the shade of the huge tree that has been there since, like, forever.

“Hey, girl!” I wave to her.

“Hi Brooke.” I sit across from her on the table.

“How are you doing?” I ask. “I know it can’t be good. I heard what happened to Jason. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. Um, I’m hanging in there like everyone else is. I miss him so much. I can’t believe what happened to him. But you said you wanted to talk about something, what’s up?”

“Yeah, I actually want to talk about… Jason.” Please don’t shut me out. Please, please, please. I silently pray to myself.

“Uh….Okay. Sure.”

Thank goodness. I exhale, a breath I never knew I was holding. “Oh, okay. Um, when was the last time you saw Jason before he died?”

“About three days before they reported his death on the news. We were walking home together because I didn’t have band practice and he and I just live across the street. We stop at Dave’s Hot Chicken and get food. It’s his favorite place to go. We talked about physics, math, and we even had a spelling competition on the way. He always won each round, I only won once. It was completely normal, like every other time we’ve walked home together.”

“Okay. That’s good. He was always a foodie and really smart. Did he say anything, I don’t know… off?”

Harmony thinks for a minute. “Um… Yeah. Come to think of it, he did. But it wasn’t anything creepy, it was more like… weird.”

“Weird? What exactly did he say? Do you remember?”

She goes quiet for a moment before speaking. “He said something like, ‘If I disappear or if something happens to me, promise me you will remember I wasn’t crazy.’ That was exactly what he said. I thought he was just playing around like how he usually does so I start to laugh. He just smiled and stared at me and I saw that he was serious about what he was saying. You know, that one tight and lazy smile he did whenever he was pretending he was okay.”

“That’s so out of the blue. What on earth? Anything else?”

“Yes. Every time that I saw him, he always looked so tired. Almost like he was sleep deprived.”

“Did you ask him what was happening and why he looked so horrible?”

“Yes. When I asked him he said that he was exhausted. I asked him from what, and he said that he felt like someone was always watching him. At night and sometimes during the daytime but mostly at night, he heard things outside his window. He got so scared that someone was watching him that he stopped biking home alone. Since then he’d always had someone to go with him.”

“Did he ever say who it was?”

“No, he never knew who it was. Like someone anonymous. But he just kept saying ‘them.’ And he starts texting me weird stuff too.”

“Weird stuff like what?”

“Like screenshots of emails, random phone numbers. I couldn’t make sense of it. I didn’t know what he was trying to say or tell me. And then the night before he––” She stops talking as her breath catches in her throat. “He texted me ‘I found something.’ That’s it.”

“You didn’t ask what?!”

“I tried, I spammed his phone but I got nothing. All he did was leave me on read. No more emails, messages, random phone numbers. That’s when I knew that something really, really bad had happened. Then three days later… he was up on the news… reported dead. The police found him at the river five blocks from school.”

“You didn’t bother to tell anyone?”

“I thought he was joking! I’m sorry, don’t get mad at me. You know how Jason was. He was never serious, he was always joking or playing around 80% of the time.”

“Well the other 20% got him killed, Harmony.”

“You think I don’t know that Brooke. If I could, I’d find and kill the person who murdered Jason. Would you?”

“Yes, I would.” I emphasize the would. “This is exactly why I’m doing this. I’m getting to the bottom of this. Someone did this. And no one’s taking it seriously. I will find them. No, WE will find them. Are you in? ”

“I always have been.”

Chapter 6

Later that evening Harmony and I walk back to her house. I text my mom that I’ll be home a little bit later and that I’m hanging out with Harmony. She tells me to be home before 6:00 PM, so I say okay, as I don’t plan on being at Harmony’s house for too long. We enter her room and she closes her door with a soft click. It has this cutesy vibe. Baby pink and white, everywhere you look. Smells of soft beaches and coconuts, peaches, even some hints of pineapples. Her walls are plastered with band photos. She plays the trumpet. Posters of her favorite K-pop groups and other artists and some of her friends too. I come across a photo of me, her and Jason in a photo that we took at a carnival. I have to look away as I don’t want to start crying again.

She pulls out her phone. “Okay, I keep all of the files and stuff that he sends me on my phone in a locked album. Are you ready to see it?” she says as she walks and sits on her bed.

I follow suit and do the same, sitting next to her with our shoulders touching. “Yeah. Let’s see what he leaves behind. I want to get down to the bottom of this.” Harmony unlocks and scrolls through her phone. I take and exhale a deep breath as she opens the album. She unlocks the album and we see twelve screenshots that were taken and sent to Harmony from Jason over the span of three weeks. Harmony hands me her phone so I can take a better look as she looks over my shoulder so she can see too and get a second look.

Screenshot 1: An email with no subject, only a body that reads: “They’re lying. He never transferred. Don’t believe the office. They’re hiding it.”

From: Anonymous.studylog23@gmail.com

I look at Harmony. “Transfered? Who transferred? Do you know what he’s talking about? I don’t remember anyone transferring.”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it is someone from school. There’s a high percent chance it is.”

“And if it isn’t, then this thing just got a whole lot harder. Let’s just hope it’s someone from school. But at the same time, I’ll feel really bad if it is.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I feel the same way.”

Screenshots 2-4: Spreadsheets. These columns have student names, ID numbers, medical files and even checkmarks.

“Having other people’s medical files is illegal. That’s against the law. How did Jason even get these?”

“And why? He could’ve gotten arrested for this.”

“Wait…” I squint my eyes to get a closer look and I point to the checkmarks on the screen. “These checkmarks… they’re in the same column. Some students are marked and some aren’t. Do you see that? What the….”

“Medical records? Why on earth does Jason have these? He could’ve gotten into some serious trouble.”

I looked at the file name: Wellness - Study. And then something clicks.

“Oh my… Holy crap… Harmony. These are the school’s wellness programs. Jason always said that he hated them because of how personal the questions were on the surveys they made us take. You remember those. We had to take them every year at school. First day of freshman year, sophomore year, and the most recent one, junior year.”

“Oh my gosh. Yeah. You’re so right. They were so hell bent on it. Like they gave us no exceptions except if our parents didn’t want us to do it. I remember.”

Screenshot 5: A cropped photo of a locker. The number of the locker is 113B. On it is a sticky note:

“We’re always watching.”

“What the bloody hell.” I muttered to myself but loud enough for Harmony to hear. “Well isn’t that unsettling.”

Screenshots 6-9: Photos of random numbers. One of them is repeated in three of the screen shots he took.

Harmony points to the number that was shown repeatedly. “I Googled that number and it showed a burner line with the same zip code of Euphoria High.”

“Now this is some next level stuff.”

“Yeah, I know.”

The contact name Jason saved it under was: DO NOT ANSWER - THEM.

Screenshots 10-11: Messages from Jason to Harmony

Jason: “I think they’re inspecting us. But like in a really bad way.”

Jason: “It’s not just the Wellness Surveys they make us take. Something’s happening in the basement level of the east wing. I know that the east wing is a maintenance room but it’s not.”

Jason: “They erased Tyler.”

I looked at Harmony. “Tyler? Who’s Ty––wait, wasn’t that your ex crush?”

“Yeah. Tyler Brown. He was in my algebra class until he wasn’t. It’s almost like he just vanished. They said that he moved and his parents put him in a private school. When he transferred, I was devastated.”

“Yeah. Transferred.” I say in this unsure tone.

“What? You don’t think he was transferred to another school?”

“No. Think about what Jason is saying and what the school said. The school said that Tyler transferred because his family were moving houses. But if you think about it, Tyler and his family never moved. They still live in the same house to this day. And if you think about what Jason said, it’s two completely different things. Jason said that they were lying. ‘They’ as in talking about the school. Jason also said that they were secretly experimenting on us in the basement of the east wing. Then he said that they erased Tyler. I don’t think he transferred Harmony. I think something really twisted happened instead.”

“ Are you saying that they might’ve… killed him?”

“Bingo. It all adds up to one thing Harmony. That basement. We need to see what’s down there.”

Screenshot 12: The Last One.

It was a picture of a student ID badge, broken in half. But it wasn’t Jason’s. It belonged to someone else. On the back it said in black and red sharpie,

“Next is me. Unless I make it stop.”

Then underneath it, scribbled: FOUND IT.

Harmony looks at me and I look back at her. “Well, what are we going to do now?”

“Simple. We’re going to check that basement out.”

“Okay. Yeah, good plan. But it’s not like they’re just going to let us waltz in there.”

“Who said we were going to do it during school hours? We’re breaking in. At midnight.”

“Okay, that’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Us breaking into our school?”

“Look, I know it’s studpid and it sure as hell won’t be easy. But we need to get to the bottom of this. We’re going to avenge Jason’s name. Tomorrow, at midnight, we will go.”

“And what do we do about our parents? They’ll be worried sick.”

“Sleepover. Let’s tell them that we’re having a sleepover at Sophia’s. Your parents love Sophia. It’ll work. Trust me.”

“It better work. If we get caught, I’ll kill you,” she says while putting her fist in my face.

“Then let’s hope that I won’t have to have someone arrange my funeral,” I say with a cheeky smile.

“Yeah, yeah. Mark my words.”

“Alright, I’ve gotta go. It’s almost 6:00 PM. I’ve got a curfew. Thanks Har. See ya, later.”

“Yeah, Brooke. See ya. Sweet dreams.”

Chapter 7

I leave Harmony’s house that night saying good night to her parents and I walk home from her house. Me and her don’t really live that far apart. To be honest, most of the students that go to Euphoria High School actually live in the same neighborhood as me. As soon as I set foot through the front door of the house, I’m hit with the rich smell of my family’s favorite dish– Moussaka. The warm smells of cinnamon and nutmeg fill my nostrils. With hints of buttery and nutty flavors, and a creamy aroma. I close the door behind me.

It’s only 5:30 so I’m pretty much on time and this is the usual time that my mom starts making dinner. My sister is home too. I guess she gets out of school earlier this year. She only comes to visit when she’s on break from school. My mom really wants her to go to college here in Athens but she says she doesn’t want to feel like she’s stuck here all the time, and that she wants to be where the rich and famous people were, which apparently is California, on the other side of the globe. There are famous people here in Greece too, such as Maria Angelicousis. She’s like the female version of Elon Musk. Julia Roberts, although she doesn’t live here and she wasn’t born here either, she does own a house here. That’s something. But, whatever. I’m just glad that me and mom can spend some time with Gracie.

I walk towards my mom who’s basically planted herself in the kitchen. My mom might be known for her food, but she’s sure not known for a clean kitchen when making it.

“My goodness mom. What the heck happened in here? Looks like a tornado came through here. But it smells like heaven.”

“Tornado? Oh please. Child, this is called culinary mastery in motion.”

“I think the mop might disagree, but alright,” I say while chuckling. I walk around the flour dusted kitchen floor making my way to the dining table. Although dad isn’t here with us anymore it still feels like he is. I don’t mean it in a creepy way, it’s almost like his spirit will always be with us, y’know.

“You’re lucky I love you more than a clean floor.”

Gracie’s head pops out of the hallway. She’s holding a spoon that looks like it has clearly been used once before. “Is it done yet? Because it smells like heaven emptied its guts out here.”

“Back off, you little gremlin. Do you hear me yelling ‘kids, dinner’s ready?’ I don’t think so. Therefore it’s not done yet.” My mom said while tipping her head to the side to check the time on the clock.

“Wow, I come to visit for one week and this is how I’m treated?”

I hand Gracie a stack of plates. “Why don’t you make yourself useful. Set the table or stir something.” She hands me the stack of plates back.

“Nah, I’m preserving all of my energy for dessert.”

“Whatever.” I walk to the table and I set it, putting down three plates for me, Gracie and my mom, and three sets of utensils.

Chapter 8

Harmony and I meet up at the front gate of the school. It’s midnight of course. We’ve already told our parents that we’re going to spend the night at Sophia’s house. I snake next to Harmony in my emo dress code, like those goth girls that always hang out behind the bleachers where all the hook-ups happen. I wanted to wear this because I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself if there was anyone there, and also because why not? I look at Harmony’s outfit and I’m flabbergasted. I whisper, “What on earth are you wearing Harmony? We’re going to check out a basement that people at the school don’t even know exist. Not to a party.” She’s wearing probably the brightest colors known to mankind. A bright pink shirt with neon green lettering on it. Some white tennis shoes and yellow jeans. “You’re practically blinding me with what you’re wearing, Har.”

“Oh, what are you talking about? I dressed perfectly fine. I have the perfect attire for investigating a basement in a school and you’re just exaggerating. It’s not like I’m the sun or something. Plus, what are you wearing? You look like you’re going to a funeral or something. Why all black?”

“Um, probably because we’re here at our school at midnight and we’re going to sneak in and look and probably go though things we’re not supposed to. Those are all things that were not supposed to do. I’m trying to get us not caught and clearly you’re trying to do the opposite.”

“Oh, sorry Brooke. But trust me, no one will even know we’re here. They won’t be able to see my clothes. These are ‘special’ clothes. They’re bright in the day and at night they’re dark, just like your clothes.”

“Well, no one better not see us. Or else we’re cooked and by cooked I mean burned.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just have some faith in me alright. Let’s go, come on.”

“Yeah, okay.” We walk through the front gate, avoiding any type of security cameras that could possibly see us. We make sure

not to step on dead leaves or anything crunchy as we want to avoid doing anything that could possibly give us away. We arrive at the “maintenance” room, stopping just in front of the door.

“This is where the basement should be, right?”

I turn to look at her, making sure that no one is around. “I mean, I think so. According to Jason’s research, it should be right here.”

Harmony takes a deep breath before exhaling it. “Okay, are you ready? We don’t know what we may see down there.”

I grab her hand and I hold it tightly in mine. I always do this when I’m a bit nervous or scared about something. “Yes, come on. Let’s go. We’ve gotta do this. Now or never. For Jason?”

She tightens her grip on my hand and she puts her other hand on the door handle to the ‘maintenance room.’ “For Jason.” She opens the door to the room and we enter and walk deeper through the basement. The stairs creepily creak as we descend through, almost like in a horror movie. As we reach the bottom of the basement the smell hits us. It is not what you may think that it is. Not human remains or a decomposed body smell, no. It’s like bleach or something close to cleaning supplies. Like those deep-cleaning chemicals. It smells similar to the chemicals that I use to clean the bathtub with every Wednesday. That’s a chore that my mom has made me do ever since starting middle school. Then we see it, a hallway. Not dusty or abandoned like all those other creepy hallways in the movies. This one is clean, polished even. I can basically see my reflection in the floors. The walls are painted white, the way they are in most hospitals or urgent cares. There is a security camera in the corner, blinking, so we know that it’s recording. Luckily, our faces are covered with hoodies. At the end of the hall there are three metal doors. Each door is labeled with one red number and one letter.

1A 2B

3C

We choose to walk to the 2B door as it is the one in the middle. And it is also the door that Jason mentions in the screenshots.

Each door has a card reader instead of a door knob. Below the card reader is a key pad. I guess it’s backup if you don’t have the card with you.

“Hey, what was Jason’s lucky number again?”

“Um, I think it was 23. But I doubt that’s going to work.” I try the key pad and I enter 0023.”

The door buzzes, unlocking.

“Nevermind. Y’know, you always manage to prove me wrong.”

“I guess it’s just one of my tactics.” I say while smiling at her and opening the door before it can lock on us.

“Sure, don’t get too full of yourself now,” Harmony says while she enters the room right after me.

Inside isn’t a classroom. It is a freaking lab. Holy crap. The room is cold, probably to prevent bacteria. There are machines, monitors, wires, sealed cabinets. And in the far corner there is a cot, with restraints on it. Like to hold someone down when they’re moving too much. Or, I guess, doing something to them that’s against their will or something along those lines. There is a metal desk right in front of us. I walk toward it and pick up a file that is laying on it. I open the file and go through it.

Subject: Tyler Brown

Cognitive Pattern Disruption Test: Day 46

Notes: Failed second round of conditioning. Possible memory loss.

I can feel my stomach dropping. I feel like I’m going to puke.

“What the… What are they doing to him?” Harmony says while snatching another file from the desk. She opens it and then jabs me in the rib, catching my attention. “Hey, look what I’ve got.” I close the file and I look at what she has. It is Jason’s file.

Subject: Jason Cash

Notes: Refused Test. Force tested. Escaped during screening cycle. Terminated.

Terminated. I think over and over again. I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m actually going to pass out. I look at Harmony and she

looks at me. We see each other in our shiny and watery eyes. But for some reason no tears even dare to fall. They just sit there, in our eyes, blurring our vision.

Piper is an incoming freshman with big dreams and a love for soft colors—baby blue, baby pink, and baby purple are totally her vibe. She’s passionate about good food (give her pasta with steak or anything Jamaican, and she’s happy). One of her biggest travel goals is to visit Greece someday—beautiful beaches, rich history, and amazing views? Count her in!

Acknowledgments

This book wouldn’t exist if not for the inspiring dedication and commitment of the volunteers who sat beside these student authors and not only guided them in their own writing, but also wrote alongside them, providing a living example of the vulnerability it takes to create and share anything original. I’m especially grateful to those volunteers who attended multiple (or even all) of the sessions at a given location––you know who you are. Consistency makes a world of difference when making different worlds. A resounding thank-you to the following:

Cassidy Lehrman

David Michelson

Edward Albright

Jillian Merriweather

John Darling

John Giarratana

Jordan Morris

JP Cavender

Karen Rowley-Brooks

Lawrence Gordon

Margaret Linn

Marisa Hardwicke

Trevor Worthy

Wallace Morgan

About 826LA

Vision: 826LA envisions a Los Angeles where every child has access to quality writing education and is empowered to express themselves creatively through writing. We envision a Los Angeles where every teacher is supported in their writing-based educational objectives.

Mission:

826LA is dedicated to unlocking and cultivating the creative power of writing for students ages 6 to 18, and to helping teachers inspire their students to write.

How we advance our mission: A nonprofit organization, our services are structured around our understanding that great leaps in learning can happen with one-on-one attention, and that strong writing skills are fundamental to future success.

With this in mind, we provide after-school tutoring in all subjects, evening and weekend workshops, in-school programs, field trips, college access, help for English language learners, and assistance with student publications.

All of our programs are challenging and enjoyable, and ultimately strengthen each student’s ability to express ideas effectively, creatively, confidently, and in their own voice.

Core Values:

826LA values joy in the service of achieving educational goals. Our community norms value diversity, equity, inclusion, and access. We therefore prioritize partnerships with Title 1 Schools, engagement with historically marginalized populations, and training and deploying community-based volunteers in support of our mission. As a teaching approach, we value creativity, authenticity, empathy, and lively, rigorous, and student-centered writing education. As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

Programs

As an educational enrichment organization, we value supporting teachers, principals, and other school staff in the pursuit of excellence.

After-School Writing Programs

From Monday to Thursday, students attend 826LA for free individual tutoring in all subjects. Students receive homework help and write stories based on prompts. Students submit their writing for inclusion in chapbooks, which 826LA publishes throughout the year. To celebrate students’ hard work, 826LA unveils these chapbooks at book release parties, where students read their work to thunderous applause from their volunteers, families, and peers.

Field Trips

During the week, 826LA invites teachers and their students to our writing labs to participate in a morning of collaboration, creativity, and writing. Whether Storytelling & Bookmaking, Well-Wishing & Poetry, Choose Your Own Adventure, or Memoir, field trips at 826LA support teacher curriculum and student learning by offering a safe space for students to be their most imaginative and to work on their writing skills. In a few short hours, students brainstorm, write, edit their work, and leave with something tangible—a bound book—as well as a renewed confidence in their ability to tell their stories.

In-Schools and Writers’ Rooms

Because not all students can come to one of 826LA’s writing labs, 826LA brings specially trained volunteers into under-resourced public schools. The volunteers provide one-on-one assistance with writing projects. 826LA works with teachers to craft projects designed to engage students while targeting curricular issues. In addition to visiting many schools in the Los Angeles Unified School District each year, 826LA hosts Writers’ Rooms at Manual Arts High School, Roosevelt High School, and Venice High School.

Workshops

826LA’s Workshops bring students together with artists, writers, and professionals for creative collaboration and development. Whether the subject is flash fiction, playwriting, or preparing for the AI singularity, our workshops foster creativity while strengthening writing skills. This includes our Summer Writers Workshop and monthly Sunday workshops at the Hammer Museum.

Staff

Jaime Balboa

Executive Director

Diego Quevedo Chief of Staff

Shani Foster Director of Education

Christie Thomas Director of Development

Pedro Estrada

Programs & Operations Manager, Echo Park

Mike Dunbar

Programs & Operations Manager, Mar Vista

Mateo Acosta

Associate Director of Community Engagement

Carinne Kemp

Store and General Operations Manager

Time Travel Marts in Echo Park & Mar Vista

Alma Carrillo

Senior Manager of Strategic Partnerships and Communications

Trevor Crown Senior Manager of Volunteer Innovation and Assessment

Ariadne Makridakis Arroyo Senior Volunteer Coordinator

Katie Feige Institutional Giving Manager

Arisdeysi Cruz Tutoring Program Coordinator

Marco Beltran Writers’ Room Program Coordinator Manual Arts High School

Wendy Beltran

Senior Writers’ Room Program Coordinator, Roosevelt High School

Cole Montgomery Senior Development Coordinator

Ariana Ponce Olivares

Senior Civic Engagement Coordinator

Wilson Swain Creative Engagement Specialist

Julia Malinow

In-Schools and Tutoring Program Coordinator

Caz Shen Store Associate

Board

Karen Van Kirk

Board President

Customer Experience & Operations

Sarah Rosenwald Varet

Board Vice President

Governance Committee Chair

Attorney

David Ullendorff

Board Treasurer

Finance Committee Chair

Co-Founder, Mathnasium

Cisca Brouwer

Development Committee Chair Attorney/Writer

Ben Au

Litigation Partner, Orrick

Jeff Boos

Brokerage Operations & Services, Side

Scott Boxenbaum Comedian & Real Estate

Iman Farrior Business Affairs Executive, Creative Artists Agency

Joe Ferencz CEO/Founder, GameFam

Scott A. Ginsburg Real Estate, Boulevard Partners

Susan Ko Clinical Psychology & Executive Leadership

Holly Thomas Circuit Judge, United States Court of Appeals Ninth Circuit

Dave Eggers Emeritus and 826 Founder

Advisory Board

J.J. Abrams

Judd Apatow

Miguel Arteta

Mac Barnett

Steve Barr

Joshuah Bearman

Father Gregory Boyle, S.J.

Amy Brooks

Stefan Bucher

Kathleen Caliento

Monique Demery

Mark Flanagan

Ben Goldhirsh

Rebecca Goldman

Ellen Goldsmith-Vein

DeAnna Gravillis

Terri Hernandez Rosales

Christine Jaroush

Spike Jonze

Miranda July

Catherine Keener

Keith Knight

Al Madrigal

R. Scott Mitchell

Lani Monos

B.J. Novak

Miwa Okumura

Amber Paasch

Jane Patterson

Keri Putnam

Sylvie Rabineau

Sonja Rasula

Will Reiser

Luis Rodriguez

Tara Roth

Brad Simpson

J. Ryan Stradal

Natalie Tran

Sarah Vowell

Sally Willcox

Julie Wiskirchen

Shop the Time Travel Mart!

Visit our Time Travel Mart storefronts in Echo Park and Mar Vista where you can shop for all your time traveling gears and gadgets. From Mammoth Chunks to Robot Milk to original student-authored books, we pride ourselves on being the only Los Angeles purveyor of quality goods from the past, present, and future. The proceeds from the store help to keep all programs free for our students. You can also visit the stores online at timetravelmart.com.

Echo Park 1714 Sunset Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90026

Mar Vista 12515 Venice Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90066