Cloey, the elf.was wlID~I1'~~[fi}~in circles,

armsou1:stretchedr

wakhing the stars spin.

IIveryone has heard of physical growth spurts,right? Well, last summer 1 had a mental one.

It happened on a whispery summer nightin late August. Looking back, the first thing that 1re­member is the sweet smell of barbecue, seeing Grand­ma and Uncle Hector, then the field near the edge ofthe woods just behind my grandparents' house, withthe song of the crickets and the wind laced with hintsof honeysuckle. Then 1 remember the fireflies. Therewere more out that night than any 1had ever seen any­where. They reminded me of flashbulbs going off at aHollywood premiere. My cousins and 1were glam­orous celebrities nodding to the ecstatic, waving trees.The fabulous Beth, a year older than 1 (fifteen then),the sprightly and energetic Cloey (fresh out of kinder­garten), and 1 (I'm the one with the tush-length hair)were just winding down a long day of swimming andbarbecue with a walk along the edge of the woods.Cloey, the elf, was whirling around in circles, armsoutstretched, watching the stars spin in brilliantstreaks above her.

The adults were sitting on the back porch, lettingtheir food settle before turning in. Beth and 1werestaring at the ground a few feet from Cloey, watchingour feet move through the tall grasses. 1 looked up andnoticed Cloey whirling around just in time to see herabout to smash into me.

"Cloey, stop!" 1cried out. But it was too late. Shespun out of control and brought down both me and

Ebony Hairston wrote this story in tenth grade at Hazelwood

Central High School in her hometown of Florissant, Missouri.An active member of the track team and ecology club at her school,she is also interested in art of all kinds. Painting murals, skat­ing, bicycling, reading, and writing fill her leisure hours. Ebony'swork has been published in Merlyn's Pen's Oct./Nov. '95 MiddleSchool Edition. She sees a career in journalism in her future andis "aching to see the world. "

OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996

Beth. We all ended up in a twisted, giggling pile in theweeds. "You know, we used to do that all the time," 1said, gasping for breath.

"Yeah!" came Beth's voice from behind my leg."And just as gracefully, too."

Cloey snorted, wiggling free."Yeah, but we would always start in the middle of

the field," 1 reminded her.''Yeah, and see who could spin the longest without

falling down," said Beth."But then," 1said laughingly, "eventually we'd

manage to crash into each other anyway and end upjust like this."

"Yeah." Beth sighed, letting herself collapse backinto the soft grass.

Deciding that 1was tired of being a pretzel, 1 col­lected the last of my limbs and struggled to a sittingposition, swishing a few lengths of hair past Beth'sface. She fingered it in mid-swing.

"You have some really pretty hair, Nina," she saidadmiringly.

"Thanks," 1 answered, blowing some out of myeyes.

"And ... " she continued cautiously, "I think itwould look especially cute ... short."

"Yeah!" said Cloey, who had been waiting for anexcuse to raise her voice.

"Nooooooo!" 1howled, clutching mycurly locks protectively."I could never cut myhair."

"Oh, why not?"countered Beth. "It'sbeen that way forever.Try something new thisyear, for high school.Everybody gets a new look for high school!"

My mood darkened."Well, I'm not," 1 said sulkily."At least think about it," she said in a way that

told me her case wasn't closed. "You know," she con­tinued, "I almost forgot you're starting high schoolthis year! Aren't you excited?"

"Mmm," 1said indifferently."Well, 1 started last year and 1 thought it was

great! A lot better than middle school. A lot morefreedom. 1even managed to get my parents to stoptreating me like an infant. 1mean, like 1was six yearsold or something."

"Hey!" said Cloey."No offense," she assured. "But, Nina, 1 really

think you're going to love it. You could join all sortsof clubs and groups. 1must have joined at least fifty!Are there any you're interested in?"

1shrugged and began playing with my hair."Well, you don't have to worry about that until

school starts. Then you could always find out whatyour friends are joining and sign up with them. What

MERLYN'S PEN SENIOR EDITION 13

-

--I have not settled on the gravestone yetthe size, the shape, the wordsto tell visitors that you livedand that someone loved you, me.I've been living dayshunched over flowers-red roseson the risen ground,orange poppIes,suffocating blooming buds,yellow carnations,depriving them of sunlight,purple lilacs,ripping out ant-infested petals,black,and crusted leaves,brown.And I don't know which is worse­dying flowers or granite slab.Granite gives me nothing,nothing that has ever lived,nothing that will ever die,nothing of my pain.

-Keri Hughes,Tenth grade, Milton Academy,Milton, Massachusetts

house already. We can always come out here when wewant to see them again."

Beth and I were aghast! It was the most profoundand sensitive thing that the little rug rat had ever said.

"That's very deep, Cloey," said Beth, shaking herhead. "How did you ever come up with that?"

"Easy. That's what Grammie said to me yesterdaywhen I wanted to take some fireflies home. I don't seewhy Nina should get to when I can't."

Beth laughed and tousled Cloey's pigtailed head."Come on, Nina," she said, turning to me. "Let it go.It's getting late."

''Yeah, Nina, let it go," said Cloey. "I wanna see ifthere's any corn on the cob left!"

Then ... I did. We stood there in reverent silence

for a few moments watching the small insect enjoy itsfreedom. It bobbed, weaved, and then it left us to joinits kin in the woods. A light for every memory, Ithought ... then, looking up ... and a star for everyfuture dream.

"You're right," I said to Beth. "It is getting late.The time really flew by."

"Yeah," she said, linking arms with me. We beganthe long trek back to the house. Then, after a fewsteps, I felt a sharp tug on the left side of my head."So what do you think?" she mused. "Shoulderlength?" *

At the Site of a Fresh Grave

about sports? Are you thinking about trying out foranything-volleyball, basketball, swimming?"

I shrugged."Cheer leading?"I shrugged."Track?"

I shrugged."Theater? Student council? Debate? Softball?

Tennis?"

"No, OK?" I finally exploded. "I don't want to docheerleading, or band, or de-

I/ NooooooO! rr I bate, or anything. I don'~even want to go to hIgh

h01Nled clutching school. Do you know, what they do to

my locks protectively. freshmen there?The classes are going

"I would never to be impossible! I

t won't even know whereC U my hair! rr anything is. Besides, th.eyredrew the boundary lInesthis year. All of my friends are

going to Northeast. I hate my new school and I hatethat everything is changing! I wish things could just besimple, like before. I wish I could just stay in middleschoo!!"

"But you can't just not go. You graduated! Besides,you've got to grow up sometime," countered Beth.

"Not if I can help it," I grumbled. We sat in silencefor a few moments, glaring at each other through theweeds. Then with a sudden bit of inspiration, I scram­bled to a standing position. "Come on, Cloey," I saidwith dignity. "Let's go chase fireflies."

Cloey, who had just started to get bored, didn'thesitate, and for a little while it was magic. It was likethe stars had come for a visit, and Cloey and I weredancing around with them. Make a wish, I thought.Catch a star and keep it and everything will be fine. SoI did. I looked up at the nearest point of light, grabbedfor it, caught it, and held on as tightly as I knew how.

"Aha!" I said with triumph. "I've got one. Look,isn't it pretty, Cloey?" Cloey approached cautiouslyand peeked at the tiny critter through an opening Imade in my hand. When she drew back, she had a hor­rible frown scrawled on her face.

"Yes, but let it go," she said, pouting."Are you sure?" I said, drawing it a little closer to

me. To her it was an insect; to me it was my child­hood.

"Yes!" said the elf, stomping her sandaled foot."But why?" I pleaded. "Don't you want to take it

back to the house and keep it in our room?""NO!" screamed the six-year-old. "We can't!""Why not?" I said, my voice trembling."Because, there is a time and a place for every-

thing. Fireflies only have a short time on earth. It'sbetter that they spend that time out here, doing whatthey do best, and they don't belong in the house. Theyare beautiful, but there are other pretty things in the

14 MERLYN'S PEN SENIOR EDITION OCTOBER / NOVEMBER 1996