We are third, fourth and fifth graders from a public school in San Francisco's Tenderloin Neighborhood. This blog is a project of Robyn Carter's classroom (Room 2). It's a place to share our art and writing with other kids and teachers.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
CONNIE'S MAGIC By Anny, age 8
It is cold and windy. Connie flies in the sky with the birds. She doesn't have any friends but she has a magic wand. She found it behind the trees.
Her stepmother calls to her in the sky. "It’s time to make cakes."
Connie leaves the sky. She goes to the kitchen. Her stepsister Ling is at the table. Connie asks her for help. "Get the sugar and milk and eggs," Connie says.
Ling says, "No."
Connie stomps to the cupboard and takes out the flour." I wish you would leave if you're not going to help," Connie yells.
Ling throws all of the eggs on the floor and steps on them.
"Get out!" Connie says. Connie goes to her stepmother. "Mei," Connie says. "Ling's bothering me."
"I am not!" Ling says.
"Don't talk to Ling like that," Connie's stepmother says. "Go to your room and stay there.”
Connie flies back to the sky. She hears music. On top of a sky mountain there is a girl playing a flute. The girl flies away and Connie follows her. She catches up with her on the other side of the sky mountain. "What is your name," Connie asks.
"Hi! My name is Amy."
Connie asks if she can be Amy's friend. "Don't let my stepmother and my stepsister know we're friends," says Connie.
“Why not?”
“They are mean.”
“How?”
“They always tell me to do everything.”
“I’ll save you,” Amy says. “Let's use our magic to get to my garden.”
"But l don't how to use my magic," says Connie.
"What do you mean you don't know how to use your magic? You’re flying! I will show you one time only. Here's how. First, point your magic wand at the ground, that's all."
The girls fly to Amy’s backyard. They fill cans with water and pour it over the flowers. Their petals open and the flowers have faces underneath. The flowers stare at Amy and Connie then start to chat. The petals of a red rose blow open. Its mouth moves. Its sharp teeth shine. “Hi,” the rose says. “Welcome to our garden.”
About the Author
Hi! My name is Anny. I am eight years old. I live in San Francisco with my mom and dad. I like to play the keyboards. I am good at writing and swimming. I want to be good at math someday and I wish I were better at drawing. I want to be a nurse when I grow up so I can help people. I don’t get why preschool teachers in China don’t let us hug our moms and dads. If I were a tree I would be a redwood tree so that I could grow tall. This is my first published book.
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