Narrator's Point of View Activity 1

I gripped the steering controls and looked out the cracked window. The asteroid was huge. My copilot Zee tapped the radar. "Three seconds!" she shouted. I knew this was my final test. If I crashed, I would not get my badge. I pulled hard to the left and the asteroid roared past us. Zee hooted so loud she almost burst my eardrum.

Master Tova walked Nadia to the edge of the silver woods. "Three sketches by sundown," Master Tova said. She patted Nadia's shoulder, then turned and walked back down the path. Nadia stepped between the trees alone. Her stomach was full of butterflies. This was her first solo mapping trip, and she did not want to mess up. She unrolled a blank sheet of paper. The trees seemed to lean closer. She thought she heard a giggle behind her, but when she turned, nothing was there. Nadia took a slow breath. She told herself she could do this.

If you spot a Bigfoot in the woods, do not panic. First, you should stand very still. Next, you should lower your voice to a whisper. Then, slowly back away. Do not run, because a Bigfoot is faster than you. If you have a granola bar or other sweet or salty snack, place it on a flat rock as a peace offering. Walk away calmly. You will be fine.

Sam set the brown paper bag on the wooden table. Across the dusty greenhouse, Devi held a small carved box. "Did you bring it?" Devi asked. Sam nodded and slid the bag forward. Devi placed the box next to it. They both reached at the same time. Sam grabbed the box. Devi grabbed the bag. Neither of them opened the items. They turned and walked out through opposite doors without saying another word.

I stepped into the moon boots and bounced straight into the ceiling of the space bus. My helmet made a loud bonk. Commander Nia shouted, "Keep your feet down!" I tried, but the boots kept hopping, and I still had to deliver the alien's birthday cake.

Pip the young dragon stood before the fire judge. He felt scared because only smoke came out when he tried to roar. Across the cave, his sister Luma felt excited. She was sure her flame would be huge. Pip puffed his cheeks and blew a tiny ring of smoke. Luma hoped no one would laugh at him, even though she was ready to show her own fire.

Sara and Mike raced their bikes down the steep hill. Sara leaned forward and pedaled faster. Mike stayed right beside her. They reached the bottom together and skidded to a stop. Sara raised her arms high. Mike wiped sweat from his face and smiled. The watching friends clapped and cheered loudly.

Nora carried her moonberry pie to the judge's table. She hoped the pie would win first place. Across the tent, Bram hid a jar of glitter sugar behind his back. He wanted his pie to shine brighter than everyone else's. Neither baker saw the moonberry vines crawling toward the prizes.

We waited until the streetlights came on. Then we crept around to the back of the old Hennessy greenhouse. Aria led the way with her flashlight. Bash carried the rope. We had been planning this trip for two whole weeks. The back door was rusty and stuck. I leaned my shoulder into it and pushed hard. The door swung open with a long, creepy creak. We all froze on the steps. Aria grinned at me. "After you," she whispered.

The troll ducked under the tea shop door. His horns scraped the wooden frame. A baker held up a tray of tiny cakes and said, "One at a time, please." The troll picked up one cake with two fingers and dropped the whole tray into his mouth. The baker pointed to a sign that said, "No eating the tray."

You start with one ripe banana. Leave the peel on. Take a small knife and cut a long slit down the middle. Do not cut all the way through. Push small chunks of chocolate down inside the slit. Sprinkle a little cinnamon and brown sugar on top. Wrap the whole banana in tin foil. Place it at the edge of the fire for ten minutes. When you unwrap it, the banana will be soft and warm. Grab a spoon and eat it right out of the peel.

Asha stood between the goal posts. Her heart pounded loud in her ears. The other team's striker placed the ball on the spot. Asha felt her hands shake inside her gloves. She wanted to dive left, but she was not sure. The striker took two steps back. Asha breathed in hard and made up her mind. When the striker ran forward, Asha dove left. The ball smacked her gloves and bounced into the grass.

Maren sat on the couch and watched the front door. Her friend Wren sat next to her. A soft thump came from upstairs. Maren felt her heart speed up. The kids they were watching had gone to bed an hour ago. Maren thought she had locked every door. She hoped Wren did not see her hands shake. Wren stared at the dark stairs and did not move. The thump came again, louder this time.

First, you hold the bent magic wand with both hands. Next, you say sorry without making excuses. Do not blame the cat, even if the cat started it. If the wizard's beard stops smoking, you are doing well. If your shoes turn into frogs, say sorry again.

Detective Nia Park leaned forward at the table. She felt sure she had her thief. Across from her, Marco sat with his arms crossed. He felt his stomach twist. He had not taken the trophy, but he could not prove it. Nia tapped her pencil and watched him closely. She thought Marco's face looked guilty. Marco kept his mouth shut. He hoped Nia would believe him.

A green dragon rolled into the skate park on a silver skateboard. Milo lowered his scooter and stared. The dragon flapped its wings, jumped onto the ramp, and landed with all four claws spread wide. "Your turn," said the dragon. Milo pointed to the sign that read NO FIRE BREATHING. The dragon puffed one thin cloud of smoke and rolled away.

I put my dollar into the vending machine, but it did not give me chips. Instead, it sucked my science homework right out of my hand. I slapped the glass and watched my paper slide behind the pretzels. A tiny screen blinked: PAYMENT ACCEPTED. When I told my teacher the truth, it somehow sounded less believable than a lie.

You are walking home from school. The sun is behind you. You glance down at your long shadow on the sidewalk. Then your shadow stops walking. You take another step, but your shadow does not. It crosses its little shadow arms and shakes its head at you. You stand very still on the sidewalk. Your shadow turns and starts walking the other way. It gives you a small wave over its shoulder. A nearby squirrel watches the whole thing. If you want to chase your shadow and bring it back, turn to page 7. If you want to live without a shadow from now on, turn to page 29.

Mina looked into the magic mirror and hoped it would help her pick a costume. The mirror said, "Wear the lampshade." Mina felt sure that was bad advice. She held up a cape instead. The mirror sighed loudly. Mina wished she had asked the toaster.

Julio piped tiny pink macarons onto a silver tray. He felt nervous. His hands were sticky with icing. He looked across the kitchen at Mary. She was frosting a tall chocolate cake. Mary felt very calm. She knew her cake would beat the macarons. Across the kitchen, Julio saw Mary smile. He hoped her cake would fall. Mary added one more rose on top. She felt sure she had already won.

I gripped the steering controls and tried to keep my hands steady. The asteroid filled the entire viewport, jagged and gray. "Course adjustment in three seconds," my copilot Zee announced, tapping the radar screen. I felt my pulse jump, but I forced myself to focus. This was the final phase of my pilot exam, and one bad move would buy me another year of simulator drills. I waited for the proximity alarm, then yanked the controls hard to port. Our little ship dipped, the asteroid roared past on the right, and Zee let out a whoop that nearly burst my eardrums.

Master Tova walked Nadia to the edge of the silver woods and stopped at the last patch of sunlight on the path. "Three sketches by sundown," Master Tova said. She patted Nadia's shoulder twice, then turned and headed back down the path without looking over her shoulder. Nadia watched the gray cloak disappear between the birches before she stepped forward. Her stomach was full of butterflies as she walked deeper in. This was her first solo charting trip, and she desperately did not want to mess it up. She unrolled a blank parchment and set it on her portable easel. The pale trees seemed to lean a little closer to watch. Nadia thought she heard a small giggle from somewhere behind her, but when she turned, the path was empty. She took a slow breath and reminded herself that she had spent three years preparing for this exact moment. She picked up her pen and began to sketch the bend in the trail.

If you spot a Bigfoot in the woods, do not panic. The first thing you should do is freeze in place, as any sudden movements make them nervous. Next, lower your voice to a whisper and slowly back away from the trail. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to run. Bigfoot is faster than you on uneven ground and can smell adrenaline from over a mile away. Reach into your backpack, pull out a granola bar or other sweet or salty snack, and place it on a flat rock as a peace offering. Then walk calmly to the nearest ranger station and file a sighting report. Congratulations, you have just survived your first Bigfoot encounter.

Sam set the wrinkled brown paper bag on the wooden potting table. Across the dusty greenhouse, Devi clutched a small carved box against her chest. "Did you bring all of it?" Devi asked. Sam nodded once and slid the bag toward her. Devi crouched and placed the box beside the bag. They reached forward at exactly the same instant. Sam grabbed the box. Devi grabbed the bag. Neither of them peeked inside. Devi tucked the bag under her hoodie. Sam slipped the box into a backpack. They turned and walked out through opposite glass doors without saying another word.

I knew the moon boots were a bad idea as soon as I took the first step. My left foot floated up, my right foot kicked the snack cart, and three bags of freeze-dried pudding spun through the space bus. Commander Nia grabbed a seat belt and yelled, "You have to turn them off!" I looked down at the blinking buttons on my ankles. I had no idea which one meant "stop bouncing." Outside the window, the alien birthday dome came closer, and the cake box floated gently out of my hands.

Pip stepped into the center of the cave for the royal fire test. He felt a knot of panic when the judge pointed to the target torch. Yesterday, his best roar had only made smoke. He needed to do better than that today and he knew it. On the ledge above him, his sister Luma waited for her turn and felt certain she would blast the torch clean off its hook. Pip puffed out his cheeks and released one wobbly gray smoke ring. Luma wanted to laugh, but she also hoped the judge would not mark him too harshly. The smoke ring drifted across the cave and settled perfectly around the torch like a tiny crown.

Sara and Mike flew down the steep dirt hill on their bikes. Sara leaned low over her handlebars and pedaled hard. Mike matched her speed and kept his eyes on the path ahead. Gravel sprayed from their tires as they hit the bottom at the exact same moment. Sara thrust both arms into the air. Mike slowed down, wiped sweat from his forehead, and shook her hand. Their friends on the sidelines clapped and cheered.

Nora carried her moonberry pie through the fair tent with both hands. She hoped the silver crust would impress the judges, especially after she had stayed awake half the night picking berries by lantern light. Across the tent, Bram slipped a jar of glitter sugar from his apron pocket. He wanted his own pie to sparkle so brightly that no one would notice the burned edge. Nora set her pie on the table and smiled at the judges. Bram shook glitter sugar over his crust, but he did not see the moonberry vines curling around the table legs. Neither baker knew that the winner of the contest was about to be decided by sudden death.

We waited until the streetlights flickered on and the block went quiet. Then we crept around to the back of the old greenhouse, the one that had been boarded up for as long as any of us could remember. Aria led the way with her dad's heavy flashlight, the beam jumping across the crumbling brick. Bash carried the coil of rope and a pair of bolt cutters, just in case. We had been planning this expedition for two whole weeks, and tonight was supposed to be the night we finally cracked it open. The rusted back door was stuck shut. I leaned my shoulder into the warped wood and shoved hard, and the door swung open with a long, theatrical creak that made all of us flinch at the same time. Aria turned and grinned at me in the dark. "After you," she whispered.

The troll ducked through the tea shop doorway and knocked a brass bell from the frame with one horn. Cups rattled on three tables. Mira the baker lifted a tray of lemon cakes and said, "Small bites, please." The troll pinched one cake between two claws, looked at it, and then tipped the entire tray into his mouth. Mira pointed to the chalkboard menu, then to the tray sticking out between the troll's teeth. "The tray costs extra," she said.

Start with one very ripe banana, and leave the peel on. With a small kitchen knife, you carefully slice a long slit down the middle of the banana from end to end. Do not cut all the way through! You want a pocket, not two halves. Tuck small chunks of dark chocolate into the slit, then sprinkle a generous pinch of cinnamon and a spoonful of brown sugar across the top. Wrap the whole banana tightly in a square of aluminum foil and set it at the edge of the campfire's hot coals for about ten minutes. When you peel back the foil, the banana inside will be soft and dark, the chocolate fully melted into rivers. Grab a spoon and eat it straight out of the peel.

Asha stood alone between the goal posts, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it. The striker, a tall girl in a yellow jersey, placed the ball carefully on the penalty spot. Asha could feel her hands shaking inside her gloves, and she silently begged herself to pick a side and commit. She wanted to dive left; her gut had been saying left all week. The striker took two slow steps backward. Asha sucked in a breath, made up her mind, and felt a strange, calm certainty settle into her shoulders. When the striker came running in, Asha threw herself left. The ball smacked the heel of her glove and bounced harmlessly into the grass.

Maren sat on the edge of the couch and watched the front door without blinking. Her friend Wren sat next to her, equally still. From somewhere upstairs, a soft thump traveled down through the ceiling. Maren felt her heart kick into a faster rhythm and silently begged it to quiet down. The two kids they had been hired to babysit had been asleep for an hour, and she was nearly certain she had locked every door before sundown. She hoped Wren could not see her hands trembling against her knees. Wren stared up at the dark stairs without moving, her face unreadable. The thump came again, twice this time, and Maren could not help thinking that footsteps were a far better word than thump.

When you accidentally bend a wizard's wand, begin with honesty. Hold the wand carefully, keep your elbows away from any glowing objects, and say, "I am sorry." Do not blame the cat, the wind, or the mysterious invisible sneeze you just invented. If the wizard's beard stops smoking, you may place the wand on the nearest table. If your shoes turn into frogs, remain calm. Frogs respond well to calm voices, and wizards respond well to real apologies.

Detective Nia Park leaned forward across the small wooden table and watched Marco's face for any small twitch. She felt certain she had finally cornered the right suspect. The chess trophy had been missing from the case for two whole days, and Marco had been the last student seen near it. Across the table, Marco sat with his arms tightly crossed and felt his stomach twist into a hard knot. He had not taken the trophy, not even close, but he could not figure out how to prove it. Nia tapped her pencil against her notepad and studied him. She thought his stiff shoulders looked guilty enough to write down. Marco kept his mouth firmly shut and hoped Nia would simply choose to believe him.

A green dragon rolled into the skate park on a skateboard made from an old knight's shield. Milo stopped beside the half-pipe and lowered one foot to the concrete. The dragon kicked twice, flapped its wings, and launched into the air. It spun once, landed with all four claws spread wide, and scraped a line of sparks across the ramp. "Your turn," the dragon said. Milo pointed to the sign beside the bench: NO FIRE BREATHING. The dragon puffed a thin ribbon of smoke, tucked its wings, and rolled toward the snack stand.

I put my last dollar into the hallway vending machine and pressed B7 for barbecue chips. The machine clacked, hummed, and then sucked my science homework straight through the slot like it was hungry for extra credit. I slapped the glass while my paper slid behind a row of pretzels. The screen flashed PAYMENT ACCEPTED, which seemed unfair since I had not ordered disaster. When I told Mr. Rivas what happened, he stared at me for ten full seconds. I was pretty sure the truth had never sounded so fake.

You are walking home from school on a warm afternoon. The sun behind you casts a long shadow in front of your sneakers. You glance down and notice something strange: your shadow has stopped walking. You take a step forward, but it does not move. It crosses its arms and shakes its head like a parent who caught you reaching for a cookie. You stand frozen while a squirrel watches from a fence. Your shadow turns away, gives a polite wave over its shoulder, and strolls off in the opposite direction. If you want to drop your backpack and chase your shadow down before it reaches the corner, turn to page 7. If you want to shrug, accept your new shadowless life, and head home for a snack, turn to page 29.

Mina stood in front of the magic mirror, hoping it would help her choose a costume for the royal festival. "Wear the lampshade," the mirror said, blinking its silver frame. Mina felt certain that a lampshade was not a costume, at least not one she wanted to explain to an entire ballroom. She held up a blue cape instead. The mirror groaned and said, "Fine, if you want to look normal." Mina wished she had asked the toaster for advice.

Julio piped a careful row of tiny pink macarons onto a silver tray with shaking fingers. He felt nervous in a way he had not felt since the regional finals last spring, and his hands were sticky with leftover buttercream. He glanced across the kitchen at his only remaining competition. Mary was frosting a tall three-tier chocolate cake without breaking a sweat. She silently congratulated herself for choosing chocolate; the judges always melted for a tall chocolate cake, and Julio's delicate little cookies looked fussy. Julio caught the small smile playing at the corner of Mary's mouth and felt his stomach tighten. He hoped her top tier would collapse. Mary piped one final frosting rose at the peak of her cake and felt certain she had already won.

I gripped the steering controls and willed my hands to remember how to fly. Through the cracked viewport of the Helios, the asteroid loomed jagged and gray, filling my view until I forgot it was a problem I could solve. "Course adjustment in three seconds," my copilot Zee announced, her voice calm to avoid spooking me. I forced myself to breathe. This was the final phase of the junior pilot exam; the testing board had warned us that a single panicked correction would mean another twelve months in the simulator. I waited until the proximity alarm warbled, then hauled the yoke hard to port. The ship dipped, the asteroid roared past on the starboard side close enough to read its serial designation, and Zee whooped in victory.

Master Tova walked Nadia to the edge of the silver woods and halted in the last patch of sunlight on the path. "Three sketches by sundown, no excuses," Master Tova said. She gave Nadia's shoulder two firm pats, then turned and walked back down the path without looking over her shoulder. Nadia watched the gray cloak weave between the birches until it vanished. She stepped forward into the silver woods with a nervous flutter under her ribs. This was her first solo charting trip, the assignment her mentor had hinted at for months, and she would rather be eaten by a moss-troll than return with a blank parchment. She unrolled a fresh sheet onto her portable easel and weighted the corners with river stones. The pale trees seemed to lean closer, watching. She thought she heard a giggle behind her, but when she turned, the path was empty. Nadia took a slow breath. She had spent three years preparing for this, and the trees did not get a vote. She picked up her pen and began to sketch the first bend in the trail.

If you spot a Bigfoot in the woods, do not panic. The first move, before you do anything heroic or memorable, is to plant your boots and refuse to move. Any sudden gesture will read as a threat to a creature who has been hiding from humans for several thousand years. Next, lower your voice to the kind of whisper you use during library final exams, and begin a slow, deliberate retreat from the trail. Under no circumstances should you attempt to run. Bigfoot is faster than you on uneven terrain and can detect adrenaline from over a mile downwind. Reach into your backpack for a granola bar or other sweet or salty snack, and set it on a flat rock as a peace offering. Then walk, do not jog, to the nearest ranger station and file your sighting report at the front desk. You have just survived your first encounter, and your application to the Junior Cryptozoology Society is now eligible for review.

Sam set the paper bag on the wooden potting table beside the tomato seedlings. Across the dusty greenhouse, Devi clutched a small carved box. "Did you bring all of it?" she asked, her voice barely louder than the drip from the irrigation hose. Sam nodded and slid the bag toward her. Devi crouched, set the box beside the bag, and stood. They reached forward at the same time. Sam grabbed the box. Devi grabbed the bag. Devi zipped the bag inside her hoodie. Sam wedged the box into the backpack and yanked the drawstring tight. They walked out through opposite doors. The greenhouse sat silent except for the dripping hose.

I should have read the moon boot instructions before strapping them over my uniform, but the delivery timer was already flashing red. One careless step launched me into the curved ceiling of the transport, where my helmet struck the metal with a shameful clang. Commander Nia twisted around from the pilot seat and shouted, "You are going to ruin the cake!" I wanted to argue, but at that moment the cake was drifting past me in slow, beautiful disaster. I slapped at the nearest ankle switch and sent myself spinning sideways instead of down. Through the front window, the alien birthday dome glowed purple against the dust plain, and I wondered how many apologies it took to survive interplanetary catering.

Pip stepped into the center of the training cave while the royal fire judge raised a target torch on a silver hook. He felt the old panic tighten under his scales. Yesterday, his fiercest roar had produced only three smoke rings and a smell like burnt cabbage. He needed to do better than that today and he knew it. Above him on the practice ledge, Luma waited with her claws dug into the stone, secretly certain her own flame would knock the torch clean from its hook. Pip drew one careful breath and exhaled a trembling gray ring. Luma wanted to laugh at first, but shame pricked at her when she saw Pip's shoulders sag. The smoke ring floated upward, slipped around the torch, and began spinning so fast that the flame turned blue. The judge leaned closer, and Pip wondered if smoke magic counted.

Sara and Mike hurtled down the steep winding dirt trail on their mountain bikes. Sara crouched low over her handlebars and attacked the pedals. Mike stayed glued to her side, eyes locked on the treacherous path. Their tires threw up clouds of gravel and dust as they burst out of the final turn and crossed the finish line together. Sara shot both arms skyward in victory. Mike eased to a stop beside her, wiped the sweat from his brow, and extended his hand. The group of friends watching from the sidelines erupted into loud applause.

Nora carried her moonberry pie through the fair tent as if she were transporting a sleeping spell. She hoped the judges would notice the silver crust first, because she had spent half the night pinching tiny stars into the dough while her brothers snored beside the oven. Across the tent, Bram slid a jar of glitter sugar from his apron pocket and tried to look innocent. He wanted his pie to blaze with enough sparkle to distract everyone from the scorched left edge, which still smelled faintly of smoke and poor decisions. Nora set her pie on the velvet judging cloth, proud but pretending to be humble. Bram dusted his crust with glitter sugar, certain the trick would work. Under the table, the moonberry vines began curling around the prize ribbons, and neither baker knew that the winner of the contest was about to be decided by sudden death.

We waited until the streetlights flickered on and the block went quiet. Then we slipped around to the back of the old greenhouse, the one that had been boarded up for as long as any of us could remember and probably longer than that. Aria led the way with her flashlight beam jumping over the crumbling brick. Bash carried the coil of rope, the bolt cutters, and a granola bar. We had been planning this expedition for two solid weeks, and tonight, according to the schedule taped to the inside of my closet door, was supposed to be the night we finally got past the back wall. The rusted door was stuck shut, the way you would expect a door to be stuck shut after a decade of weather. I leaned my shoulder into the warped wood and shoved hard, and the door swung open with a long, theatrical creak that made every one of us flinch backward at the same time. Aria turned and grinned at me in the gray dark. "After you," she whispered.

The troll folded himself through the tea shop doorway, scraping both horns along the lintel and knocking the brass welcome bell into a vase of sugar spoons. Three customers lifted their cups at once, and the spoons clattered around the room. Mira, the baker, set a tray of lemon cakes on the counter and said, "Please choose carefully; the royal inspector is at table four." The troll lowered his snout, picked one cake with two claws, and swallowed the rest of the tray in a single gulp. The inspector wiped frosting from his sleeve and placed a small gold badge on the table. Mira pointed at the wooden tray protruding from the troll's mouth. "That will be twelve coins for dessert and eight for the tray," she said.

Begin with a single very ripe banana, and resist the urge to peel it. Using a small kitchen knife, carefully slice a long slit down the length of the fruit, taking care not to cut entirely through. You are aiming for a deep pocket, not two halves. Tuck small chunks of dark chocolate into the slit, pressing them gently into the soft fruit. Sprinkle a generous pinch of ground cinnamon over the top, followed by a heaping spoonful of brown sugar that will eventually melt into a sticky caramel. Wrap the whole banana tightly in a square of aluminum foil, twisting the ends so that nothing escapes, and nestle the package at the glowing edge of the campfire coals for roughly ten minutes. When you peel back the foil, the banana inside will be soft and nearly black, the chocolate fully dissolved into dark rivers and the sugar transformed into something close to candy. Reach for a spoon and eat it straight out of the peel.

Asha stood alone between the goal posts and tried to slow the drumming in her chest. She could hear her own breath as clearly as if she were underwater. The rest of the field had narrowed to a single bright square of grass. Across that square, the striker in the yellow jersey was placing the ball on the chalk spot with deliberate, almost theatrical care. Asha curled her fingers inside her gloves and willed them to stop shaking. She had been telling herself all week that her gut would know which way to dive, and her gut had been saying left, left, left for three days running. The striker took two unhurried steps backward and stood very still. Asha drew one long breath, made up her mind, and felt a strange, settling calm spread across her shoulders, the kind of calm she had only ever felt in dreams of this moment. When the striker came running in, Asha threw herself left without hesitation. The ball met the heel of her glove with a satisfying smack and bounced harmlessly into the grass.

Maren sat on the edge of the couch with her eyes pinned to the front door, refusing to so much as blink. Her friend Wren sat beside her, equally still, equally quiet. From somewhere upstairs, a soft thump traveled down through the ceiling like a question. Maren felt her heart kick into a faster rhythm and silently begged it to settle; the two kids they had been hired to watch had been asleep for an hour at least, and she was nearly certain she had locked every door and window before sundown. She hoped, almost prayed, that Wren could not see her hands trembling against her knees. Wren stared up at the dark staircase with an expression Maren could not read. The thump came again, twice this time, evenly spaced, and Maren could no longer pretend she did not know what the right word was. Footsteps, she thought. The right word was footsteps.

When you damage a wizard's wand, your first task is to resist the foolish but natural urge to hide it under a cushion. Stand at a respectful distance, hold the wand horizontally, and admit exactly what happened. Do not claim the wand was already bent unless you enjoy being turned into decorative pottery. If the wizard's beard begins to smoke, lower your voice and continue apologizing without adding excuses. You may mention that the cat leaped onto the table, but only after you accept full responsibility for waving the wand near the chandelier. Once the wizard stops muttering in ancient thunder-language, place the wand on a clean cloth and back away slowly.

Detective Nia Park leaned forward across the small wooden table in the empty media room and studied Marco's face for any small twitch she might write down. She felt a quiet certainty settle over her shoulders. She was confident, finally, that she had cornered the right suspect. The chess trophy had been missing from the front case for two full days, and Marco had been the last student seen anywhere near it. Across the table, Marco sat with his arms tightly crossed and felt his stomach twist into a hard, miserable knot. He had not taken the trophy, not even close, but he could not for the life of him figure out how to demonstrate that fact to someone who had already made up her mind. Nia tapped her pencil thoughtfully against her open notepad and watched him. She thought his stiff shoulders and locked jaw looked guilty enough to be worth a note. Marco kept his mouth firmly shut and hoped, with everything he had, that Nia would simply choose to believe him.

A green dragon rolled through the gate of the skate park on a dented silver board shaped like a knight's shield. Milo stood at the edge of the half-pipe with one foot on his scooter and one foot on the concrete. The dragon pushed off, folded its wings tight, and shot down the ramp so fast that its tail sparked against the rail. At the lip of the half-pipe, it sprang upward, spun once, and landed with all four claws splayed across the board. Three skaters backed away from the rail. "Your turn," the dragon said, smoke curling from one nostril. Milo tapped the sign bolted to the fence: NO FIRE BREATHING. The dragon exhaled a thin gray puff, nodded once, and rolled toward the snack stand.

I fed my last dollar into the vending machine outside Room 214. The machine accepted the bill, rattled like it was coughing up bolts, and then pulled my science homework through the return slot with one smooth mechanical slurp. For a second, I just stood there holding the torn corner of my lab report. Behind the glass, my paper drifted down between barbecue chips and cinnamon crackers, then vanished behind the pretzel row. The little screen blinked PAYMENT ACCEPTED. By the time I reached class, I had rehearsed the truth six different ways, and every version sounded like something a desperate student would invent in a hallway.

You are walking home from school on an unremarkable Thursday afternoon, a warm day when the sky is almost too blue. The sun casts a long shadow ahead of your sneakers. You glance down out of habit, then again, because something is wrong. Your shadow has stopped walking. You take another step forward, but it does not. It crosses its arms and shakes its head like a disappointed sibling. You stand frozen while a squirrel watches from a fence. Your shadow turns away, gives a small wave over its shoulder, and strolls off in the opposite direction with hands clasped behind its back. If you want to drop your backpack on the sidewalk and chase your shadow down before it reaches the corner of Maple Street, turn to page 7. If you want to shrug, accept the surprising dignity of your new shadowless life, and continue calmly toward home and a snack, turn to page 29.

Mina stood before the enchanted mirror with three costumes spread across her bed and one hour before the royal festival began. She hoped the mirror would offer something wise, stylish, or at least less chaotic than its usual suggestions. The mirror shimmered and said, "Wear the lampshade." Mina felt a tired certainty that the mirror had once belonged to someone with terrible friends. She lifted a blue velvet cape and held it under her chin. "Predictable," the mirror said. Mina wanted to argue, but arguing with furniture had already made her late twice that week. She chose the cape, fastened the clasp, and decided that next time she would ask the toaster.

Julio piped a careful row of tiny pink macarons onto a polished silver tray, his hands shaking. Nervous tightness filled his chest for the first time since the regional finals, and his fingers were sticky with buttercream. He glanced across the stainless steel kitchen at Mary frosting a tall three-tier chocolate cake unhurriedly. She felt perfectly calm and congratulated herself on choosing chocolate, which judges always favored, while Julio's delicate cookies looked fussy for the final. He caught her satisfied smile and felt his stomach knot, secretly hoping her top tier would slide off onto the tile. Mary added one final frosting rose and felt certain she had already won.