Exercise: The beginning of Szofia's Secrets story
BEEPBeepBEEPBeepBEEP! wails my alarm clock.
Ugh. I ABSOLUTELY hate the stupid torture devices. I try to slam my fist down on it, but my knuckles scrape the wall. Did I mention my puny room is smaller than my closet at my old room? If I had a nickel for every reason I had to curse moving to this infernal house I would be filthy stinkin’ rich! Sigh.
I pull out my everything-you-could-ever-need-pack and rustle around for a Band-aid. I get up and put my school uniform on, a boring plaid skirt, white button down shirt, navy blue tie, and navy blue loafers. Boring with a side of snores.
I slide down the railing all the way down to the over-crowded kitchen just in time to meet my flush-faced mother.
“Sailor Smith, how many times have I told you to quit sliding down the banister,” she hollers and bustles up the stairs. “Now where did I put my glasses?”
I see them on her head, but I don’t tell her. She’ll find them...eventually.
An excerpt from the beginning of Elizabeth’s Secrets story:
The earth feels warm and moist under my bare feet. The nightingales sing and dance around me, waiting for the treats they know my sparkling green eyes and black hair to bring. Magna pads slowly behind me. I turn and award the silver lynx with some sausage that I had smuggled her.
I had first started to visit Cashmere, the woods I was in, a few years ago because I had needed to provide food for a poor family taking shelter there. At first, the family had been slightly scared of me, but they soon got used to me and to the food I brought them.
-By Elizabeth G.
An excerpt from Ava’s I Remember Poem:
I remember my first crepe, warm and delicious, with nutella oozing out the sides.
I remember the sound of my foot pounding against the soccer ball and the sweet smell of the wet grass after a rainy day.
I remember New York. The cold slight breeze, while the shining lights take over the darkness in the sky.
An excerpt from Nicole’s My Secret Is...Poem:
My secret is made from
the sweetness of sugar,
the colors of different colored sprinkles,
the creamy, buttery frosting.
I found it in a wonder of candles lit with colorful dripping wax,
the clouds like fluffy cream waiting for me to know.
Victor’s My Secret Is...Poem:
My secret is made from pipes, new pipes, old pipes.
It is like rocks and holes under the sink.
It is large, heavy, and cold.
I find it at the supply house, Ace, and in people’s homes.
My dad’s van drives it around to different places—San Francisco, Berkeley, Oakland, and Hayward.
It’s in abandoned dirty houses and in nice lived-in houses.
This secret can fix things—toilets, bathrooms, rooms, floors, garages, streets, and sidewalks. It can also break things.
If I lost this secret I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I would remember and teach my sister.
An excerpt from Sophie’s My Secret Is...Poem:
My secret is made from the richest words in the world.
Fragile papers flip as you journey into this magical land.
Fill up your head with warmth or darken your soul with cruel characters.
Letting your mind take flight like a bird or crawl like a dog, opening doors to feel its words.
I found it sitting soundly on wooden shelves.
Waiting for someone daring enough to sunk their teeth into them.
Lillian’s My Secret Is...Poem:
My secret is made from
the nature around us,
and all the clouds in the
I found it flying high
in the sky
This secret can
around in the sky,
and going down.
If I lost this secret
my heart would
all hope will be
An excerpt from the beginning of Elizabeth T.’s Secret Recipe Story:
Today my family and I are going to my Grandma’s house to clean out her attic. She’s moving to a nursing home on the other side of town. We started just by bringing boxes down. Then we started filtering through the boxes. And I found recipe! It wasn’t a recipe for food. It was a recipe for magic. It was in one of the old rolls, all tarnished. I snuck it home in my jacket pocket.
-By Elizabeth T.