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please.”
    Â 
    Kareem was very quiet as they walked back to the house.
    â€œYou all right, Kareem?” Sky asked. She did keep asking him that question, didn’t she?
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œWas it…what was it like in there?”
    He turned toward her and stopped walking.
    â€œDark. Like your sister said.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œAnd close. And cold.”
    â€œAh.”
    â€œLike a grave.”

14
I Saw You Ha Ha
    â€œI HAVE A SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT for you,” Mrs. Chavez said. “Any of you ever heard of the Land of Enchantment Essay Contest?”
    A few hands went up.
    â€œWell, it’s a charming little blast from the past, a New Mexico tradition since the late forties, early fifties. Your grandmother may have written one of these things, back when she was in seventh grade. I certainly did. It was called the New Mexico Youth Essay Contest then. They changed it to Land of Enchantment later on.”
    â€œWhat’s the prize?” James wanted to know.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter ’cause you’re not going to win. So get that out of your heads right now. This is a statewide contest , guys, with thousands and thousands of entries. Besides, it’s not about winning. Yes, Jason?”
    â€œThen what is it about?”
    The class giggled.
    â€œIt’s about learning—about exploring an issue in depth, taking the time to really think it through, then exploring it some more by writing about it.”
    â€œCan we do multimedia?”
    â€œYes. You can do anything you want, as long as there’s a primary written component.”
    She picked up a pile of papers from her desk and handed them to the first person in each row.
    â€œThese are the guidelines. Please pass them back so everybody has one.” She waited till the rustling of paper had died down, then continued. “This is supposed to be fun, okay? And in that spirit, everybody gets an A—as long as you turn something in, of course.”
    Naturally this got a very warm response—clapping, and cheering, and plenty of smiles.
    â€œSee, I think by seventh grade you ought to be mature enough to give something your very best effort—not for a grade but for the simple pleasure of doing it well. Javier, that wasn’t meant to be funny.”
    Sky noticed that Gerald was writing something on a piece of notebook paper. Or maybe he was drawing; she couldn’t tell which. He was covering it with his hand. Now and then he’d glance over at her and smirk.
    â€œYou have two topics to choose between: ‘What I LoveAbout My Country’ and ‘What Is the Meaning of Courage?’. They’re a bit broad, if you want my opinion, and a little corny. But that’s okay. It’ll make it more of a challenge. Yes, Rachel.”
    â€œHow long is it supposed to—”
    â€œIt’s in the guidelines.”
    Gerald was folding up the paper now, tinier and tinier. When it was about the size of a spitball, he flicked it at Sky. It bounced off her desk and landed on the floor.
    Mrs. Chavez went to the board. Marker in hand, she turned to the class. “What would you say good writing is?”
    Jacob raised his hand and said that good writing should be interesting.
    â€œAll right.” She wrote it down.
    Now that the first olive was out of the jar, more came tumbling out. Good writing should make sense. It should have the words spelled correctly and have proper grammar. One by one, Mrs. Chavez wrote all these things on the board.
    â€œPick it up,” Gerald whispered to Sky.
    She ignored him, so he poked Helen, who sat between them. “Give that to Sky.” Helen reached down, got the wad of paper, and laid it on Sky’s desk.
    â€œAnybody else?”
    â€œUm, it shouldn’t jump around?”
    â€œThat’s a good one, Bethany. It should proceed in a logical and orderly fashion.”
    â€œRead it!” Gerald hissed.
    No, Sky