Angie shut her eyes and tried to breathe slower, in case they looked in. Hearing the click of the light switch in their bedroom, she opened her eyes. She rolled her hips around until she was lying on her side and eavesdropped on their conversation. “T don’t care what she wants,” her mother’s voice sounded quiet but intense. “I am not going to have that animal in my house.” Angie felt her face growing hot. She clenched her right hand into a fist and waited for her father’s reply. “T can’t understand your feeling like this,’’ her father paused, cleared his throat, and went on. “Having a pet can teach a child responsibility.”’ “T said I won’t have it,” her voice rose louder. “You can take it to the pound tomorrow. Let them get rid of it.” Angie held her breath. The pillow case felt cool against her hot, sweaty face. She opened her right hand stiffly and brushed wet tendrils of hair off her cheek. Her throat burned with the effort of holding her breath. She let it out slowly, listening to its hiss. Angie made a fist from her right hand and pressed it against her lips. A warm tear traced a path down her cheek. Her throat contracted with a sob. “She said I could keep him,”’ Angie whispered. ‘‘She said I could have him for always.” WHAT The starter said, “5-4-3-2-1-go.” I pushed out of the starting gate Into a bamboo jungle. Red open. Yellow closed. Over the top of blue. Red, yellow, blue, red flush. Keep forward. My mind blurred. Red open. My tips caught on a pole. I fell. Sliding down the hill on my back Finally stopping I looked up at a yellow flag Waving in the breeze. Ann Manful BUTTERFLIES? by Diane Donoviel The Saturday morning sun edged its way over the mountain, and quietness surrounded the air. Twelve-year-old Carie Carleson stared out of her bedroom window. The sky looked clear for April with only a few clouds creeping into the north. Her bedroom was on the top floor of the split-level, and the full-grown apricot tree was in touching distance. She held back the sheer curtains and studied a small twig which reached out to her. At the end of the twig, suspended between two leaves was a cocoon. She had seen several caterpillars in the tree last week and knew one of them had formed the cocoon. Carie turned and the curtains fluttered behind her. She shuffled to her bed and flopped over the side, her long hair dangling over the edge. Her parents and her older sister Pat were still asleep in their rooms. Carie shivered and rolled over, pulling the bedspread up and tucking it under her arms. The chilling silence filled the room. When she was younger, Carie used to wake up early on Saturdays and sneak downstairs to the TV room. There she would curl up with a blanket like a kitten and giggle at cartoons. Now she thought cartoons were stupid. They didn’t make her laugh any more. Carie picked at the threads on the bedspread. She twisted them together forming SLALOM ABOUT a tiny cocoon and flicked them onto the floor. The silence still lingered. She thought how awful it would be to live alone all the time. She visualized the uproar of the house when her family awoke. Her dad would probably be outside planting petunias or cleaning the garage; her mother, in her long bathrobe cooking eggs. The coffee would bubble on the stove, filling the house with its bitter aroma. Pat would bustle around yelling where’s this or where’s that and slam doors, getting ready to go somewhere with John. Carie flicked a piece of thread across the room. John was Pat’s new steady. Carie remembered their first date together. They were going to the Senior Prom. Pat bought a new pink formal with velvet and lace, and she wore shoes with big heels and rhinestone earrings. Carie followed her from room to room as she got ready. She watched as Pat smoothed make-up onto her clear skin, and patted powder over it. She swooped mascara over her extra-long lashes and made them look fringed. She studied Pat’s every move as she divided the strands of her long hair into sections and piled them onto her head. Then when John arrived with pink carnations, Carie’s heart beat a little faster, and she felt a warm glow at the back of her neck as envy crept over her. She watched them go out the door arm in arm all sparkling and shiny. She couldn’t wait until her first real date. Even though some of her class-mates had already started dating, Carie’s mother said she must wait a few years before she could. ““You’re much too young to get involved with boys,’”’ her mother had said. “You should still be playing with your dolls.” Carie sat up again and kicked off the bedspread. She flipped her hair onto her back. She wasn’t interested in dolls any more. The thrill of dressing them wasn’t thrilling anymore. She found herself looking around to see if anyone was watching her everytime she attempted to 9