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Fawn's Snack in the Neighborhood

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By Angie Bromeland The pair of fawns walk awkwardly down the sidewalks in town. All along the street, people’s faces are pressed against windows to see the darling deer. Old Mr. Mitchem is eating an apple on his front porch hidden in the shadow of the awning. He hasn’t yet noticed the fawns, and the fawns are too confused by the hard cement beneath their hooves to pay him any notice. Mr. Mitchem yawns and takes a bite out of his apple. That’s when he notices the two deer. He squints to be sure he isn’t imagining the sight, and he laughs. The darker of the two fawns hears him, and gawks in his direction. Mr. Mitchem freezes in place, not wanting to startle the baby deer. Then, to his surprise, the fawn takes a step in his direction. And then another. It isn’t long before the fawn walks right to Mr. Mitchem’s porch railing. Across the street, Mr. Mitchem’s neighbor, Mrs. Gruber, is wide eyed as she watches in surprise. The fawn stretches her neck over the railing, and snatches the ...
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Ezra and the Kite

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By Angie Bromeland The kite rotated on its string. It was situated high above the trees, now, but Ezra wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. Soon, his grandmother would call him home for dinner, and he’d have to try to bring it in. No sooner had he thought it than his grandmother’s voice called to him. Ezra nervously began pulling at the kite string. The last thing he wanted was for the kite to be penetrated by a branch, or worse yet, be held captive by a tree. It would be ruined, then, and Ezra valued his kite more than any other thing he owned. Ezra wound the string in even faster as his kite imitated a tornado. The kite gradually grew closer and Ezra ran this way and that, guiding it between the branches.   At last, the kite landed in his hands. Ezra didn’t have time to inspect it for holes before running home. Ezra burst through the door and rushed to the kitchen. “The wind must have carried my voice away,” his grandmother insinuated with a knowing look. It had taken Ez...
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Project Time

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By Angie Bromeland The spool of red thread dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk. “Blast!” Meredith muttered. “Where did that fool thing go?” She crouched on the floor, peering under the desk. “Got you!” she said as she grabbed the spool. Meredith threaded her sewing machine. “Why did I have to blab about having a sewing machine? Why did I say I could sew all these costumes? Now I’ll have to suffer through all this work. Serves me right.” Meredith wasn’t really a crab. She was just worried about all the work ahead of her. That’s when Meredith’s friend, Liam, knocked on her door. “Can I come in?” he called. “It’s cold out here.” Meredith wasn’t expecting anyone, but she hurried to open the door. “How did you get here?” she asked. Liam lived three and a half miles away. “I took a cab,” he said with a smile. Meredith was still confused. “Did we have plans?” she asked. “Nah,” said Liam. “I was just bored and thought you could use a hand on all those costumes....
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Chores First

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By Angie Bromeland Henry looked downtrodden as he headed outside. He had hoped to play video games today, but his parents said not until he completed the chores on his list. Henry had almost voiced his opinion, but zipped his lips, instead . He knew if he whined, he’d get even less time to play what he wanted. First on his chore list was to help in the gardens. The rows of vegetables needing weeding. The flowers along the south side of the house needed to be deadheaded . Weeding was pretty dreadful . It hadn’t rained in a while, so the soil was hard and the weeds broke off in an unsatisfying way. Henry shook off his bad attitude when the sun shined down on him. He arms glowed in the sun, and he felt the hair on his head grow warm. The sky was blue, dotted with small, fluffy white clouds. It looked like a field of cloud sheep. Down the street, he heard kids’ voices. The bouncing of a basketball echoed. A small child squealed on a swing set. Henry smiled to himself. He mo...
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Charlie the Artist

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By Angie Bromeland Charlie pulled at the drawer. It was squeaky and difficult to open. The handle wobbled, and Charlie told himself to remind his dad it needed to be screwed in tighter. Finally, the drawer slid out with a loud “Screech!” It was Charlie’s favorite drawer: the junk drawer. It was the place where every odd and end came to be. Nubby pencils, heart shaped erasers, paperclips, and scraps of paper were strewed about the drawer. He saw a picture of his dog that he drew when he was 4. Charlie smiled. The drawing wasn’t good, but it wasn’t awful, either. Now, Charlie couldn’t even remember what he had opened the drawer to get! Instead, he had a new idea. He hadn’t drawn in ages, and now he wanted to. Charlie scanned the drawer again and withdrew the sharpest pencil and the piece of paper with the fewest scribbles on it. Now, the question was, what to draw? Charlie walked through his house thoughtfully. He could draw Scruff, the dog, again. Or he could try Meow, the cat. ...
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Best In Show

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By Angie Bromeland It had to have been a misprinting. That’s what Antoine told himself. He was at the County Fair showing his pig, Yorkie. Yorkie had been on his best behavior all week. He showed like a real pro. He was the picture of refinement. Yet here was a poster reading Melvin had won Best in Show. It made no sense. Melvin was the meanest swine in the barn. He squealed and whined so loudly Antoine had to cover his ears. Antoine and some of the other County Fair kids talked about it in secret. They thought Melvin should be fined for his bad behavior. Their own pigs were getting nervous just being around Melvin. Truly, that pig was the definition of “nasty.” Melvin’s owner, Brad, said Melvin didn’t like the confinement of his stall, and that’s why he behaved so poorly. But Antoine and the other kids thought that shouldn’t matter—a good pig is a good pig, after all. (And a bad one is a bad one.) After all, none of the other pigs were acting up. So needless to say, when Bra...
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Backyard Treasure

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 By Angie Bromeland Norah and Finn took turns digging with the spade they found in their dad’s gardening supplies. They were hunting for treasure. “It’s sure hot out here,” Norah said. “Just be glad we’re in the shade,” Finn said. “It could be worse.” Norah agreed. Late last night from their bunk beds, Norah had invented a story about fabled treasure being buried there. She and Finn persuaded themselves it was true. “Maybe we’re in the wrong spot,” Finn finally said. He stood and looked around the yard. “Let’s check under the lilacs, instead.” “Good idea,” Norah enabled him. They filled in the hole and started on a new one. A shadow from a crow passed over them. “That’s a lucky sign,” Finn promised. Norah wasn’t so sure, but she nodded anyway. “Want me to dig a while?” she asked. “Nah, I’ve got it for now,” Finn answered. Then he smiled. “Besides, you’re too feeble.” Norah really rolled her eyes at her teasing brother, now. She was as strong as him, and th...
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