The sky turned an angry gray as Anna watched from her grandmother's farmhouse window. At twelve years old, she had seen plenty of storms, but this one felt different. The wind howled like a train, and the old oak tree bent almost to the ground.
"We need to get to the cellar," Grandma said calmly, already gathering candles and blankets. Anna grabbed her little brother's hand. He was crying, but Anna kept her voice steady. "It's going to be okay, Ben. Remember what Grandma taught us? Storms always pass."
They spent three hours underground. When they emerged, the barn roof was gone and the garden was destroyed. But Anna didn't cry. Instead, she found a rake and started cleaning up. "We've rebuilt before," she told Ben. "We'll do it again."
Marcus had never seen a real storm before. In his apartment in the city, bad weather meant closing windows and watching rain streak down the glass. But visiting his cousins in Kansas was different.
When the sirens started wailing, Marcus froze. His heart pounded so loud he could barely hear his aunt calling his name. His cousin Jake grabbed his arm. "Move!" Jake yelled, pulling him toward the basement. Marcus couldn't make his legs work right.
Huddled in the basement, Marcus shook uncontrollably. Every boom of thunder made him jump. "I want to go home," he whispered.
When it was over, Marcus saw the damage and burst into tears. His uncle put an arm around him. "First big storm is always the hardest. You'll get stronger." Marcus wanted to believe him, but right now, he just wanted his mom.
Diego had been practicing piano for five years, and the regional competition was finally here. He'd practiced four hours every day for months. When he walked onto the stage, he saw the panel of judges and the packed auditorium. His fingers felt cold.
"You've prepared for this," he told himself. He sat at the piano, closed his eyes, and let the music flow. Every note was perfect. When he finished, the audience erupted in applause.
But when the results came in, Diego had won second place. He watched Elena accept the first-place trophy, feeling his throat tighten. At home that night, he stared at his silver medal. "Second isn't good enough," he thought. He opened his practice books. Tomorrow, he would work even harder.
Jasmine had only been playing violin for two years, but she loved every minute of it. When her teacher suggested entering the regional competition, Jasmine was excited just to participate. "I probably won't win," she told her mom, "but I'll get to play in a real concert hall!"
On stage, Jasmine grinned at the audience. Her piece wasn't as complex as some others, and she hit a wrong note in the middle. But she recovered quickly and finished with flair, adding a little bow that made the audience laugh and clap.
Jasmine won fourth place out of twelve competitors. She jumped up and down, hugging her parents. "I made the top half!" she cheered. At home, she hung her ribbon on the wall next to her bed. "Best day ever," she said, already looking forward to next year.
Samira clutched her schedule as she walked through the crowded hallway of Jefferson Middle School. She had moved from Egypt just two months ago, and her English still felt clumsy on her tongue. The other students rushed past, laughing and calling to friends. No one looked at her.
In class, the teacher asked everyone to share about their summer. Samira's heart raced. She could barely understand the rapid English around her. When it was her turn, she spoke quietly about visiting the pyramids with her cousins. A few kids looked interested, but most just waited for their turn.
At lunch, Samira sat alone at the end of a table, eating the kofta her mother had packed. She missed home fiercely. But then a girl with curly red hair sat across from her. "Is that homemade? It smells amazing. I'm Lily." Samira smiled - her first real smile all day.
Tyler strutted into Washington Middle School like he owned the place. So what if he was new? He'd been the most popular kid at his old school in Texas. This Ohio school wouldn't be any different.
"Hey, I'm Tyler," he announced to a group of boys at their lockers. "I was quarterback back home. You guys play football?" The boys exchanged looks. "We mostly play soccer here," one said. "Football's not really a thing."
Tyler frowned. No football? At lunch, he sat with the soccer players, bragging about his Texas state championship. But the more he talked, the more the boys seemed to lean away. By the end of the day, Tyler sat alone in the back of the bus. He pulled out his phone to text his old friends. Moving here was the worst.