My family
Mom would be a blue whale, gentle but protective of her young,
Dad would be a grizzly bear, because of his strength and loyalty to his family,
Tali would be a monkey, a curious young orangutan who we have to keep our eyes on,
And last, you have me, the dolphin of the crew, a social, lively person that likes to be around other beings of some sort.
"Don't listen to them!" I exclaimed. "You can't do it, Margaret, please..."
My red-haired friend turned her icy blue eyes on me. "You aren't in charge of me," she sniffed. "Besides, at the beginning of our journey, you said you'd always support my choices."
"I never thought it would come to this..." My voice trailed off, and I knew I was fighting a losing battle, but I would not back down. "You aren't the same person as you were before," I said. "Before, you would have known this was wrong."
"Ah, yes, before you killed my mother, I believe," Margaret hissed. "I don't think I should listen to a murderer."
The Team behind her nodded in agreement.
Grief and rage almost made me smack her, but I kept my cool. "I didn't kill your mother," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "You know that. You just want somebody to blame."
"Shut up," Margaret mumbled, but her eyes were flashing with doubt now. If I could just persuade her to come with me...
But the Team saw my plan.
The Master coaxed, in a sickly sweet voice, "Margaret, dear, that girl is not your friend. She is your enemy. At the next chance she gets, she will kill you."
Margaret stared at me as if I really would betray her. "Is that true?" She whispered.
"What? No!" I yelped. "YOU'RE that one betraying ME! But I would not KILL you for that? The Team are liars! A few days ago, we were insulting them, and now you are joining them! Who do you trust more, me or the Team who tried to kill us because of our power but now is trying to recruit us because of it?"
Margaret now looked confused, as if she was trying to figure out who her loyalty belonged to.
The Master did not give up. "Dear," she said, "this girl lied to you about your mother being dead. Why couldn't she be lying to you now?"
I sighed in exasperation. "I lied to you for your own good! So your heart would not be broken until the end of the journey, because it would slow you down! Anyway, the Team lied to us countless times, as they are doing to us now. Margaret, I'm your friend, not them."
"They--they promised me that I'd get my mother back, if I joined them." Margaret's voice came out high and squeaky.
"Yes, your mother would be whole and well," the Master purred.
"Nobody can be brought back from the dead," I protested.
Margaret moved toward me, and then stood at my side. "You're right," she whispered. "I don't know what I was thinking."
The Master let out a howl, "Join us! Join us NOW!"
But Margaret looked her straight in the eyes and answered, "No."
I write.
I write because it makes me feel alive.
I write because I morph into my character. I hate it when I have to kill my favorite characters. I love it when characters I hate get into a sticky situation.
I write because there's something scary about looking down at a blank page. What will I write? Will it work out? So I bring on the pen.
I write because I enter the golden gates of writing, instead of escaping the real world. I snatch bits of Real World here and there throughout my stories, making them more real to me.
I write because, if I don't have the power of words, I don't really have a power at all.
"Okay," Joe said, clapping his hands. "If we want to catch Santa, we gotta get going. He's heading here tonight, and I don't wanna miss him."
Bob and I bobbed our heads up and down in response. But I also said, "We gotta get a really large net, since he's so fat."
"Right," Joe said. "Good thinking, Sam."
"And we should lure him with cookies," Bob added. "And milk--nah, hot chocolate. I'm sure the dude likes that way better." He patted his stomach. "Ya know what I mean, guys?"
"Yep," Joe said. "Anyway, we should put the cookies and hot chocolate in the fireplace. Then we can set a net underneath them, so when he comes down and starts to eat his cookies and hot chocolate, the net will--SNAP--get him trapped. Then we can ask him some questions. SAM!"
"Y-yes, sir!" I shouted, a bit too loudly. I was spacing out.
Bob giggled.
Joe said, "I want you to be in charge of writing down the questions in a notepad. And make them GOOD questions," he added, narrowing his eyes. "We don't want to ask Santa dumb things, like 'Do you like waffles?'"
"Wait, does he?" I asked.
"Not the point!" Joe exclaimed, and I straightened up. "Ask him stuff about the workshop. The North Pole. Ms. Claus. The elves. How he can possibly get around the world in one day. His reindeer. Rudolph. Understand?"
"Yeah," I said.
"BOB!" Joe said.
It was Bob's turn to sputter out, "Wait wh-what?" And my turn to laugh.
"I want you to be in charge of the net," Joe explained. "Make sure it will snap up the moment Santa lands on it. That sort of thing."
Bob nodded, but asked, "Sir, what will YOU be doing?"
"I," said Joe, straightening his polka dot tir that he thought made him look older although he is only eight, "will be making the cookies and hot chocolate. Now, run along. Go make your stuff."
I sat down on the couch with my notepad and wrote down:
What dos Ms. Claus look lik?
What is her personallyty lik?
Ar yoor elvs nic?
What ar ther nams?
Joe snatched it up and made some spelling corrections, then wrote down some of his own questions. "You are dismissed," he said. "You may go to bed. And remember to meet us here at midnight. When the clock is at twelve. Remember that? Twelve."
"I know," I said. "I'm not a baby."
"But you are six," Joe reminded me.
"Bob's seven," I said.
Joe sighed. "Just go."
In bed, I admit, I dozed off a few times, but managed to stay awake until midnight. Then I crept down the stairs and found Bob and Joe already down there, Joe looking stern and Bob grinning.
"You are late, Sam," Joe whispered.
Panic washed over me. "Is Santa here yet?"
"Nope," Joe said, a rare smile creeping into his face. "But listen. I hear him on the roof."
Silence. Then the clip clop of reindeer hooves, and a swish as someone went down the chimney.
Just before the scream came, was a voice. "Oh, ho, ho, ho! Cookies and hot chocolate!"
Then the net snapped and Santa let out a cry.
Joe peered into the fireplace. "Hi, Santa," he said. "We have some questions for you."
"I have to go," Santa said. "Or else all the children won't get their presents."
"Too bad," Joe replied. "Sam, the questions."
I handed him the notepad. Joe cleared his throat. "What does Ms. Claus look like?"
"White hair, wrinkly skin," Santa said. "Please can I go?"
"Her personality?"
"Um... Kind, I suppose. Sweet."
"Are your elves nice too?"
"Yep."
"Who's your favorite?"
"I don't chose favorites."
"What are their names?"
"Can't name them all. Too many. I already have to keep track of the children... Not the elves, too. May I go please?"
"What's the North Pole like?"
"Cold. White. Endless, it seems like."
"What did you get us for Christmas?"
"Well, coal, if you don't let me go. Please, children."
"One last question."
"Go on."
"Can we talk to you again next Christmas?"
Santa smiled, his cheeks rosy, like in the book 'The Night Before Christmas'. "Maybe, if you stay awake. But you should be in bed, you know."
I helped him get out of his net, and then gave him a big hug. "Thank you, Santa," I said. "I thought you'd be angry."
"Of course not," Santa said, hugging me back. "Now, run along to bed. In the morning, you will see what you got for Christmas."
I ran upstairs and listened as the reindeer's hooves clamped on the roof and then took off into the sky. That night, I had dreams of sugarplums dancing in my head until the next morning, when I woke up. In my stocking were goodies and a note from Santa.
It said,
Dear Sam,
So glad I could see you last night. I got presents to all the children after all. I hope you have a merry Christmas and enjoy your presents.
Ho ho ho,
Santa Claus