The Boys Who Lost Their Way by Kevin Ryan

My family and I were on a ski trip in North Conway. We were staying at the Red Jacket and we were skiing everyday at Wildcat mountain. The snow was light and fluffy on the third day. My family had season passes so we could go skiing whenever we wanted. So we started the day putting on our equipment. We had to go to the shop because my left ski clip was broken. This wasn't a problem because we always had time to go to the store. We could hold up on starting because we are there all day long. We didn't have a time limit to stay on the mountain we could stay there from dawn to dusk. After, we finished at the store we went back outside and put on our skis. We started the day out all together on the green and blue trails so my little brother could come with us. He waned to do everything we did as all young kids do. We were going down the hills much faster than the others and we were not going down the trails we should. So our parents told us that we can go and ski on our own. Liam and I were allowed to go down any ski trail of any color. The jumps were allowed and we are able to stay out till three o'clock. We were getting lectures from our parents about safety and about how there were other people on the trails. I was getting really annoyed with what they were saying. So after the lecture we of course didn't listen to a word that they said about being safe and being aware of the other people on the trails. We went through passages in the trees and over the jumps in the park. We went down one very long and downhill passage. The passage ended in a dead end. I got really nervous and started to freak out. Liam and I thought that we were going to die at the passage. We thought that wolfs or a bear were going to eat us. We thought it was best to come back the way we came. We took thirty minutes to get to the end. The time felt like forever.We finally got out of the passage after we took off our skis and walked the whole way there. We made it out in the end and went on to keep skiing.

On Bolas Road by Eddie Cawley

It was a cold, crisp night, with shouts of screaming kids grabbing candy from innocent owners, and smells of fruity pieces and chocolate bars wafting through the air. Amidst all of this, my friends and I were pouncing up the driveway of a rather dark, and drab- looking house. Nevertheless, we still were going to hit it, and have a good laugh while doing it. To our delight, there was a basket sitting on the top of the stairs just waiting for greedy, sixth grade hands to yank handfuls and handfuls out. The candy was staring at us, and daring us to take it home. My friends and I did this except we were getting cocky, especially when we made the decision to take the wicker basket along with us. The basket was nice and smooth, a perfect basket for housing candy. As one might know, baskets are a kid's dream on Halloween. No watchful eyes are guarding it, and no cranky adults to yell at you. So, we did what we ordinarily done at every "basket house" that we had come across, and each took a turn at dumping the scattered remains into our bags. The only problem was that the house was surrounded by transparent windows, capable of showing people what mischievous acts we were up to. It was a perfect mix of Kit Kats and Starbursts, so who could blame us. We were not committing a federal crime or anything like it, just merely being kids and yearning more candy for the grueling, cold, sugarless nights that lie dead ahead in November, December, and January. But apparently to a guarding eye inside the house we were criminals. Just as we started to move forward onto the next house, we all heard a voice ordering, "Stop!". A female had appeared at the door with an angry look residing on her face. She had blonde hair like Medusa's snakes, because it was all messy and she was fairly short as well. We did not really want to stop and have a chat with this lovely lady on Halloween, so we turned around and booked it. The driveway was decently long, thus giving the lady enough time to get her ever-so-tough husband out of the house to give the troubled kids a good yelling. The man shouted, "Duckin Bathholes!" We glanced backwards and started to run again. This pleasant man was not the type of person I wanted to speak with either. We were happy that we got away with a boatload of candy, but what happened next mystified us. The man got in his car, and to our amazement started pulling down the driveway! The nerve that guy must have had! We really put on the wheels now, and flew down Bolas Road, not sure if the guy intended on putting up a chase. At the moment, we were faster than Usain Bolt. After about 10 houses, we turned around and noticed there was a car aways behind us. It stopped when we stopped and moved when we moved. Intending on finding out what this was about, we started to slowly move in the general direction of the car under the cover of some bushes of course. While spying on the car from the rough thickets and brambles of the wooded area, a familiar Yukon XL passed the supposed stalker's car. We crawled out of the bushes, and brushed ourselves off, so that my mother would not have any suspicious ideas or questions. None of us wanted to face the wrath of my mom if she found out about the night. My car pulled up on the side of the road and all of us piled into the back, downing the cups of water that my mom had graciously brought for our dry, sugared mouthes. Unlike other Halloweens we were not all tired, but curious on who was in that car. My mom smiled and questioned us about the night. She asked, "How was our time, and did we behave ourselves." I slickly replied, "Yeah, it was okay, but we are all getting too old for this. And yeah we were awesome, and didn't cause any ruckus."

The House I May Not Return To by Blake Riley

It's New Hampshire, 2002, and I was having the time of my life. Our family had a house on a lake in New Hampshire for generations. I didn't know it then, but this would be one of the most sad memories I would have of my family. The single most time I remembered vividly was roasting marshmallows and hotdogs on a huge bonfire on the beach next to the lake. It was so dark, you couldn't see anything outside the light of the flames. I remember the orange, flickering faces around the fire; the trees lit up around us like they where on fire. This is most likely the last time the whole Riley family would and could ever be together. It was probably the place where the smell of fire became a good one to me; I remember the smoke mixed with the salt from the lake made it seem like a dream. The sound of the fire was nothing compared to the family talking, children crying, and people eating. My father and Uncle Greg had been jet skiing earlier that day, and they where saying "Holy crap that was fun" and "Almost broke your leg there Steve"; My father probably said "Ya lets do it again", and then he broke his leg while riding the ski and we had to leave. My Uncle Greg would pass away the next year from getting hit on his motorcycle by an eighteen wheeler, and his sister, my Aunt Brenda, would go back to Philadelphia to live with her husband. My Uncle Brian won't talk to us because of disputes selling the place. I miss his wife Pam and their two children sometimes, they where the sweetest kids. My aunt Jen and Uncle Paul are the only family we still meet and communicate with. Their daughter Meagan was an infant, and her sister Erin wasn't even born yet. They are my cousins, and I have vivid memory's of them throughout their lifetime. I remember Aunty Jen leaning over and helping me with my marshmallows to make s'mores. We didn't have enough chocolate, but it was still delicious. The separate families where slightly split up but still together; My father, mother, brother and I; Uncle Brian, Aunt Pam, and their first son; Aunty Jen, Uncle Paul and Meagan; Uncle Greg, Aunt Brenda, and my Grandmother together. In groups but still together. I always either burnt the marshmallows to a charred crisp, or took them out too soon. But there is always that one that is just right. I remember venturing my marshmallow soldier into the fiery death of the battlefield, and if he was lucky he would come out a golden brown hero. My grandmother was also there; she is the greatest lady around. My grandfather passed when my dad was in his twenties, and she has been living life to the fullest on her own. The greatest and strongest moment I remember the most was the ecstatic glow on everyone's faces, and how our family will never be like that again. I will never return to this place of bliss, never sleep in its bunk beds, never see the people who loved it so much. That place is simply a memory now, and with that I must live.

Baby Not On Board! by Chris Troiano

"Caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwww". The sound of a dying eagle filled the air as we were whizzing along in our Grady-White. I tasted the salty water hit my tongue. the it smelled of fish and crab guys, and seagull poop in the air. On the boat was my dad, his friend, his son that was the same age as me, my brother, and me. But soon did we realize on of those people were missing. Obviously, it wasn't me or my friend because we were in the under cabin eating sandwiches. My dad was driving, and his friend was near the back looking to the opposite side of where my brother fell of. My brother fell of because we later found his shoe had mud on it and he slipped under the metal bars designed to keep his three year old body from falling through. I was 5 or 6 at the time, and he was 2 or 3 years younger than me. He was screaming like a hawk caught in a fishing net choking to death. We discovered this was how he slipped when we got home and he told us the story and there was a big footprint in mud that went off the side of the boat on the starboard side. I said we heard the sounds of a dying bird, but that wasn't really true. We heard him screaming like a little girl that sounded like a bird so we didn't know he was gone for about 45 seconds until my dads friend, who's name is Jeff, said "Where's Mike?" To my dad. Me and my friend heard the sound and just looked at each other. His name was Evan. My dad came rushing towards the door to where we were siting and said "Have you guys seen Mike?" And we both just shrugged our shoulders and came outside. Now the scream was more prominent and I mentioned it to my dad saying "that bird screaming is really freaking me out," and then he must have heard it and looked behind us where the sound was coming from. All we could see was this little orange speck floating on a river of blue and green.my dad quickly jumped to the wheel and turned the boat around. He speed to Michael and almost drive by him. Jeff and he lifted him out of the water and took his wet clothes off and gave him a towel to prevent hypothermia. All this time he was bawling his eyes out making it really funny, yet terrible. You couldn't even imagine the look on my moms face when we told her what happened that night at dinner.

Ouch by Joey Leydon

It was a foggy and muggy morning in the summer on Lake Winnapasakie and I was at the table mowing through my breakfast of pancakes, eggs, home fries, hash browns, and cereal with milk like a lawn mower as fast as possible because today was the day cousins Jimbo, Dave, and Dennis,Dad, and two brothers would go fishing. By the time I was finished with breakfast my brothers Stevie and Jimmie, Dad, and cousin Dave,Dennis, and Jimbo walked in and sat down at the table. They awakened from their deep sleep by the smell of the magical breakfast laid out for them. When I looked up from my food I saw that they they were already dressed after a lot of moaning that I heard from downstairs about getting up and their hair looked like they fell out of bed and rolled around on the floor. But they were still as estatic as I was for going fishing, but I was kind of worried because I went fishing the day before and my toe made a meal for a snapping turtle. What we were going to be fishing today were at least fish that were 2 feet long, and the occasional snapping turtle, and then release them back to the lake. We all laughed at that comment, but I was 7 at the time, so I couldn't really handle a fishing rod, so I didn't know what was going to happen today. About 5 minutes after we had finished eating breakfast we were down at the dock getting ready to cast out our lines."On the count of 3" my dad said,"1,2,3" he shouted and he cast out. We had all casted out after that, but before I could cast out my fishing line, it went backwards behind me and I heard Jimbo's voice exclaim "Ouch". So I whipped around 180 degrees to see what happened and as I did that, the momentum of my fishing rod hit Dave, Dennis, Dad, Jimmie, and Stevie in the back of the head, and they toppled into the water like a row of dominoes. When I turned around, I saw my hook had made a gash all along Jimbo's forehead w/ the gooey red stuff flowing out like a cherry kool-aid river. After cousins, brothers, and father got out from their dip, they immediately see Jimbo's forehead, and agree that the fishing is cancelled until tomorrow. Jimbo got 10 stitches across his forehead and he cried while it happened, and he also cried when he got hit, so I can sometimes tease him about that. We did eventually go fishing the next day, but Jimbo decided not to go for his own safety of not getting hit with my deadly fishing rod. That day my fishing skills were tested and my clumsiness was also tested and I'm pretty sure I got a F on the test.

It's All Worth It by Owen Brady

I stood on the platform and groggily watched the rusty train pull into the Canton Junction Station. The bone-chilling, screeching sound of the train nearly bursts my ears. The ancient train comes down the track like a car using its last drops of gas. It comes to a stop and all of the commuters morph towards the two doors of the first car. I slowly walk up the harsh metal stairs, feeling the heavy weight of my colossal backpack trying to stop me from proceeding upward. I begin, what feels like my long journey to the first car of the train. I pass the usual people and then take in the atrocious smell from bathroom that lingers in the air. I pass by the fellow commuters I see everyday, and I make it to the section of the two, old, beat up seats where my friends are hunched over staring at their iPads, racing to get their last assignments finished before school begins. I tell Trevor, "Move over," but I already know what the answer is. "You jump over me, I'm not gonna move." I awkwardly hop over him and his huge heap of stuff to quietly sit next to him, "Happy?" The hard seat is cold, and the old leather is uncomfortable. I put my backpack on the ground and begin to make a checklist in my head of all of last night's assignments. We all start talking to each other about homework and other unimportant topics. I am exhausted from waking up so early for this daily routine. Personally, six thirty nine A.M is not my favorite time of day. When I talk, I can’t even recall what I just said. All of my thoughts, dreams, and words are scattered around in my head. I am going through the motions again and again. The rickety train ride jostles me as I sit, and I remember why I do this commute. I travel many miles a day so I can go to BC High. Being at BC High is worth our early mornings, even if we are exhausted. When we get to South Station, one of the commuters, a balding man with his coffee and unmistakeable goatee, does us a favor and lets us out through the conductor booth when he isn’t supposed to. As I step off the train, he tells us, "Study hard, do good." His last words to us are, "Soar!" So I do, I guess.

The Creation of a New Beginning by Ethan Harris

Cheerios. The little round object that would create an unbreakable bond between a boy and a dalmatian. It's the year 2000. I am one year old. I have been trying to create a friendship with my dad's dog Tressley since I first saw this dog. With no success, I was beginning to believe that it was impossible. Though this dog isn't aggressive, he just doesn't seem to care about me. Then, one day during breakfast, me being my klutzy self, dropped my Cheerios onto the ground. The split-second before the Cheerios hit the ground, Tressley had miraculously sensed that it was raining cereal and leaped up out of his bed and managed to get to my highchair right as they collided with the ground. While this spotty mammal is snatching up my cheerios, I am thinking to my self,Why is this dog eating my cheerios?! After my dad pries the dog from his delicacy, I finish the rest of my cheerios and exclaim,"All done!" to signal my dad to take me out of my chair. I have always dreaded highchairs; I find them an instant death trap. Once I am released from my imprisonment, I crawl straight to Tressley's bed, where he is laying, and make yet another attempt in creating a friendship. When I arrive at his bed, he barks,"Woof!" My mom noticed how close I was to the dog and said, "Careful, Ethan." She didn't understand what that bark meant. It was the ultimate signal.It was the sign that would tell me that he graciously accepted me, allowed me to cuddle with him, and even gave me a few licks. After that day, we had an unbreakable bond. I would give him Cheerios, he would love me and protect me. My parents would just sigh and say to each other,"Just let him love the dog." If we went for a walk or jog and a dog that he didn't know walked by, he would growl until the opposing dog was gone, as if I was his pup and he was there to protect me. Even as I look back on this day, I still find it remarkable that Cheerios created such a friendship.