Cilla Lee-Jenkins: The Epic Story Read online

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  To Dad,

  Bobby,

  Ye Ye,

  and Uncle Paul.

  You speak my language.

  AN (EPIC) START

  Let me tell you, oh reader, of Cilla Lee-Jenkins.

  Future author, destiny great.

  Her fate in middle school will hopefully be an excellent one,

  And everyone will like her, and will be impressed by how grown-up she is.

  The end.

  Hi. That kind of beginning—with fancy language, and almost poetry, and saying “oh” when you talk to someone—is how you start an Epic.

  Which is what this book is.

  An Epic, as you can maybe tell from the word, is a REALLY exciting kind of story, all about Adventure and Fate. Epics have lots of Drama (which I love). They involve some sort of Quest, and usually there are Struggles to overcome, or an enemy to vanquish. Epic heroes perform Feats, like defeating (or making friends with) dragons, or saving the world.

  The best part about deciding to write an Epic is that there are so many different kinds. Some Epics are about ancient times and involve traveling on stormy seas, and fighting with swords, and wrestling bears, and whatever else people used to do back then. Other Epics, though, are set in space and involve giant laser beam battles and evil alien slugs. Even lots of superhero books are Epics (especially when a hero has to save the world from being blown up, or turned to molten lava, which happens a lot in superhero stories).

  My Epic probably won’t have bears or dragons, which is too bad. But it will be about something just as scary. Because this is the Epic story of my last year in elementary school.

  It all began on the first day of fifth grade, when Ms. Paradise gave us each a packet of forms to take home to our parents. Right on top was a Very Official-Looking, Serious letter. It wasn’t the exciting kind, with a message telling me I’m about to inherit magical powers and need to go fulfill my destiny, like in the books.

  But a letter about middle school.

  And how I need to start getting ready for it.

  I’m a little (or a lot) nervous about middle school. It’s much bigger than my school now, and there are older kids there. Instead of having one classroom I’ll have a different one for every subject, with a different teacher, too (which seems excessive). And apparently there will be a lot of Expectations. Expectations about knowing all the times tables, and having total Focus in class, and, worst of all, being Serious and grown-up ALL THE TIME.

  Everyone seems to be excited about middle school, not nervous like me. Even Colleen (my best friend!) is happy to go and says things like “I can’t wait!” or “One more year!” So I don’t know how to tell her that I CAN wait. In fact, I’m happy to wait a long time.

  All this could make for a very hard year. But don’t worry. Luckily, I’m not just any fifth grader.

  I’m destined for greatness as a future author extraordinaire.

  And I know how to take destiny into my own hands.

  Because the most important thing about an Epic is that there is always a happy ending. No matter how much you Struggle, if you’re in one, you know you’ll emerge victorious. By the end you’ll have won the treasure, or become queen of a kingdom, or made a new dragon friend. And afterward, everyone will know about your victories and say, “Wow, she’s so amazing and mature!” when you pass by.

  Which would be wonderful.

  Even though my Epic will be a little different because I get seasick on boat rides, am scared of slugs, and don’t have superpowers (unfortunately), I know it will still end in the same way.

  And when my Epic is done, I should be ready to be a middle schooler.

  This book won’t just be about overcoming Epic Struggles, though. There will be Adventures, too, and I have TONS to tell you because last year, I didn’t write a book at all. So you have lots to look forward to, and I’ll introduce you to my friends, and family, and favorite new stories. And, of course, you’ll also meet the Foes in my life (they’re very important for an Epic, especially when it comes to defeating them).

  Imagine me soaring off to save the world, my cape flapping out behind me. Or at the front of a ship, heading off into stormy seas and unknown dangers (probably involving at least one dragon, hopefully two).

  I hope you enjoy our Adventure.

  Sincerely,

  Your friend and hopefully soon-to-be Epic hero,

  1

  OVERHEARD IN FIFTH GRADE

  My Epic Quest begins in fifth grade, right around the time I realized that despite its name, Ms. Paradise’s class is no paradise.

  I used to be something called Literal, which means I thought words meant exactly what they sounded like. For example, I’d get upset when my mom said things like “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse” because no, Mom, horses are our friends, and there’s plenty of food in the refrigerator, and WHY WOULD YOU DO SUCH A THING?!

  But now I know this is just an expression. So when my mom says this, she just means she’s really hungry. Understanding expressions has made life a lot easier (though I still don’t quite understand why adults can’t just say what they mean, but that’s a separate issue).

  So I wasn’t expecting Ms. Paradise’s class to be perfect. I knew that wasn’t realistic, and that her name had nothing to do with it. But then I discovered that there actually IS something to being Literal. Because my dad’s favorite expression is “trouble in paradise.” And that’s EXACTLY what I’ve found in Ms. Paradise’s fifth-grade class.

  This is disappointing, because over the summer, I was really excited for fifth grade in general. I’m usually scared about a new school year (or about anything new, really) because what if it’s terrible and everyone hates me? But this year, for the first time in all of elementary school, I knew I was ready for it. Because what can go wrong when you’re the oldest kids in school?

  On the first morning back, everything felt so familiar. I walked down the hallways I knew so well and waved hello to all my old teachers. I saw younger kids looking nervous as they walked in to their new classrooms, and I wanted to say, “Don’t worry, you’re going to have the BEST time with Ms. Bloom!” or “It’s okay, Mr. Flight’s leaf project is hard work, but it’s worth it!”

  When I walked into Ms. Paradise’s class, I was ready to take on fifth grade. I was sure this would be the best year EVER.

  So it was a bit of a letdown when I realized that Ms. Paradise is what my mom would call “A Bit Much.”

  Ms. Paradise is new to our school this year, and came from teaching third graders. She’s big on following rules, and doing exercises and worksheets, which doesn’t leave much room for creativity (though her big fluffy dresses with flowers all over them ARE very creative, so at least there’s that). And whenever she talks to you one-on-one, her voice gets very high an
d syrupy, even though it definitely doesn’t sound that way when she talks to adults.

  Ms. Paradise covers the walls of our classroom with neon paper cutouts of pineapples, which are VERY bright and distracting. They’re also kind of a strange choice (I love food as much as the next person, but if I had to pick a class Theme, I’d at least pick food with a little more variety, like sandwiches).

  Plus she put me in the blue reading group, not the purple (which is the highest), because she says my reading comprehension needs some work when it comes to grammar.

  Which is ridiculous.

  * * *

  In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the biggest fan of Ms. Paradise. My mom keeps saying things like “Give her a chance,” and “Cilla, you’ve only been in school for a month!” But I’d argue that when you’re faced with the kind of person who says “My, it’s roasty toasty back here!” when the classroom fans aren’t working, you’re probably never going to get along.

  Worst of all, on that first day, instead of talking about all the exciting fifth-grade things we’d be doing in the year ahead, Ms. Paradise began talking about middle school. Specifically, how much we need to do to get ready for it.

  I don’t think I’m “being bad with change” (which is what my mom says I am) for wanting to enjoy fifth grade. Also, for not wanting to talk about middle school ever, and possibly maybe never going. I’m not looking forward to when the middle schoolers come to visit our class later this year to tell us about it, or any of the other middle school–related things Ms. Paradise keeps talking about.

  In fact, I wish we could just enjoy elementary school, because there’s SO MUCH to love. Fifth grade has so many exciting parts—like field trips, and science projects, and band, which is a special fifth-grade elective. This summer, I started playing the TUBA, which is big, Dramatic, and VERY loud, which means it’s probably the best instrument ever. Mr. Kendall, our music teacher, says I’m a “very strong player” (even if all I can play so far are scales and “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star”). And I love the tuba so much that when Ms. Paradise had us do beginning-of-the-year introduction cards with facts about ourselves, after “writer,” “great older sister,” and “cheese connoisseur,” I put “Tuba Player.”

  So everyone would know.

  And I don’t know why Ms. Paradise feels like she has to mention middle school every day, when there are things like band to focus on instead. In fact, sometimes I wonder if she’s a Trickster Figure trying to distract us from the REAL Adventure, which is fifth grade. (Tricksters come up a lot in Quests, and you have to watch out for them, and possibly solve riddles to get away.) And sometimes I pretend that my tuba is a Magical Talisman that can help me resist her and protect me from the worried feelings I get whenever she mentions next year.

  But the tuba can only do so much. So even though I’ve been trying hard to like Ms. Paradise, it’s been a whole month and things are only getting worse. Especially since Ms. Paradise has started to talk about things like “middle school Expectations.” And I’m sorry to say that she’s ESPECIALLY big on these Expectations, and what counts as middle school material, when it comes to writing.

  I learned this last week, which is also when I realized just how many Struggles I had to overcome before fifth grade was over.

  It happened like this:

  We were doing a writing unit, and even though I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Ms. Paradise, I was excited to show her my stories.

  Ms. Paradise wanted us to follow a worksheet that was all about how stories are like watermelons and ideas like seeds (which was a nice Simile, which is a Literary way of saying comparison). Ms. Paradise said that instead of telling the whole watermelon, you start with a seed. So instead of “I went to an amusement park and ate ice cream, rode some rides, and had a great day and came home,” you start with a tiny part of that. Like “The ice cream dripped from the cone down on my hands and was sticky and delicious.” That way, you start with details, and it’s easier for the reader to imagine your story, and they’ll want to know more and keep reading.

  The assignment seemed fun. I love specifics and details, and since stories are my life’s work, I felt good about the examples I’d picked (plus I didn’t even say anything about how surprised I was about the whole watermelon Theme, given Ms. Paradise’s obsession with pineapples).

  My story began:

  On Zebulon 5, a prophecy was known. That one day a hero would save the planet from its endless war, a hero who would fly on feathers of steel.

  But the people of Zebulon 5 didn’t believe the prophecy. They laughed and said it was a Silly story.

  And so did Tilly the baker’s daughter.

  Until one day, she woke up, and she had grown silver, metal wings.

  I thought this was a great start. I didn’t start with Tilly growing wings—I started with the seed of the prophecy. I knew this beginning was perfect for drawing a reader in. They wouldn’t be able to resist asking how it ends, and where the wings came from, and when Tilly will discover that she can also shoot golden light out of her hands and use it to bring her world to peace (Spoiler Alert). I was sure I’d done a good job.

  Only apparently my story wasn’t what Ms. Paradise had in mind.

  “Um,” she said, her voice chirpy, “this is certainly interesting.”

  “Thank you,” I said (because interesting is a good thing to be).

  “But why don’t you write about something a little more relatable?” she went on. “Remember, next year you’re going to have teachers with high expectations of your writing—middle school expectations. They’re going to want your work to make your readers feel real emotion. So be a bit more serious, okay?”

  Ms. Paradise said all of this with a smile, like she was just trying to help. Then she walked away with her big sleeves bouncing as she went.

  I was frustrated because, this IS Serious. We’re talking the fate of Zebulon 5.

  And if you don’t feel real emotion when you hear that an entire planet might be torn apart by galactic war, then I can’t help you.

  For the rest of the activity, I sat and looked at my story and tried to figure out where it could be more Serious and why it didn’t meet middle school Expectations.

  It didn’t help how I was feeling when Ms. Paradise asked Mimi Donnelly to read her story out loud as an “excellent and strong example.” Mimi also wants to be a writer (and yes, fair, writing is the best career you could ever choose but, also, couldn’t Mimi want to do something else?). And as she read, I didn’t understand why her story—which was one whole page about reaching out to touch a doorknob, and the feeling of turning it—WAS right for middle school. Even though it had some nice descriptions, who wants to read a story all about reaching for a doorknob without actually opening the door and seeing what’s behind it?

  But luckily, I have my friends, who are all in Ms. Paradise’s class with me.

  “Zebulon Five sounds so cool,” Colleen said.

  “I want wings,” Melissa said. “Will you tell us the story at recess?”

  “Will there be explosions?” Alien-Face McGee asked.

  I appreciated all of their support, and the answer to both of these questions was, of course, “Yes!”

  * * *

  There was plenty of time to tell Tilly’s story at recess. Now that we’re in fifth grade, there’s less playing or making up games, and more sitting and talking. For the most part I really like this new way of being together. We tell stories and make jokes, and sometimes Melissa brings in paper and teaches us origami, because she’s taking a class at her library. Usually, Colleen, Melissa, and I like to sit on the swings, and Mimi Donnelly and her friends sit on the tire swings or sometimes the picnic benches, and a group of kids from Mr. Mason’s class have claimed the climbing structure.

  But we still run around too. Sometimes we play tag, and other times Colleen and Melissa kick a soccer ball around the field and I’m their Coach. (This is VERY fun. Even though I don’t know anyt
hing about soccer or sports of any kind, I’m great at saying Dramatic things like “This is everything you’ve trained for!” and “You can do it; you were born for this!”). And this way I can help Colleen and Melissa improve their Muscle Memory, which is how you teach your body to remember things even faster than your brain, and Colleen says it will help them win the championship this year, which is an exciting idea.

  Alien-Face McGee doesn’t spend that much time with us at recess now that we’re in fifth grade, which is too bad. But he runs by a lot with the other boys he plays with, and he always waves when he passes us, so that’s nice. And if Melissa and Colleen are playing a kickball game, he’ll usually leave his game and keep me company cheering for them.

  * * *

  That day at recess, I told Colleen, Melissa, and Alien-Face more about Zebulon 5, and after Alien-Face went to go play with the other boys, Melissa told us her story, which was about a talking watermelon seed (which is a Literalness that I support).

  We were talking and joking and coming up with names for her watermelon seed, and ideas for how Tilly would get around (when she’s not flying, she rides a jet-black motorcycle), when Tim #2 came by like he does every day now, to say, “Hi, Colleen!” Then he just stood there. And after a little too long he said, “Oh, um, hi, Melissa. Hi, Cilla.” And then he ran away.

  This is another funny fifth-grade change. It just seems to keep happening. Tim #2 and Melvin and Shelby all walk by at least once every recess to say, “Hi, Colleen!” I’m not sure why they do, or why Colleen always trips or knocks things over when Melvin’s around, or why Alien-Face blushes and giggles when Tim #1 smiles at him.

  But it’s no big deal. We all still have a great time (and it’s also kind of funny), so I don’t think much about it. Plus Melissa also doesn’t quite get it either, so when it happens, we smile at each other and giggle (but nicely).