Cricket Magazine Fiction and Non-Fiction Stories for Children and Young Teens July/August 2015

With encouragement from family, friends, and teachers, Susan Gal began her illustration career in the second grade. Inspired by a school visit by beloved children’s author Al Perkins, Susan and her classmates wrote and illustrated their own picture books. A few lucky students were selected to present their books to Mr. Perkins—a moment caught in the photo above. That was the beginning of Susan’s desire to become a professional illustrator. She practiced drawing animals and people every day and copied drawings from her favorite picture books. After Susan graduated from Art Center College of Design, her lively and whimsical illustrations appeared in magazines, newspapers, books, posters, and calendars. She then worked as an “actor with a pencil” for Disney Animation Florida. With lots of hard work, determination, and a sprinkling…

Hi, Everybuggy! I know that you know that I’m the millionth person to say this, but I love your mag! Pussywillow, my name is also Willow, and I love cats, too, so you are my fave! My second favorite is Muffin; I love horses and books, too. Kyra Reilly (November/December 2013), I’ve read Athena the Wise. I am also homeschooled, but I go to school on Thursdays. I have three cats (looking at you, Pussywillow), ten chickens, one dog named Luda Bash, one parakeet, and I used to have two fish and one raccoon. My papa found one of my cats outside our old house. I was born in New York and I moved to Colorado when I was five. I have lived in three houses. Willow V., age 8…

“YOU ’RE SENDING ME where?” Loxie wailed. Her parents exchanged a glance. “Fear Camp, sweetie,” her mother said. “To help you deal with the, er, aftermath of the Bear Incident.” “You mean the bad dreams?” Loxie said. “Lots of kids have bad dreams.” “Nightmares, dear. Yes, other kids have them, but you have them every night. And then, there’s your . . . phobia.” “Lots of kids give up their teddy bears at my age!” Loxie said indignantly. “But not because they’re afraid of them,” her father said. “Fear Camp is just what you need. It will help you work through what happened.” “Work through it? I don’t even want to think about it.” “Well, it’s either camp or spend the summer here,” her mother said firmly. “I hear the…

MADISON CREPT ALONG a trail in the ancient forest. Thick moss cushioned her footfalls. “Aaron!” she called. She’d known the very moment their clever, mischievous grandmother had told Madison’s seven-year-old brother not to wander into the woods, it was the first thing he would do. “Aaron? We’re not supposed to be here!” Madison brushed aside moss hanging from a towering oak, wishing she could enjoy the beautiful Welsh woods, so different from their backyard in Wisconsin. Their mom had insisted it was time to visit their grandmother in Wales, who Madison suspected was almost as old as the trees in the forest. But the wise, gray-haired woman made delicious shortbread cookies, and she had shown Aaron and Madison bright circles of mushrooms, which she called fairy rings, in the fields…

Here is where the black bear goes a-walking. He is stalking grubs and ants, tender shoots of fern and roots of sassafras. Blackberries, huckleberries, juniper and juicy fruits of tupelo he finds. He grows stout on slender trout and clawing crayfish. I built a house along his trail, but that does not curtail his hunt, and so I see his disappearing rump, his ursine ears appearing, disappearing in the tangled laurel limbs and piney undergrowth. I call the mountain “mine,” but it is his, and so we share the wealth of acorns, wildflowers, moving air.…

“YOU KNOW, THEIR legs are considered a delicacy in some countries.” I thrust the ribbiting green tree frog into Dizzy’s almost equally green face. My older brother ribbited right back, belching. “Get that slimy reptile away from me, brat! I told you I have a stomachache!” “It’s an amphibian, not a reptile,” I croaked, as I let the frog leap out of my palm and into the creek. Dizzy was gingerly sipping a can of ginger ale, rubbing his swollen belly. “Maybe if you hadn’t eaten almost an entire chicken at lunchtime, you wouldn’t—” My diagnosis was interrupted by the sound of Dad’s anguished yelping thirty yards to the west. “Hey, who took the last drumstick? I specifically told everyone to leave that last drumstick for me for the drive…