An Amber Story

By Maya Nichols, age 10
An Amber Story Maya Nichols' friends describe her as caring, funny, and someone with a warm bubbly personality. She is ten and has a 13-year-old sister. Maya is dedicating this book to her sister for becoming an adult (Happy Bat Mitzvah!). She has a mom, dad, and a bird named, Jester. She goes to PS87 with Morgan, a friend who helped inspire her Writopia story. She hopes you like it.

“My friend was on the other side of the room, and she was still screaming into a pillow. I have powers. I have real actual powers. But it didn’t make any sense. I wrote about this. Writing stuff can’t really make it come true, can it? Or at least not fantasy.”

PLOP. Hi, I’m Amber. When I grow up I want to be a writer! Amber Doller, the world’s best author, will be receiving her tenth golden medal for her new book, I thought. Well, I might as well show you my favorite book I’ve ever written.

It was a long time ago. A year ago, to be exact. Well, a year and a half. And my friend and I were shelving books. An hour later, I needed to get a book from one shelf to another, but it was really high up, so I couldn’t exactly reach it. I jumped as high as I could and then at the same time, my friend did, but on the other book shelf. All of a sudden I started floating. And weird enough, so did my friend.

We both screamed at the top of our lungs. Bump.

“What in the world just happened?” I asked.

“Ahhh,” said my friend, flying up and tumbling out of the window, catching herself a foot from the ground. She crossed her fingers and she floated back up using a bubble. Bubbles were coming out of her fingers. “Amber!” my friend yelled. “Why am I shooting bubbles out of my fingers?”

I tried that, but it didn’t work. Then for the oddest of reasons, I made a sad wolf with my hand and then bubbles came out. “It can’t be,” said her mother. Dun, dun, dunnn!

 

I finished writing. Until the next book, brb. I needed to go shelf my books with my bff, my reading room was long overdue for a reorganize sesh. I started pacing around the room, except all of a sudden, I was flying. I felt more airy on my face and I just felt a lot less lazy, like I didn’t have to do as much work. I also didn’t hear my own footsteps or hear anything.  

I looked down at my feet and I said, “Oh my god. Why meee?” because I was flying! My friend crossed her fingers that it wasn’t some weird disease that would make me die. And then, my friend shot bubbles out of her fingers. Real, actual bubbles.

“AAAaaa!” We both started screaming like we’ve never screamed before.

My friend was on the other side of the room, and she was still screaming into a pillow. I have powers. I have real actual powers. But it didn’t make any sense. I wrote about this. Writing stuff can’t really make it come true, can it? Or at least not fantasy.

Then a cartoon lightbulb popped above my head. Literally. My friend left when this idea popped into my head. She was so freaked out that my friend left to go to her house and scream in her pillows. (Then she flew to Mexico with her family.) But maybe, if I write something else down, it will come true. Let me give it a try: I just found out I own a gown of silk and gems. “I wish I could I wish I co –– ”

“Hun, a package is waiting for you,” my dad yelled.

“Yes!” I got the package and ran up to my room. Then, I got my specialist scissors and opened the package very, very carefully. And you know what was in there? And I’m not talking about talking to myself. Riiight? Na. It was a silk gown with beautiful gems on it. I showed it to my parents and they screamed in delight. I asked them if they wanted anything and then they said, “What now? Where did you even get this gown?”

And I said, “It’s something special.”

They said that they didn’t believe me, but they wanted a million dollars. So, I went upstairs and wrote down: My parents just got a million dollars. So then, something started raining through the house. It was green. It was money! It was a million dollars! I ran to the steps and my parents were jumping up and down and screaming and squealing. Then, we decided to have a ginormous party soon. School was starting so I wrote up a new backpack with everything I needed. My plan was to come to school in a limo with a butler. Then being me, I went to the deli to get Oreos.

The next morning, when I woke up, I got out of bed and went to collect my backpack from my desk. It gets a little annoying having a desk like mine because I have to pull out the bookshelf and I have to pull out the mini desk. Then, I went into my “walk-in” closet, a closet that was pretty big, five yards long and two yards wide. I got dressed in something that could be mistaken as a school uniform, so I changed it. I ended up wearing jeggings, a white t-shirt with a pink leopard print scarf, and black boots. Then, I took one of my books from the bookshelf, except it was a binder full of my plans for school. I was ready.

 

Chapter 2

 

“Dat’ll be $1.50,” the counter man said.

“Okay,” I said.

Grabbing the Oreos, I raced to the bench and found out I was in Ms. Peepee’s class, a.k.a. the meanest teacher ever. I took one look at my locker and almost barfed at the rusty walls. I started by putting a plain sheet of paper in my locker. Then I wrote down, I wish I had a perfectly decorated locker. In my locker was a little pink rug and on top of it, was a tiny table with a little drawer (the drawers for makeup, duh!), a mirror, a mini chandelier, an emergency outfit that was a bit over fancy –– it was a shirt that was purple with a bit of black lace over the belly and then the same color purple skirt with cowgirl boots –– then, there was hot pink winter coat and a beige sweater. There was also a pouch for my pencils and a little mini shelf for all my folders and notebooks. Then, I put up two more sheets of paper just in case. After that, I realized I may be late to Ms. Peepee’s class.

So then, I walked because it was right next to my locker, kind of wishing I was in Miss Lulu’s class. I went into the very back corner just when Ms. Peepee came into the class. She was wearing a purple dress with a blue sweater. She had her gray hair in a bun and she wore glasses on a chain. Who does that? Her heels clicked and clacked on the floor. She gave us an essay without even saying “Hello, new class.” And then, she said we had to write an essay on Africa and its animals and then for the week we had to write four essays about different animals that lived there. So then we had to start, and without thinking about what I was doing, I just started writing, I wish I was in Miss Lulu’s class.

Then, I teleported in front of the door and walked in.

Miss Lulu said, “You should be very ashamed. You are late, but since it’s the first day, some confusion must have happened with your teacher, so I will not mark you late.”

There was a seat in the very front, so I happily took the seat. Her voice was literally a sooong. We all wrote half a poem, then we had to finish for homework. But then, it was time for attendance…

“Kate.”

”Here.”

“Mark.”

“Godzilla!”

“Gareth?”

“Hi.”

“Adam.”

“Here.”  

“Amy.”

Uh stop that.”

“Alex.”

“Yo.”

“Alexandra

Hi.

“Josh.”

“Is better than.”

“Okay, anyone not called?”

Oh no! I raised my hand and I got called on.

Then, Miss Lily said, “Okay, I’ll make sure to add you.” And that was before the principal called.

 

Chapter 3

 

One of the students got the phone because it was one of the phones that was on the wall.

The kid said, “It’s for you, Miss Lily.”

Miss Lily got the phone and said, “Oh, really?” And then she came to

my desk and she said, “I am truly sorry, but someone who did not pay for the school is not allowed to be in the school.” So, I got sent to the principal’s office.

I got out a sticky note and a pencil on my way out. Then, I wrote down, I wish that I was on the attendance in Miss Lily’s class and didn’t have to go to the principal’s. Nothing happened. Miss Lily didn’t come calling back and say that it was an accident. I got very worried. Then, I wrote down, I wish that I had a pair of hoop earrings in my hand. Nothing happened. My face was getting scrunched up. It was my worried face. I knew I had to be incredibly specific on this, but I didn’t know I had to be that specific. I wrote down, I wish I had a gigantic pair of hoop earrings that are gold. Why was this happening? I was entering the principal’s office, holding my breath. I was writing faster than I’d ever wrote. I even wrote, I wish that my parents had a crown and a castle instead of a house, but I didn’t get a call from my parents. Now I was sweating as I sat down. Mr. Lightning started yelling what I should do with my attitude.

Blah, blah, blah about me trespassing on school property. Then I did something very stupid. I pulled out my phone and said, “Call my parents. They know that I belong in this school. They wasted a thousand dollars on it!”

So, Mr. Lightning banged his fist and said, “You are not supposed to have a phone in this school! You will be sent to detention dungeon.” Then five teachers with axes took me away to a dungeon with desks. The metal bars that surrounded the desk were rusty and had chains. Some had what I call peasants. I don’t know why, but I just decided to call them that. They all had these brownish, tannish gowns on that looked like a poor person owned, but somewhat a little more like mine.

Wait a second! I was wearing a pink gown?! It was sparkly and sleeveless. In the middle was a ribbon that was a couple of inches thick. I was locked up in the fanciest of dungeons. Unlike the others, was pink and purple and next to it was something that was blue and green. The pink one was marked “Princess” and the blue one was marked “Prince.” The pink one had an elegant bunk bed with pink polka dot covers and lighter pink fringe, it had a make up table and barely even looked like a dungeon. And on top of that, there was a hoity-toity closet and a beautiful tiara. Then the iron door slammed shut!

I started pacing and someone said “Will ya stop?”

There was a girl in a black dress. It had a bit of navy blue in some places, it was like a very dreary princess dress. I asked, “Who are you?”

“I’m Andy, and I guess we’re roommates. Sadly,” she said, while rolling her eyes.

I think she was looking at my pink dress, but whatever it was, I was not happy. I reached into the pocket of my dress, which I didn’t even know that I had, and pulled out a really sharp diamond and I have no idea why I had a diamond in my pocket, but somehow I have a lot of things in my pocket that I don’t know about.

“Now what’s your name?” she asked me.

I may have groaned a little, but I said, “Amber.”

And then she replied, “Princess Amber from Cristalandia? I bet you’re actually happy to be in this room. I so wish I was in the Prince’s room. I mean, it’s perfect. It’s green and blue, my two favorite colors. And, instead of a two bunker, it has three bunkers with really cool designs on them, not just frilliness and pink dots. What’s up with that? And their crowns are gold, while all we get are silver. No one even wants to wear purple dresses they provide, no offense.”

“What do you mean by ‘they’?” I asked.

And she replied, “Don’t you know? The stupid people who run the place. The Queen of Schoolandia, who’s the principal’s mother and the king of Schoolandia, her husband. But, actually, technically, they just provide the clothes. The principal of Schoolandia and his wife, Alicia, the Princess of Knowledge, are going to be crowned the King and Queen of Schoolandia soon. And the only thing I’m happy about is that when that does happen, they will take all of the stupid peasants out of the school.”

“Why do you call them stupid?” I asked with curiosity.

She said, “Where have you been? peasants are stupid. We are princesses. Princesses are good, and get to marry overly stuck-up princes,” the odd princess, Andy, got up. Then she took the blue dust, sprinkled it on me and walked out of/into the wall.

I woke up. I sat up. I looked both ways and saw no portal like I did before. But what I did see is a black, shiny pony tail with a black crop top and a leather skirt attached to it.

“Andy, what in the world did you do?”

“What do you mean?” asked Andy in a very sarcastic, questioning, guilty voice. “I only put blue fairy dust on you that makes you go to sleep for, I’d say, ten hours. Be glad I didn’t put the death black one on you. I don’t even have that one. My mom took it away from me. Anyway, you might want to forget what you saw or else maybe I’ll use the purple on you. And then, once I do that, I’ll erase your memory from the pink and I’ll go off into the portal again to get a new outfit.”

“Oh yeah, that’s toootally what you were doing,” I said.

In return, she mumbled, “Wish the dust could help me ‘scape this misery.

I gave her a few mean looks.

She answered by taking her ponytail down, brushing her hair, and putting on odd (but fashionable) gloves. Ten minutes later, a guard came to take us to “reform” school, a place where they attempt to teach us to behave by yelling and misbehaving themselves.

An hour later, we had to go to set up for the next class, which was how to sew. They made us take a cloth and chains that were from the other class and make our chains pretty so we could wear them. But everyone knew that the only reason that they were making us make a cover for chains was one: we wouldn’t realize that we were wearing chains, and two: they needed an extra class. My chains had a fabric that matched my dress –– a pink with purple gems on the handcuffs. I tried not to smell through my nose because if I did I would smell peasants, who did smell pretty bad.

It was finally break time for an hour. I decided to change into my nightgown and sleep for the hour, but Andy kept asking me if she should wear the blue glitter or the blue and black glitter on her gloves, which were handcuffs. After break, I got changed and went to history of torture, sometimes they need volunteers. Next class was cooking. We had 20 minutes to cook a meal then we had to eat what we made. I personally loved bacon and rice, even if the bacon was a bit chewy. Everyone barfed except for like three people who just said, Ew.

Then, as an extra little challenge, we were forced to save a couple of bites for the teacher who was cooking the class and whoever won got one percent off of their time in the dungeon. He barfed five out of 15 times. He said, “Ew!” for everyone except one person, who was the baker’s daughter. I was the last person to get my food tasted and he said mine was definitely the best. So, I only had 14 more years in the dungeon (who knew having a cell phone in school could do that much?). Everyone was oohing and ahhing at me like I just won the gold medal for the Olympics.

After that, we got a half an hour break to eat lunch. I did not get the apples because there’s a saying: bad teachers get bad worms in their apples, so why don’t bad students? But the carrots were amazing and I asked for two cucumbers to put on my eyes. Of course they said five minutes because apparently, if you were a winner of one of the challenges, you are a celebrity for the day. So then, when I walked over to the closest table, they oohed and ahhed for no apparent reason. So, I went to a table and sat all by myself. The carrots were good and the pizza was okay, but my favorite thing to eat was the baguette that they always made daily for the person that won one of the contests. It tasted like donuts and cookies and chocolate and everything yummy and rainbows. After that we have P.E., a.k.a. Pain Ed taught by Mr. Peapee.

The class went by pretty fast, blah blah, blah, pain volunteer and etc. I was so bored I thought I might die. But I wish I did not say that because the teacher said I must go into a me-sized pencil sharpener and try to reach the other side before I die. But as a proper princess I couldn’t die, only get hurt.

As I went through, I missed my old life, my mom Rosa, and my dad Sasha, and my twin sister Sage. It was too much. I pulled out a pen. It was a bad time but I did it anyway. I felt like I needed to. I did it, wrote what I was going through like a story. My wrist felt so normal. It just felt like I found the joy in what I was doing. What I should be doing. And I saw a light. It was blurry from my tears, but I saw it. Anything. I just needed to go home. The paper got wetter and wetter, but I still felt good. I was still writing.

She cried and wept.

The light was bigger, brighter. The more I wrote, the closer it got. All of a sudden, I stopped. It was dangerous because I was in an enormous pencil sharpener, but I kept on writing.

She felt a bright light

The hole got closer, even though I wasn’t running. So I kept on writing even more. I leaped in. There were bright lights and cars. No horses, no icky smells. I knew where I was. I was home.

 

“Sooo,” I sigh, “that’s my story. I hope you liked it!”

“Free hats for the cold weather,” someone says to our Writopia group as we are packing up. “Maya and Morgan, time to go.”

“I like your story,” I say to Morgan.

“Thanks.”

20 minutes later, I’m doing ELA creative writing about anything, and this is my story, just look up: Learn to love life as it is, for only you can change it.

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