The Last Fifth Grade of Emerson Elementary

by Laura Shovan

that’s who the whole fifth grade

  expects me to be.

  If the Board of Ed sells this place,

  all the students will be split up.

  That’s why I’m not going

  to the sit-in at the Board.

  I want a middle school

  where no one knows who I am,

  a place where I can decide for myself

  how I should dress,

  which kids I’m crushing on,

  a place where I can figure out

  who I want to be,

  but please keep that a secret.

  April 21

  STAND UP, SIT DOWN

  Hannah Wiles

  The phone rings.

  I can hardly believe what I see.

  Shoshanna’s number on the ID.

  She says George is planning a protest

  for our school to stay open.

  She wants me to come.

  Her dad will drive us.

  What should I do?

  I ask my stepmom, Heather. She says

  why is Shoshanna being nice to me

  all of a sudden?

  I ask my dad. He says,

  “Good riddance. Emerson

  should have shut down years ago.”

  Then I email my mom. She writes

  back to say I should stand up

  for what I want.

  So I call Shoshanna.

  I will ride with her to the meeting.

  I will sit down

  with the rest of my class.

  April 22

  MY SPEECH

  George Furst

  Hello, my name

  is George Washington Furst.

  I am a student

  at Emerson Elementary School

  and president

  of our school’s

  student council.

  Students, parents, and teachers

  from Emerson Elementary

  and Montgomery Middle

  are here tonight

  to give

  the Board of Education

  a petition

  with over five hundred

  signatures.

  We are asking

  the Board

  to delay its plans

  to close our school

  in June.

  Some of my classmates

  and other students

  have prepared statements

  explaining why

  the Board

  should save our school.

  We plan

  to sit in this room

  until you hear

  all

  of our voices.

  April 23

  HOW MANY HOURS

  Rajesh Rao

  How many hours do we have to sit here

  before we are called to the stand?

  How many kids must fill up the Board room

  before we can speak as we planned?

  And how many times will we sing this old song

  before Ms. Hill’s students get banned?

  The answer, my friend, is…

  A lot of hours.

  A lot of kids.

  A lot of times.

  I’m glad you taught us those old songs, Ms. Hill,

  so we had something to do while we waited

  for the Board to let us speak.

  Answers blowing in the wind

  can get pretty loud

  when you’re trying to make grown-ups

  pay attention.

  April 24

  ODE TO MY GUITAR

  Mark Fernandez

  You were a gift

  from my father

  on my ninth birthday.

  I strum you

  and I hear

  Papi’s voice

  teaching me the chords.

  I remember his hands

  placing my fingers

  on the frets.

  I hold you close,

  my old guitar,

  and you

  play happy music.

  I bring you

  wherever I go,

  as if you were

  my best friend.

  We played together

  when my class

  sang songs of protest

  at the Board

  of Education.

  Papi

  would be proud of us.

  April 27

  CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE

  Katie McCain

  I pushed my way through the crowd.

  I walked right past my mother

  and her fancy architectural drawings

  of the new supermarket.

  My mom gave me a thumbs-up.

  She was the one who told me

  how to dress

  what to say

  so the Board would take me seriously.

  I stood in front

  of the Board of Education

  and told them how,

  even though our neighborhood

  needs a supermarket,

  we wouldn’t be a neighborhood

  without our school.

  Mom said she’s impressed with me,

  even though we disagree.

  April 28

  BORED AT THE BOARD

  Jason Chen

  There was a bored student named Chen

  who’d been sitting for hours, but then

  he said, “Why should I wait?

  I’ll ask Kate on a date.”

  She said yes! Let’s give Chen an “Amen!”

  April 29

  NO SHOW

  George Furst

  My father promised he’d come

  to the Board of Ed meeting to hear my speech.

  But he didn’t.

  Since my dad wasn’t there,

  I couldn’t show him how hard I worked

  to keep our school the way it’s always been.

  I won’t get another chance to tell the Board

  they should talk to the students

  before they decide to close our school.

  Just like my dad

  should have talked to me and Mom

  before he left our family.

  April 30

  WHAT I MISSED

  Edgar Lee Jones

  I missed the sit-in at the Board.

  I missed the waiting, being ignored.

  I missed it when we lost our fight,

  and Emerson was sold that night.

  I missed it all. I wasn’t there.

  I spent all night in a hospital chair

  visiting Grandpa with my dad.

  I miss his smile. He looks real bad.

  May 4

  TIGERS

  Rennie Rawlins

  I know what I’m going to buy

  with my Easter money from Grandmom.

  I’ve my got heart set on a red velvet bag

  filled with Tiger’s Eye stones.

  One stone is for Phoenix

  so she’ll feel strong as a tiger

  at her new school next year.

  One stone is for my friend Norah

  so she won’t forget me when

  we go to different middle schools.

  One stone is for Edgar

  to give his grandpa, because

  Tiger’s Eye brings good luck.

  I’ll keep one stone for myself

  so I always remember

  I can roar like a tiger.

  But the biggest stone,

  I’m saving that one

  for George.

  He’s the spark

  that lit up our class this year.

  He’s the glint of fire

  in the Tiger’s Eye.

  May 5

  MAKEOVER

  Sydney Costley

  Mom said I could change my look

  over the summer

  before middle school starts.

  I asked, “Why wait?”

  Norah already looks different,

  mysterious and older

  since she started wearing


  her hijab every day.

  I think it would be cool

  to look older,

  but not by covering myself up.

  Over spring break

  Mom took me to her salon,

  dyed my hair black

  with a pink streak in front,

  gave me a short pixie cut.

  She says it shows off my face.

  I feel light

  without all of that long hair.

  At school, everyone says,

  “Sydney, is that you?

  You look so different.”

  I like it. I was always

  different from Sloane

  on the inside.

  We are still twins,

  even though

  I have been made over.

  May 6

  ALMOST SUMMER

  Rachel Chieko Stein

  When it’s almost summer

  and the sun stays out late,

  my favorite place is the park.

  The younger kids are leaving

  because it’s their bedtime.

  My brother and I

  have the whole place to roam,

  me on my bike, him on his scooter.

  We ride past the big tree

  humming with insects.

  The breeze on my face could be

  air moved by a thousand cicada wings.

  Our wheels rumble like thunder

  over the wooden bridge.

  We find the baseball diamond—

  empty!—so we skid over the bases,

  kicking up orange dust.

  I forget about torn-down schools

  and friends who are changing.

  I forget about homework

  and teachers who shouldn’t retire.

  Then we roll along the shadowy path

  toward home, my brother and me,

  in the deepening dark

  of an almost-summer night.

  May 7

  JERUSALEM

  Norah Hassan

  Jaddi is going home soon,

  back to Jerusalem.

  He asked me to fly back with him,

  spend the summer at his house.

  I haven’t been there for a long time.

  It’s only a visit.

  Shoshanna invited me to her beach house.

  Will I still have time to go?

  I feel I might snap in two pieces,

  one part of me here, one part in Jerusalem.

  Sometimes wearing a hijab feels right.

  Sometimes I want to wear my hair loose, like Shoshanna.

  My sister says it’s up to me. She understands.

  I want to be both. Muslim, American.

  She says I get to choose what is right for me.

  I decide my sister is right.

  May 8

  THE FUNERAL

  Edgar Lee Jones

  The church smells too clean.

  I feel like I can’t breathe.

  I escape to the back room,

  where they’ve got donuts and coffee.

  My brother finds me, fills a cup

  halfway with milk, pours in some coffee.

  I take small sips. Bitter and sweet.

  The flavor makes me think of Grandpa,

  his coffee breath in the morning.

  I sit next to my brother in the pew,

  but I imagine I am in my tree,

  looking through the leaves at clouds,

  until it seems I will fly upward

  into a sea of sky, where Grandpa is waiting.

  I touch the walnut turtle in my pocket,

  tucked in there with my Tiger’s Eye stone.

  I don’t know what it’s going to be like

  missing Grandpa. Every morning,

  every day after school, he won’t be here.

  I see Norah, Rennie, and George at the church door,

  coming up the aisle with Rennie’s mom.

  When our mothers hug, the girls hug me, too.

  George bumps my fist. “You’re here,” I say.

  George says, “Sure.” They sit in the pew behind me.

  I show them the turtle I made for Grandpa.

  May 11

  DREAM SCHOOL

  Ben Kidwell

  The teacher says,

  “Come back to Earth, Ben.”

  I can’t learn

  sitting at a desk.

  When they tear down this school

  I hope they leave

  a field

  where new trees can grow.

  I wish we had school

  in the woods.

  For classwork,

  we could identify trees,

  find box turtles, and

  make recordings

  of the spring frogs peeping.

  The teacher says,

  “Come back to Earth.”

  I must have been

  staring out the window again,

  thinking about

  my dream school.

  May 12

  RED DRESS

  Brianna Holmes

  My mom has an old red dress

  in the back of her closet.

  She’s been studying hard

  for her degree.

  She hasn’t had time to dress nice

  or even put on makeup.

  My mom has a red dress.

  She says it’s too shabby

  for interviews,

  so she borrowed a gray suit

  from her best friend.

  When Mom told me and my brother

  she got a job with Katie’s mother,

  I hid her old red dress under my bed.

  My mom has a red dress.

  I beaded the collar and fixed the hem.

  She doesn’t know it yet

  but she’s wearing it

  to our Moving Up ceremony.

  When I walk across the stage

  I want to be able to see my mom.

  She’ll be easy to find

  in her red dress.

  May 13

  TIME CAPSULE

  Katie McCain

  All year, I pictured

  the time capsule

  like this:

  Silver rocket

  blasting off.

  Inside, our poems

  are astronauts,

  asleep in the dark,

  waiting for

  the ship to wake,

  ready to make contact

  with people

  from the future.

  I did not picture:

  Plain old

  dull metal box,

  stuck behind a wall

  inside the supermarket

  my mom’s helping

  to build here

  when our school

  is torn down.

  May 14

  ONE WALL

  Rachel Chieko Stein

  When fifth grade started,

  I was sad.

  A big part of my life was ending.

  I couldn’t believe anyone

  would demolish this place.

  When fifth grade started,

  I was scared.

  Certain people were mean.

  I couldn’t believe

  the things they said to me.

  Even though it was hard,

  I learned to stand up for myself.

  Now fifth grade is almost over.

  I’ve been thinking,

  what if we saved one wall?

  One strong wall no bulldozers

  can knock down.

  One wall made of many bricks

  held together, like our class.

  We’ll use it as a special place

  to store the time capsule.

  We can paint a mural

  of all our faces.

  One wall to say we were here.

  May 15

  TO MY TEACHER

  Tyler La Roche

  Dear Ms. Hill,

  No matter what you say,

  you are
not too old

  to start a new job

  at a new school next fall.

  Sure, your hair is gray,

  but my mom says

  you’ve still got a lot

  of pep in your step.

  Don’t be afraid

  of things changing.

  I was nervous last summer

  when we moved up north.

  I didn’t want to start

  at a new school.

  I thought people

  would laugh at my accent

  and I wouldn’t make

  any friends.

  But I did, and even though

  we didn’t save this school,

  fifth grade was the best

  and you are my all-time

  favorite teacher.

  Think about it. Some poor kid

  is packing up his house,

  getting ready to move,

  nervous about starting

  fifth grade at a new school.

  Please don’t retire.

  Out there, there’s someone

  like me who needs

  a teacher like you.

  May 18

  MOVING

  Mark Fernandez

  My family is moving.

  My mom bought a new house

  in Ohio so we can live

  near my grandparents.

  My sisters say they understand.

  It’s been hard for my mom

  to live in our house,

  always thinking of our Papi.

  But I want to stay.

  I don’t need a change of scenery.

  I need my friends.

  I don’t want new ones.

  I want to stay where it’s easy

  to remember my father

  packing up our tent, or

  taking his bike out of the garage.

  Finally, I get

  why George tried so hard

  to save our old school.

  All our memories are here.

  My mom says all my friends

  will be starting over, just like me.

  Everyone will make

  new friends in middle school.

  You’re moving on, too, Ms. Hill.

  Retiring when school ends.

  That doesn’t make me feel any better.

  I am moving.

  May 19