by Compilation
Jacob took his bike up the ramp, right behind Stormrider’s lead. It was just the two of them—no other bikers had earned the right for this track.
Stormrider led out at top speed, and Jacob had to rev his engine once again just to keep up with his friend. His bike tilted slightly as they started into the long circle around Dodger Stadium, but Jacob had rarely felt so free. If he could ride through the air (well, almost), then nothing was impossible.
Nothing was ever impossible. He believed that.
“What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done?” Stormrider called back to Jacob.
Jacob shrugged. He’d done plenty of hard things. And maybe they hadn’t been fun, but they’d made him strong—stronger than most kids his age.
“Well, listen carefully,” Stormrider said. “Whatever it was before, that’s about to change. The hardest thing you’re about to do is ride through that flaming loop and then land on your feet. Don’t slow down, don’t lose courage, and whatever else, do not crash.”
Jacob nodded. It was good advice for racing. Good advice for life. “Who’s going through first?”
“We’re going together. Are you ready?”
“I was born ready!” Jacob called back.
The crowd was nearly silent as the two racers approached the end of the track. A slight lip at the end gave them a jump into the air, and Jacob could feel all fifty thousand people in the audience holding their breath at once.
His bike launched, traveling through air, toward the fire. Suddenly the flame was all around him. The heat from it grazed his cheeks, but only for a second before he was through the loop and headed back to the ground.
Stormrider was focused on his bike, and Jacob did the same. He only looked up for a small moment to see his whole family at the end of the track, waiting to greet him.
Jacob’s landing wasn’t perfect. In fact, he hit hard enough that he almost bounced right off his bike and onto the ground, but he kept his grip on his handles and, somehow, kept his place on the seat.
But it wasn’t until Jacob slowed his bike to a stop that he realized how deafening the stadium’s cheers had become. Even the best Dodger’s game was never this loud. No Supercross race in history had ever recorded such a celebration.
Over the microphone, an announcer was calling out that a new world record had been broken. A double jump through a flaming hoop, by Stormrider, and by a new world-record holder, Jacob.
“Those cheers are for you, kid,” Stormrider said, winking at Jacob.
Jacob gave his helmet to his dad, then walked out in front of the crowd. He stretched out his arms, palms up, and did a full turn to the entire stadium. And then he took his bows.
Not his first win ever, and not the last challenge he would ever battle. But a pretty good day for a victory nonetheless.
Jennifer A. Nielsen
New York Times best-selling author Jennifer A. Nielsen was born and raised in Northern Utah, where she still lives today with her husband, three children, and a dog that won’t play fetch. She is the author of The Ascendance trilogy, beginning with The False Prince; the Mark of the Thief series; and A Night Divided. She loves chocolate, old books, and lazy days in the mountains.
http://www.jennielsen.com/
Cami
(Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)
Meet Cami! Cami has battled cancer twice. She is one of the strongest kids I know. On the day of her photo shoot, her family received the wonderful news that, after a year of treatment and a bone marrow transplant, Cami was finally cancer free. It was a very good day!
Cami’s dream was to be a fairy, but I am pretty sure her real dream was to finally be done with cancer. Her images depicting her as a strong beautiful fairy are meant to convey her conviction to take control of her life and fight the horrible disease that has plagued her body for many years.
I hope that when she faces tough times, she will look at her images and remember how strong she is.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGWdeVobofs
Fairy Magic
Sara B. Larson
I clutched Froggy to my chest a little tighter and tried to pretend I was somewhere else. Somewhere without pain or medicine or tests or cancer. In a garden, maybe, with sunshine radiating down, a warm, glowing blanket, and flowers and butterflies surrounding me in a whirl of color, and hummingbirds flitting beside me. Birdsong filled the air instead of the soft hum of the IV pump beside my bed. I pretended I was a fairy, like the ones I’d set up the home for in our real garden in the summertime.
Whenever I dared bring up my wish with Mommy, she always told me the same thing, “Anything is possible, Cami,” with a little smile that made me wonder if she really believed that or if she was just saying it to make me feel better. Mommy does everything she can to make me feel better, but as hard as she tries, it doesn’t always work.
But that night, I felt a flutter in my tummy that worked its way up into my heart, a tickle of hope that made me think maybe she was right, even if she didn’t realize it herself.
“Anything is possible,” I whispered to myself, watching the moonlight dance through the white curtains on either side of my bed and spread across the ceiling above me. As I spoke the words, the flutter turned into a flurry, urging my heart to squeeze harder, beat-beat-beating against my lungs, pumping the blood being made by my new bone marrow through my body.
I repeated myself, but this time a bit louder. “Anything is possible.”
A speck in the darkness sparkled briefly, just a pulse of light, before it winked out again, leaving me breathless and half sitting upright in my bed.
Sure now that something was happening, though I had no idea what, I said it one last time, “Anything is possible!”
The glittery light pulsed again, this time bright enough to make me blink and turn away. When I opened my eyes, my entire room was glowing, an incandescent purple sheen that turned the air to liquid light, swaying and dancing around me. When I looked more closely, I saw one spot that was brighter than the rest, a deep, vibrant purple that pulsed so brightly I had to squint to see it. And that’s when I realized it was coming toward me.
And that it wasn’t just a light—it was a person.
Well, kind of a person. It was a tiny, glowing person with wings and skin that sparkled even in the darkness of night.
“Cami,” she said, her voice much bigger than her tiny body. She spoke loud enough for me to hear, but not loud enough to wake my parents next door. “Do you know why I am here?”
I shook my head mutely, my eyes wide with wonder. And then it hit me and I gasped. I knew what she was—she was a fairy.
“My wish.”
Her kind smile made me feel warm inside, like I’d done something to make her happy. “Yes, Cami, that’s right. I’m a fairy.”
“You . . . you’re real?”
She came closer with a tiny flutter of her beautiful, glowing wings. “As real as you are.” She smiled again. “My name is Michaela.”
Up close I could see that her lips were purple too. Not the purple that mine get when I’m too cold or when someone can’t breathe, but a light, beautiful purple, like a lilac.
“Put out your hand.”
I did as she asked, holding up my hand with my palm toward her, my fingers out straight. Hardly able to believe this was real, I watched as she carefully landed, her bare feet tickling against my skin. I barely felt her; she weighed little more than a flower petal.
“Do you know what Michaela means?” she asked me, and I shook my head. “It means ‘gift from God,’ and that’s why I’m here. Because God wants to give you a very special gift. Do you still wish to become a fairy, Cami?”
I stared at her for a long moment, my mouth hanging open, and then I nodded. “Oh, yes! More than anything.” My hand shook with excitement and nearly toppled the fairy over. “I’m so sorry!”
“No, no, it’s fine. Happens all the time.” She laughed, a tiny, tinkling sound, as she regained her balance. Then Michaela looked up at me, her vio
let-colored eyes turning serious as she propped one tiny fist beneath her jaw. “You’re a very special girl, Cami. You’ve been through a lot in your life.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the pain that pulsed through my body even now.
“I have the power to grant your wish. I can turn you into a fairy—but only for one night.”
Happiness filled me so completely there was no room for words. I could only stare at her in mute amazement.
Michaela smiled back at me, and then, with one last tickle, she fluttered her wings and lifted off my hand, hovering in the air just above me. With a flourish, she pulled a tiny wand out from behind her and twirled it in the air, creating a shower of purple sparks.
Warmth cascaded over me, cocooning me.
“Just say the magic words one more time,” she instructed.
At first I was confused, and then it dawned on me—why she was here, why any of this was happening.
“Anything is possible!” I laughed in delight.
There was a flash of brilliant violet . . . and I was transformed.
Gone were my bed and my sheets and my nightgown and my IV and even the lingering pain from my most recent treatments.
I was floating over a beautiful lake. No, not floating. Flying. I was flying! With an involuntary burst of laughter I flapped my wings—I had wings—and shot across the lake, my reflection glimmering below me on the water. My dress was a beautiful shade of dark pink, and my skin sparkled just like Michaela’s. I lifted my hands out in front of me, marveling at the beautiful sheen of my skin. Then I swooped down closer to the dark water so I could see my face better. I had hair. Long and thick—a brilliant, fiery pink, visible even in the darkness of nighttime. I wasn’t swollen, I wasn’t hurting.
I wasn’t sick.
A bird called from somewhere nearby and I careened to a stop, flapping my wings madly to stay in place, spinning to try to see the bird. The beautiful melody sounded just like my friend Millie, who could do birdcalls. And then I saw it—a shimmer of green and blue on my left. A hummingbird flew toward me, her wings moving so quickly they were nearly invisible. She came closer and closer until we were only a few feet apart. We were nearly the same size, and as the hummingbird came to a stop and looked right at me, I swear her eyes looked just like Millie’s.
“Millie?” I asked.
The bird couldn’t respond, of course, but she flew around me, making me spin in order to keep an eye on her, and then she darted off, pausing for a moment to make sure I was following. I hurried to flap my wings and chase her down.
We danced across the lake, weaving back and forth, flitting toward the shore, where thousands of wildflowers swayed in the moonlight. When we reached the flowers, I heard the birdsong again, a familiar, lilting whistle, and I understood. Millie knew I was here, and she wanted me to know she was here too, in this place without pain or sickness or IVs or radiation or scans or chemotherapy. Here, where the night air was warm and the scent of flowers made the breeze a perfume that I inhaled deeply.
The hummingbird dipped lower, closer to the field, so that I could reach out and let my fingers skim the silken petals of the flowers we flew past. Ahead of us a doe and her fawn drank from a brook. They lifted their heads at our approach but didn’t flee as they would have had I been my normal size.
Happiness built up in my chest, growing and spreading until it burst out of me in an uncontainable giggle that echoed back to me. The unseen bird whistled again, a happy chirping song, as the hummingbird and I chased each other through the magical, moonlit fields. On and on we flew, over brooks and streams, around trees, and across fields of lavender and magenta and golden yellow.
And then, just as the sky began to brighten, hinting at the sunrise to come, I spotted a flash of purple and paused. Michaela slowly flew toward me, holding her wand.
“Is it time already?”
“I’m sorry, but, yes. It’s time to return home.” Michaela came closer, but I turned to look at the hummingbird one last time. She circled around me, and then dashed off into the light of dawn.
Michaela murmured something beside me, and when I blinked it was all gone. The lake, the fields of flowers, my hummingbird, and the familiar whistle. I was back in my bed, but it was no longer the middle of the night. Outside my window, the sun was beginning to rise.
On my dresser lay a beautiful, glittering wand—only this one was a vibrant, beautiful pink, the exact color my hair had been. And beside it was an exquisite porcelain figurine of a blue-and-green hummingbird, exactly like the one I had flown beside all night long.
The night I got to have my wish come true—the night I had become a fairy.
Sara B. Larson
Sara B. Larson is the author of the acclaimed YA fantasy novel Defy, and its sequels, Ignite and Endure. She can’t remember a time when she didn’t write books—although she now uses a computer instead of a Little Mermaid notebook. Sara lives in Utah with her husband and their three children. She writes in brief snippets throughout the day (while mourning the loss of naptime) and the quiet hours when most people are sleeping. Her husband claims she should have a degree in the “art of multitasking.” When she’s not mothering or writing, you can often find her at the gym repenting of her sugar addiction.
www.SaraBLarson.com
Annika
(Neuroblastoma Stage 4)
Meet Annika! At two years old, Annika is our youngest subject. We created an entire fashion studio for her to play in. She was shy at first, but once she warmed up, she had a great time playing with all of the fashion designer props we had for her. She especially loved all the shoes—go figure!
Annika is very particular about what she wears. Luckily we came prepared and had two outfits for her to choose from because one of the outfits was not to her liking. The outfit she is wearing in the image was her favorite.
A quick note on the hummingbirds in the image. Like Annika, Millie Flamm was a young girl battling cancer—and an amazing fashion designer. I wanted to pay tribute to the little girl who helped inspire this project. So Millie is depicted here as the hummingbirds helping Annika fulfill her dream, a dream that Millie shared in life. See if you can find the hummingbirds in many of the images.
www.anythingcanbeproject.com/dream-blog/2015/4/11/annika-fashion-designer
Annika, Little Fashionista
Kristyn Crow
On a starry night in Salt Lake City, Annika was born.
Instead of crying, she put on her momma’s beads, stuck a flower to her diaper, and cooed.
Annika’s daddy paced back and forth. “I think our daughter may be a fashionista,” he said.
“A fashionista?” gasped Annika’s momma. “How do we raise one?”
As Annika grew, so did her sense of style. She didn’t just walk; she sauntered. She didn’t just smile; she struck a pose.
Annika loved trying out new hairstyles in the bathtub. Like the beehive. And the mohawk. And the ducktail.
She used her building blocks to make a runway.
And she liked to wear long dresses with her toes covered up. “Look, I’m a mermaid,” she’d say.
Every night at bedtime, Annika would bounce on her bed and declare, “Momma, Daddy, someday, I’m gonna be a star fashion designer.”
“You’re already a star to us,” Daddy would say.
“But even little fashionistas have to brush their teeth and go to bed,” Momma would add.
It wasn’t long before Annika was designing clothes for her big sister, Lily, and all her friends.
“This dress has cap sleeves. And this one is appliqué,” Annika said. “How do you like this lounge suit?”
“My little sister is the best fashion designer in the world!” said Lily. She and her friends loved wearing Annika’s amazing designs. They would show up in their ordinary clothes and go home dressed like movie stars. Their parents were always very surprised.
Being a fashionista wasn’t easy. Annika had to be very careful with her scissors and s
ewing needles. Sometimes hummingbirds would fly into her window and help her stitch and sew, just to make sure she was safe. They knew Annika was no ordinary little girl.
Every day when Annika woke from her nap, she would say, “Someday I’m gonna be a star fashion designer!”
“You’re already a star to us,” said Momma.
“But even little fashionistas have to pick up their toys,” said Daddy.
One afternoon, a limousine pulled up to Annika’s house. A movie actress, Sadie Simone, came to the door with all her bodyguards. “I need a fabulous dress to wear to the Oscars,” she said. “Annika, I saw a design you made for my second cousin’s daughter’s niece. Dahhhling, please come to my mansion in Hollywood and design a gown for me!”
“I’ll have to bring my Momma and Daddy,” said Annika.
“Fine, fine,” said Sadie. “Make me a dress and you’ll be famous! You’ll do shows at Bryant Park! Lincoln Center! Paris, France!”
Annika’s eyes grew very big. Oh, how she wanted to be a famous designer. But Daddy and Momma weren’t so sure. “It can be a tough world, even for little fashionistas,” they said.
Annika gave them her fiercest diva-tude. “This is my dream! I’m gonna be a star designer! NOTHING CAN STOP ME!”
Momma folded her arms. Sometimes little fashionistas just had to learn things for themselves. “Then we’d better pack our bags,” said Momma.
After a plane ride to California, Annika and her parents arrived at Sadie Simone’s Hollywood mansion. It was the most beautiful house Annika had ever seen. There were fountains and winding staircases.
“This is your big chance,” said Sadie Simone, “to design me a dress that will make you famous!”
Annika sketched the fanciest dress she could imagine. Then she went shopping with Momma and Daddy for the sparkliest materials she could find. She took measurements of Sadie while the actress was posing for the paparazzi. Then Annika went to work. Hummingbirds flew in the windows to help her.
SNIP SNIP SNIP went her scissors.