Louisa picked up a checker. “If I move it there, it looks like a tree!”

Harry squirmed on his elbows. “But that’s against the rules!”

“Or here, and it becomes a spaceship!”

“Mom!” Harry ran to the kitchen. “Lou’s not following the rules!”

Louisa ignored her brother. “And if I move these…” She smiled proudly. “It’s a unicorn!”

K: I can dig this. Harry’s obsessed with the game and Lou’s obsessed with the art. I do like a story where both characters are the good guy and the bad guy in their own way; funny that something this simple would be the one to manage the feat best this week. BRONZE

MD: This doesn’t involve kittens. Boo. However, this also doesn’t involve child molestation. YAY! It’s endearing and normal, and oh my god, I’m so relieved. SILVER

W: I liked the children celebrating Namirala more, but Louisa is cute enough. I have a brother who made a living sandbagging games he was growing bored playing, so I completely understand Harry’s exasperation.

I’m definitely Harry. When I was in kindergarten, I would tattle on kids who didn’t follow the rules. I’ve grown up a lot since then. Now I just keep to myself and stew for hours about why anyone would ever not want to follow the rules. Needless to say, I’m not an artist!

I have slipped back to fifth place in the standings with one week left. However, I put some distance between myself and 7th place. Making the playoffs is not a

The quick reb fox

Flustered, Terrence started over.

The quick red fox jumped ovr teh lazey

Why was this so hard?

The quik fox red jum

He tore out the sheet, fighting back tears.

“Hey Terr, wanna shoot some hoops?”

He nodded. Something he was good at. He closed the notebook, grabbed his dorm key, and joined his roommate.

K: Ah, yes, another one that does both depressing and funny. Tragically funny, but whatever. The setup and tone sets the payoff up beautifully. BRONZE

MD: So much is going on here. 59 words, and you manage to encapsulate a learning disorder; the fact that the learning disorder did not keep this kid out of college because, most likely, he played basketball well enough to get a scholarship; and enough empathy to not be mad or feel this kid is “coasting” on a sports scholarship. GOLD

W: Again, the things in the final paragraph that are left unspoken really help this story. My only quibble is that if his inability to write could push Terrence to tears, would he really be so willing to quit just to play basketball? That doesn’t seem as persuasive knowing that he’s old enough to live in a dorm. SILVER

I recently watched a documentary about kids similar to the one in the story. One student was hiding his Dr. Seuss books so his friends didn’t know he couldn’t read. Anyway, I remain in third place with just two weeks to go. Playoffs are certainly not a lock. Next story has to be about an artist.

“You are guilty,” Judge Arundel bellowed, “of banging my gavel.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” ADA Franks replied, bending over. “Move to strike.”
“Your briefs are definitely out of order.”
She cooed, looking back. “And the jury is well hung.”
Bradford sighed, setting his pen down. He didn’t know how they made state, but high-schoolers shouldn’t write their own dramatic duo.

K: Oh boy…I could tell you a lot of weird stories about high school speech, which is one of the saddest things to which I ever gave significant time. As it happens, I DID typically do dramatic duo. This is pretty fun, in its way, as it has a bunch of eye-rollers leading to a good reason for them to exist. SILVER

MD: I was going to roll my eyes if it was going to turn out to be an out-and-out sex joke. Then it turned into a sex joke written by teenagers, and it was slightly more entertaining. The downfall? The name “Arundel” just made me think of Arendelle, and now it’s STUCK IN MY HEAD AGAIN. “Arendelle’s in deep, deep, deep, deep…snow.” BRONZE

W: I was getting pretty annoyed with the cheesy dialogue, so I’m glad Bradford was, too! I can only imagine Bradford having to score a whole bunch of godawful stories while remaining sane and trying to provide some constructive feedback. BRONZE

Not my strongest week, but it was enough to launch me into third place in the standings with three weeks left. I was a high-school speech judge one year, though I was never given dramatic duo. But I judged some bizarre prose and great speeches rounds.

“Says here your biological mother…” He cleared his throat. “Is deceased. Sorry, that’s all I know.”

Her shoulders collapsed. “My father?”

He knew about her foster care treatment. He knew her need for a father. Now he could be for her what he couldn’t be eighteen years ago.

“Again, I’m sorry.” He averted her gaze. “It says father unknown.”

Continue reading Fiction 59–Parent →