I almost dropped the phone when I heard the words. “Julia’s father died today.” After I hung up, I walked to my room in a daze (晕眩) and fumbled (摸索着找) with my CD player, hoping that the sound of my favorite songs would provide some comfort.

Although I had known this day was coming, I still felt I could hardly breathe. As I sat on my bed, the tears came.

I thought about last summer. I had gone with Julia and her parents on a trip to South Carolina. We’d had a great time together, sharing breathtaking sunsets on the beach, and biking along the coastline. Julia’s dad had taken it upon himself to fulfill our every desire.

Now I knew that beneath all the laughter and fun, Mr. Yolanda must have been suffering. One night, as Julia and I were getting ready to go out, Mrs. Yolanda came into our room looking upset. She told us that Mr. Yolanda was sick and was not up to coming with us. Julia didn’t seem alarmed, and we went out as we had planned.

The next day Mr. Yolanda appeared to be his usual self. Since his illness was not mentioned again, I didn’t think about it anymore for the rest of that trip.

When school started, my friendship with Julia began to change. I watched as she became caught up in making new friends. She didn’t include me in her new plans, and I felt being ignored. Pretty soon, we were no longer best friends. In fact, we were barely friends at all.

One day, my mother told me that Mr. Yolanda had cancer. Shocked, my thoughts turned to Julia. At school she seemed a happy-go-lucky teen. Not wanting to upset Julia in school, and still feeling separate from her, I didn’t say anything to her about her father. But inside, I wanted to run up to her in the hallway, give her a hug, and let her know that I was there and that I cared.

There was once a boy called Mario who loved to have loads of friends. He showed off a lot, always talking about how many friends he had at school, and how he was so friendly with everyone else.

One day his grandfather said to him, “Mario, I bet you a big bag of popcorn that you don’t have as many friends as you think. I’m sure many of them are nothing more than companions, acquaintances, or partners in crime.”

Mario accepted the bet without hesitation. However, he wasn’t sure how he could test whether or not his schoolmates were real friends, so he asked his grandpa. The old man answered, “I have just exactly what you need.   It’s in the attic. Wait here a minute.”

Grandpa left, soon returning as though carrying something in his hand, but Mario could see nothing there. “Take it. It’s a very special chair.   It’s rather tricky to sit on because it’s invisible, but if you take it to your school and you manage to sit on it, you’ll activate its magic and you’ll be able to tell who your real friends are.”

Mario, brave and determined, took the strange invisible chair and set off for school. At break time he asked everyone to form a circle, and he put himself in the middle, with his chair. “Don’t move. You’re about to see something amazing.”

And Mario attempted to sit on the chair. Having difficulty seeing it, he missed and fell straight onto his backside. Everyone had a pretty good laugh. “Wait, wait, just a slight technical problem,” he said, making another attempt. But again he missed the seat, causing more surprised looks, and a few catcalls. Mario wouldn’t be beaten. He kept trying to sit on the magic chair, and kept falling to the ground… until, suddenly, he tried again and didn’t fall. This time he sat, staying in mid-air—some friends were standing behind him.

Looking around, Mario saw three of his best friends holding him up, so he wouldn’t fall.

After the show, Mario told the three best friends about the bet and took them to see his grandfather.

Lost But Not Forgotten

Dad said this could happen. I never believed him. But he was right. So here I am, right in the middle of it. All alone. No one to help me but myself. Two questions come to mind as I sit under this tree, freezing in the snow. How did I get here, and why me?

The first answer is pretty simple. I got lost. Actually it’s more complicated than that. I didn’t pay attention to the boundary signs. I thought the snow looked pretty good. So I told my friend Benito that I’d meet him at the bottom of the hill in twenty minutes. How was I to know a blizzard (暴风雪) was coming? How was I to know that my tracks would disappear?

As for the second question, the answer is obvious. Why me? Because I’m always doing stupid things. Opening my mouth when I should keep it shut. Breaking things I shouldn’t be touching. And in this case, wandering off where I had no business going.

If Dad were here, I know exactly what he’d be saying. I told you this would happen, Deke. Now what are you going to do about it?

The snow just won’t stop falling. It’s getting harder to see, and I’m tired of walking. I’m tired of yelling. No one will hear me. So now I’m sitting under a tree, watching the snow pile up on my clothes. I can barely see my snowboard. It’s a gray shadow in a curtain of white.

What would it be like, I wonder, freezing to death? Don’t just sit there. Build a cave. That’s what Dad would say. But he died in a hospital bed, so he can’t say anything to me anymore. Build a cave. “With what?” I say. “I don’t have a tool. My hands are freezing. There must be something you can use. I look around. All I see are snow-covered trees. Come on, Deke. Use your head. “Like I’m going to dig a cave with my head? I don’t think so.” Then it hits me. The snowboards. I get up. Look for the side of a hill. “I know. I know”.

I start to dig.

Now it’s too dark to see, but I think the cave is finished.

The Story of an Umbrella

Carla is a freshman in the science department of a university in her city. Due to her poor family, she saves everywhere and studies hard.

One weekend, she was going to the bookstore to buy a badly needed book. Suddenly the rain poured down.

Without an umbrella, Carla ran for cover when it started to rain. Finally, she decided to buy a beautiful umbrella,

The prices of various umbrellas ranged from a few dollars to tens of dollars. She fell in love with a read umbrella. But she had only $10.

“I can give you seven dollars for that umbrella,” she said shyly to the smiling salesgirl.

“OK. Young lady. This is your lucky day. The umbrella is yours,” the salesgirl agreed. She opened the red new umbrella above her head, and the rain beat on it.

Carla went to the bookstore she used to go to. She carefully placed her beloved umbrella next to another old and black one.

There are no other customers in the store except a girl of her height and age. While Carla was talking to a shop assistant, the girl left the shop.

When Carla left, Carla found her own umbrella missing.

There was only the old and black umbrella which had a pattern of yellow ducks.

“This is not my lucky day,” Carla walked to the city square.

“Hello!” a young man smiled at her. But Carla didn’t know this young man. She walked away quickly. But the young man still followed the old and black umbrella. She looked at the young man angrily.

“Marissa, I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I am late.”

“I’m not Marissa!” Carla shouted, staring.

“You’re not Marissa?” the young man pointed at the black umbrella with yellow ducks, saying, “That’s her umbrella.”

“Oh!” said Carla. “Who is Marissa?”

“I don’t know Marissa. I’ve only seen a picture of her holding this umbrella. My name is Paul, a junior in college. I’m majoring in law. I came here today to give her some legal advice. Marissa works with my cousin,” said he.

“I’m not Marissa!” said Carla again.

It was the very new red umbrella she had bought.