My family had only recently moved into a new neighborhood. All of my neighbors have been very friendly and helpful since we moved in.

However, Mrs Davis, an elderly lady living in the last house on the other side of the road, escaped associating with us, or anyone else. When I asked around the neighborhood why, they warned me not to go after her because they thought she was insane (精神失常的) and preferred staying alone after losing her husband and only daughter in an aircraft crash. After that, she stayed isolated (孤立的) from all the neighbors, refusing all the care and help.

I often saw her on the streets during the evening, but she was always by herself. She appeared weak and I always wanted to help her, but after hearing what my neighbors had said about her, I wasn’t sure whether I should.

One day, when I was on my way to the supermarket, our paths crossed. I was walking past her and overheard her singing a tune. It immediately drew my attention because my parents used to sing the same song with me. I began to sing along with her, and she smiled at me for the first time. But when I smiled back, she quickly hurried her pace and went home.

She seemed very different to me that day. I refused to trust my neighbors’ claims that she had cut herself off from the rest of society because she was insane, so the next day, I knocked on her door. Mrs Davis was home, and instead of letting me in, she just looked at me silently through the window. I noticed her staring at me and was about to walk to the window when she quickly closed the curtains.

The next day, I revisited her house. “Hello, I brought you something,” I called out to her. “It’s the record of the music you were singing yesterday.”

The door opened and Mrs Davis’ eyes widened in surprise at the sight of me standing there.

Several days later in the morning, the doorbell rang at my house.

“Did you hear what I said?” The band director was looking right at me. So was everyone else. “Yes, ma’am. You want me to do the solo (独奏) at the concert.” I said, trying to hide my fear.

I play the jazz saxophone (萨克斯管). I’m the best player in the sax section of my middle school band; I even do concerts with the senior high band. So, what’s my problem? Stage fright. Performing with a group is no problem. Butraying solo? I will freeze like a water balloon in deep space.

The band director continued, “By the way, the director of the Youth Symphony will be there. You know, if he hears someone who’s really good, he invites them to audition (试演).” I tried to look calm as I headed to the door, but the rock in my stomach had just doubled in weight. I’d dreamed of playing in the Youth Symphony for a long time but never had the courage to audition. I could pretend to be sick and stay home. But there are only two concerts each year, and missing one would be really a great pity.

“What should I do?” I went back home and headed downstairs. I usually practice in the basement. The family calls it Kevin’s Dungeon (地牢). I play great in the dungeon. It’s comfortable down there—just me, my sax, and my music. “Why can’t the school auditorium feel like my dungeon?” I said to myself. Then an idea occurred to me—how about sticking a photo of my dungeon inside the bell of my sax? Looking at it while playing might work for me. I immediately took action and practised and practised.

The day finally came. Suddenly, the lights went down, the curtain went up, and we were off and running. Each song started and ended, but it was like somebody else was playing my sax, not me. Then it was time—my solo.

I stood up and walked to the front of the stage.

With the last long note ending, the audience burst into applause.

Rikki’s mom was preparing baked beans and mixing up potato salad to go with Saturday night barbecue when Rikki stormed in the front door and marched to her room. She glanced out the window and saw their neighbor Lexi walking back to her house across the road. Mother’s intuition told herself this situation might need some direction.

“Rikki, come in here. I need some help with dinner.” Rikki came out with an obstinate look on her face — the kind that kids have when they know they are wrong but have convinced themselves they are right.

“I noticed that Lexi came over but didn’t stay long. She is your age and in your class at school. Why doesn’t she stay longer?” Mom watched Rikki out of the corner of her eye as she continued to prepare food. “I don’t like her,” Rikki whined. “I wish she would stop coming over here all the time. She dresses terrible, and sometimes she doesn’t smell good. Her nose is always runny, and her hair is tangled. None of us like her.” Mom knew that “none of us” meant the popular crowd Rikki ran with.

“That’s not her fault, Rikki. I don’t know what her family is like, but maybe she doesn’t have anyone to help her. Some kids don’t have the extra things that you and your friends have. That doesn’t make them any less worthy than you.” Rikki replied that she knew that, and those things were not the real issue. “I just don’t like to play with her, Momma. She doesn’t like to do the same things that I do.”

Mom told Rikki to go on outside and play. What she didn’t know, however, was that Rikki’s dad had been watching while he was grilling. He didn’t like the fact that Rikki had ignored Lexi, so he decided to intervene. He wanted to know why Lexi was leaving with her head down and looking so sad.

As Valentine’s Day, a time for expressing affection through the exchange of presents, drew near, Kendra found herself seated at the kitchen table, carefully penning her name on Valentine’s cards for her classmates. She recognized her own hesitation; words didn’t come easily to her. While she envied the ease with which her peers talked and laughed, her shyness often kept her quiet.

Kendra grabbed another card. . Her eyes lit up at the phrase “You’re dynamite (引起轰动的人或物)!”—a term that would undoubtedly delight her Grammy, who frequently used the expression to praise their festive decorations. “Well, that looks dynamite!” Grammy would exclaim, her approval filling Kendra with warmth.

Just as Kendra was signing the cards, her mother came in, sharing the sad news of Elise, their neighbor, and her recent accident that led to a broken leg, restricting her to home schooling for the coming weeks. Kendra felt sorry for Elise, and quickly picked the most splendid valentine, hurrying to Elise’s home.

Upon arrival, Kendra’s look fell upon the life-sized deer statue decorating the front yard. She studied it, saying to herself, “Wouldn’t this deer look cool with a big heart around his neck? Elise could look out of the window and see it decorated for Valentine’s day.”

With this idea, Kendra got the sizable red heart her Grammy had given her, tied it with string, and hung it around the statue’s neck like a festive chain. The next day, she decorated the antlers (鹿角) with a variety of smaller hearts. It was during this act of kindness that Colin and Amy, Elise’s fellow classmates, happened upon the scene. “Are you decorating Elise’s deer for Valentine’s Day?” they asked. Kendra confirmed with a nod, explaining her intention to cheer up Elise. Despite her uncertainty about what to add next, Colin proposed adding some color, while Amy suggested putting decorations on the deer’s back and forehead. United by a shared purpose, they agreed to meet later.

That afternoon, they met to decorate the deer with the materials they had sourced.

Just then, Elise’s front door opened, and Elise stuck her head out.

Spotted lanternflies (斑点灯笼蝇) are an invasive species. Since 2014, they have been seen all across the eastern United States. The insects are harmful to many plants, and can disturb entire ecosystems. State officials have urged people to kill spotted lanternflies wherever they see them.

When Joy saw the pests in her school courtyard, she thought she had to do something. “I’ve always wanted to take environmental action,” she says, “and show people that no one is ever too small to make a difference.”

So she started a club called Squash (压扁). Its mission is to kill spotted lanternflies around the school. More than 20 students have joined. At first, they trapped the pests in empty water bottles and then squashed them. In a single day, the club managed to kill more than a hundred spotted lanternflies.

Joy wanted to do more. With research, she discovered a plant called milkweed. It’s nutritious for pollinators (传粉昆虫) such as monarch butterflies but poisonous to spotted lanternflies. Joy thought that using milkweed along with the traps made specifically for spotted lanternflies would be a better way to kill them. The issue was that they didn’t have enough money to buy milkweed and the traps.

The kids were hoping to raise money for their school to address the big problem. Their goal was to raise $200, the cost of the equipment needed to kill spotted lanternflies around their school. They got part of the way there, with about $75. They decided to attract more fundraisers. “We discovered that if you find your voice,” Joy says, “you can do much more.”

In May, Joy and other students from Squash gathered in Columbus Park, in New York City. They set up a table with lemonade, cookies, and origami figures for sale. The money will be used to buy milkweed and the traps.

To attract more attention, the students divided their work into various roles.

As the day progressed, the students’ efforts paid off.

Daniel’s mother, Debbie Ashworth struggled to raise her two kids. As the older child at home, Daniel was a good help to his mother, cleaning the room and caring for his younger brother, Tony.

On a cold winter morning, Debbie asked the kids to go to the supermarket for some groceries. A toy panda on the she If caught Tony’s eyes. It was so adorable that he could hardly tear himself away from it. Knowing that they couldn’t afford it, Daniel told his brother to put it back. But Tony really wanted it and was unwilling to leave. “Please, I can wait until Mom’s salary came in on June 15th,” Tony said. Daniel hesitated for a while, then took out a pen and wrote a note, which read, “Please keep the toy panda for my little brother until June 15th, when my mother gets her salary to pay for it. Thanks.” Placing the note on top of the box, they left the supermarket relieved.

One of the staff spotted the note, who then showed it to the manager. The note melted everyone there and they decided to do something thoughtfully. They put away the toy panda so that it wouldn’t be purchased by other shoppers. After that, they tried their best to search for the two boys, but in vain. There was no other clue(线索)on the note to identify them. It appeared that they had no alternative but to wait until June 15th, which was about half a month away.

The big day finally arrived. Unexpectedly, the two boys didn’t show up. “Maybe they have forgotten all about the toy,” one clerk whispered. “Impossible. A toy animal might not mean much to an adult. But for a child, it could mean the world,” the manager said. “We must come up with a way to contact them.” They decided to turn to the Internet by posting the note and their phone number online, hoping it could bring a surprise.

The post eventually attracted the attention of Debbie.

“I lost my job last month,” Debbie sighed(叹气).

As an independent, self-reliant person who always handled everything by myself, I didn’t expect parenting to be hard. Oh, sure, it’s difficult for other people. I heard parents complaining all the time — kids are challenging; nothing is ever clean; there’s not enough time in the day to do everything. But that was “other people” and I knew I could handle it. How complicated could it be?

I’d always dreamed of adopting a child, and finally my dream came true one summer afternoon. Even though we had requested only one child, the worker asked, “Could you take another baby and his eleven-year-old brother?” Of course, we could. We had room to have all three boys together.

The first week after they moved in, I spent my days rushing from task to task, cleaning and making sure they had all they needed. I constantly organized our living room, which was suddenly full of toys, and picked up the path of destruction left in the boys’ wake. Cooking and cleaning after meals and snacks seemed to take half of my day. I hardly ever sat; something always needed to be done.

“I think we need a break,” my husband told me one evening as I was falling asleep on the couch as usual.

“No,” I refused. The idea of sending them to a stranger sickened me. However, with each passing day, I was growing more and more exhausted. Besides meeting the physical needs of the boys, there were medical and emotional needs. Both the little ones constantly clung (黏住) to me. It was never quiet in our house; I felt overwhelmed.

One night, my husband said firmly that he needed a break. Whether I “needed” one or not, we were going to take one. With tears rolling down my cheeks, I nodded, knowing it was true, although I didn’t want to admit my weakness.

I called my parents.

Asking for help is something I must keep re-learning as time goes on, but it’s getting easier.