I hate my name, but at the same time I love it. It reminds me of the scary bird. And I relate to that bird. Sometimes being quiet and keeping to myself scares people away. But I love that my parents named me Raven.

A famous writer wrote an entire poem based on the word "raven." And that word became my name. For that reason, Edgar Allan Poe became my favorite writer. 

I flipped the blank pages of my journal closed. I wanted to write all of my thoughts down, but they stayed stuck in my head. I decided it was best to get some rest and try again in the morning. 

An owl hooted outside the window. I lay back on my pillow and pulled the fluffy comforter up to my chin. As nice as my bed felt, I couldn’t get comfortable. 

The first day of high school was tomorrow. That meant I needed all the sleep I could get. Unfortunately, sleep felt impossible.

I lay awake, staring at the dim glow-in-the-dark star stickers on my ceiling. Finally, I stood up to rearrange them. My feet squished into the mattress as I tried to balance on the soft surface. I stretched to reach the glowing stickers. I used them to make an upside-down pot that looked like the Big Dipper. 

Then it hit me. A story idea jumped into my head. My imagination kidnapped me and stole me away from the sleep I needed.

I flicked my tiny reading light on and attached it to the top of my journal. Instead of writing about myself, I wrote a story. I wrote about a giant baker in the sky. She used the Big Dipper as a pot to stir up her magic recipes. 

I smiled up at my little stars. My eyelids felt heavy. After scribbling as much of the story as I could, I drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

The next day flew by. High school was the same as middle school, and yet completely different. The Main Hall smelled like cinnamon rolls. Teenagers stood around sharing stories about their summer adventures. Some looked fearful, others excited. I saw many faces I recognized, but more that I didn’t. 

Classes piled a ton of information on me and the other freshmen. Each teacher had a different expectation but they all seemed to agree on one thing: they expected us to be independent. We needed to step up and do our job as students. And somehow this felt like freedom. 

I stared out a smudged window in my Spanish classroom. I couldn’t understand what the teacher was saying. She talked and talked in Spanish, hoping her students would learn the words. 

This side of the Main Hall faced the senior court. The older students hung around on their lunch hour, socializing and snacking. I didn’t watch them.

Instead, I noticed a bird with a chest of bright red feathers. It was flying back and forth. The bird flew right up to people, fearless. I envied its confidence. 

I felt like I was trapped in a tornado of nerves, excitement, and endless papers. All of the teachers handed out syllabi that I crammed into my red backpack. I knew I would regret the crumpled papers later. But I was too distracted by trying to learn new names and find my classrooms. I felt lost. 

Only a few kids from my middle school went on to attend this high school. None of them ended up in my classes. I didn't see a familiar face until the last class of the day, English.

There he was. Max. 

He sat in the row in front of me. He played with a calculator while the teacher talked. I barely even noticed what the teacher looked like. I stared at Max. I wondered when, or if, he would notice me. 

Max and I had every class together since first grade. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but we’d talked over the years.

That time our hands brushed during art, I blushed. Then, two years later, I tackled him in flag football. I got in trouble for breaking the rules. I thought winning the game for my team might get his attention. My third-grade logic was silly.

It wasn’t a crush back when I was young. But now that I was a teenager, I felt butterflies whenever Max looked my way. 

The bell rang and interrupted my thoughts. I had survived my first day as a high schooler. Almost. 

I walked to the front of the school and plopped down on a bench. It felt hot against my thighs. The sun threatened to melt everyone who was waiting in the courtyard for their after-school rides. I looked for my sister’s car, but it wasn’t in the waiting line. 

“Raven?”

When I looked up, I didn’t expect to see Max standing there. His voice had changed over the summer. He sounded much older. His hair was different, too. He let it grow long. A brown curl hung over his eyebrow. 

“Oh, hi, Max!” I said.

I tried to hide the fluttering in my chest that made my hands shake. I couldn’t take my eyes off that one curl. Feeling suddenly aware of my own hair, I brushed it behind my ear. My black hair just flopped back into my face. 

“I barely recognized you,” Max said. 

“Yeah, I cut all my hair off,” I said.

The day after middle school graduation, I took a pair of scissors to my waist-length hair. I chopped it up to my chin. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s what’s different,” Max said. 

My eyes dropped, along with my hopes. He didn’t notice how much I had changed since middle school. I wanted to pull my hoodie from my backpack and hide in it. But the hot afternoon made that impossible.

Max seemed to understand my mood change. He sat down on the bench next to me.

“It looks real cool,” he said. “Your hair, I mean.”

“Uh, thank you,” I said. 

“Are you going to do the talent show?” he asked.

“The what?” I asked him.

“The talent show,” he repeated.

Then he handed me a piece of paper. Bright, rainbow-colored letters spelled out “31st ANNUAL BACK-TO-SCHOOL TALENT SHOW.” The picture of a girl standing on the stage looked kind of familiar. I must have stuffed the paper in my backpack earlier without reading it. 

“I’m thinking about playing my violin,” Max said. 

“Violin? Wow! I didn’t know you played. I bet you’re really good,” I said. The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“I started taking lessons a couple of years ago,” he said. “My mom used to play the violin.”

“She doesn’t anymore?” I asked.

I played with a bird-shaped keychain on my backpack. Fidgeting kept my hands from shaking. I hid my nervous feelings as best as I could.

“She actually passed away,” he said. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Max," I said. "I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

He shrugged. Maybe he was trying to hide feelings too. But his feelings weren’t nerves. I could see his lips turn into a slight frown. Then I noticed he was watching me twirl the bird around in my hands. I stopped. 

“Music and dancers are always my favorite parts of a talent show,” Max said. 

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’m not sure what I would even do in a talent show.”

“Well, I hope you come,” he said as he stood up.

He tossed his green backpack over one shoulder. His brown curls bounced and toppled forward into his face. 

Suddenly my cheeks felt warm. He wanted to see me at the talent show! Nerves turned into excitement.

I watched him walk toward the pickup circle. A blue minivan pulled around and Max jumped in. He threw up a hand to wave at me as the van sped off. 

My big sister must have forgotten to pick me up. When my mom worked late, she asked for Robin’s help. Robin was supposed to come get me after her college classes finished. She didn’t live with us anymore. She had a whole life of her own. And a boyfriend. She seemed busy. 

Anyone with as many talents and skills as Robin would have to be busy. Robin could do everything. She cooked, sang, played the piano, played softball, and studied chemistry. I remembered her singing "Sweet Home Alabama" at her high school talent show. 

What could I possibly do at my talent show? I thought about my journal. While other people spent time practicing instruments, dances, and magic tricks, I wrote. If I didn’t have my nose buried in a Nancy Drew book, I had my hand scribbling in a journal. 

I sighed and pulled half my hair up into a bun on the top of my head. The little shade that covered the bench had now disappeared. Normally, I didn’t mind waiting. Today, I swore I would melt into a pile of high schooler-flavored ice cream before Robin showed up. I settled for pulling out my notebook and writing story ideas.

A familiar song made me look up from my writing. Rock music blasted from Robin’s little car. She squealed around the turn and drove into the parking lot. I sighed again, this time in relief. I had survived the heat... and the first day of high school.

I jumped up from the bench and rushed toward the red car. Once I was in the car, Robin drove carefully. But I wanted her to speed away. I wanted to ask my mom and dad to give me ideas for the talent show. 

Over the next two weeks, I tried my hardest to think of a talent. When I asked my mom and dad, they just laughed and said, “Raven, you’re the most talented girl we know!” But I still didn’t have an answer. Besides, they always told Robin the same thing. 

What could I perform?

With the back-to-school talent show only one week away, I settled on learning a dance. Max said it was one of his favorite talents to watch. Plus, I had taken two months of tap dancing classes when I was in elementary school. 

With my mom’s help, I searched through hundreds of YouTube videos. I chose the easiest one we could find. It was not impressive, but it would do the job. At least I could be in the show. 

It was finally Friday. The talent show was one week from tonight. I wanted to run up to Max and tell him about my dance. Instead, I stood back and watched a bunch of other girls notice how cute his curls were. 

I pulled my black sweater tighter across my chest as the autumn wind started to blow. The girls giggled. One pointed to his violin case, asking what was in it. My face always turned red when I was excited or nervous, but thankfully it did not turn green when I was jealous. 

“Yo, Raven!” my sister called out. “Get in the car!”

I turned to see Robin’s little red sedan in line at the pickup circle. For once, she was on time. Of course it was the one time I wanted her to be late. 

I had thought all day about how I would tell Max my tap dancing plans. I had finally built up the courage to talk to him when the other girls cut me off. I needed to stop waiting. I couldn’t blame them for my hesitation. I sighed and walked toward Robin’s car.

“Hurry up, Raven! I need to meet Jeff!” Robin yelled.

I plopped down in the front seat. Her car smelled like it was burning. The strange, rubbery stink was so strong I couldn’t even smell her perfume. Robin loved to drench herself in the flowery scent every time she had plans to meet Jeff. Her boyfriend was even busier than she was. 

“What’s that smell?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Robin said. “What’s with your face?”

I put my hands on my cheeks. Were they green? My eyes got wide. Was that possible? 

“What’s your problem, little sis?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I answered. “I don’t have a problem. Do I look sick or something? Green, maybe?”

“Green?” She laughed. “Are you Frankenstein now?”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” I said, correcting her. “Frankenstein is the doctor who created the monster. It's a common mistake.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all know that you’re a literary genius. You read all the books and poems,” Robin said. She smiled at me.

Her smile quickly dropped to a frown when the car’s brakes squealed at the stop sign. The burning rubber smelled stronger now. 

“Is your car okay?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Jeff promised to look at my brakes. That’s why I’m meeting up with him after I drop you off," she said.

“Not for a date?” I asked.

I felt a bit jealous again. Robin got all the guys. She would know exactly how to talk to Max. If only I were more like her. Or more like the girls who flirted with Max earlier. Or more like the musicians and singers that would be at the talent show. 

“Um,” she said, “Jeff and I aren’t really dating anymore.” 

“Oh, sorry, Robin,” I said. 

“So when are you going to write a book or some poems of your own?” she asked, changing the subject.

Before I could answer, Robin screamed. A stoplight turned red in front of us, but our car wasn’t stopping.

I looked at Robin. My heart pounded and my head felt dizzy. 

“I can’t stop!” she shouted. 

The car slowed with squealing brakes, but it didn’t stop in time. We passed through the stoplight just when the other lane of cars started going. A big, white SUV smashed into us.

The large car crushed the passenger side of Robin’s small sedan. I screamed as pain shot up my leg. The spinning in my head finally took over. Everything went black. 

I woke up a few moments later. I heard voices yelling. When I opened my eyes, I saw my leg squished under the car’s crumpled dashboard. I felt too dizzy to focus on anything. I closed my eyes again. 

After what felt like a year, my car door finally opened. I could hear Robin sobbing nearby. I opened my eyes to see a firefighter unbuckling my seatbelt. He gently lifted me from the passenger seat.

I looked up to see his dark skin and deep eyes. Any other time I would have blushed at being carried by such a handsome man. This time I was too distracted, trying not to pass out again. 

I got a quick look at the accident scene. My sister’s car seemed to bleed on the white SUV as it left red marks. Blood always made me feel nauseous. I couldn’t wait for this day to be over. I wanted to run away and hide in my bedroom and in my stories. 

The rest of the day flew by in a blur. Back in the comfort of my own bed, I stared at the white cast on my broken leg. It looked like a blank page in my journal, waiting for a story to be told. This story had a sad ending. I could not dance in the talent show anymore. My tap shoes sat in front of my closet door. 

I sniffled. I wanted to cry. I wanted to blame the driver of the SUV. I wanted to blame my sister’s crappy car.

Mom promised me I could still find something to do at the talent show. Dad kissed my forehead. Robin cried on my shoulder because Jeff wouldn’t answer her phone calls. 

I sat in bed until rainy Monday morning arrived. My parents wouldn't let me skip school. To them, playing hooky was as bad as murder. I was frustrated as I tossed my crutches into my mom’s car. 

“It's not fair!” I complained as we sat in early-morning traffic.

Rain pattered against the windshield, smearing everything through the window. In just one week, summer had disappeared. School, cooler weather, and the talent show had taken over. 

Mom pulled into the drop-off circle in front of the school. I looked through the rain-streaked window. Kids hurried from their cars to the buildings with hoods and backpacks pulled over their heads. I dreaded limping my way to the Main Hall. I knew I would be soaking wet by the time I got inside. 

“You know you’re not required to be in this talent show, right?” Mom asked. She had a point. 

“I’ve been practicing my tap dancing every free second I get! I couldn’t wait to perform,” I said. 

“But you don’t even like dancing, Raven,” Mom said. 

One by one, cars inched around the circle. We pulled forward. Mom jumped out of her seat and ran around to my door. She held my crutches with one hand and offered me the other. I grabbed it and climbed out slowly. The rain pelted us. My crutches felt slippery. Mom put her hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes. 

“Raven. Think about what you like to do best. What is your favorite thing? Do that in the talent show,” she said.

When she let go, I missed her warm touch. I bit my lip and nodded a silent goodbye to her. 

As I made my way toward the Main Hall, other students stared at me behind their hoods and umbrellas. My cheeks flushed hot, the opposite of the cold rainwater. I was thankful that my hood hid my blushing face. If only I could hide the crutches and the cast.

Someone held the door for me. I looked up to mumble a thank you. Max smiled back at me. 

“What happened, Raven?” he asked. He let the door swing shut behind me. 

“Um,” I said, suddenly nervous, “a car accident.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. Then he laughed and spoke again before I could answer. “I guess that’s a stupid question.” He pointed to my leg. 

“Yeah, I can’t do my dance in the talent show now,” I said. 

“You were going to dance? That’s so cool!” Max said. He was walking a little bit too fast for me to keep up, but I could still hear him. “See you later, Raven,” he said as the school’s bell rang. 

* * *

During each class, my mind wandered. I hardly heard the teachers. I definitely missed something important in Algebra. Now, I sat in English. I loved this class. All the reading and writing suited me perfectly. But I could not get my mind off what my mom said.

What was my favorite thing to do? 

I knew the answer to that question the second she asked it. I loved to write stories. I could create silly, fun, or scary characters all day long. I could go on adventures to other worlds with just a pencil and paper. But that’s not a talent to perform, is it? 

A bird chirped outside the classroom window. It made me think of a raven: a strange, dark bird, like me. I was strange and had black hair.

The songbird chirped again, making a pretty little song. Ravens croak, they don’t make pretty songs like the bluebird outside the classroom. But they still sing, don’t they? They just sound a little bit different. 

The teacher cranked the window shut. It blocked out the sound of the chirping. Her voice sounded louder now. I finally tuned in to the English lecture.

“The story is much more powerful when spoken out loud. So we will read this one in class," the teacher said. "I encourage you to read the next one out loud to yourself or a family member at home. Let's start on this side of the room. Everyone can read a sentence.” 

The teacher pointed to the boy sitting in the front row next to her desk. Each student struggled through the story, trying to pronounce the words without embarrassing themselves. A couple of class clowns mixed words up on purpose to make everyone laugh. 

The teacher calmed us down and went on reading the story out loud. Her voice rose and fell with emotion. She changed the tone with each character’s dialogue. She added a British accent. The classroom fell silent, like we were watching a movie. 

The teacher took us away to the world of William Golding’s characters. I could almost see the deserted island the author described in Lord of the Flies. She read the words carefully. Her voice showed us the fear of the boys on the island. We sat like we were under a spell, listening to what would happen next. 

Then it hit me. If the teacher could capture a rowdy classroom’s attention, then maybe I had a chance to do the same. My stories might just be the perfect talent to perform at the show.

My heart started beating faster. I couldn’t wait to get home. I planned to practice reading one of my stories in front of the mirror. 

After class ended, I hobbled outside to wait for my mother. The rain had stopped. The yellow sun shone through a few clouds. The afternoon felt warm now. I loved how quickly the weather changed in early fall. It reminded me that even when the clouds covered the sky, sunshine might be right around the corner. 

With the crutches, I managed to hop to the bench at the front of the school. I hoped Max might come by and chat with me at the pickup circle again. I watched as a rush of students piled into cars. Many others laughed and chatted before heading home. 

My crutches leaned against the bench I sat on. Suddenly a bird flew up to me. I was startled. A gasp caught in my throat. The bird's black feet curled around the top of my crutches, using them as a perch.

The bird twitched its head and turned a big black eye to me. Then it croaked, a deep, throaty sound that identified it as a raven. What was a raven doing so far from a forest? And at a busy high school campus? 

“Hi,” I said.

The bird wasn’t scared by my voice. Instead, it kept staring at me.

“Must be easy to be a bird," I said.

The raven opened its black beak and answered with another croak.

“You don’t have to worry about boys or talent shows or car accidents," I said to it.

“Raven!”

My mother’s voice made the bird take flight. It flapped its dark wings near my face for a moment, then launched itself upward. I squinted up at the September sun. Its brightness swallowed the black bird. 

I grabbed my crutches and shouted, “Coming, Mom!”

We chatted in the car, but I kept my idea to myself. The more I thought about reading one of my stories at school, the more nervous I felt about it.

I always kept my stories to myself. They were my imagination, my worlds. They were part of me. What if I showed everyone a story I had written and they didn’t like it? Would they still like me? Would Max? Even in the privacy of my own bedroom, my hands started getting clammy and my heart pounded. 

I spread notebooks and papers, scraps of napkins, and journals across my rug. I leaned against the end of my bed and stretched my broken leg out to one side. 

The evening disappeared before I knew it. I spent hours looking over every story, wondering which one might be worthy of the talent show. I laughed and cried with my characters. I got so lost in their worlds that I didn’t even realize it was past my bedtime. 

A knock on my door pulled me from a jungle with my favorite character, Mara. Mom poked her head in and said I should I get some rest. I nodded. We blew each other kisses. 

Even though I agreed with my mom, I did not feel tired. I climbed into my fluffy bed and buried myself under the yellow comforter. 

Every scary thought bounced around in my head that night. What if I forget how to talk in front of the whole school? What if my pants fall down, or I throw up? What if Max never wants to talk to me again after I embarrass myself? 

I sighed and pulled the yellow blanket over my head. It swallowed my black hair. I thought of the bird I saw today. It wasn’t afraid of me. Maybe I shouldn’t be afraid of my classmates.

Finally, a yawn sent me into dreamland.