Yuna at the Beach (Pages 12-14)

Page 12:
We’re stuck on the side of the road. We wait, wait, and wait. For what? Spare ties to fall out of the sunny blue sky.

Page 13:
Cars zoom by. Abba waves his arms. Umma waves her arms. But no one stops to help. Everyone is racing to the ocean. A black bird lands near me. I give her my corn chips and ask for help. She takes off.

Page 14:
While Umma and Abba try to fly, I do a word search, a crossword puzzle, draw fairies, and do cartwheels, trying not to ask, When will we get there?

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Published in: on April 27, 2012 at 11:35 am  Leave a Comment  

Yuna at the Beach (Pages 9-11)

Page 9:
We pass a truck full of chickens, cluck-cluck-clucking to be let free, their feathers floating in the breeze.

Page 10:
Blue Berry Pie. Hold My Breath. Fire Very Hot. Pink Lemon Hats. Go Back Home. Play The Banjo. God Forgets You.

Page 11:
Abba drives fast. Pop! Our tire goes flat.

Published in: on April 20, 2012 at 11:45 am  Leave a Comment  

Yuna at the Beach (Pages 6-8)

Page 6:

It’s still dark out. I climb into the backseat of our car and roll down the windows. The crickets still chirp. The birds aren’t awake yet to sing. Good bye, apartments. So long, sleeping neighbors. Adios, parking lot. We’re off to see the ocean.

Page 7:

The sun and moon switch places. The sky lightens. Umma puts breakfast on my lap. A paper plate covered with kimbap. Abba drives fast, and all I hear is wind blowing hard through the windows. Umma leans over to him and feeds him a piece. Her hair whips this way and that as if every strand is alive and kicking.

Page 8:

We pass fields of corn growing tall, thick and green, green, green.

 

 

Published in: on April 18, 2012 at 11:51 am  Leave a Comment  

Yuna at the Beach (Pages 3-5)

Page 3:
Abba says in America, C-A-R spells free. No wheels. No free.

Page 4:
Which car will set us free?

Page 5:
The Ford Fairlane will set us free.

Published in: on April 4, 2012 at 2:47 pm  Leave a Comment  

Yuna at the Beach (Pages 1 & 2)

Title Page:
Title Page

Page 1:
It’s summer vacation. I eat a banana and watch TV, remembering the last day of school. The big kids were singing, “No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers’ dirty looks, no more math and history, summer time will set us free.” But I don’t feel free. And Miss Middleton always looked clean to me. I miss her already.

Page 2:
How does free feel? Is it like running and never getting tired? Like swimming without losing your breath? Is it like being the queen and doing whatever you want? Or is it more like flying?

Published in: on April 3, 2012 at 12:20 pm  Comments (2)  
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