Mia twisted the strap of her backpack as she stared at the entrance of Lincoln Middle School. Seventh grade felt like a roller coaster, and today was the first big drop. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the jittery knots in her stomach. “You got this,” she whispered, repeating it until her heart slowed just a little. The bell rang, and she stepped inside. Lockers slammed and chatter filled the hall, like popcorn popping. Mia tightened her grip on her backpack and made her way to class, a smile on her face.
During lunch, Mia found an old notebook wedged between two textbooks and her locker. Its leather cover was scuffed and stamped, but with a strange spiral. Curious, she flipped it open. The pages were blank, but as her fingers danced over the smooth paper, she felt a spark, like a whisper of static. She carried the notebook to the art room, where she sometimes stayed after school to draw. Miss Rivera, the art teacher, nodded and left Mia alone, humming as she gathered supplies.
Mia drew a simple sketch of a red balloon on the first page. As she lifted her pencil, the balloon wriggled off the paper. Mia blinked in disbelief. Then, with a soft pop, the balloon floated free of the page and drifted toward the ceiling. Mia gasped and caught the ribbon before it could bump into a light. She stared at the notebook and every drawing she made sprang to life: trees grew where she doodled a forest. A paper bird flopped its wing and flew around her head before landing softly on her shoulder.
The next day, Mia practiced carefully. She drew a little green frog and sure enough, it hopped onto the table, croaking. She spent hours creating tiny critters, placing them in jars and then setting them free outside. She felt like a magician and the notebook was her magic wand. But on Wednesday, she grew careless. She sketched a storm cloud full of lightning bolts, imagining how cool it would look. Thunder rumbled in her mind, and suddenly a miniature thundercloud hovered in the art room crackling with electricity.
Mia’s classmates squealed as the cloud flashed jagged lines across the ceiling. Paint cans rattled on the shelves, and Miss Rivera rushed in, eyes wide. Mia froze, her cheeks a burning red. She flipped to a fresh page and drew a big red X over the storm. The cloud shrank and vanished. Mia exhaled, her legs trembling. She closed the notebook, its spiral cover suddenly dull and ordinary. She realized the power came with responsibility, and that being careful mattered more than being cool.
The next morning, Mia handed the notebook to Miss Rivera with a shaky smile. “I think you should keep this safe,” she said. Miss Rivera’s eyes softened, and she nodded. She locked the notebook in her drawer, promising to protect its secrets. As Mia walked out to her first class, she felt proud. Seventh grade felt less scary now, because she knew she was braver than she ever thought possible.
