9 Zeke, the Poet

Nine. Zeke, the poet. "WHA—IT'S YOU!" ZEKE CRIED. "You gave me the valentine!" He wasn't sure if he was happy, nervous, or both.

"I did," said Jane, turning to leave. She turned back to Zeke. "And I like poems." Then she blushed a little and ran away. Zeke was stunned. I have to tell Harris and Roxy about this!

That evening, Zeke was at Harris's house, hanging out with Harris and Roxy. He told them the whole story. "Sometimes when you have a problem, the solution comes along when you least expect it," said Roxy. "Sounds to me like you better get busy writing a poem," said Harris. Zeke's face grew serious. "I've never written a poem before," he said. "How do I even start?"

"Just start writing down ideas, thoughts, and images, especially ones that make you think of Jane," said Roxy. "You can work on rhyming things after you have some basic ideas." "Okay," said Zeke. "I'm going to go home and try. See you guys tomorrow."

At home, Zeke got to work. Using his power of mind-projection, Zeke pressed his fingertips against the sides of his head. A large screen appeared just above him. As he thought of things he wanted to write, the words appeared on the big screen. Let's see what I can say about Jane, Zeke thought. I like her hair. It's black, like the cheese is on Tragas. Oh, that's good!

Zeke started his poem: "The color of your hair reminds me of cheese. I like the way it blows in the breeze." I like that. What else? How about: "I think you're very nice, just like friendly Tragonian mice." Or: "A Kraka beast you could disarm, with just your smile, your laugh, your charm. Being with you is so much fun, even if I lost at Bonkas, I'd think I'd won." This isn't so hard! Still, I think I should show it to Harris before I give it to Jane.