The Pōrangi Boy By Shilo Kino (2020)

‘Porangi boy, I know it’s you!’

I recognise Kaore’s ugly voice and picture his stubby fingers rattling the door. I look up at the ceiling, wondering if I can escape through the tiny window just above the toilet. Nah, probably not.

I jump down to the ground, throw my bag over my shoulder and push the door open, ready to do a runner.

Tū, Kaore and Hone are standing in front of me. Tū’s got a big smirk on his face. He nods slightly and Kaore lifts me up by my bag and shoves me against the toilet.

Tsk tsk, boy; Tū says. You reckon you can hide from us, aye?

Legacy By Whiti Hereaka (2018)​​

Legacy By Whiti Hereaka (2018)

Chpt 2: The last minute of Riki’s run seems to stretch for as long as the entire run itself. He pushed himself too hard at the start; the adrenaline that had pushed him faster burnt off ages ago. His pacing was thrown off and he’s paying for it now, and will again tomorrow, when his muscles will ache.

Each step, each breath Riki takes brings him a second closer to finishing.

He checks his watch – how can only seconds have passed? Every part of him seems to be screaming – slow down – but he can’t. Not yet.

He’s spent the last few minutes checking off the markers spray-painted on the footpath – just past the dog park one K to go, the toilets at Hataitai beach 800 metres to go, the little blue house with roses climbing on it 500 metres; pushing until he crests the small hill and then it’s downhill and only 200 metres until the end – the stand where the Zephyrometer used to be. Riki was at school when lightning destroyed it last year, but his mum reckoned the impact of it shook their house over a kilometre away. Riki can’t help but think of what it would have been like if he’d been running past it at that moment. Would he have been thrown off his feet? Would he have survived? The thought makes him slow down, so he grits his teeth and swings his arms faster, and his feet follow.

Josefa and the Vu By Tulia Thompson (2007)​​

Josefa ran faster. He could hear his heart beating against his chest and sweat was beginning to slide down his t-shirt.

He looked down at his chubby body and wished he could move more quickly. In three minutes the bell would ring and he’d be late for the first day back at school.

‘Good luck bro!’ his brother Timoci called out cheekily, before whizzing past him on his bike. Timoci was fit and fast. He had even further to go to get to intermediate school, but Josefa felt sure he’d manage to cycle there in time.

Josefa reached the field and he could see some other kids running in the distance. Maybe he would make it. The bell rang and Josefa stopped short, puffing loudly. There was no point running now, the hall doors would already be shut.

Dawn Raid by Pauline (Vaeluaga) Smith (2018)

SUNDAY, 20 June 1976

Dear Diary,

I can’t believe the first McDonald’s in the WHOLE country is here – in Porirua! – at the shopping centre in Cobham Court.

They had all sorts of problems with the date for the official opening though. Dad said it was because of ‘red tape’ and had to do with them putting in the wrong benches or something. So it just had its opening ceremony last Saturday, and Mum said when she drove past, there were people lined up out the door and down the footpath! It was the official Grand Opening and was so busy they had to lock the doors and only let more people in when others left.

There was a band playing and Ronald McDonald arrived in a helicopter. The newspaper said when Ronald got out of the helicopter he went to put up an umbrella and the helicopter blades sucked it up out of his hands and smashed it into pieces! I bet Ronald got a fright!

Lenny’s already been to McDonald’s and said he waited for 40 minutes just to order!! But, he said it was so worth it. They call the chips ‘fries’ like they do in America. I love it. ❤️❤️❤️ They’re really, really thin and crunchy and Lenny said he would definitely line up for those again. He said the burger was amazing, with pickle or something like that in it, and they have ketchup instead of tomato sauce. I’d line up for 40 minutes for a taste.

Lenny is so lucky he has a milk run so he can buy his own stuff. Far out!!! If I had a milk run I’d spend all of my first pay on Milky Bars and Big Charlie bubblegum. I’d hide them under my bed and eat them at night. 

Trash by Andy Mulligan 

My name is Raphael Fernandez and I am a dumpsite boy.

People say to me, ‘I guess you just never know what you’ll find, sifting through rubbish! Today could be your lucky day.’ I say to them, ‘Friend, I think I know what I find.’ And I know what everyone finds, because I know what we’ve been finding for all the years I’ve been working, which is eleven years. It’s the one word: stuppa, which means–and I’m sorry if I offend–it’s our word for human muck. I don’t want to upset anyone, that’s not my business here. But there’s a lot of things hard to come by in our sweet city, and one of the things too many people don’t have is toilets and running water. So when they have to go, they do it where they can. Most of those people live in boxes, and the boxes are stacked up tall and high. So, when you use the toilet, you do it on a piece of paper, and you wrap it up and put it in the trash. The trash bags come together. All over the city, trash bags get loaded onto carts, and from carts onto trucks or even trains–you’d be amazed at how much trash this city makes. Piles and piles of it, and it all ends up here with us. The trucks and trains never stop, and nor do we. Crawl and crawl, and sort and sort.

When the Kehua Calls
by Kingi McKinnon

Prologue

I remember the very first time I laid eyes on the old whare. I hated it. It wasn’t because of the way it looked, all rotting and crumbling. No. There was heaps more to it than that. I think it was the vibes mainly. Unwelcoming. Hostile. And I’d picked up on them the moment our car left the highway and rolled onto the rain-scarred metal road that led us up here.

I’m like that, you see. Spooky. Like my great-grandfather, Kaitangata. He was a Tohunga, Mum says- a kind of ‘witch doctor’. He was wise, powerful, and he could heal the sick and soothe the dying. He knew of things that happened long before his time; and things that were about to happen, even before they did.

And, yep, I’ve got to admit, that does sound a lot like me, all right.

The Iron Man
by Ted Hughes

The Iron Man came to the top of the cliff.

How far had he walked? Nobody knows. Where did he come from? Nobody knows. How was he made? Nobody knows.

Taller than a house, the Iron Man stood at the top of the cliff, on the very brink, in the darkness.

The wind sang through his iron fingers. His great iron head, shaped like a dustbin but as big as a bedroom, slowly turned to the right, slowly turned to the left.

His iron ears turned, this way, that way. He was hearing the sea. His eyes, like headlamps, glowed white, then red, then infrared, searching the sea. Never before had the Iron Man seen the sea.

He swayed in the strong wind that pressed against his back. He swayed forward, on the brink of the high cliff.

And his right foot, his enormous iron right foot, lifted – up, out into space, and the Iron Man stepped forward, off the cliff, into nothingness.

CRRRAAAASSSSSSH!

Down the cliff the Iron Man came toppling, head over heels.

CRASH!

CRASH!

CRASH!

From rock to rock, snag to snag, tumbling slowly. And as he crashed and crashed and crashed

His iron legs fell off.

His iron arms broke off, and the hands broke off the arms.

His great iron ears fell off and his eyes fell out.

His great iron head fell off.

All the separate pieces tumbled, scattered, crashing, bumping, clanging, down on to the rocky beach far below.

Jason Mason and the World’s Most Powerful Itching Powder
by Jason Gunn and Andrew Gunn

Wonder

By R. J. Palacio (2012)

Dunger
by Joy Cowley

The world is full of calamity: famines and wars, birds choking to death on oil spills, earthquakes, tsunamis, and Melissa – my disaster of a sister. Reading this, you’ll probably say, what’s wrong with this kid? Is he a bit paranoid? My response is that all tragedies are relative to their context and as far as domestic upheavals go, this one is about eight on the Richter scale.

Under the Mountain
by Maurice Gee

Prologue

One afternoon on a farm outside a small town in the King Country two children wandered into the bush and were lost. They were twins, a brother and sister, three years old. Their father was mending fences. For more than half an hour he did not notice they were gone. When he looked up and saw the empty paddock, the bush, the brown cold river, he had the dreadful feeling that his children were lost forever.