精英中学写作：考什么，怎么练

Dear Councillors,

My name is Eleni and I am in Year 6 at the school next to the empty block on Banksia Road. I walk past that block every morning. Right now it is full of weeds, broken glass and one very lonely shopping trolley. I am writing to ask you to turn it into a community garden, not a car park, because a garden would give our neighbourhood something a car park never could.

Firstly, a garden would bring people together. At the moment, most people in our street only say hello when they are putting their bins out. Imagine if neighbours met every weekend to plant tomatoes, swap herbs and share advice. Older residents who live alone could teach children how to grow things, and children could carry the heavy watering cans for them. A car park cannot make a single friendship.

Secondly, a garden would be a classroom outside the classroom. Our class could study insects, measure how fast sunflowers grow and learn where food really comes from. Some students at my school have never pulled a carrot out of the ground. A garden would change that.

Thirdly, a garden is better for the environment. Concrete soaks up heat and makes summer days even hotter. Plants give shade, clean the air and give bees and birds somewhere to live. Our suburb has lost a lot of trees in the past few years, so every green space matters.

Some people might argue that parents need more parking at pick-up time. I understand this, because the traffic outside our gate can be chaotic. However, a car park would only be full for about twenty minutes in the morning and twenty minutes in the afternoon. For the rest of the day it would sit there, empty and baking in the sun. A garden would be used all day, every day, by everyone. A drop-off zone further down the road could fix the traffic problem without covering the land in bitumen.

In conclusion, a community garden would connect neighbours, teach children and cool our suburb. A car park would just store cars. Please choose the option that helps people grow, in more ways than one.

Thank you for reading my letter.

Yours sincerely,

Eleni Christodoulou Year 6 student

Good morning, everyone. Close your eyes for a moment and picture this. It is the last week of school. The oval is no longer just grass. It is a city, with towers taller than your teachers, tunnels you can crawl through and a bridge made entirely of cereal boxes. And every single part of it was built by you.

That is our idea: Cardboard City. Class 6B believes it is the best way to finish the year, and in the next few minutes I hope to convince you too.

Here is how it works. In the last three weeks of term, every class collects boxes, tubes and egg cartons from home. Each class designs one part of the city. Kindergarten might build a zoo, Year 3 a castle and Year 6 a stadium. On the final Friday, we carry all the pieces onto the oval and join them together. Then, at four o'clock, families are invited to walk through the city before we recycle every last box.

Why is this the right choice? Firstly, it suits everyone. A disco is great if you love dancing, and a sports carnival is great if you are fast. But everyone can build. Little kids are amazing at decorating, and older kids can work out how to make towers that don't collapse. Even teachers can help, although we might keep them away from the sticky tape.

Secondly, it costs almost nothing. The materials are things most families throw away every week. Instead of spending money on hiring equipment, we would be turning rubbish into something remarkable.

Thirdly, it brings the whole school together. When was the last time a Kindergarten student and a Year 6 student worked on the same project? In Cardboard City, every class's work joins up with everyone else's. You might walk through a tunnel made by Year 2 and come out in a garden made by Year 5.

Now, I know some of you are thinking, "What if it rains?" That is a fair question. Our plan is simple: if the weather is bad, the city moves into the hall. It might be a bit more squashed, but cardboard and rain should never meet anyway.

So when you vote next week, think about which idea gives everyone a chance to be part of it. Think about the tunnels, the towers and the look on your family's faces when they see what you built. Vote for Cardboard City, and let's build the best ending this school has ever had.

Thank you.

The zip stuck halfway, and that was when I realised this was not my bag. My bag has a keyring shaped like a pineapple. This one had a tiny brass compass clipped to the strap, and the needle was wobbling as if it was nervous.

I tugged the zip the rest of the way. Inside there were no muddy socks or squashed muesli bars. Instead, there was a notebook with a cracked leather cover, a torch and a folded map of Kookaburra Ridge, the camp we had just come home from. Someone had drawn a red cross beside the old water tank, with three words underneath: "Don't forget Pip."

Who was Pip? A dog? A person? A secret code? My stomach did a slow flip.

I flicked through the notebook. Every page was covered in neat pencil drawings of birds, and each one had a date and a time. On the last page, in rushed writing, it said: "Pip still can't fly. Feed at 7 am and 5 pm. Dad, the box is behind the tank!"

It was Saturday afternoon. Camp had finished that morning. If Pip was a bird, and if nobody knew where the box was, then Pip had not been fed since breakfast.

I sprinted to the kitchen, waving the map like a flag. "Mum! We have to go back to camp. Right now!"

Mum raised one eyebrow, which is never a good sign. But when I showed her the notebook, the eyebrow came down. Forty minutes later, we were bumping along the dirt road to Kookaburra Ridge, the bag on my lap and my heart thudding.

The camp manager, Mr Nguyen, met us at the gate. He looked puzzled until I said the word "Pip". Then he slapped his forehead. "That's my son Minh's bag! He's been caring for a baby magpie with a hurt wing. He left me instructions before he went to his gran's, but I couldn't find them anywhere."

We found Pip in a cardboard box lined with a towel, tucked behind the water tank in the shade. She was fluffy and grey, and she opened her beak so wide I could see right down her throat. She was definitely hungry. Mr Nguyen showed me how to feed her tiny pellets of soaked insect mix with a pair of tweezers. She gulped every single one.

On Monday, Minh rang me to say thank you. He had my bag, of course, pineapple keyring and all. He had been panicking about Pip the whole weekend.

Now I check every zip twice before I leave anywhere. But I also think that sometimes the wrong bag is exactly the right one.

Saturday 14 March

Dear Diary,

Today I found out that being in charge is a lot harder than it looks. Honestly, being bossed around is easier.

It all started at breakfast last week, when I complained (very loudly) that I do everything around here. Dad put down his toast and said, "Fine. Next Saturday, you and Leila run the house. We'll follow your rules." Leila is my little sister and she is eight, so you can probably guess how that went.

Our first rule was "No screens for grown-ups until the chores are done." Mum groaned like she had been sentenced to prison. Our second rule was "Everyone must eat dessert first." That was Leila's idea, and I have to admit it was popular.

Then the actual jobs began. I wrote the shopping list and Leila was in charge of the washing. By ten o'clock, I had forgotten milk, eggs and bread, which are basically the three most important things in a kitchen. Leila had put my white school shirt in with Dad's red footy socks. My shirt is now a delicate shade of strawberry milkshake. I am not even joking.

Lunch was my disaster. I decided to make pancakes, because how hard can pancakes be? Very hard, it turns out. The first one stuck to the pan, the second one was raw in the middle and the third one set off the smoke alarm. Dad flapped a tea towel at the ceiling while Mum laughed so hard she had to sit on the floor.

The strange thing was that the adults were really good at following our rules. Mum vacuumed the lounge room without being asked twice. Dad even said "Yes, boss" when Leila told him to fold the towels into perfect triangles. I started to feel a tiny bit guilty about all the times I have rolled my eyes at them.

By dinner time, I was exhausted. We ordered fish and chips, which Dad said was "a very sensible leadership decision".

Lying in bed now, I keep thinking about how many small jobs Mum and Dad do every single day without anyone noticing. Nobody claps when the milk is in the fridge. It is just there. Tomorrow I am going to make my bed without being reminded, and I might even thank Mum for the clean shirts. Well, the ones that are still white.

Goodnight, Diary. Being the boss is hard work.

WOOLLY SHOPPER CAUSES CHAOS IN MAIN STREET

By our junior reporter

An escaped alpaca brought Millbrook's main street to a standstill on Saturday morning, after it spent two hours wandering between shops before being safely caught outside the bakery.

The alpaca, a fluffy cream-coloured male named Biscuit, slipped through a broken gate at Hilltop Farm, three kilometres from town, at about 8 am. Witnesses say he trotted down Station Road, crossed the roundabout and arrived in Main Street just as the Saturday market was opening.

For the next two hours, Biscuit seemed to treat the town like his own personal shopping centre. He sniffed the flowers outside the florist, nibbled a lettuce from a fruit stall and stared at his own reflection in the window of the hardware store for almost ten minutes.

Shop owners had mixed feelings about their unusual customer. Greengrocer Tony Haddad said he lost "at least three lettuces and a bunch of carrots" but could not stay angry. "He looked me straight in the eye while he was chewing," Mr Haddad laughed. "I've never been robbed so politely."

Not everyone was amused. Cafe owner Priya Sharma said customers ran inside when Biscuit wandered between the outdoor tables. "One man spilled his coffee all over his newspaper," she said. "It was funny afterwards, but at the time it was total chaos."

Children, however, were thrilled. Eight-year-old Maya Wilson said it was "the best Saturday ever" and asked if Biscuit could come back next week.

Police and a local vet closed off part of the street at about 9:45 am. In the end, it was Biscuit's owner, farmer Graham Collins, who solved the problem. He walked calmly up the street shaking a bucket of oats, and the alpaca followed him like an obedient puppy.

"He's a curious boy and he loves people," Mr Collins explained. "I'm very sorry for the trouble. I'll be paying for the lettuces and fixing that gate today."

Biscuit was checked by the vet and was unharmed. He is now back at Hilltop Farm, where he is reportedly enjoying a well-deserved nap.

Residents are being reminded to report any wandering animals to police rather than trying to catch them themselves.

YOUR FIRST CAMP: A SURVIVAL GUIDE FROM THE YEAR 6s

So you are going on camp! Two nights, one bunk bed and a whole lot of adventures. We remember how it felt when we went in Year 3: half excited, half wobbly. This sheet will help you feel ready.

Before you go: packing smart

• Pack your bag with an adult instead of letting them do it for you. That way you know where everything is, and you won't be digging for your toothbrush in the dark.
• Bring more socks than you think you need. Camp socks get wet, muddy and mysteriously lost.
• Put your name on everything, even your torch.
• If you have a favourite teddy or pillowcase, bring it. Nobody will laugh. Honestly, half of Year 6 brought one too.

At camp: making the most of it

• Say yes to the activities, even the scary-looking ones. The giant swing looks terrifying from the ground, but most people beg for a second go once they've tried it.
• Sit with someone new at dinner. Camp is the best place to make a friend you never expected.
• Drink lots of water and wear your hat. Sunburn is not a fun souvenir.
• Listen carefully at the safety talks. The instructors know the bush and the creek much better than we do.

Feeling homesick? Read this! Missing home is completely normal. It does not mean you are a baby, and it does not mean camp is going badly. Here are some tricks that worked for us:

• Keep busy. Homesickness gets quieter when you are building a raft or toasting marshmallows.
• Talk to a teacher. They have seen it a hundred times and they know exactly what to say.
• Remember that it is only two nights. By the time you have unpacked, you will nearly be packing again.

At night: lights out The cabins can be noisy, and the bush makes some strange sounds after dark. That screeching is probably just a possum having an argument with its neighbour. Try to settle down when the teachers ask, because tired campers are grumpy campers. Bring a book, or think about the best part of your day until you drift off.

Our top tip Be brave enough to try one thing that scares you a little. When you come home, that will be the story you tell first.

Have an awesome time. We can't wait to hear all about it!

From the Year 6 Camp Buddies

To: Ms Kaur, Riverbend Animal Shelter Subject: Re: Thank you from Riverbend Animal Shelter

Dear Ms Kaur,

Thank you so much for your lovely email. Our whole class cheered when Mr Fraser read it out, and someone even started barking, which I think was a compliment. You asked how we raised $640, so here is the full story.

It began in Term 2, when our class was learning about caring for pets. We found out how many animals end up in shelters every year, and we decided we wanted to help. After a very long (and very loud) class vote, we chose a market stall because everyone could do something different.

We split into four teams. The baking team made about two hundred cupcakes with paw prints in the icing. The craft team sewed little catnip mice and painted pet name signs. The poster team made signs for the local shops, and my team, the money team, worked out the prices and looked after the cash box. We practised giving change for a whole week so we wouldn't make mistakes on the day.

The stall ran on a Saturday at the community market. The moment I will never forget happened just before lunch. An elderly man stopped at our table and told us that his dog, Rosie, had come from your shelter twelve years ago. He bought six cupcakes, then folded a fifty-dollar note into our donation jar and said, "That's from Rosie." A few of us got a bit teary after that.

By packing-up time, we had sold every single cupcake, and the catnip mice had vanished within an hour. When we counted the money back at school, we could hardly believe it.

We have a few ideas for how the money could be used, although of course you know best. Perhaps some of it could buy warm blankets for the older dogs, since winter is coming. Our class also wondered if some could go towards toys for the cats, because the cats we saw in your newsletter photos looked a little bored.

Finally, would it be possible for our class to visit the shelter later this year? We would love to meet the animals we have been helping, and we promise not to bark.

Thank you again for the amazing work you do.

Kind regards,

Jasmine Lee On behalf of Class 6K

The Day I Put My Hand Up

For most of primary school, I believed one thing very firmly: clever people do not ask questions. They just know. So whenever I was confused, I nodded, copied the board and hoped nobody would notice. It worked for years. Then came Year 5, and a maths lesson that changed my mind.

I can still picture it. It was a hot Tuesday afternoon, the ceiling fans were whirring and Mrs Lambert had covered the whiteboard in fractions. She was explaining why two quarters and four eighths are the same. Everyone around me seemed to be nodding. I stared at my book and felt my cheeks burning. I had no idea what she meant, and I was sure I was the only one.

Then a boy called Hamish, who sat two rows in front of me, put up his hand and said, "Sorry, I'm totally lost. Can you go back to the start?" I waited for someone to laugh. Nobody did. Instead, three other people said, "Me too." That was when I realised I wasn't alone at all. We had all been pretending, each of us sure we were the only one.

Mrs Lambert smiled and said something I have never forgotten: "A question is not a sign that you're behind. It's a sign that you're thinking." She went back to the beginning, and this time I asked a question too. My voice wobbled, but by the end of the lesson I actually understood. It felt like a door had swung open.

Before that day, I thought asking for help made you look weak. Now I think it is one of the bravest things you can do in a classroom. Hiding confusion does not make it go away. It just lets it grow, quietly, until it becomes a wall.

Since then, I have asked questions in maths, in science and even at swimming lessons when I could not get my breathing right. Each time, it has been a little easier. I have also tried to be like Hamish for other people, putting my hand up first so they don't have to.

When I read this again on my last day of high school, I hope I am still the kind of person who puts my hand up. High school will be bigger, louder and probably a lot more confusing. There will be new subjects, new teachers and a hundred things I don't know yet. That is okay. I know now that not knowing is where learning starts.