The Name Of This Book Is Secret by Pseudonymous Bosch

The Name of This Book Is Secret is about the mystery of a magician’s house burning down. Cass, an extreme survivalist always prepared for all kinds of disasters, becomes unlikely friends with Max Ernest, a very talkative kid who’s allergic to almost everything. The become collaborators and begin investigating the death of Pietro Bergamo, a magician that died in a house fire. They soon discover The Midnight Sun which is a hotel that restores youth. Cass decides to impersonate a famous person and books a reservation for the hotel. The hotel offers a special kind of treatment that makes a person young forever. As soon as Cass gets to the hotel she starts looking around trying to find out as much as she can. The leaders of the Midnight Sun soon discover her plan and capture her. In the basement she finds Max Ernest who came looking for her. They plan their escape and then proceed to escape with another kid from their school called Benjamin. Cass’s butler Owen also helps them to escape. Right as they’re escaping, the spa burns down. Cass, Max Ernest, Benjamin, and Owen get out safely though. Cass and Max Ernest then get recruited for the Terces Society, and their adventures continue.

-Emilio V.

The Name Of This Book Is Secret by Pseudonymous Bosch is available for checkout from the Mission Viejo Library. It can also be downloaded for free from Overdrive

Creative Writing: Happy Birthday

“…to you.”

Another year, another candle, another wish. Annually it was the same, repeating over and over until it was all I knew. Celebrate this day, sing that song, take that picture, and hope for it all to change by the next time. But it never did, did it? The same room, the same cake, the same face, just different people coming and going to see the event. Sooner or later you start to realize all the faces blur together until it turns into nothing. Just a pair of hands with a stretched smile that deliver your age on a silver platter. They cheer for your vitality, but they don’t know how meaningless it is when you’re already dead. They don’t know how numb you’ve become to the wavering flame and blinding snapshots desperately trying to capture the moment that will continue to repeat. They don’t know because they won’t be there for all of them, only you will. Because only you know what it’s like to live the same year. With the same voice and the same face.
Immortality is a gift, they said. But they were wrong.

(I wrote this on my birthday and thought it would be interesting to start an idea for a story about immortality. I don’t know where or how the story would continue but it’s just a small free write to close out this summer.)

-Sabrina C., 12th Grade