By: Valerie T
Colorado, Grade: 5

Dear Diary,
The past few months have been the oddest of my life. I apologize for not writing over such a long stretch of time, but let me explain.
As you know, I lead a wealthy life for one at the age of twelve. Mother's penthouse is quite quaint, complete with a pool and flowered garden. My room is larger than a typical master bedroom, and I have my own bathroom and a king-sized bed. Whenever I please, servants come upstairs to wash me and dress me in my selection of clothing articles. Our chef cooks us gourmet food like my favorite, roast pheasant.
Much to my displeasure, my day-to-day life has changed. I remember the day four months back when Mother fainted, holding a post in her hand. The servants had to revive her before I knew what the mail was about. According to the letter, the banks had failed due to something about loans that neither Mother nor I quite understand. We had lost all of our savings, and had to sell the penthouse immediately to have anything to live off of.
That week was the worst of my life. Servants were fired, furniture was hauled, and my entire wardrobe was sold, except for my most plain dress, made of flimsy cotton. Upon my complaint, Mother said...