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QUICKSAND
I run
to my room
tear up
the schedule I made
a scrap falls to the floor:
Sept: Go to IAA for junior year!!
I was moving forward
finally on a path
but—now—
I am spun around,
directionless
lost.
The ground is quicksand
and I sink.
SEE BEYOND
If only
I hadn’t made some of the choices I did
maybe the letter would say
congratulations.
Maybe
the letter would say
I was headed
to a place where I belong.
My mind-camera
reconfigures the words:
We can offer you a spot . . .
I fold my letter
into a paper airplane.
Crease by crease.
Covering the words of rejection.
Watch it zip around my room.
For a moment I
see it speed up
but then—
my imagination fails and
it falls.
THE GOOD PARTS
I lie there for I don’t know
how long.
But after a while,
I hear Holly’s voice
in my head
telling me
I’m not stupid.
I hear her
telling me
to get up off the floor.
Grab my letter,
take it to the park,
where Holly practices.
I call to her,
doing drills before her last game.
She looks at me in surprise,
says something to her coach,
jogs to meet me.
What happened, she asks
right away.
I show her the letter from IAA.
She says she knows I’m upset,
but I need to focus on the good parts:
“They loved your photographs!
They want you to apply again!”
She says I’ll get my grades up.
We’ll make a plan together.
Things are going to be okay, I’ll see.
We walk as the stones
skitter under our feet.
Then she changes the subject,
says
she believes me about Stefano.
The leafless trees stop in the wind,
lean their branches in
to listen.
TURN OFF
She says losing her virginity
made her think more
about her birth mother.
How scary it would be
to get pregnant
at our age.
How she feels like
she can barely take care
of herself sometimes.
How it all made her pull away
from Stefano.
How he got mad,
how it turned her off.
How he said things she was surprised to hear.
Made her realize
I wasn’t lying.
He said he wants to be with her.
She said she has lots to think about.
And for the first time
in a long time
I know
she won’t choose Stefano
over me.
PARTS OF OURSELVES
Holly says he’s here,
watching in the stands,
but she’s pretending not to
see him.
As we talk,
I realize—
Holly & I
are both good at pretending.
Not always showing the truth.
Wonder if maybe we learned to be that way.
As we walk,
an older white woman
passes by.
Looks at us.
Instinctively,
we lock hands.
And Holly laughs.
The woman looks away.
Maybe we’ve both been hiding
parts of ourselves,
so tired of being watched,
being judged.
I think of Holly years ago
on our trip to Ghana.
How badly she wanted to fit in.
How hard
it has been to be her.
How much
I never realized.
“You know, I always wanted to match you.”
She smiles, says,
“I know.”
And then:
“But maybe
even if we don’t match,
we still belong together.”
And the leafless branches
wind together tighter,
bend toward us,
bow,
whisper:
Maybe a family isn’t something you’re born into
as much as it is
something you choose
to be a part of
every day.
Holly & I squeeze hands.
Holly & I
deciding each day
to be sisters
deciding each day
to fight for each other.
To grab hands and
hold on.
BETTER THAN
We walk back to the field.
I hold on to my letter,
keep my mind’s eye
on the good parts
like Holly said,
watch her play soccer
and think
it’s not that my sister’s life is perfect
it’s more that she is brave.
MAKE A WISH
Saturday,
Christmas music
floating through the house,
Holly’s in her room
at her computer.
I walk in.
Her hair is natural.
Soft, curly.
I haven’t seen it this way in years.
“Your hair looks nice.”
She touches it.
“You think? I might grow it out. Or maybe cut it short.
Better for sports anyway.”
She waves me over.
Shows me the images:
Students drumming together.
A classroom with Twi written on the blackboard.
Students pounding fufuo.
“Remember doing that?” she grins.
“Yeah! Of course.”
I see tears mist in her eyes,
despite her smile.
“You ready?”
I ask.
“Almost,” she says.
“So,
tomorrow night then?”
She’s nervous,
I can tell,
but her eyes go soft,
and agree.
That night,
I draw two big, green
four-leaf clovers
on my wall.
One for Holly,
one for me.
I take a picture of it
and send it
to her.
I caption the image in my mind:
This is going to work.
WHERE THE LIGHT PASSES THROUGH
Sunday, lights twinkling on the tree,
no wineglasses present,
Mom, Dad & Holly do the crossword,
ask if I want to help.
I edit photos mostly
but when Mom says:
“The word for ‘a space through which light passes’”
I know when I say
“aperture”
that I have gotten it right.
ALL AT ONCE
We made a deal
to help each other.
That night,
we enact our plan.
First step
(deep breath):
my turn.
Confess:
“I needed photo class for something else.
Something bigger.
I forged your signatures,
applied to IAA.
Used Dad’s checkbook.
I did try harder to do better
to get my grades up,
you thought.”
Tell them I know I would
make them proud
if I could get into IAA.
Especially now,
because of cyber school,
where I’m actually doing well,
I have a real shot at getting in.
Holly says:
“It really seems like it would be
a great place for her.”
Before they can say anything,
I show them the rejection letter.
“I want to reapply for spring
of junior year.
With your support this time.
You don’t have to answer me now,
just promise me you’ll think about it.
Please.”
They turn to each other,
then to me,
nod.
And then: Holly’s turn.
LETTING IT OUT
She explains that there’s an amazing
academic opportunity available to her,
she thinks she can get a scholarship,
go for free.
A study abroad program
for a month this summer.
“That sounds exciting!” Dad says.
“Where is it?” Mom asks.
Inhale up,
exhale down.
“Ghana.”
SIMULTANEOUSLY
Holly says she appreciates the time we went together.
But now she wants to immerse herself in the culture,
get a better sense of it.
“Plus, it will look good to colleges,”
she adds quickly.
Mom and Dad look at each other.
And then I say, “I could go with her.”
They turn their focus on me, confused.
“Why would you want to go?” Mom asks.
I hold up my letter again.
“If I am going to reapply to IAA,
I’ll need a new body of work to show.
Remember how we went to Aburi, the mountain town?
Remember that outdoor sculpture museum?
The rain forest?
Think of how many amazing photographs I could get . . .”
Mom looks worried.
Dad is the one to speak:
“Okay. Well, we have a lot to talk about.
Without you girls.”
They try to hold steady
while Holly & I
hope.
COMPOSITION II
Her knee is shaking
as she sits at her desk.
I can feel her nerves.
“I’m scared too,”
I say.
But it’s the good kind of scared.
I distract Holly.
We decide to go out for ice cream.
A distraction.
I watch our stride fall in line,
two leaves almost touching.
Can’t help but notice that
the composition of a relationship
changes
as we change individually.
The spaces between us
at any moment
might widen,
then narrow,
but for this sweet moment,
with a gentle push of the wind,
Holly & I
have found a place of //overlap.//
SHIMMERS
The next day,
I tell my parents I’m going
to see Ellery
and I don’t have to lie.
I leave
feeling
light and free.
Ellery hugs me,
says how much she misses me
at school.
I tell her how cyber school
is actually okay.
Tell her about IAA rejection,
about Holly,
our plan,
Roy,
Mom,
all of it.
She can’t believe how much is going on in my life.
While we talk, Taryn FaceTimes.
I tell Ellery,
“It’s okay, pick up.”
I apologize to Taryn
for Silas being a jerk a while back.
She says she’s sorry I was expelled.
“Maybe we can try hanging out again sometime.
Without him.”
“For sure.”
Ellery tells Taryn she’ll call her back later.
Then she turns to me and says:
“She told me she’s in love with me . . . and I told her me too.”
I wait for jealousy
to find its way under my skin.
But it doesn’t.
Instead:
“I’m happy for you, El,” I say.
“Thanks!
You and Holly’s plan? I think it’s gonna work,”
she grins.
Then
the fairy on Ellery’s shirt
comes alive,
shimmers
flies to me
whispers
that she agrees.
The words light me up
and I can feel myself glow.
PROMISE
On the subway,
I think of Mom,
wonder if she and Roy
ever made deals
like me and Holly.
Back home,
I dare myself.
Open the closet.
Take out the box.
Knock on her door.
“Mom?”
Reading,
her knees up
almost like a child.
“Could you tell me more about him?”
I walk to her bed.
Sit down.
She opens the box.
And,
memory by memory,
tears in between,
Mom tells me about
Roy’s favorite song
his drawings
his boyfriend.
As she talks
I press a promise into my heart:
one day,
through my art,
I will honor him.
GIFTS
Christmas comes.
Mom & Dad
sit us down.
They’ve made their decision.
“Linc, you first.”
They say I did a lot of lying,
a lot of stealing.
They do not approve of any of it.
But they understand how badly I want this,
that I deserve the chance to go
after what I want
deserve the chance to
earn their trust again.
I may apply for spring semester of junior year.
The windows open themselves.
“Thank you!
Thank you!
Thank you!”
The sun streams in,
I swallow it hot, full.
Give them each a hug.
Then, with a glance at my sister,
I ask, “What about Holly?”
SOMEDAY
Holly may apply to her program too.
But—Mom and Dad will join us.
Instead of Ireland,
they will accompany us to Ghana.
I will stay with them and their doctor friends.
That way Holly can have her own experience,
but we can still see her.
They can take me to the best places
for photography.
And then, on the way back,
we could stop in Ireland.
Take pictures there too.
It’s a bit of a compromise,
and more time with my parents
than I would have liked.
But it’s still a good offer
so it’s not difficult to say, “Okay, deal.”
Holly thanks them too.
Says she promises it’ll help with her college essay someday.
Mom shakes her head and says,
“Let’s just hope it helps Holly be Holly.
Whoever that is.”
We each wipe tears away
as the house
sighs in relief.
THIS MOMENT NOW
After our talk,
Mom asks
to look at my history photos.
I show her everything:
The playground,
the church,
the stream,
the leaves.
The one of the two girls skipping
she calls “breathtaking.”
Then suggests we all go for a Christmas walk
in the park.
As we climb Summit Rock,
also called Nanny Goat Hill
for the goats that used to be here
before the Park was a park,
I realize how different this trip is
from the last time I was here
with Silas.
But I don’t focus on
the way he betrayed me.