For my wife, Shannon.
Copyright © 2019 by K.A. Holt.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.
ISBN 978-1-4521-7288-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4521-7310-8 (epub, mobi)
Design by Jennifer Tolo Pierce.
Typeset in Really No 2 LT CYR.
Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, California 94107
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Alex
Alyx
Alexx
We are the kids in the halls . . .
We are the kids you don’t see . . .
We are the kids watching . . .
We are everyone.
We are everywhere.
We are everything.
And what do we see?
And what do we see?
And what do we see?
A love story?
A tragedy?
A comedy?
Real life?
Will we cry?
Will we laugh?
I guess we’ll find out.
I guess we’ll find out.
I guess we’ll find out.
Our quest for normal . . .
Our search for truth . . .
Our all-knowing glances . . .
always watching her.
always watching him.
always watching you.
TAM
Kate
I dig the heel of my palm
I stare out the window
calmly pressing
the sun huge
into my chest
bright
harder and harder
burning
because I know it’s there
taking up the whole sky
it has to be
and it’s like
somewhere
I can see inside
beating
my chest
my heart
my heart
my heart
So why does it feel
Bursting
missing
too full
skipping
it hurts
every
so much
beat
all the feelings
nothing alive
pressed into my ribs
inside me?
like my eyes to the window.
Could it be
Could it be
that my palm digs calmly
that all the feelings
because you can’t panic
are exploding
when you have no
at once, finally
beats?
free?
my heart
my heart
my heart
Where are you?
Why are you like this?
Where could you be?
Why do this to me?
Why would you leave me here
Why aren’t you
so quiet
normal?
so empty?
Why can’t you leave me be?
TAM
What does it mean
to be a friend?
I ask this question
to my ceiling
quietly,
a whisper
with no answer.
Kate
In my pocket,
a book.
Not a regular book;
a tiny book that tells my future.
I take it,
open it.
Inside, lined up in two rows,
faceless, armless
matches. Fates.
They know the way.
TAM
I miss her.
Every part of me.
Every molecule.
But this is what she wants.
So this is my gift to her.
Leaving her alone.
Going away.
My present is
zero presence.
Exactly what she wants.
Kate
The match explodes,
a burst of light
and sulfur.
I hold it to the poster
pinned to my wall.
The poster that started it all.
I understand now
why people say
flames lick
because I see the orange tongue
slide up the side,
slurping the paper,
eating its glowing snack.
Black
smoke also licks,
leaving a mark on the ceiling
while I watch everything
burn.
Katherine?
Mom barges in.
KATHERINE?
The smoke alarm
bright in my ears:
Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!
Katherine!
What are you—?
Get the—!
Oh my G—!
Mom tries to push me
out out out of the room
but I don’t budge.
She runs past me,
shouts,
Where’s the fire extinguisher?!
And in my chest
everything lurches,
comes alive
pounds
beats
a new pulse
matching the alarm.
The poster burns.
I hold out my phone.
I hit record.
Flames lick, devour,
reach golden arms to the ceiling.
And my eyes
close.
I feel the heat.
I breathe the ash.
As a new chapter
in the story of my future
begins
right
now.
Kate
Just right.
I tell myself this
as I straighten my bow,
smooth my skirt,
tie my shoes.
You’re just right.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Bow tight.
Smile bright.
Just right.
TAM
Like a breeze
or a sneeze
you blink
and it’s over.
How does that happen?
I mean, really?
Summer is here
and then it’s gone.
Snatched away
and before you know it
it’s registration day,
new schedules,
new classes,
and I don’t hate the idea
of school back in session,
but really
does anyone
love it?
Kate
I love it!
At least I think I do.
I always have loved it,
so surely this year will be the same.
School itself is neither here nor there
but all the kids and clubs and stuff?
That’s the fun part.
Right?
It always has been.
So I’m sure it will be that way
this year, too.
Almost ready?
Born ready, Mom.
Tell that to my watch.
Mom’s smile
is a little bit sideways when we get to the car,
a troublemaker grin I recognize
from someone else’s face,
a grin I
haven’t seen in a long time.
For your birthday.
She hands me an envelope,
and what?
My birthday is so far away!
I tilt my head, like a confused puppy.
Mom laughs.
Look inside.
You’ll understand.
I open the envelope
so many tickets . . .
Mom!
She laughs again.
MisDirection is playing?!
ON MY BIRTHDAY?!
I know, honey.
I bought enough tickets for
the whole squad.
How could I not?
The whole squad invited
to a concert
on my birthday?
It’ll be amazing . . .
Mom smiles, taps her temple.
Always thinking ahead.
Right.
I should be cheer captain by then
and if I’m not,
these will seal the deal.
Kate
I make my hand into a microphone,
I sing,
Oh, baby,
Oh, baby,
Mom puts the car in reverse,
turns to look behind her,
backs out of the driveway,
eyes focused,
smile tight now,
tight as my bow.
And this smile,
the familiar one,
not the lopsided one,
the all-knowing,
all-seeing
Mom-smirk . . .
it makes my stomach flip
just a tiny smidge.
I keep looking at Mom,
I croon into my hand
softer this time:
Oh, baby,
Don’t,
Don’t,
Don’t break my heart in two.
Because yeah,
I’m happy about the tickets
but also?
Does everything,
even my birthday
have to be a chess move?
TAM
Are you stoked for school?
Mom. Please don’t say stoked.
Don’t be shook, baby.
I’m sure it will be very lit.
Mom. No. Never say those words.
We’re both laughing now
as the car wheezes up to
school
and the radio kicks in
with ridiculous bass
and that stupid song
Oh, Baby
starts up
and my ears,
they bleed.
Ahhh! No!! It’s too much!
Between you and this,
just . . .
turn it off!
Turn you off!
Mom cackles her witch laugh,
pulls to the curb at school:
Oh, baby,
oh, baby,
how I love yoooooou.
Please, baby, please,
don’t break my heart in
twoooooo.
STOPPPPPPPP!
I jump out,
slam the car door,
laughing even though it
encourages her.
See you later!
I can still hear Mom singing
as she drives off.
Kate
Becca’s scream is so loud,
so long,
so piercing,
I’m afraid for a minute
she’s going to turn herself
inside out.
MisDirection?!
ALL of us?!
LOVE YOUR MOM!!!!
Seriously, I think she might cry.
And for some reason
her enthusiasm,
her made-for-TV freak-out,
it just,
I don’t know,
oh, baby,
oh, baby,
how I wishhhhhhhh
I’d kept the secret
a little bit longer.
Is that weird?
I don’t know.
TAM
Juggernaut-less gym
today.
No whistles.
No squeaks.
No leaping and landing,
digging and diving.
Instead,
pencils and schedules,
sighs and lines.
Seventh grade.
I look up at the caged bulbs,
big round bright,
they heave
fluorescent sighs
coughing out light on
one table at a time.
Find my line
A through F
whisper an apology
to the lights:
Tomorrow night,
first practice.
It’ll be more fun in here,
I promise.
Volleyballs
whizzing by,
no tables
no signs
no pencils
in sight.
Kate
Fingers sticky from all the tape,
I smooth my skirt,
survey the gym.
It looks fine.
Better than fine.
It looks fabulous.
So why does everything feel . . .
so much the same?
Kate.
Kate?
My MisDirection Queen?
Hey.
Earth to Kate.
Can you help with this bunting?
It’s collapsing under its own weight.
My smile,
can it be fake and sincere?
Is that even a thing?
Hmm?
I say.
Bunting? I’ll be right there, okay?
Welcome back, sheep,
don’t you all look so fluffy
and pretty
today.
TAM
Levi.
My happy little flea
boink boink boink
bouncing
around the gym
saying hi to everyone.
We’ve been friends since kinder
and he’s always been the one
who knows my sentences
before I say them,
who laughs at my jokes
when they’re super dumb.
My kid,
my pal,
my shortstack,
my man about town.
Levi, Levi.
I can count on him
cause he’s always around.
Hey, nerd!
Hey, turd!
How’s my man’s man,
ladies’ man,
man about town?
Juuuust fine.
How’s the reigning volleyball
champion of the world?
Juuuuust fine.
We high-five
low-five
fake-out five
then someone waves,
Hey, Levi!
and he’s off.
King of the school,
strutting his stuff,
my favorite goof,
my shortstack bud.
Kate
Mom would love this.
She really would.
The girls surrounding me,
singing,
so thrilled for the concert.
It’s like everyone is here today
to see me
to talk to me
to hang out with me.
Registration is . . . secondary.
TAM
Over there
strutting,
laughing,
she thinks I don’t see
but I do,
I do,
that little cheerleader
looking at me.
The red bow in her hair
snapped military tight,
right?
Like she must’ve used a ruler
and glue
and maybe an iron, too,
to get that perfect
swoop
on top of a perfect
swinging
ponytail
like I’ve never seen,
swish swish