I wrinkle my nose,
she holds her armpit in my face.
How’s volleyball, Tam?
Killing it
as usual.
You guys should come to a game.
First one’s next week.
Sweet!
I love watching Tam play.
She spikes the ball
and it smashes into the floor
like a meteor
from outer space.
Plus,
she always gives me a wink
just before she serves,
our special signal
that the next point
is for me.
Ever thought about playing a sport, Sport?
This is what Dad asks
while he and Tam and I eat cheeseburgers
and look out over the river.
Of course I’ve thought about it.
But as Mom reminds me, I’m barely sixty pounds,
soaking wet.
As Mom reminds me, I’m a teacup version of
a normal human.
As Mom reminds me,
sports are dangerous
sports are for bigger kids.
I take a puff from my puffer.
Sure. I’ve thought about it.
Baseball?
I could throw hard
but could I throw fast?
I don’t know. Seems boring.
Football?
All three of us look at each other,
laugh.
Besides, Mom won’t let me do contact sports.
Why?
I point to the scar on my neck.
Duh.
I point to my lungs.
Duh.
Sport, you can do anything you want.
Yeah, Sport.
Tam winks and shoves me.
Dad puts his hand on my shoulder.
Choose something. I don’t care what.
I’ll pay for it.
I nod, thinking he’s crazy.
We won’t tell Mom.
He smiles,
looks at Tam,
holds a finger to his lips.
You get a sport.
We get a secret.
Oh, boy.
My heart does a
This might be a terrible idea.
But also
it might be superfun.
If being alive won’t make me die
then maybe a sport won’t either!
Only
two
more
days
of summer
and I barely remember
how to school.
I like school.
There. I said it.
I like it.
I like learning.
I like making people laugh.
I mean, do I like homework?
No.
Do I forget to study for tests?
All the time.
Does Mom chew her lip because
I get sick a lot?
Yep.
Does Timothy shake his head,
soooooooo disappointed?
Constantly.
But none of those things change the fact
that
I like school.
And it starts the day after tomorrow
and I can’t sleep because I’m so excited,
biggest dork in the world.
It’s hot
bouncy
I sweat
swallow hard
will not get carsick.
Dad wants me to ride the bus
and somehow
through magic
or a miracle
or just wearing her down
convinced Mom
to let me.
And here I am
in the seat
hot
bouncing
not puking
seventh grade
awaiting me.
Man’s man!
Ladies’ man!
Man about town!
This is what I say on the first day.
Some people laugh,
pat me on the back.
Some people roll their eyes.
I don’t really know what it means
(I saw it in a movie once)
but it’s fun to say it loudly,
it’s fun to be brash.
Settle down, Levi.
Mr. Schoop is not a fan
of a Man’s Man
Ladies’ Man
Man About Town.
Well, maybe
I am not a fan
of Mr. Schoop.
It’s quite a trick
the
of school
balancing
wobbling
no one to catch you.
Except I have skillz . . .
I don’t fall off the tightrope
I jump!
Surprise!
I make them laugh.
I make them point.
That way
the tightrope is mine
to control.
I will never be invisible
everyone will always see me.
I am too different.
I am Levi,
speck-boy,
spindle-arms,
spider-legs.
I am Levi,
baby man,
short guy.
But I will not let them
tell me what I look like.
I burn bright.
I can’t be invisible
so I shine right in their eyes.
Hey, nerd.
Hey, turd.
Breathin’ easy?
Breathin’ sleepy.
Tam and I
in the halls
owning the school,
short and tall.
Bell rings
first period stings.
See you at lunch, nerd!
Only if you’re lucky, turd!
Tam and I grab our lunch trays
but I stop short because
wait . . .
Is that a cheerleader at our table?
Uh
I point.
Is she like those dolphins?
The ones whose sonar gets messed up?
And they swim off?
Into the deep sea?
Away from their friends?
Confused and lost?
Oh, that’s Kate!
Unlike somebody,
she shoves my arm,
we have a million classes together.
So why not lunch, too?
Tam laughs.
We plop our trays on the table across from Kate.
Why not?
Because lunch is practically the only time
Tam and I
have together.
But I stay quiet.
The cheerleader dolphin stares back.
She looks familiar . . .
I guess from the halls.
She smiles
slow.
For just a second
I see a shark,
but then
Tam holds up her chocolate milk.
Kate gives her a cheers with her apple juice.
And the way
Tam’s smile
takes over her face
makes my own sonar
ping back something new,
something my own dolphin brain
can’t quite
place.
It’s not a Dad night
but he’s here with me.
(Mom said it was okay.)
Tam smashes the ball,
gives me so many winks
I can’t keep track of the points.
We stand and cheer.
Tam finds us in the crowd,
gives me a bow.
I could never play volleyball like that
J U M P
H I T
S M A S H
A T T A C K
but I do love
how Tam and I are like a secret team,
winks and cheers
that only we can see.
I told Mom.
About Dad.
About him telling me to pick a sport.
I had to.
She pulls secrets from the air
like a net snatching butterflies.
She’d figure it out and be so red-faced mad.
So I told her.
She chewed her lip
said OK.
I said, Wait, what?
OK. Pick a sport.
Golf or rowing or something.
I didn’t say anything.
Is golf really a sport?
Clubs can be like sports, too, you know.
Teamwork, coaches, all that stuff.
You’re so smart, Levi.
Have you looked at any of the clubs at school?
Clubs?
Ugh.
Like Chess Club!
You’d be great.
So smart and strategic.
You’d blow everyone away.
Sounds dorky.
Sounds dumb.
You know,
they show chess on ESPN.
I give Mom a look.
Yeah, like
ESPN
5.
Before school
I’m standing
in the lunchroom
rubbing my sleepy
eyes.
National Junior Honor Society
Model U.N.
Student Council
Math Club
So many signup sheets.
So many things
I’m not interested in.
Tam is bent over a table
signing her name.
Is it
Tall Volleyball Players Council?
Meteor Smashers Anonymous?
No.
It’s Chess Club!
Huh.
Sign up, Levi!
It’ll be fun!
We can hang out
and I can beat your butt.
Oh, it’s ON, nerd.
Is it, turd?
’Cause I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.
Not if I wipe it with you first!
I will find a sport, too,
and maybe I’ll be good at it.
Maybe Mom won’t catch my
secret as it flits around.
Maybe Dad will think I’m cool.
And maybe Timothy will finally see
I am me
and not some
wimpy
baby.
Karate
Gymnastics
Archery
Swimming
Diving
Soccer
Wrestling
Rowing
Tam and I sat outside for lunch
(with Kate)
and this is the list we made,
all the sports
I might like to play.
I whispered
Dad will pay, remember?
I whispered
Mom doesn’t know, remember?
and would blow
her stack
or have a heart
attack
if she found out.
Tam whispered
A conspiracy
I whispered
And look at you helping me.
(Kate chattered about cheerleading
which is a sport,
she says.)
We made the list
longer and
longer and
longer
and we laughed at
so many possibilities.
don’t limit yourself
that’s what Dad texted me.
you give yourself 2 many rules
But they aren’t really my rules.
They’re Mom’s rules.
And Timothy’s.
You can do anything you want.
Your almost a man.
Your no golfer levi.
Unless you want 2 be.
Your fierce, Sport.
Your scrappy.
You might be small
but you could kick someone’s butt.
And then I wonder.
Do I want to kick someone’s butt?
Hmm.
I kind of do.
I want to kick Dad’s butt.
It’s “YOU’RE,” Dad.
I am trying to kick Tam’s butt
at chess
after school
in a room
with bright lights
no windows.
It feels like detention
even though it’s a club
and Mrs. Rubrick
is trying to make it fun with
cookies, sodas, classical music.
I whack Tam’s queen with my rook.
Knockout! I yell,
and Tam starts to laugh.
It’s called checkmate, nerd,
and you aren’t even close.
She tries to teach me the rules,
but all I can think about
is the ticking of the clock
and how soon I can get
out the door.
I am not kicking anyone’s butt
except for my own
for agreeing to do this.
Ugh.
I take
the pieces
and make
a play.
I line up
the king
the queen
the pawns
planning a heist
to steal the knight’s horse.
Tam starts to laugh
and I start to laugh
does not laugh
but the time goes by
fast.
Wanna come over?
Play some video games?
Tam asks me this
when Mrs. Rubrick
is finished warning us
to behave next time
or we’re out of Chess Club.
OK. Let me ask.
I say
Then I’ll call you.
My insides feel huge
like a balloon
is in my chest
making me float
off the ground.
I love Tam’s house
though I hardly ever go because
Mom and Timothy
like to keep me at home.
Timothy doesn’t answer
not at first
when I ask about Tam.
Then he says
Not tonight.
Maybe Tam
wants to come to our place to play?
And the balloon in my chest
bursts
and then we’re home
like always.
Tam always comes to my house
and I barely ever go to hers.
(And we don’t play.
We’re twelve years old.
We hang out.
Guh.
Just more proof I am a baby
in Timothy’s eyes.)
Now I know what
house arrest
is like.
Don’t say that.
Timothy’s eyebrows make one long line
so do his lips.
Well, it’s true.
You won’t let me go out.
You won’t let me see Tam.
You won’t let me have any fun!
Any fun!
At all!
I’m trapped here.
A prisoner.
I throw my backpack.
It slides
like a hockey puck
slamming into the wall
B O O M
goal
look at me, good at sports.
Your homework isn’t done.
Your inhaler . . .
He grabs it from my backpack.
His look gets even darker.
is empty.
He throws it at my chest.
I catch it.
You’re not going out.
You’re not my dad!
And you should be happy about that!
The Cat Tornadoes blow through me,
their music like a howling wind
tearing at my insides.
My guts spiral up
spin around and around,
my feelings . . .
confused
tangled
twisted and thrashing, but
contained for a moment.
These earbuds,
little speakers
of my soul.
In my room
I sit and breathe
try to calm down
just breathe
just breathe.
It’s like I can feel cartoon smoke
moving in and out of my chest
then I realize
the mad feeling is gone
but the breathing-hard feeling is still there.
I take a puff from a new puffer,
no help.
Weird.
But then the smoky feeling goes away,
I’m breathing easy again.
No emergency jet packs to Cincinnati.
Not today.
I peek in Timothy’s room
maybe to say I’m sorry,
maybe to tell him why
my puffer was out of juice
(I’ve been needing it so much)
but he isn’t in there,
so I sit at his desk,
all messy,
flipping open notebooks
looking at study notes
wondering if maybe I am secretly
super extra big time smart.
We could take college classes together
and be on a TV show
about smart brothers
who are also hilarious
and good-looking.
Then, in a blue notebook, I see:
Huh?
These aren’t study notes.
This is a journal!
I slam it shut . . .
before I open it again.
I shouldn’t read it
but I can’t help it.
I hear the footsteps too late.
I leap from the desk,
a surprised cat.