Come on. I won’t hurt it.
You never get to be in any pictures.
Sit down.
I’ll get you with the group.
She sighs and sits by my lunch bag
and I take three steps back,
hold the camera up,
yell,
Yearbook!
snap snap snap
and when I push the arrow button
to make sure the pictures aren’t blurry
I scroll back
and see a bunch of older pictures.
Kids in the halls,
Kids on the bus,
Kids at a play.
Me and Tam at lunch.
I stop.
The picture is from a distance,
my head is tilted to the side,
my eyes
on Tam
as she laughs,
her face so open,
so bright
and right now I forget where I am.
The world drops away.
My breath catches,
my tummy twists,
this
picture:
Tam, so full of light.
Tam, reflected in my own eyes.
Redwood and Ponytail
quiet
in the wild.
And suddenly I get it.
I really do:
why you might want to
make a picture bigger,
make it poster-size,
hang it on your wall,
stare at it every day,
maybe slide your hand
across its surface,
try to absorb it into your skin.
Like a kick to the stomach,
I feel Tam’s pain,
I get it now,
I understand
why my giggling
at the MisDirection poster
made her so mad.
It wasn’t that she was angry
about a stupid band,
it’s that her feelings were hurt.
She wanted me to act that way
not because of them,
but because of her.
I swallow hard.
I walk out into the hall,
my pounding heart
out of control.
Kate!
Where are you going?
Kate!
I need that camera back!
Kate!
Kate
There’s an explosion of white foam,
loud whooshing
shooting
from the canister in Mom’s hands.
Just like that,
the fire is out.
What on earth . . . ?!
Katherine . . . ?!
Foam drips from the wall,
big splats
onto the floor,
the oak
that gets more say in this house
than I do.
I need to see Tam,
my voice is strong
familiar
coming from deep within,
I’ll be right back.
Oh, no, ma’am.
You are not leaving this . . .
Katherine!
Get back here!
TAM
Kate
What do you want?
To see you.
To talk to you.
What if I don’t want to?
Please.
What if I’m done?
With games.
With you.
Tam.
Please.
Kate
TAM
I’m estimating
one hundred and fifty percent.
One hundred and fifty percent?
Gay.
I thought you’d like to know.
TAM
Very interesting.
Kate
That’s all you have to say?
TAM
[shrug]
[fighting off a tiny smile]
Kate
TAM
Also.
I made two things for you,
since it appears
you lost your bracelet.
Ahem.
First . . .
You made me a phone?
A video, silly.
Don’t look at me like that.
Just watch it.
Please.
It’s breaking news.
And she watches it.
And her face
goes slack,
her mouth hangs open,
making me laugh.
You burned the MisDirection
poster?
You told me it was okay
if I burned it all down.
I didn’t mean it that way!
MDOMG!
Kate!
But also, I did this.
I hand her a long tube.
She crinkles her brow
as she reaches in,
pulls out a new poster.
I made two.
She looks at the poster
then looks at me
then looks at the poster again
then her smile is huge.
When was this taken?
I don’t know.
Early in the school year, I guess.
Look at you.
Look at you.
Look at us.
Look at us.
Come on.
I have the perfect place for it.
Kate
She tacks the poster of us
right there on her bedroom wall
and I talk
and talk
and talk some more.
I had a plan,
you know?
A list
with little boxes
to
check
check
check.
But the little boxes danced around
and I couldn’t catch them with my pen.
My check marks flailed,
turning into birds
with lopsided wings
disappearing
leaving me with no plan
no list
no boxes
no check marks
no plan
did I mention no plan?
No plan.
I have no plan,
Tam.
I have no plan.
Not anymore.
Kate
We walk back to my house,
pinkies swinging,
and I don’t care if Mom sees
or what she thinks.
Tam’s Muppet voice says,
I’ve missed you,
little pinkie.
I’ve missed you, too.
Mom seems frozen in the kitchen,
all fancy and brand-new
as Tam and I go upstairs
to my still-smoking room.
Oh, man,
Tam says,
seeing the black spot on the wall.
Look what you did.
Yikes!
And . . .
Wow.
But wait.
There’s more.
Check this out . . .
I laugh as I yank an old drawing
right off the wall.
I take the drawing
out of its frame,
grab some push pins,
Tam laughs,
No way!
I hang the frame
around the scorch on the wall.
Looks like I felt my feelings,
thanks to you
and Levi
and the squad
and Mom.
TAM
Hours go by.
We talk
about moms
and Jill
and Levi.
About plans
and lack thereof
and impulse control.
We talk about holding han
ds
and what that means
and maybe it means nothing
or maybe it means
everything.
We talk about that forbidden word
the tiny word
that fills both our heads
and how we’ll figure out
our words
one day
all on our own.
We need our own word,
you know?
A phrase
just for us.
Because you’re not my best friend
or my best girl
or my girlfriend
or my whole world
you’re something even bigger, Kate.
Bigger than just one word.
TAM
Kate
She’s my winning point.
She’s my cheering crowd.
She’s my summer day.
She’s my laugh out loud.
She’s my sneaky wink.
She’s my secret smile.
She’s my light.
She’s my heart.
She’s my Kate.
She’s my Tam.
I’m her Tam.
I’m her Kate.
Together
we’re everything.
Maybe we should meet again.
Start over, brand new.
Redwood and her Ponytail,
a second first day
at school.
TAM
Over there,
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
catching the light
blinding my eyes
that snappy red bow
those bright highlights
like
what
excuse me
are you on purpose
bringing every dream of mine
to life?
Kate
This girl today,
looking at me.
Tall as a palm tree,
shaped like one, too.
Big hair on top,
giraffe neck,
legs like a stick figure
stretching right off the page,
her skin shimmering
her head tossed back
a loud laugh flying from her mouth
while she looks over at me
winks
and I feel like
a final piece
in a puzzle
just fell into place
making sense
of it all.
TAM
Kate
The little cheerleader
from earlier
saunters up,
eyes twinkling bright.
What’s your name, Ponytail?
My name is Kate.
What’s yours?
Redwood?
Cause I’m so tall?
Hilarious.
My name is Tam.
Short for Tamara.
But I have to put you through that basket—
I point to the court—
if you ever call me Tamara.
Nice to meet you, Tam.
Nice to meet you, Kate.
I wink
She winks!
and I offer my hand.
I take her hand.
Hold it tight.
And right now,
in this moment
And right now,
in this moment
I feel like I’ve known her
my whole life.
Alex
Alyx
Alexx
So there you have it.
This is what you see.
When you see everything . . .
Beginnings.
Endings.
Everything in between . . .
Was this a love story?
Was it almost tragic?
Was this a comedy?
Was it real life?
Did you cry?
Did you laugh?
Did it make you realize?
Did you figure it out?
Do you understand now?
There’s no such thing as normal
There’s no such thing as normal
There’s no such thing as normal
because deep inside
because in our hearts
because in our minds
love is love
is love is love
is love is love is love
Acknowledgments
When I was in middle school and high school, I was hungry for books that spoke to me. I read every genre. I read as many authors as I could. I read, read, read. But there was something I couldn’t find . . . something I searched for that I didn’t know how to name: stories for and about girls like me. Except I didn’t know how to define a “girl like me.” I didn’t seem to fit anywhere. I couldn’t be properly labeled and shelved. There was no Dewey decimal number for my spine, and I didn’t feel like there was anyone I could ask to help me find my place.
After many years of a twisting, turning journey, I found a Dewey decimal number that fit, and a shelf I wanted to live on. I finally felt able to tell a story for all those young women who are still . . . searching, searching, searching for someone who understands, someone who can see them, someone to share a place on just the right shelf.
Redwood and Ponytail is for every reader who’s trying to figure out the world, but it’s also for me when I was a kid. This is the book I needed then, and it’s the book I needed to write now.
Thank you so much to Chronicle Books for helping me make this book happen, and for making it abundantly, lovingly, wonderfully clear that they support me a thousand percent. Thank you to Taylor Norman, editor extraordinaire, who always asks the right questions until we get exactly the right words on the page. Thank you to Ammi-Joan Paquette for everything. Seriously. Joan does eleventy million things and I thank her for every single one of them. Thank you to my early readers, my WBs, and to James, who always has a sweet treat when I need one.
Thank you to Sam, Georgia, and Ike for cheering me on and always keeping an eye on my poem-count sticker chart. “Mom! You didn’t get your sticker today? Why?!”
Thank you to Shannon, who, during the writing of this book, moved house with me, helped me launch two other books, talked me down from innumerable freak-outs, and then married me anyway.
And finally, thank you to Castor and Pollux, the Gemini twins. I hope you’re both happily puking on Eternity’s living room rug together. I miss my furry writing buddies.
K.A. Holt lives in Austin, Texas, and writes books for kids. All kids. Especially the kid she used to be who couldn’t find herself in a book no matter how hard she tried. This one’s for her twelve-year-old self and all the other twelve-year-old selves who are the main characters in their own stories every day.