and then clap my hands
over my loud mouth.
It’s an old mascot costume!
Giant chicken head!
Big orange legs!
Like Big Bird, but a chicken
that might have
been run over
by a bus
457,356 years ago.
I put Kate’s costume back.
I throw out the hot sauce and paintbrush.
I’m not mean,
but I am funny,
so I grab the chicken head,
I grab the legs,
and I run.
The storage shed
just behind my tree
old as can be—
I throw my shoulder into the door,
bust it open
and it’s perfect.
In goes the chicken head.
In go the legs.
Now
to hatch
my plan.
When I asked Dad
if I could go to the football game
his eyes lit up
like I’d just grown three feet
and a six-pack.
When I told Dad
I meant by myself
to meet Tam there
(though I’m not planning to meet her
shhh)
his eyes dimmed
like I was myself again.
Please, Dad!
I don’t want to be
the dorky guy
with his dad.
I want to be cool.
Please.
So he said yes.
(Dad is big on cool.)
And now I’m here at school
by myself
heading for the shed
by my tree.
At first I just sit
way in the back of the stands
up high
wearing my chicken head
while everyone
giggles around me.
But as the cheerleaders cheer
and Kate runs back and forth
in her falcon costume
I start my own show.
I run through the stands
mimicking her.
People hoot and laugh
as I flap my feathers
pretending I am a falcon,
pretending I am captain
of the feather-flapping team.
I make my way lower in the stands
and leap onto the field.
My heart pounds,
my face so sweaty,
and I run after Kate
who doesn’t see me at first
because of her giant falcon head.
I hear a small
What?!
when she does
and I can’t help but laugh
as I chase her,
a chicken run amuck.
The cheerleaders are stunned.
The crowd is cheering and laughing
as Coach Ellison
marches over to me.
But I’m too fast for her,
darting back and forth,
escaping past the fence,
and running down the road
like my head’s cut off.
Back at the shed
to stash the legs and head
and my heart fills my whole self
my breath fills every tiny corner
of my lungs.
Oh my gosh . . .
that was fun.
Dad is a broken record:
Sport this, sport that,
so I snap
I could do golf!
and laugh.
Dad’s face looks like I just said
I could go for a PB and mustard sandwich.
Or what about parkour?
I jump around,
leave a footprint on the wall.
Dad looks like
he’s about to call
the crazy police.
Karate?
I swish my hands,
yell HI-YA,
but Dad just laughs:
How about not?
Well, what then?
I thought you said I could choose.
I meant choose something good, Levi,
something strong and tough.
And fun?
I add.
Well, I guess that, too.
Dad play punches my arm
and I play punch back,
dodging his soft fists,
missing his attack.
Maybe boxing
I say
just as a joke
but the way Dad’s eyes light up . . .
Uh-oh.
Boxing!
That’s it!
A knockout idea!
(Har, har)
You’re so tiny,
a fly fly flyweight!
Dad laughs.
You’ll be quick.
Quicker than anyone
has ever seen.
You’ll sneak in jabs
so fast
you’ll knock the big guys flat.
I don’t know, Dad.
What if Mom finds out?
What if I get punched in the neck?
No, Levi, this is it!
Your airway is fine.
Your mom is overprotective.
One hit can’t hurt you.
Plus, there’s equipment.
You’ll be so fine.
You’ll be better than fine.
You’ll be great, Sport.
This is perfect!
I’ll call today.
By next week
you’ll be Ali
hooking and jabbing your way
to glory.
I know Dad wants this to be
our thing
a special secret
but
but
boxing?!
I knock on Timothy’s door.
My heart is beating fast,
but why?
Because I know he’ll be mad?
Not at me
at Dad?
Because then I might be angry
that Timothy doesn’t think
I can do it?
He isn’t in his room
and I feel that tickle
at the back of my neck.
I know it’s none of my business.
I know I shouldn’t look.
But Timothy’s journal is right here
and it’s staring at me
begging
for me to peek:
I take a pen
to leave a note
to say something like
OMG DAD WANTS ME TO DO BOXING
AND I AM FREAKING OUT
or
YOU’RE SUPER SMART
YOU’LL BE A GREAT DOCTOR
SO YOU CAN REATTACH MY HEAD
WHEN IT GETS KNOCKED OFF
AFTER TRYING OUT BOXING
but instead I write:
I start to write
because I’m a boxer now
just so you know
but then I erase it
and leave it the way it is.
Timothy will get so mad at Dad
and I don’t want him to think
he’s the only one who can deal with it.
You missed all the excitement
Tam says
as I plop down
my tray.
Kate stares at her burger
shooting lasers
at it.
Some crazy kid in a chicken head
ruined the game.
Ruined the game? Wow.
I take a bite of my burger.
A giant chicken?
Did it steal the ball?
Lay it like an egg?
It’s not funny, Levi.
Tam is serious,
but her eyes sparkle a little.
Being the mascot is Kate’s job.
She trains for it.
I don’t say anything.
But m
aybe I smile
just a little bit.
Kate stands up,
knocking her chair back.
I have to get to class.
Oh, hey, how about that?
Now Tam and I have
some time to ourselves
to chat.
In my brain
I high-five
myself.
I’m going to start boxing
I say.
Can you believe that?
But Tam is looking out the door
where Kate walked away.
Hmm?
She doesn’t even turn to look at me.
Boxing
I say again.
Hitting stuff with my fists.
She STILL isn’t looking at me.
I’m going to take classes on a spaceship
and the aliens will teach me
how to level a guy with one punch
to the butt.
What?
She turns, faces me
but her eyes still seem
far away.
Nothing.
So we eat lunch
without saying another word,
both lost in our own worlds.
The bell rings.
Tam says bye.
My chest feels tight.
I take a puff.
It doesn’t really help.
Secret parking place
after school,
sunglasses on
so silly
so
He hands me a mouth guard
some gloves
tape for my hands.
Go get ’em, tiger
he slugs my shoulder
and if the kids at the gym
hit half as hard as Dad
then I’ll have to tell Mom
Chess Club is now a contact sport.
Most of the time,
like eight times
out of ten,
or seven times
out of nine,
or three times
out of five,
I don’t really mind
being small.
But sometimes
there are the cracks and crevices
between the other times
when I do mind
and I feel like I fall right through them
looking up
and I’m too tiny
to make it back to the top.
Why are you all marked up?
a big guy says
while he tapes
his ham-sized
hands.
Huh?
My tape rolls
under his feet.
There
he pokes
with his loose fingertip
at my throat.
And there
he points
at my chest.
It’s none of your business
I want to say
but now
there’s a crowd
and they’re all looking at me.
What scarred you up, kid?
someone else asks.
Probably a squirrel tried to eat him.
Confused him with some nuts
another laughs.
Bear attack
I say.
Their eyes go wide.
Shark bite
Ninja fight
Sword wound
I jump on a bench,
let them see me better.
Lion scratch
Sloth bite
Pirate fight
Cactus snooze
They’re laughing now.
At me?
With me?
Unclear.
Meteor smack
Alien bite
Laser fight
Demon spoon
I hop down,
finish wrapping my hands.
The guys all scatter off
shaking their heads,
still laughing.
People ask about my scars . . .
Neck slash
Rib slash
People have questions.
Well . . . I have answers.
Coach shows me the ropes
quick lessons
before he leaves me to practice.
How to hit
without getting hurt.
How to breathe
when I hit.
How to dance
around the bag.
There are two guys in the ring,
a practice match.
I watch them hit each other
as I hit the bag
and I wonder,
do I want to hit someone like that?
Do I want to get hit like that?
Coach calls it technique
tells me to practice
says I need it
for the ring.
So I hit the bag
over and over.
Over and over
and over and over.
And sometimes I even remember
to move my feet.
My gloves go in my locker.
My slobbery mouth guard
rinsed and bagged.
My fists are red
sore
my arms
also sore
but my head?
It’s clear.
Like my brain can breathe
like sitting in my tree
on a cold blue sky morning.
So?
How’d it go?
Dad’s face is so bright,
a kid on his birthday
just before ripping open so many
presents.
Fine.
That’s it?
Fine?
I shrug.
I don’t want to say
I don’t want to admit it
just yet.
I’m not ready for Dad to be right.
I want to sit with this feeling
before he takes credit.
No hand sanitizer.
Don’t tell Mom.
Eating dinner without washing hands.
Don’t tell Mom.
Sometimes I like it better here.
Don’t tell Mom.
I can’t stop thinking
about boxing
and how boxing
makes me stop thinking.
When I hit the bag
B A M B A M B A M
it stopped all my thoughts
and I’m just . . . in the moment . . .
arms
fists
feet
moving
moving
an animal
not a boy
a beast
a different
me
When I hit the bag
I can finally . . . breathe.
No thinking
no worrying
just in and out
steady breath
P O U N D P O U N D P O U N D
The world is gone,
but also?
found.
When Dad asked what I wanted to do today
I said
Go to the park!
because Dad always gets distracted.
And today, what I itch for,
what I crave,
is to run fast
and jab jab jab . . .
practice boxing
in the hidden maze
of trees
all by myself.
The park?
Dad’s face crinkled up
like I’d said
Go to the public toilet!
You mean the playground?
That’s for little kids, Levi.
Why don’t we go bowling
instead?
So we went bowling
and it was fun
but it wasn’t like boxing.
It didn’t scratch my itchy fists
that
want to hit
again and again.
Hey, Levi!
Hey, man about town!
I collect my hallway high fives
and laugh
while I shoot everyone my finger guns
and shadowbox uppercuts
on my way to class.
No one’s talking about the chicken head anymore.
Not even rumors.
I guess everyone’s forgotten?
That was fast.
I feel like it’s been days
months
years
eons
since I’ve seen Tam
but like a glimpse
of a rare
exotic
mythical beast
there she is
out by the gym.
Tam!
Tam!
Tam!
But she doesn’t see me.
Doesn’t hear me.
Tam and Kate
Kate and Tam
Tate
Kam
look at them
just look
arm in arm
heads leaned in
supersecret fun times, I guess.
They don’t need me around
when they have each other.
The Kate and Tam wall
built tall.
I can see in
but somehow
I can’t
quite
break it down.
Mascot tryouts,
two months away.
The flyers are everywhere.
I guess Kate will have to defend
her title.
I snatch a flyer,
stuff it in my bag.
Maybe next semester
everyone in the stands
will watch me
instead of her.
Maybe Tam will call me craziest
instead of her.
There it is again
on the counter.
I should leave it be
but I want to see
if Timothy
wrote back to me.
Ha!
That’s Mom’s handwriting.