Text copyright © 2016 by Nikki Grimes
All rights reserved.
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book,
contact permissions@highlights.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
WordSong
An Imprint of Highlights
815 Church Street
Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-62979-740-3 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-62979-747-2 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016932155
First hardcover edition, 2016
First e-book edition, 2016
The text of this book is set in Bembo.
H1.1
Design by Barbara Grzeslo
Production by Sue Cole
For Deborah Taylor
and all librarians
who labor on behalf of
our children
CONTENTS
It Figures
Origami
Angie
Summer Lost and Found
Stars
Sci-Fi Novel
Mom Speaks
Antidote
Rhymes with Harvey
Unique
Portrait
Perfect
Joe
Best Friend
Knock-Knock
Me and Joe
Alien
Tuesday
Phone Call
Dance with My Father
Saturday Play
In the Next Room
Sunday Dinner
September
Checkmate
Dressing for School
Day One
Too-Skinny-for-Words
Day Two
Foiled
Second Period
Short Week
Dinner
Drop In
Shoulder-Pad Season
Late-Night Snack
Shadow
Diet
Stealthy Dresser
Secret
Fun Run
Limits
A Slice of Truth
Photo Album
Luther’s Sad Song, Again
Morning Classes
Who Says?
Second Thoughts
Fear
Turtle
Busted
Shift
Getting in the Groove
Garvey’s Choice
Lighter than Air
Pact
First Warm-Ups
Chorus Calamity
Emmanuel
Saturday Catch-up
It’s Manny, Now
No Words Needed
Careful, Now
Eliana
Where’d That Come From?
Advice
His Words
Come to Think of It
Name Game
Perks
Weekend Wonder: Manny’s Spicy Portobello Burger Supreme
Rehearsal
Three Bears
Natasha Bedingfield Sings My Song
When I Sing
A Spoonful of Song
High School Half Day
Announcement
Manny’s Turn to be Brave
Practice
Word Web
Preparation
Scales
The Change Bell
Insult
Good Company
Facing the Mirror
Assembly
Let Down
Thanks for the Push
Aftermath
New Fan
Compliments
Less than Perfect
Introductions
Too Soon Good-bye
On the Move
Spring Thaw
Colors
Turn Around
Now It’s My Turn
First Contact
The Talk
Summer Duet
Tanka
Acknowledgments
IT FIGURES
When I was seven
and crazy for Mr. Spock,
a Star Trek lunch box
was all I craved. Instead, Dad
bought one blaring the logo
of some football team
I’d never even heard of.
I shoved that thing in
the coal black of my closet,
then celebrated with cake.
ORIGAMI
Mom’s got a talent
for origami, but she
can’t fold me into
the jock Dad wants me to be.
At least, she knows not to try.
ANGIE
Angie’s the athlete.
Why should I compete with her?
“Why can’t Garvey be
like his sister?” I heard Dad
ask when I was eight. Mom said,
“That’s the wrong question.
Ask Garvey what interests him.
Talk to him, honey.”
Yeah, Dad, I thought. Talk to me.
But will he? I wish I knew.
SUMMER LOST AND FOUND
Stories are breadcrumbs.
Just follow the trail of books
and you will find me
lost among the galaxies
of scorched stars and ships to Mars.
STARS
Stars on my ceiling
wink at me when the full moon
comes for a visit.
I might return the favor
someday, at least in my dreams.
For now, I strap on
chapter four of Mars Rescue,
study the console,
then ease back on the throttle
for a smooth flight through star fields.
SCI-FI NOVEL
On page 59,
I meet two red Martian Trills
and feel a sweet chill
ripple through me, till Dad says,
“Football would do you better.”
Where did he come from?
The sudden slap of words sends
my Trills scattering.
I snarl and pound my pillow.
It’s too late to slam the door.
MOM SPEAKS
Later, Mom asks him,
“Why don’t you let Garvey be?”
I hear Dad snort. Twice.
“Why can’t he put those books down,
play football or basketball?”
“Garvey likes to read.
When was that not a good thing?”
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper.
“You’re right,” says Dad. “But reading
doesn’t build muscles, does it?
When I was his age,
my pop and I always played.
We roughhoused like, well—normal.”
I go downstairs, grab a Coke,
wash down Dad’s disappointment.
ANTIDOTE
Dinner-table talk
is magically washed away
on a sea of song
the minute I clamp on my
trusty earphones and push PLAY.
RHYMES WITH HARVEY
Some people wonder:
Why Garvey? Why not Marcus?
So I asked my dad.
“Lots of boys named Marcus, son.
Garvey? That’s one of a kind.”
UNIQUE
How good is different?
I search stories for someone
who resembles me.
&nb
sp; If it weren’t for books and Joe,
“different” would just be lonely.
PORTRAIT
In Angela’s eyes,
I’m little baby brother.
I tell her, “You’re not
as much older as you think.”
She spatters me with laughter.
PERFECT
Mom says I’m perfect.
Dad says I’m football-ready,
whatever that means.
Angela calls me Sweet Chunk.
JOE
Joe caught me dancing
in first grade, during recess,
out back by the slide,
alone—or so I thought, till
Joe showed up and joined right in.
Seems funny now, ’cause
there was no music playing
and neither of us
minded or needed any.
We were our own melody.
We went back to class,
each waiting for the other
to spill his secret
for a laugh. But we didn’t.
That’s how we knew we’d be friends.
BEST FRIEND
I like Joe’s Garvey:
clever on the pitcher’s mound,
wicked-smart in math,
number one at knock-knock jokes.
Do friends make better mirrors?
KNOCK-KNOCK
Here’s Joe’s knock-knock joke:
Joe: “Knock, knock.” I say, “Who’s there?”
“Orange.” “Orange who?”
“Orange you going to ask
me in?” I laugh every time.
Mine’s better: “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” “Orange.” “Orange who?”
“Wait. Knock, knock.” “Who’s there?”
“Banana.” “Banana who?”
“Orange you dying to know!”
ME AND JOE
With window cracked wide,
we telescope the night sky
trailing Orion,
dreaming of supernovas,
mapping the stars for hours.
ALIEN
Over breakfast, Dad
eyes me like an alien
never seen before.
Sometimes, I could swear that he’s
hoping to make first contact.
TUESDAY
Excitement beaming
from Dad’s face, he bounces in,
palms a basketball.
“Look what I got for you, son!
Want to go work up a sweat?”
Who’s he talking to?
After all these years, you’d think
he’d start to know me.
Will he ever stop trying
to make me someone I’m not?
PHONE CALL
All evening long, I
try tucking in my sadness,
but it keeps getting
snagged on my voice when I speak.
Joe catches it when he calls.
“Hey! What’s up?” Joe asks.
Should I tell him? “Nothing you
haven’t heard before.
I wish my dad could see me.
That sounds crazy, huh?”
“Not really,” says Joe.
“I get it. Seriously.
But you’ve got a dad.
Mine skipped out long time ago.”
Why’d I open my big mouth?
Joe shrugs off his hurt.
“Knock, knock!” he says. “Not now, Joe.”
“Come on, man! Knock, knock.”
I give in. “Who’s there?” “Your friend,
Joe, who’s always here for you.”
DANCE WITH MY FATHER
“Dance with My Father”
spins on the CD player
on my dad’s nightstand.
The words seep into me, then
leave my cheeks wet and salty.
SATURDAY PLAY
Soccer games display
Angela’s acrobatics
out on the field, but
there’s another game she plays
that we both call Distraction,
and it goes like this:
Dad juggles his ball like a
hot potato, asks,
“Who’s up for running passes?”
Angela always rises.
“I could probably
use some extra exercise.”
She winks at me—sign
of our conspiracy. Score!
I slip away, unnoticed.
IN THE NEXT ROOM
Mom gets her chess set,
teaches me about
bishops, knights, pawns, then
says, “Football is fine, but this
is exercise for your brain!”
SUNDAY DINNER
Joe and I stretch the
afternoon practicing chess
long enough to skip
potato-peeling duty.
We save our strength for eating
and being grateful
for roast chicken (at my house)
and glazed ham (at his)
plus mashed potatoes that make
our mouths two caverns of joy.
An extra helping
earns me a death glare
from guess who? “I’ve worked it out,”
says Dad. “Garvey stuffs himself
so he’s too slow to
run passes with his old man.”
“Sure, Dad. Whatever.”
That’s all kinds of crazy, right?
Maybe I just love cobbler.
SEPTEMBER
I’m on school countdown.
Bring it on! More days with Joe
and fewer with Dad
who’s still mad I didn’t spend break
practicing serpentine runs.
CHECKMATE
Turns out, Mom was right.
My brain’s beginning to bulge
with brand new muscles.
From now on, for Joe and me,
it’s chess—and astronomy.
DRESSING FOR SCHOOL
I lace up new kicks,
smile showing up like hope till
ugly whispers from
last year echo in memory,
scraping that smile from my lips.
DAY ONE
I’m armed with earphones—
a perfect solution, till
Principal tells me
school rules won’t allow them. So,
here I go, nervous, naked.
TOO-SKINNY-FOR-WORDS
Too-skinny-for-words
bumps into me on purpose.
“Oops!” he says. “Sorry.
It’s kinda hard to squeeze by
since you take up so much space.”
Under the stairwell,
I take a beat, close my eyes,
and hum loud enough
to drown the ordinary
sound of meanness flung my way.
DAY TWO
My mirror throws back
reflections of a round boy
whose face looks like mine.
Who is he? And how have I
disappeared inside his skin?
I search through my shirts
for tan, brown, grey—colors that
can help me sneak past
any rough wall of words I’m
at risk of slamming into.
FOILED
I need a new plan.
Some dumb kid named Todd
tried to be hilarious.
“Hey, Garvey! See you A-Round.
Get it? A-Round!” Sheesh. Really?
SECOND PERIOD
I glare at the stairs,
bare my teeth, and start the climb.
Breathless in ten steps,
I’m late to science, again.
I’ve come to hate the change bell.
SHORT WEEK
Labor Day saved me.
Seriously. If this week
were one day longer,
I’d find a patch of earth and
pull it up over my head.
DINNER
My tongue does a dance
when Mom’s spicy lasagna
is passed round to me.
“Leave us some, little piggy,”
says Angela with a grin.
Not every cut bleeds,
so maybe Sis doesn’t know
how deep the wound goes.
A second heaping serving’s
not enough to heal my hurt.
In between big bites,
I hum to the jazz playing
on the radio,
the melody soothing me,
wherever words left splinters.
DROP IN
Joe drops by for our
weekly game of chess, where we
babble on about
nothing in particular,
which can feel pretty perfect.
SHOULDER-PAD SEASON
The family gathers
for the first weekly huddle,
minus me. So what?
By kickoff, I’m knee-deep in
learning how to wrinkle time.
LATE-NIGHT SNACK
My candy stash gone,
the refrigerator howls
to my hollow stomach, “Come!”
On my way to the kitchen,
I catch Dad, eyes closed, humming.
I can’t remember
the last time I heard Dad hum.
His voice shakes the ground,
deep as thunder. Not like mine.
Just one more way we’re different.
SHADOW
My mom, dad, and sis
could fit inside my shadow
and—poof—disappear.