T-MINUS 73
On Valentine’s Day
everyone acts
gushy, mushy, weird.
Ms. Treehorn gives us
bright pink candies
that taste like chalk.
At least they’re not
GrossBombs.
I wish she’d give us
cinnamon hearts instead,
the extra fiery ones
that burn you up
in a good way.
The chalk candies say
cheesy stuff like:
Be Mine
U R Special 2 Me
Smothered w. Love
Who would ever want to be
smothered
with love?
That sounds terrible.
GILA BREATH
In an act of total insanity
Tyson tries to kiss Sabrina
at recess.
She slaps his face so hard
a bright red handprint appears.
Nice try, Gila Breath!
Snowflake’s chance in Bullhead
I’d let your lips near mine!
For once I’m grateful
for Sabrina’s loud mouth.
I really hope Tyson learns
that what he did
is not okay.
I also hope
his new nickname
sticks.
It might be
even worse
than mine.
CRAZY
I let Liam have my candy hearts.
He shakes his head, says,
Love makes people act
all kinds of crazy.
For a bullheaded knucklehead,
you have moments
of surprising wisdom, I say.
People always underestimate the funny guy.
But I have, like, Yoda-level wisdom.
And so humble are you.
I’m wiser than Gila Breath, that’s for sure.
Trying to smooch a girl? Ugh.
What was he thinking?
Liam gobbles a huge handful of candy.
I’m clearly wiser than you, too, Worst-Case Collin.
Oh, really, Matchstick?
Yup. Giving up candy?
That’s crazy all right.
You must realllllly love me.
Sure. I laugh.
I love you
like I love
stepping on a tack.
Ha! Well, my brother-from-another-mother,
I love you
like I love
ants in my sandwich.
I love you
like I love
itching powder
in my underwear.
Guys? Really?
Enough with the bromancing, Georgia says,
grabbing the last few hearts.
Jealous Gannet is, Liam croaks in his best Yoda voice.
Georgia rolls her eyes,
but her cheeks suddenly flush
as pink as the candies in her hand.
KISSING
I’ve never thought much about
kissing a girl.
If I ever do,
it might not be
so bad
to think about
kissing
Georgia.
* * *
To prevent bad breath, avoid garlic, onions, and other odor-causing foods.
Brush your teeth twice a day with fluoride toothpaste.
Don’t forget to brush your tongue, too.
Use floss to remove food particles and plaque.
Rinse with mouthwash.
See your dentist regularly.
If halitosis persists, use chewing gum or mints to mask unpleasant odors.
PUCKER UP!
EVERYTHING
Did you ever buy Mom flowers on Valentine’s Day?
Or chocolates, or anything like that? I ask Dad at dinner,
missing her always,
not just on crazy-making days
devoted to love.
Dad pauses, his spoon spilling
minestrone soup back into his bowl.
I did. She liked sunflowers best.
He sets his spoon down, takes a breath.
Your mother was everything to me.
When we lost her…
When she…
Across the restaurant table
I see a turtle tucking
into its dark, thick shell.
I don’t ask any more questions.
I’m too afraid
of losing him, too.
EVERYTHING AND NOTHING
Back at home
I examine
the expanding, thriving
Hoard.
I think I might be having
one of those eureka moments:
Dad lost his everything.
Now he has
every
thing.
Wait.
If Mom was everything,
what am I?
T-MINUS 68
Ms. Treehorn launches into a new lesson
about Arizona’s unique flora and fauna.
Any coincidence flora rhymes with BORE-ah?
Liam mutters.
I ignore him
because plants remind me
of Mom.
Some days, thinking about her
feels like tumbling down
a cactus-covered hillside—
something most people
would try to avoid.
But lately
I just want to remember
(even if it stings a little bit).
OCOTILLO
Ms. Treehorn flicks the projector on.
Ocotillo plants are mostly leafless,
except immediately after it rains,
when they suddenly burst bright.
After the soil dries again,
the leaves wither quickly.
Each time she says
Oh–koh–tee–yo
the word dashes out of her mouth
like a flat stone
skipping rings
across water.
Too bad people have given it
dumb nicknames like:
Coachwhip
Flaming Sword
Jacob’s Staff
Well, I guess Flaming Sword is pretty cool.
MOVIE NIGHT
When the weekend rolls around,
I make up excuses about
a malfunctioning air-conditioning unit,
a neighbor’s irritating Chihuahua,
a telemarketer that calls nonstop.
So we go to Georgia’s house
for peace and quiet and movies
instead of mine.
Liam chooses the video.
Georgia makes the snacks.
What should I bring? I ask.
An alien invasion preparation plan.
That I can do, I say, waving my orange book.
We sit on giant beanbags
in Georgia’s living room
stuffing our faces
with popcorn.
We throw kernels at Liam,
teasing him ruthlessly
about his terrible taste
in movies.
This one is called
Space Invaders
another cheesy sci-fi
that’s more silly
than scary.
After the movie,
I go to L
iam’s house
for a sleepover.
Sharon drives me home
the next morning.
At each intersection
her eyes flit
to the rearview mirror.
Her eyebrows form
a tight line.
I pretend not to notice her
noticing me.
Oh, babe, she says
when she pulls up to my house.
My eyes dart
to the door—
to make sure
it’s closed.
It’s such a sunny day.
Pity to have the curtains drawn like that.
Tell your dad he ought to let a little light in.
I will, I say.
Thanks for the ride.
I jump out of the minivan
before Liam has a chance
to ask about coming over.
Before the Hoard forces me
to tell more lies and make
more awful excuses.
SPACE INVADER
I discover
my bedroom door
O P E N.
No! No! No!
There is so
so
so
so
much
stuff
invading
my
space!
RESTORED
Fuming, I remove
yellowed newsprint,
faded magazines,
bins of dusty garden supplies.
I sort the clothes
piled on my bed.
Most are wool sweaters
that promise nothing
but itch and sweat.
I find a pair of cargo shorts and
a few new T-shirts in my size.
I slip them into my dresser.
I wipe down my desk,
dust my shelves.
I bag and drag
the remaining stuff
into the hallway,
until my refuge is
restored.
But I’m not satisfied;
I’m angry.
This single square
of space
is not nearly
enough.
HOW I FEEL AT HOME
CLEAR
I ride until
my mind
clears.
Legs pump,
wheels
turn.
Slowly
sidewalk
dissolves.
Houses,
streetlights,
stop signs
fade
into the
background.
My lungs
fill with
unshared air.
BOUNDARIES
TRIM
Hey, Shaggy Maggy.
Nice hair!
Tyson’s voice rattles off metal lockers
the next day at school.
Everyone turns to
stare.
Shut your piehole, Gila Breath! Liam snaps.
Mind your business, Loser Face!
Tyson’s such a jerk,
but I haven’t had a trim in months.
and it is getting harder
to stuff all that hair
into my swim cap.
CHALLENGE
Is everything okay? Georgia asks at lunch.
Yeah. Sure. Why? I reply as casually as possible,
wondering why my face always gives away
truths I’d rather keep hidden.
You’re acting funky lately, Liam says, scratching his head.
Funky, like, cool? I flash the world’s most awkward jazz hands.
Definitely not like that. Never do that again.
Whatever that was. Liam shudders.
Well, there is one thing
I can share with my friends.
When Keith moved
I thought things would be half as bad.
But Tyson’s become twice as mean.
You’re right, Georgia says, taking a bite of her veggie wrap.
I noticed the same thing.
Liam scratches his head some more.
You got lice in there or something? I ask, inching away from him.
My book has a whole chapter about those…
Nope. I’ve got an idea.
A real itchy one.
It’s called thinking, Liam. Georgia rolls her eyes.
I know. I may be allergic.
That would explain a lot. She laughs.
Are you plotting some bonkers prank
to put Tyson in his place, once and for all? I ask,
recalling the names he called me earlier,
embarrassing me in front of the whole class. Again.
No, but that’s an interesting idea…
Liam studies me from across the table.
This is about you, Worst-Case Collin.
My stomach twists.
Does it have anything to do with my shaggy hair?
No, no. He waves his hand dismissively.
I bet I can beat you at butterfly, he declares.
I sigh with relief,
glad the conversation has shifted.
I bet you can’t, I say.
His stroke is a Gatorade-snort-worthy disaster.
Let’s let the clock decide.
Today. Before practice.
What’s at stake, Matchstick? I grin, my mood lifting.
Like Dad, I have a hard time resisting a good challenge.
If I win, you play Candy Roulette.
Challenge accepted!
TSUNAMI
Ready to lose? I say, splashing Liam.
He didn’t even warm up.
Rookie mistake.
Hope you’re hungry,
’cause you’re about to eat my wake!
Liam smiles deviously.
You know what happens to matchsticks in water, right? I reply.
They fizzle out!
Georgia yells,
Ready, set, go!
I push off the block.
Each kick
threads me through
smooth water.
I pull closer, closer
to the wall,
confident, strong.
Then, out of the corner
of my goggles—
a tsunami!
Liam’s caught
in the wave.
His legs flailing,
fighting,
like I’ve never seen before.
My rescue instinct goes into
overdrive.
I will not let my friend drown!
I thrash wildly
in his direction.
Then I see his head pop
up to the surface,
breathe,
flail,
swish,
breathe.
He’s not drowning at all.
He’s beating me.
Now it’s my competitive instinct
in overdrive.
I will not let that sandbagging showboat win!
I rip across the lane
trying to catch
and match
his wacky stroke.
My muscles screech.
I swear someone
dropped
a piano
on my back.
I am
sinking.
Liam’s fingers to
uch the wall
full, fat seconds
before mine.
I sputter,
burning lungs
coughing chlorine.
Georgia confirms the win,
shaking her head in disbelief.
Liam pulls himself out of pool,
tugs his swimsuit,
sprints gracelessly
to the locker room
without a word.
In all the years
I’ve known him,
he’s never run away
from winning
without doing some obnoxious victory dance.
Something is seriously wrong.
VOCABULARY
Skullduggery: sneaky, tricky, dishonest behavior;
AKA filling your opponent’s Wedgie Maker with itching powder.
Numbskullery: stupid, dumb, foolish (but really freaking funny) behavior;
AKA accidentally filling your own Wedgie Maker with itching powder.
See also: Liam Edward Urvall
CANDY ROULETTE
Once Liam showers and recovers
from the irksome itch
of his own numbskullery,
our bet is not forgotten.
Make a choice.
Your fate is in your hands, he says,
mischief flickering in his eyes.
He holds a round red candy in each palm:
one GrossBomb,
one Fireball.
It’s in your hands, technically, I say, shaking my head.
Make your selection wisely, Worst-Case Collin.
You must live with the consequences, he taunts.
For a full three minutes, okay?
No cheating. No spitting.
He enjoys this way too much, I say.
Seriously. Georgia sighs.
Liam, if you spent half as much time on your homework
as you spend devising these schemes,
I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be
three strikes away from summer school.
True.
But school is so much less fun
than torturing you fools!
Mwahahaha!
How do I know this isn’t rigged? I ask.
He gawks, offended.
Do I really look like the type of scoundrel
who would scam his best friend?
Yes! Georgia and I say in unison.
What? The swimsuit mix-up was a happy accident!