Just checking to see if the warden called.
Bro, you do know your dad’s famous?
My dad blows.
I Googled him. Did you know he’s got like nine thousand followers?
You’re Googling my dad. That’s weird.
I’m just saying, he’s cool. Remember that time he took us to Fun Park?
Coby, we were, like, seven.
But we had fun, though. That Flying Circus ride was INSANE!
At least your dad doesn’t make you read the dictionary.
It’s hard for him to make me do anything, when I only see him once a year.
. . .
. . .
Your mom can cook, though. I love her food.
My mom blows.
Let’s call April, he says
but when she answers
you can’t think
of anything to say,
so you press
END CALL.
Man up, Nick.
Tell her that her smile sparkles
like a midnight star, or something.
Or give her these.
Then he reaches
in his top drawer
and hands you,
get this,
milk chocolate
wrapped in shiny red and gold.
What am I supposed to do
with two bars of chocolate, Coby?
Not just any old chocolate, bro.
One hundred percent premium deluxe cocoa
made in Ghana!
So sweet, it’ll give you a cavity
just thinking about it.
Home Alone
When you get home
you see Dad’s note
that he’s out
with friends,
which is odd
’cause you didn’t know
he had any.
But it’s cool,
’cause now
you can
fall asleep
watching
the Super Bowl
on ESPN Classic
without getting
a lecture
on the negative impact
of aggression
and violence
in your other
favorite sport.
Why You No Longer Play Football
Your first game
of Pop Warner
was electric.
In the fourth quarter,
a pass came
across the middle,
but before
you could catch it
and turn downfield
to score
the winning touchdown,
a brick wall
named Popeye Showalter
popped up
outta nowhere
and shut the lights off
for the longest three minutes
of your mom’s life,
and that is why
you no longer play
football.
The next morning
you throw the covers off
lace your cleats
grab your burgundy
and blue headband
that matches
your Barcelona jersey
(which you slept in)
throw your clothes
in the hamper
like he asked you to do
two days ago
and tiptoe
down the stairs
to sneak
out of the house
before he wakes up
and starts with
all the homework
questions.
The Homework Questions
Where are you going? he asks, sitting on the front stoop.
Oh, hey, Dad, you say, startled. Uh, looks like the storm missed us again. Gonna be a swell weekend, you say, saluting the sun, wishing you had snuck out earlier and avoided the blah blah blah.
So you’re the weatherman now, huh? He asks, lacing his running shoes.
You going running, Dad?
Don’t try to change the subject. Do you have a match today?
This afternoon.
So, where are you going?
To meet Coby at the park.
Did you finish your homework? The Rs?
. . .
Average person knows about twelve thousand words. Average president knows twice that, he says, sounding like Morgan Freeman.
Even George Bush? you say with a smirk.
I am going to Dallas. Y’all already said I could go.
You do what you need to do, in order to do what you want to do. And I suspect that you still need to do some reading.
But, Dad, I shouldn’t have to read on the weekend. I have a game this afternoon, a game tomorrow, plus there’s three matches Coby and I are watching later on TV, and I—
Read for an hour, then you can go, he shouts, already a half block into his morning stride. And don’t forget to call your mother.
ARGGH!
Texts from Mom
My dear Nicky, I’m
assuming you’ve been eaten
by a black mamba
or pummeled to shreds
by a stampede of mammoth
shire sport horses
since you haven’t returned a
single text of mine. Love, Mom
Texts to Mom
HAY, Mom, why’d you BALE?
Sorry I didn’t call you
back. I’ve been feeling
a little HORSE. I
gotta TROT off. Soccer match
today. GIDDY-UP.
Jackpot
Miss Quattlebaum
finally pairs you
with April
for the waltz,
which is sensational,
and
one-two-three . . .
because
the right hand
must guide
the small of
Milady’s back
two-two-three . . .
across the glossy hardwood
while the lucky left
three-two-three . . .
gets to hold
her hand,
twirl her out,
four-two-three . . .
spin her in,
pull her close,
nose to nose,
for the longest,
most awesome
six seconds ever,
during which
you quietly wish
that the German dancer
who invented
the waltz
had included
a kiss.
Insomnia
You make a sleep mask
out of one of your dad’s ties.
You try counting sheep,
backwards.
You even pick up the book about Pelé
that The Mac made you take.
Nothing works.
So, you lie there,
staring at the ceiling,
remembering
those six seconds
with April
and the past six days
without
Mom.
Standing in the lunch line
Coby says, Just ask your dad to take us to school. Dang!
Trust me, you don’t want that. He’s got logorrhea,* you answer.
That sounds disgusting.
It is.
Hey, Nick, there’s April. Go for it.
Nah, I’m good.
Dean and Don aren’t even around. Stop being scared.
I’m not. I just don’t feel like it today.
HEY, APRIL, he screams, then ducks.
She turns and looks.
At me.
Big Trouble
You walk up to April, scared straight.
When’s your next game? she asks.
You swallow
your gum and
string together a few
c
oherent words.
We, uh, play on, um,
Saturday
at the community center.
If you had more
than three dollars
in your pocket
maybe you could buy her
a cookie or an ice cream sandwich.
Instead, you stand there frozen.
I’m coming with Charlene and my cousin.
Score a goal for me, she says, then
shoots a smile
that sends you
to Jupiter
long enough
for Don
to “accidentally”
knock the tray
out of your hands
and bring you back
to earth.
Why’d you do that, Don? April snaps
as you pick up the food.
Nobody’s talking to you, Ape.
Shut up, she fires back,
and gives him a shove
that only makes him laugh more,
and makes you
WANNA. SHUT. HIM. UP.
Stand Up
Her name’s April, you say with a mean scowl.
How’d you like it if
I called you Daw instead of Don.
Daw? he says, laughing loud enough
to startle the few kids in the lunchroom who weren’t
paying attention.
That doesn’t even make sense.
Daw is the origin of your name, you continue.
It means simpleton, as in IDIOT.
He stops laughing.
As for your last name, Eggleston,
well, that comes from the Latin word
egesta, as in excrement, or dung.
So maybe we should call you Dumb Dung.
Now the whole lunchroom is cracking up,
April too.
Or better yet, how about Stupid Crap!
A guy in the back of the line hollers,
SHOTS FIRED!
Even the blond-haired cafeteria lady joins in on the fun:
Oh my, you just got cooked, son.
The place goes crazy.
It’s like you’re about to score
and everyone’s chanting your name.
Nick Hall! Nick Hall! NICK HALL!
He charges, tries
to tackle you.
And then (What the—)
you snap
out of it and
realize
that none of this
happened.
ARGGH!
Back to Life
Say something, punk, one-eyed Dean says,
standing in front of you.
Wait, where’d he come from?
Stay away from April, he continues, she’s mine.
I’m not yours, and you can’t tell him to stay away from me,
April shouts back.
Let’s go, Nick, she adds.
Dean knocks you into the fruit stand. You fall.
So do all the bananas and apples.
A hand reaches down to pick you up. Let’s bounce, Coby says.
This has nothing to do with you, HALFrican,
Don says to him, then daps one-eyed Dean, who adds,
Yeah, you BLasian, rice-eating—
But before he can finish
Coby covers up one eye, and hollers,
Yeah, well, I got my EYE on you, Dean,
and the place breaks out
in OOOOHs and AAAAAHs,
when all of a sudden, Dean
and Don both
bum-rush Coby,
who punches Don
in the stomach
before one-eyed Dean knocks him
to the ground.
You just,
get this,
stand there, still frozen
with Bubble Yum stuck
in your throat and
King Chocolate
squished
in your pocket
while your best friend
tries to fight off
two pissed-off dogs
by himself.
Do-Over
You know
how sometimes
at night
when you can’t sleep
and you’re watching
the stars go
round and round
on the ceiling fan,
replaying
that one lousy incident
over and over
in your mind,
wishing
you’d done something
different
and that if you had a do-over
you definitely
woulda swooped down
on them jokers
like a vulture
instead of just circling above,
standing idly by
while your best friend
gets a black eye
and suspended
from school?
Consequences
The twins get
sent back
to ABC
for the rest
of the school year.
Coby gets
two days’
suspension.
You get
nothing.
Free as a bird.
The day after
the fight,
Principal Miller
sends a letter
to all parents
saying racism
will not be tolerated
at Langston Hughes.
Then we have
a looonnnnng assembly
and watch
Martin Luther King’s
“I Have a Dream” speech,
which you know by heart
from listening to it
fifty-eleven times
at home.
Conversation
I got an email from Principal Miller.
Everyone got that.
I also got a call.
. . .
Racism is serious, Nicholas.
I know, Dad.
Were these boys picking on you?
It’s nothing. I can handle it.
By fighting?
I wasn’t fighting.
Principal Miller says you were mixed up in all this. And Coby got suspended? That’s not good.
They started it.
Son, if they’re bullying you, I can schedule a meeting with their parents and the principal.
Dad, no. You don’t understand. I’ll be fine. Can I get back to my homework now?
The Last Time You Got into a Fight
There’s only been
one fight.
It didn’t go well.
Happened
in fourth grade,
during social studies.
Some kid named Travis
put his fingernail
in your hair.
You kicked
his desk.
He didn’t like that.
Told you to meet him
after school
on the playground.
You’d been taking
tae kwon do lessons,
so he was in for a beatdown.
When you arrived,
he wasn’t there, so you
practiced:
side punch,
knife hand block,
roundhouse kick.
But when he showed up
you were a little exhausted
from all the freakin’ practice,
so as he rushed you,
instead of readying
for the easy takedown,
you called
TIME OUT,
and turned around
for a breather
when he jumped you
from behind,
and you never
went back
to tae kwon do.
Last night you couldn’t watch TV
because Dad canceled
the cable,
so you mi
ssed
The Walking Dead.
This morning he tells you
that you’re not getting
this week’s allowance
’cause of your mountain of unwashed clothes.
And now Ms. Hardwick
is reading another boring book
in class, and April hasn’t smiled
at you since the lunchroom brawl.
April is
Lovely
Intelligent
Magnetic
Electric
Red-hot
Easygoing
Nice
Courageous
Elegant
Caught
The intensity
on your face
is deafening, Nicholas Hall!
What? Huh?
If only you were concentrating as much
on The Watsons Go to Birmingham
as you were on that notebook of yours.
Care to show us what you’ve been working on?
It must be good, because your pencil’s been
perpendicular for a good part of my class.
Come up here. And bring