Write about what?
How you’re feeling. What’s going on in your life. Like, in a diary or something.
Nah.
Scientific studies have proven that writing in a journal can keep you healthier, emotionally and physically.
I can eat broccoli if I want to be healthier.
Beethoven, Picasso, even George Lucas, the guy who made Star Wars, had journals. It works, Charlie.
No thanks, I say, pulling my hand away fast, and walking away faster. Woodrow Wilson’s waiting. Let’s go.
I can’t stand that name.
Yeah, me either.
Renaming
Woodrow Wilson sees CJ
then strolls
toward her,
burying her head
in her lap.
That’s a good girl, CJ says, playing with her. Look at those big delicious ears. Let’s play with her.
She’s blind in one eye, remember?
That’s okay. She can still see in the other, right, Woodrow Wilson? I don’t think she’s a Woodrow, Charlie.
It’s her name, I say.
Well, now she’ll have a new one.
You can’t just change her name though.
We’ll say it’s her nickname if anyone asks, she counters. Here, come pet her a little.
I already did.
Come do it again, please, she says, like she’s my mother and whatnot. I do it, cautiously.
Okay, there. Happy?
See, that wasn’t bad. You liked that right, Harriet?
Wait, that’s her nickname? Harriet?
Harriet Tubman.
The Underground Railroad lady?
She was a nurse, too. And a spy.
Like CIA?
Like Civil War spy.
You’re like an encyclopedia.
Is that a compliment?
I guess.
I’m thirsty.
Me too, it’s hotttt!
Eighty-nine degrees and it’s gonna get even hotter.
Let’s drop Wood— Harriet off and go get some sodas.
Cool.
Cool.
I’ll miss you, Charlie Bell, she says, punching me in the stomach again.
Me and CJ
walk and play
with Harriet
(well, CJ does most
of the playing)
for the next five days,
and Mrs. Wilson
even makes us
chocolate chip cookies
one day,
but while she’s watching
her favorite TV show,
General Hospital,
she forgets
they’re in the oven
and they burn
so she gives us
three dollars
to get some snacks
from the Quik-Mart.
On Friday
we walk around
the block
twice
’cause we know
it’s our last time
and I think
Harriet knows it too,
’cause when we get
back to her porch
she sits
her ginormous butt
right between us
and sprawls herself
all over us
so we literally
can’t move.
Farewell
What did you get on your report card?
Bs and Cs. What’d you get, all As?
I wish. Mrs. Toney gave me a B.
Sorry.
The whole class got a B, ’cause Mrs. Toney believes that if one person is being disruptive it’s all of our faults.
That sucks.
You want a Now and Later?
No thanks.
It’s watermelon, your favorite.
I’m good.
Charlie Bell, you LOVE watermelon Now and Laters.
I’ve already had like eight today.
Is there some law I don’t know about that says you can only eat eight Now and Laters?
Should be. Nine’s unlucky.
What are you talking about?
My dad.
. . .
. . .
Well, I guess I’ll eat it then, Charlie Bell.
I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight at the skating rink.
A kiss first?
A KISS? HUH?
Harriet. Kiss her goodbye. Or at least hug her. She knows you’re leaving us.
Yuck, I’m not kissing her, I say, rubbing her instead. And not freaking out.
The Rink
Decked out
in our silver
Members Only jackets
and Jordache jeans,
we hit the floor.
Roll . . . Bounce . . . Skate . . . Roll
The music, pumping
the beat, thumping
we’re gliding
sliding
forward
backward
Roll
Bounce
Skate
Roll
Wait for it . . . Here comes
the big move . . .
The Big Move
Me and Skinny are supposed
to part
like the Red Sea
so CJ can dash through
with the jump twist
while we all bust
a REVERSE
at the same time
and the crowd goes wild
except
none of that happens
because apparently
Skinny
didn’t tie
his laces
tight enough
so he trips, falls
and the only thing
he busts
is his butt
and our whole routine.
I’m sorry, guys
That trophy was ours. Dang, Skinny!
I said sorry.
It’s okay—there’s another contest this summer. We’ll practice more, CJ says, patting him on the back.
Well, let me know how it goes, I say, sitting down to take off my skates.
What, you’re quitting on us, Charlie?
No, he’s going to stay with his grandparents for the summer.
Really?
Yeah.
Yo, that’s the worst.
Yep.
Where do they live?
Near Washington.
That’s like all the way near California.
It’s nowhere near California, Skinny. It’s Washington, DC, like four hours from here, CJ corrects him.
Oh. So what are you gonna do up there all summer?
I don’t know . . . read comics, watch TV. Probably go see all the monuments and whatnot.
And listen to old people snore.
Probably.
Sounds real fun, Charlie.
Guys, let’s focus on the positive here. It’s summertime. We can stay up late reading, go to the beach, fish, and go to the library. Don’t forget about the “I Read 100 Books” contest—
Charlie, if our best friend is a nerd, does that make us nerds too? Skinny says, less like
a question,
more like
a sad fact,
shaking his head, and
high-fiving me,
but before I can
high-five back,
and before I can
start untying my laces,
the DJ plays
a slow rap song
by LL COOL J
and CJ pulls me
out on the floor
to skate.
Skating with CJ
You know girls and boys have different brains.
So.
Girls talk earlier than boys. We have larger vocabularies, and we use more complex sentence structures.
. . .
Charlie, on average, girls say two to three times more words per day than boys and even speak faster—twice as many words per minute. The list goes
on—
Great, thanks for sharing your list.
Sorry, I get nervous when I get shy and I talk a lot about science and National Geographic and stuff
You talk a lot all the time.
Not around everybody.
. . .
Have a great summer, Charlie Bell.
You too, CJ.
If I write you, will you write me back?
I don’t know, maybe.
Well, bye, she says,
and kisses me
on the cheek,
and, just like that,
lets go
of my hand,
and skates away,
and my heart
almost jumps
out of my chest.
Doomsday
After I put
our suitcases
in the car
I sit
on the steps
reading
and waiting
for Mom
to ruin
my life.
Hey, Charlie!
Hey!
Conversation with Skinny
On my way to shoot some hoops, he says, bouncing his ball.
Cool.
Which one is that?
Number forty-eight.
Any good?
I’ve read it before.
Must be, then.
Yeah. Galactus and Silver Surfer are about to devour the planet.
Whoa!
Doomsday.
Yo, it’s hot out here.
CJ says it’s gonna be one of the hottest summers ever.
Hey, watch this, he says, trying (and failing) to spin the ball on his forefinger.
. . .
So you’re leaving?
Uh-huh.
Dag, man.
. . .
Who’s gonna walk Woodrow?
Harriet.
Who’s Harriet?
CJ’s gonna walk her.
Cool.
Cool.
Guess what?
What?
My mom’s bringing me to Washington, DC, this summer.
Really?
Yep! I’m going to Six Flags with my cousins and my aunt. Maybe you can come.
Maybe.
Sorry you got in trouble with your mom.
. . .
Sorry about messing up in the contest, too, Charlie.
Yeah.
I’m gonna practice this summer. I’ll be ready for the next contest, believe that.
That’s cool!
Yeah, I’m gonna make a change this summer, Charlie. The man—
In the mirror. Yeah, I know, Skinny, I say, laughing.
Later, he says, taking off down the street, bouncing the ball a mile a minute. HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!
YOU TOO! I scream back as he trips over his own feet and hits the pavement.
Steaming
It’s hot
and raining.
The music
she’s listening to
reminds me
of the skating rink
but it sounds
less cool
coming from
her car radio.
I look
out the window
counting
raindrops
for what must be hours
’cause we’ve been driving
forever.
No one says
a word.
Five minutes later
I look at my watch, and think
this is going to be an
incredibly long trip.
68 Minutes Later
Let’s play some Luther Vandross.
Do we have to?
Would you rather listen to something else?
Yes, I say, wondering why Dad’s music is still in the car and why she’s playing it now.
You hungry? she asks, after a long pause.
Uh-huh.
We can stop for lunch. There’s a Shoney’s coming up.
KFC.
I’m going to need more than one-word answers, Charlie.
K. F. C.
Okay then, Shoney’s it is.
NOOO! I don’t want that. Can we just go to Kentucky Fried Chicken?
Well, that’s better. We sure can. But, let’s do drive-thru—I don’t want to lose time.
116 Minutes
As I pick
and count
each raindrop
that hits
my window,
she listens
to Dad’s favorite song
over and over
and tries
to pretend
like she’s only
sniffling,
but I know
she’s crying
because sometimes
a song
can remind you
of something
you’re trying
to forget.
132 Minutes
I thought you were hungry, she says.
I was.
But you didn’t even finish your four-piece.
My stomach hurts. It’s too hot in here.
It’s probably from all that candy. I told you about those Now or Laters!
It’s Now AND Laters.
She turns the air
conditioning up
a little,
then turns
the radio
up
a lot and we go back
to what
we were doing
before.
158 Minutes
Charlie, being quiet doesn’t mean
we can’t think of what to say.
Sometimes it means
we’re trying
not to say it.
Huh?
Let’s do this, she says. I’ll ask you
a question,
then you ask me
a question,
and we’ll just keep asking
each other questions
until we can get
some answers. Okay?
Don’t you have to concentrate on the road?
. . .
Okay, fine, I say, but I’m not going first.
Questions
What do you call it when two chips break up?
That’s not how it goes.
How does it go?
It’s “What do you call it when two chips are in love?”
What do you call it when two chips fall in love?
A relation-dip, I say, trying not to smile. Can we not play this stupid game?
Where is my old Charlie, my fun Charlie, who makes me laugh till I cry? I want him back.
. . .
Are you going to at least try, Charlie?
Okay, fine! Did you love Dad?
Why would you ask a thing like that?
Then why do you just act like everything’s normal?
Is that what you think?
What am I supposed to think?
Charlie, things will never be normal for me again.
Only questions, remember?
Forget about that right now. Just talk to me, Charl—
Answers
OKAY . . . It’s unfair . . . It’s just unfair . . . Everything was fine at the hospital and then it wasn’t, and I just don’t understand . . . We were all talking like everything was normal . . . I was cracking jokes and whatnot, and he was smiling, and you were gone to the bathroom, and then he just started shaking, and he was looking at me, but it was like he was looking through me, and it was like he wasn’t even there, and then he said something, and I couldn’t understand it, and you hadn’t come back yet, and I didn’t know what to do, and then he was breathing slow, and then he wasn’t, and then when you came back they put the breathing tube down his throat, and his eyes were closed, and the doctors said he had a stroke and he might wake up, and his eyes just stayed closed . . . And then the machine just made this long beeping noise, and just like that he was
gone . . . And I don’t have a father anymore . . . And, you want a question, well, here you go: How are you fine one day and not the next? Why did he have to die? Where is the funny in that? How am I supposed to be myself again? What am I supposed to do now?
Thought
It doesn’t
even feel real.
Sometimes
I find myself
looking
out my window
watching for him
to pull up
after work.
Sometimes I wear
his too-big-for-me watch
to school.
I even packed
some of my clothes
in his suitcase
’cause it makes me feel
like a part of him
is still here.
The worst
are
the moments
I forget