your notebook with you.
The walk to her desk
feels like a death march.
Each classmate you pass is
eager and loaded,
ready to fire.
No other way to look at it.
Everyone’s gonna know.
April’s gonna know.
You’re pretty much dead.
A bead of sweat drops
from your eyebrow.
Ms. Hardwick had to see it
hit her desk.
You hand her the notebook.
She glances at it, then shoots
a look that says,
You’re going down, Hall!
Then She Smiles
If there were an award for worst teacher,
Ms. Hardwick would win hands down.
She’s had a frown on her face
since the beginning of the school year.
So, when she smiles, you’re flummoxed.*
Well, it appears that
Nicholas here has been
doing a little bit of extra credit, she says,
staring at your notebook.
Now you’re really confused.
She hands you back your notebook.
Nicholas, would you please share
this lovely new vocabulary word
you’ve discovered.
She winks at you when she says lovely.
She’s gonna embarrass you in front of everyone.
Do I have to, Ms. Hardwick?
It’s such a wonderful, rhythmic word.
Spell it for the class, please.
You do, and then she goes in for the kill.
Do you know what it means, Nicholas?
No, you lie. (Why is she still smiling?)
Let’s give Nicholas a round of applause.
Everyone does. Even April.
Class, your homework is to define limerence
and use it in a sentence.
Whew, you think, as you walk
back to your seat.
(I survived!)
Ms. Hardwick isn’t all that bad.
You escaped,
but just before
you sit down
Winnifred raises her hand
and starts
spraying bullets
everywhichaway.
Limerence
She says,
from the French word limier.
I can tell you what it means right now, Ms. Hardwick.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Go right ahead, Winnifred.
Limerence is
the experience of being in love with someone,
commonly known as a crush,
but not any old crush.
A. Major. Crush.
NICHOLAS B. HALL
BELOVED SON. BEST FRIEND. SOCCER STAR.
2003–2016
DIED OF ONOMATOPHOBIA.*
MAY HE REST IN PEACE.
Coby’s Back
When I was little,
my favorite toy
was a remote-control
helicopter.
I took it on vacation
one summer
and accidentally flew it
into the hotel pool.
I was afraid
to jump in
and get it
because I couldn’t swim.
By the time
my dad got it out,
the engine had flooded
and it wouldn’t fly anymore.
It was my favorite toy,
and I lost it.
I guess what I’m trying to say, Coby,
is I’m sorry.
I should have jumped in,
helped you in the fight.
He shrugs his shoulders,
tells you,
Don’t worry about it, Nick.
Just have my back next time.
Did you get in trouble?
Yeah, I can’t play in any games
for a week.
WHAT?! Can you still go to Dallas?
Of course.
Whew!
Sorry, Coby!
Yeah, just deal the cards.
Blackjack in the Library
Let’s play soccer after school,
Nick. I can’t. Got some chores to
do before my dad gets home.
You and Coby
sit on the floor
in the back
near the biographies,
playing cards,
whispering.
I already started packing for Dallas. You?
Think she knows?
Everyone knows, Nick.
How? Did April say something?
Nope, but Charlene gave me this note to give to you from April.
BLACKJACK.
SHHHHH! Let me see the note.
What note? whispers The Mac, surprising both of us.
I told you to be quiet, Coby.
Hey, why are we whispering? whispers The Mac.
’Cause we’re in the library, Mr. Mac.
Not in the dragonfly café. WE DROP IT LIKE IT’S HOT HERE!
. . .
Fellas, let me ask you a question. Do you have a fave book?
Yeah, a checkbook, you say. Give me some cash.
Good one, Nick, Coby says, laughing along with you.
Ha! Ha! I’m talking about a book that wows you. Just totally rips your heart out of your chest and then brutally stomps on it. That kind of book!
Oh, WOW! you say.
When you find that kind of book, holla at us, Mr. Mac.
How was that soccer book I loaned you, Nick?
Uh, about that—it’s a kids’ book, Mr. Mac.
Yeah, but it’s about Pelé, he says.
Really, it’s a book about Pelé, the King of Fútbol? Coby asks. I would read that.
You would?
Nah, probably not, but I’d definitely look at the pictures, Coby says, and we both laugh.
Okay, enough goofing off, fellas. And hide the note you slid under your leg before Ms. Hardwick peeps it.
Blackjack, Coby says as The Mac walks off.
Note from April
Dear Nick, Charlene and I think
“Limerence” is beautiful.
Meet me after my swim class.
Change of Plans
Coby, you still wanna play soccer?
Yeah!
Cool!
But I thought you had chores?
I can do them later.
You’re suspect, bro!
Conversation After Soccer
Come on, man, just wait with me.
Can’t, I gotta get home to watch my sister.
Just for a minute. I don’t know what to say.
Just talk about the weather or something.
That’s corny.
Nick, it ain’t deep. Talk about what you know.
Soccer?
Yeah, talk to her about the Dallas Cup.
Good idea, but what if she thinks it’s boring.
Then she’s crazy, in which case you don’t want her anyway.
True.
I gotta go.
But there she is. Over there on the sidewalk. What should I do?
That’s a shame.
What?
That you don’t know what to say, given all the words in your dad’s dictionary.
Hey, where ya going? Come back!
BWAHAHAHAHAHA!
Conversation with April
Nice bike, Nick.
Thanks.
Thanks for coming.
Yeah.
Aren’t you gonna ask me how was swimming class?
How was swimming class?
Well, Ms. Hardwick jumped in the pool.
What? No freakin’ way!
Yeah, she wanted to test the water. Get it? Test?
That’s funny.
Did you hear she isn’t coming back next year?
Seriously?
Yep. She’
s going to another school. In Texas.
WOW! That’s cool!
I like her.
Yeah, she’s okay I guess, you lie.
. . .
Hey, I’m going to Texas.
That’s nice. For what?
Dallas Cup. It’s a pretty prestigious soccer tournament.
I like when you say words like that.
Prestigious? That’s not really a big word or anything.
But you know a lot of big words?
Yeah, thanks to my dad, the verbomaniac, I have to read his dictionary of weird words.
What letter are you on?
I just finished Q & R.
Wow! Like, what kind of words?
Like, uh, Quattlebaum.
Miss Quattlebaum?
Yep, her name is a portmanteau word, which means it’s made up of two different words. Her name is German. Quattle means “fruit,” and baum means “tree.”
So she’s Miss Fruit Tree.
Sure is, but we probably shouldn’t call her that.
That’s funny. What about my last name, Farrow?
Uh, I think it means “pretty” or something.*
. . .
So, do you like soccer?
Not really.
Oh!
Just kidding. I like watching you play.
. . .
Hey, I’m sorry about your parents.
Huh? I mean, what do you mean?
I saw what you posted about them ruining your life.
Oh, I wasn’t, I mean, they—
My parents trip out too. It’s so annoying.
I’m over it anyway.
Well that’s good, ’cause I don’t want you to lose your smile again.
. . .
Here comes my mom. Raincheck on a big hug. See you in school, Nick.
Okay, uh, thanks, uh, bye, April.
The only thing
better than getting a hug
from April is the PROMISE
of getting a HUG from her.
Probability
If there are 278,000 people
in your city,
what are the odds
of you running
into the two people
you least
want to run
into?
Boy rides his bike
from the community center
to his home
like he’s always done,
only this time,
before he even gets
a block away,
he meets trouble.
Where you going, Nick? asks Don, not
really caring about an answer.
Yeah, didn’t think you’d see us again
this year, did you? says Dean.
The only thing
to do
right now
is gallop like a thoroughbred
as fast as your bike will possibly go,
and race
for your life.
Seems like to me, you owe us, says Dean.
For what? you manage to ask.
For getting us kicked out of school, punk.
. . .
Give us your bike.
Uh, I can’t give it to you. I’ll get in trouble.
Then I guess we’ll kick the crap out of you.
Boy rides his bike
from the community center
to his home
like he’s always done,
only this time,
before he even gets
a block away,
he meets trouble
and ends up
walking.
Kentucky
Maybe living there is not
such a bad thing. At least you
wouldn’t be bullied anymore.
Breakdown
An hour later
you tiptoe
up the stairs,
try to sneak
past his room
before he—
(Too late.)
Nicholas, come here.
Very next time
you disobey me,
there’ll be no Dallas.
Now do what you were supposed to do
and come home after school every day.
And give me your phone.
It’s not fair. IT’S JUST NOT FAIR.
You better lower your voice!
I HAD TO WALK ALL THE WAY HOME.
Where’s your bus pass? Is your lip bleeding?
I rode my bike. I’m going to bed.
I asked you a question? And where’s your bike?
They took it.
Who is they? And why’d you let them take it?
Why are you always blaming me?
No one’s blaming you. I’m just asking—
I’m tired of this. You’re always fussing
at me for not reading your stupid dictionary
or cleaning up my room.
You don’t let me do ANYTHING.
You take my phone,
you took Mom,
and now you want to
take away
the last good thing
in my freakin’ life:
SOCCER.
Calm down, Nicholas.
NO. I’m sick of it.
My life sucks.
I get bullied at school.
I get bullied at home.
I HATE MY LIFE!
I wish I was. Sometimes, I just wish I was—
What? You wish you were what?
A Good Cry
The blasting rap music
in your headphones
makes you feel less sad
but still angry
about things, so
you start ripping
pages
from books
on your shelf
and only stop
when you get to
his dictionary, because
even though you’re pissed
you’re not stupid.
At the top
of the page
you almost ripped
is the word
sweven.*
You fall asleep
repeating it
497 times
and dream that . . .
You sprained your ankle
on a dictionary while
moonwalking
with Michael Jackson.
Your parents
celebrate
their twentieth anniversary
at the Dallas Cup.
You beat up
Dean and Don
for picking on April, and then
you fall off
a mountain
but right before
you CRASH
you wake up
crying
in your mom’s
arms.
What are you doing here?
Dad called, she says, wiping your tears. I drove all night. We’re both worried about you, Nicky.
I’m fine, Mom.
He told me what you said.
Mom, of course I’m not gonna kill myself. I was just upset when I said that.
What about that stuff you posted online?
Seriously, Mom. I’m fine. I say stuff all the time that I don’t mean.
So, you lie?
C’mon, Mom.
. . .
. . .
Let’s get out of here.
Huh?
Put on your clothes. Let’s go to the field.
I don’t feel like it.
That’s a first! C’mon, I’m gonna give you a soccer lesson today.
Do I have to?
Yes, but clean up this room first.
. . .
1 on 1
like lightning
you strike
fast and free
legs zoom
downfield
eyes fixed
on the checkered ball
on the goal
ten yards to go
can’t nobody stop you
can’t nobody cop you
till, like a siren in a storm,
she catches you
zips past you
strips the ball
trips you (fall)
watching her
dribble away
all the while thinking
it’s bad that you got beat
by another girl
and worse
that the other girl is
your mother.
This morning
was just like old times:
cinnamon French toast,
Dutch pancakes,
Ping-Pong.
Now she’s on
the pitch
talking trash
and you’re feeling
a little better
until . . .
Conversation with Mom
I’ve been calling and calling.
Been a little busy with—
Sugar balls, Nicky! Too busy to return a call?
I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. I have a life.
Oh, you have a life, do you?