ASAP.
PS. Please make it a thin book with a lot of white space on the page. Thanks!
Rapprochement*
In the middle of Scrabble
the nurse comes in
to take your
blood pressure
for the third time
today.
Out of nowhere
Mom starts crying
and apologizing
for breaking up
the family
to chase
her equine dreams.
Then Dad starts
telling her
it’s not her fault
and now
he’s sorry
for not paying
enough attention
to her
and respecting
her career.
And then they hug
for like fifteen minutes.
Visitors’ Day
While you’re figuring out
the math of it all:
(Two more days in the hospital.
Probably watch 8 to 10 hours of TV a day.
For a total of 1,000 to 1,200 minutes.
Which means you have to read
at least 200 pages.
ARGGH!)
Guess who strolls in?
Hello, Nicholas
Ms. Hardwick?
This isn’t a pigment of your imagination?
A malapropism, I remember.
Very good. How are you feeling?
I’m cured, I guess, but I can’t play soccer.
I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t have appendicitis, but I had kidney stones. It’s worse. Not fun. Not fun at all.
. . .
We miss you in class.
Who is we?
Since you’re gonna be out for a few weeks, I thought I’d bring an assignment.
. . . (Yay me!)
Mr. MacDonald said you asked for a book, and it just so happens, we recently started a new one.
The Mac is a traitor, you think.
He couldn’t make it today, but he will stop by tomorrow, she says, handing you a book called All the Broken Pieces. I think you may find a good read here, Nicholas.
Thank you, Ms. Hardwick. I’m taking a lot of antibiotic medication, you know, so I fall asleep a lot, so I’m not sure how long it will take me to read this, you say, yawning loud so she can hear you.
Always the comedian. Nicholas, I brought someone to see you. Are you up to another visitor, or are you too sleepy? she says, with a smirk.
You glance out of the window, wondering who it is. It’s probably Mr. Mac, trying to make an entrance. Sure, you answer.
Well, then, you have a grand day, and a speedy recovery. I miss my wordsmith, she says, winking.
You open the book, notice the number of pages, 240. Well, that’s promising, you think, as your next guest saunters into the hospital room.
Hey, Nick.
This has got to be a sweven.
Got. To. Be. A. Sweven.
There is no way this is happening.
You must be daydreaming again.
No freakin’ way.
Hi, Nick.
Uh, hi, I’m, um, April, sorry, I’m just a little stup-id. I mean—
(And, of course, you mean stupefied,* but you’re too stupefied to actually say it.)
Sorry about your appendix. The whole class signed this.
She hands you a get-well card signed by everybody.
I’m sorry you can’t play soccer. That must make you feel pretty, uh, irascent.
You shoot her a look of surprise.
What?! It means angry.
I know what it means.
I’ve been reading your dad’s dictionary, she says, smiling.
Where’d you get that?
Mr. Mac showed it to us at book club. A lot of cool words. Wow! That’s, uh, interesting. I wouldn’t say it’s cool, though.
What letter are you on?
X.
Wow, almost finished.
I’ve been reading it for, like, three years.
Whoa! Tell me an X word.
Xu.
Sounds like a Z.
Yeah, most of the X words are pronounced like that.
What does it mean?
It’s the money they used in Vietnam, before the war.
Like a dollar, only a xu, she says, and you stare at her lips way too long.
Exactly.
Well, I see Ms. Hardwick gave you the Broken Pieces book. It’s really good.
You read it?
Yep, and, get this: the boy in the book is really good at baseball, and he’s from Vietnam. You’ll like it, trust me.
(Did she just say get this?)
Okay, well, I gotta go. Text me, let me know what you think of the book.
Uh, okay.
Bye, Nick. Get well soon, ’cause you and I have some dancing to do, and she kisses you goodbye on the forehead more like a grandmother would, but that’s not going to stop you from never washing your head. Ever.
You’re not really into baseball
but you give the book a chance
for obvious reasons, plus
you need to earn some minutes.
All the Broken Pieces
is about war
but told
by a boy
your age
who can’t seem
to find peace
after a bomb
blows
his village
and his brother
to pieces.
Then a soldier
takes him
to America
where he’s adopted and
just about to find out
if he’s made
the baseball team
on page 54
which means
you have amassed
four hours
and thirty minutes
of nonstop
TV.
Click.
The Next Day
After a night
of channel surfing
and back-to-back
reruns
of Star Trek,
the morning sun
rushes in
courtesy of the nurse
raising the blinds.
You eat gooey
fruit cocktail
and just before
you power up
your tablet,
The Mac
strolls in
with his bowling bag,
and duffel,
sporting a blue and white hoodie
that reads
putyourFACEinaBOOK.
Conversation with The Mac
I brought you a gift, he says, handing
you a box wrapped in gift paper.
The dragonfly box?
Well, it is a box, he says,
plopping himself down
in the chair.
Thanks, Mr. Mac, you say, opening
the greasy, white cardboard box.
Mr. Mac, this is KFC!
Yep, sure is. Bought you
a three-piece
chicken meal and a biscuit, he says.
Uh, thanks, but I can’t really eat
that kind of stuff yet, Mr. Mac.
Good, ’cause there’s only
one piece left. Give it here.
I don’t know if I’m more hungry
or tired, Nick.
. . .
I just walked from the bowling alley.
And, it was a terrible walk, ’cause I lost.
Why didn’t you drive?
Lucky finally died. Had it for thirteen years.
Guess your luck ran out, Mr. Mac.
If I wasn’t so tired, I’d laugh at that.
Did you get the book?
Yep, I’m reading it.
What page are you on?
Fifty-four.
Nice! Any thoughts?
Yeah, it’s all po
etry.
And?
It’s okay.
So why’re you reading it, if it’s just okay?
. . .
You’re reading it because April Farrow
told you to read it, he says, and
laughs so loud,
the person in the room
behind you bangs on the wall.
So what do you think
of the main character, Matt Pin?
I kinda feel bad for him,
getting picked on—I can relate.
Getting picked on by whom? The Mac interrupts.
His classmates.
They call him names
like Frogface
and Matt-the-Rat and
Rice-Paddy and—
Odd names to call someone, dontcha think, Nick?
He’s from Vietnam,
so the kids treat him different.
They’re prejudiced, I guess.
Can’t wait to find out what he does,
’cause right now he just does nothing.
What would you do, Nick?
I’d probably stand up for myself.
And then The Mac stops talking and
drifts off, staring out your window
and you’re left
wide awake, thinking of
all your broken pieces.
Read Aloud
When he wakes up
ten minutes later
The Mac
whips out
his copy,
plops down
in the vinyl chair
at the foot
of your bed,
kicks off
his white high-tops,
props both legs up,
yawns louder
than an elephant seal,
stretches,
then proceeds
to read
to you
like you’re in kindergarten
and it’s story time.
He sounds
like he’s on the mike,
rapping.
His flow is sick.
He pops his shoulders.
Bobs his head.
All while reading.
You listen.
You laugh.
You follow along.
Didn’t think
you were gonna
like this
book.
Two hours later,
when The Mac lands
on the final page,
the doctors and nurses
who’ve lingered
and listened, and who
crowd your room,
give The Mac
a standing ovation.
Texts to April
Hey April,
I finished
the book.
The beginning
was a little slow
but the ending was
tight.
The poems
were cool.
The best ones were
like bombs,
and when all the right words
came together
it was like an explosion.
So good, I
didn’t want it to end.
I give it
an 8.6.
Sorry
For the long text.
Hey, what are you reading next?
Text from April
I’m glad you get to go home
tomorrow, Nicky. Sending
you a pic of our next book.
Discharged
It’s 9:30 a.m.
Checkout day.
You’ve been up
for four hours
’cause you couldn’t sleep
after thinking about
April and
the baseball book,
so you read it again,
but not the whole thing,
just the parts
you dreamed about,
and then the sun
came out,
and the remote
needed a new battery
and you were bored,
so you picked up,
get this,
his dictionary
and you were finishing
the Ys, when
in walked Mom
and Dad.
Driving Home
Shotgun, you yell.
How much TV did you watch? Mom says
from the back seat.
A lot. Read a book, too.
Really?
Yep.
And you liked it?
Uh, yeah, you say. Can we
stop by the library?
I need to get another one.
Sure, and after lunch I can beat you
in Ping-Pong, Mom answers.
Naw. I mean no, I’m gonna
just chill out in my room.
Out of the Dust
is a story
about a lanky
piano-playing girl
named Billie Jo
whose mother
is gone,
whose father’s heart
and soul
are disappearing
into the dust
that blankets
their Oklahoma town,
and even though
the first 59 pages
rain down
hard on you,
when you get
to page 60
the monsoon comes
and the book is
unputdownable.
You dial April’s number
six times, but each
time you hang up
before it rings
because you’re nervous
and don’t know
what to say,
so before
the seventh time
you decide to write down
a list of everything
you want to say
to her,
but you don’t plan
on her father
answering.
Phone Conversation
Uh, hello, Mr. Farrow, is uh, April available?
Who is this calling?
It’s me, sir, Nicholas, her friend from school.
Her friend from school. I’ve never met you.
Uh.
Well, what do you want, son?
I’d like to speak to her, please, sir.
About what?
About a, uh, a book that we’re reading.
Oh, really, and what book would that be, Nicholas?
It’s called, um . . . It’s called Dust, um, it’s—
Dad, give me the phone. Stop, you hear April scream in the background.
Well, Nicholas, you have ten minutes to speak to my daughter about this book that you’re reading, you understand?
Yes sir.
Hi, Nick, my dad can be so lame sometimes, she whispers.
It’s okay.
What are you doing?
I have just completed Out of the Dust, you answer, reading from your notes.
Sweet! What did you think?
It was stellar, and I was quite moved by its contemplation of the human spirit.
Why are you talking like that, Nick?
Like what?
You sound like a robot?
I am very much looking forward to the next book we are reading.
Stop acting silly, Nick.
. . .
I was thinking that you could pick the next book, Nick.
Me?
Yeah. The book club needs to mix it up a little.
But, uh, I’m not in the book club.
Well, you kinda are now, Nicky.
Okay, you say, laughing a little.
I’m serious, you’re official now.
No, it’s not that. My mom calls me Nicky.
Oh, I’m sorry.
No, you can call me that.
Okay. How is your mom doing?
She
’s fine.
She’s still here?
Yeah, I think she’s gonna stay.
Very cool!
. . .
So, you’re gonna pick a book.
Yeah, I guess.
Maybe we can discuss the book at your house or something.
Uh, I don’t know about that. My parents probably won’t let me do th—
Maybe you could ask your mom, Nicky?
. . .
So what are you doing now?
I am presently folding my clothes and preparing to clean up my room.
Oh, Nicky, you’re cray-cray.
. . .
Books You Find on Google
Dear Know it All Percy Jackson
If You’re Reading This, It’s TOO LATE!
Planet Middle School
May B.
CATCHING FIRE!
BECAUSE. OF. WINN-DIXIE.
SMILE,
I Will Save You
When You Reach Me
Where the Sidewalk Ends
Until We Meet Again,
Peace, LOCOMOTION, Darius and Twig:
The Outsiders