“You don’t have to wear it
all the time,” says Mom.
“Dale, I can’t see your shoes.”
Doozerdude shoves a foot
under the dressing room door.
“Let me see,” he says
shoving his big head under.
“Mom!” I shriek, and I grab my shirt.
“Enough, Dale.
And Estele, calm down.”
He’s laughing out there.
I know it.
I sniff,
turn my back to Mom,
and rip off
the stupid bra.
It was strangling me
anyway.
Leaving the Mall
She bought me
two sports bras.
And two flappy ones
for herself.
It’s kinda cool
to need a bra,
but I don’t like her
telling me
I have to wear it.
“Quit bumping the seat,
Dale!”
He stops.
At least Mom
gave me the front seat.
I deserve it
after all that ickorama.
Partying It Up
The ball in New York City
drops on TV.
I wipe the last bit of salsa
out of the bowl
and lick my finger.
It’s midnight,
but Dale is asleep
against Mom,
who is fast asleep too.
“Happy
New
Year,”
I whisper
to myself.
Captains
A Star Trek marathon starts.
I wonder if Wally’s watching?
There’s Captain Kirk
in his too tight pants
kissing some woman.
Seems like that guy
does that a lot.
The break at the commercial
advertises The Next Generation
coming on later.
Captain Picard is so much cooler
with his baldy head,
his Earl Grey tea,
and his “Make it so.”
He takes care of everything
and everyone just right,
without kissing all the women.
He’d be a great dad
for me.
New Calendar
I put our dishes in the sink.
Huh.
Mom hung the new calendar
on top of the old one.
I flip way back behind the new.
There’s the black Dad square
and, one page back,
Chris’s spiral.
Everything still feels hooked to those days.
Maybe that’s why she left it up.
Who knows, since she never said anything
about my scribbles.
I drop the pages and pat them.
I’m glad the squares are still there.
We need to remember
when.
The 28th Starred
Why is the 28th of January
starred?
What is that for?
Oh, yeah,
the due date, I bet.
Gulp.
That’s the date
the baby’s supposed to come.
Oh, man.
Twenty-eight days.
Nothing More
Dad hasn’t called.
Not even to talk to Mom.
Huh.
I guess there’s
nothing
more to say.
Who Knows?
It didn’t feel so bad
when I found out
the church knew
about Dad leaving.
It was embarrassing.
But the Lyons still like us.
They still care.
And the casserole ladies, too.
It’s not like
we stink
because Dad left.
It’s more like they agree
with us.
We are worth keeping as friends.
Would Wally think so too?
New Year’s Morning
I make my way
out of my room
wrapped in my bedspread.
Mom’s cranking down
all the windows.
“Brrrr. This is a surprise cold snap.
Give me a hand, Estele.” she says.
I do, and we get the house closed up.
“Those poor orange growers.”
She rubs her back.
“They were on the news this morning
trying to warm up their groves
to protect the fruit.”
“Wow.” I shiver.
“How about some hot chocolate for you?”
She mixes some chocolate powder and milk.
I huddle up at the table
as she heats the drink in the microwave.
“Any news on Chris, Mom?”
She shakes her head.
“Where’s Doozerdude?”
“Outside, bundled up and
watching his breath.
He’s praying for snow.”
“You mean a miracle.”
“Right.”
What About Chris?
It heats up a bit
in the day,
but the temperature zooms down
when the sun sets.
The orange growers
make the news again.
What about Chris,
maybe freezing somewhere?
The police better be looking
extra hard tonight.
Dale’s singing
in his hot bath.
I pull our one afghan,
which we use for couch decoration,
around my shoulders.
We can survive without air-conditioning.
But we need to have heat.
Mom finally hauls out
a little old electric heater.
Bzzzzzzz,
it torques up.
Mom and I kneel close to it
like we are praying.
Nobody Better Notice
I tug the bra down
when Mom isn’t looking
in the rearview mirror.
Nobody better notice
the lumpy straps.
Coming down the hall
before breakfast,
I was putting on my sweater.
Mom whispered that
I was showing a little
and needed a bra.
In case I wanted to take off
my sweater in class.
I scratch under the tight elastic.
At least my sweater
covers most of the bra lines.
Doozerdude didn’t
say anything about it.
Maybe Mom threatened him
or something.
Man, it’s even colder today.
I button my sweater
to the tippy-top
and sit on my freezing hands.
Weird
It smells funny.
Whenever we come back
after a long vacation,
the classroom smells weird
and feels weird.
Ms. Dryden’s new haircut
is different.
She looks fluffier.
She puts Scurvy
back up on his shelf.
I slide into my seat,
feeling prickly.
“Hey!” everyone shouts
to each other.
They are bumping
in their big sweaters
and coats.
I try to smile
when they go by.
But my stomach is flipping
from the closed-up, empty smell.
We need to get
some pencil sharpening,
some paint,
and even some recess sweat
in here
to get this room right.
A Miracle
The temperature drops to thirty-two degrees,
and tiny snowflakes drift down and melt.
“It’s snowing!
Hurry, class!”
Ms. Dryden rushes us
outside.
We dance and shout,
“It’s snowing in Miami!”
It’s gorgeous!
I bump into Wally
and say with a big smile on my face,
“This is my first time seeing snow.”
“Me too!”
“My dad left us,” I add fast.
Wally and I stand still
while the little flakes
touch our cheeks.
“If it’s snowing in Florida,” he says,
“anything can happen.
Maybe he’ll come back.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Maybe you’ll still be my friend.
Wally smiles.
Maybe so!
I catch a tiny flake
on my tongue.
But it disappears.
Passing Notes
Do you still like me?
Pass.
Why wouldn’t I?
Pass.
Since my dad left …
Pass.
What does your dad being
a nutsoid
have to do with you?
Pass.
I don’t know. But
do you still like me?
Pass.
Essie, you are my BEST FRIEND.
Pass.
I tuck the note
deep
into my back pocket.
Lunch
There’s so much good stuff that
my brown bag is bulging.
I eat a yogurt,
a ham sandwich,
chips,
and even a couple of cookies.
I sip my juice box empty.
Didn’t even want a stupid old milk
today.
Library Time
Wally and I squat
in the sci-fi section.
No one else in class
usually comes over
to this corner.
He and I have read almost everything here,
but it’s always good to check.
There could be something new.
I run my finger over the spines.
Nope.
“So when did he leave, Es?” Wally asks.
I sit down on the floor.
“Over a month ago.”
“Wow.”
I nod.
“Do you know, like,
where he went,
or have you seen him?”
“He hasn’t told us.
We’ve seen him once.”
“‘Unconscionable,’ my dad would say.”
Yeah, that sounds like it could be right.
Wally leans against the stacks.
“Your parents seemed so cool together.”
I lower my head to my knees.
“Do you guys have enough money, Es?”
“Yeah,” I say
and wait for the tears
to stop plopping on the rug.
Wally nudges my shoulder.
“Jarin!” He jumps up.
“There’s a book I want to show you.
Come here.”
“What is it?”
she asks.
They move out of earshot.
He did that
so I can get it together.
Man. Wally’s the best.
Did You?
Wally and I come up behind Dale.
He whirls around.
”Did you see the snow, Es?”
Before I can answer,
Mom drives up.
”Did you see the snow, Mom?” he yells.
She nods behind the windshield.
”It was me that prayed for it!” he announces
to the whole school.
No Doubt
Dale and I climb into the car.
Mom leans out the window.
”Hi, Wally.”
”Hi, Mrs. Sherman.”
”You sure have grown
to be a handsome young man,”
she tells him.
”Mom!” I whine.
Wally shrugs and waves
as we pull away.
”What a nice boy,” she says.
Yup.
Internet News
Mr. Paul stops by
with an article he printed
off the Internet.
I read out loud
next to him over Mom’s shoulder:
”Hunter finds a child’s bloody T-shirt in the
Everglades. The shirt is believed to belong to miss-
ing boy Chris Crow. A single set of small footprints
indicates the child was alone.”
What?
”What does that mean?” Dale asks.
”Was that Chris’s shirt?
What made it bloody?”
Dale runs around the room yelling,
”They found Chris’s bloody shirt!”
What does
that mean?
Confused
It was bloody.
Chris was bleeding
somewhere
in the glades
with the gators.
How can this happen?
Kids are supposed to be in class,
or in their homes,
or playing ball,
not bloody and alone
in the Everglades.
I Am
”Are you okay, Estele?” Mom asks.
I nod.
She rubs warmth
into my arms.
”It’s a good sign
they saw his footprints.
Think about that.”
”Yeah. Chris was up
and walking around.”
”Exactly,” says Mom.
”Let’s be encouraged
and keep praying.”
”Your mother’s right,”
Mr. Paul butts in.
”I am praying, Mom,” I say to her.
Really.
The Glades
Oh, God,
do you see Chris
in the Everglades?
Please don’t let
the gators see him.
Stayed
Mr. Paul stayed for dinner again.
And he did seem
kind of nice.
Worried about Chris.
Asking about school
and the snow.
Maybe he is an okay friend
for Mom.
She thinks his jewel-cutting job
is neat.
I guess it is.
Working on diamonds and stuff
all day.
She seems a whole lot happier
when he’s around.
Maybe I’ll try harder to be nice
next time.
Not One Breeze
The cold front’s gone
in hours.
The oranges are safe now,
if they weren’t damaged earlier.
How can it get hot again
so fast?
Mom says
we all are going to get sick
with a snap that quick.
I flip my pillow
to the other side.
Ahhh. It’s cool.
But not for long.
I’m sweating.
I flip my pillow again,
but it’s still warm.
Warm and damp
like the Everglades.
God, help Chris,
but I truly pray
Dad doesn’t have air-conditioning
either.
Dodgeball
I hate this stupid PE game.
Duck.
Jump.
Everyone laughing at me.
Pummeling balls.
Lean.
Dive.
Fall
and
scrape my knee
on the asphalt court.
Bam.
The red rubber ball
bangs into my behind.
”Score!” yells Jarin.
I limp out of the circle
and tug up the bottom of my jeans.
The skin’s all furry but not bleeding.
No one checks to make sure I’m okay.
Not even Coach Skytema.
He’s busy tossing more balls in.
Everyone’s trying to bean Jarin.
At least she has to have a turn
in the middle.
But they sure don’t throw it as hard
at her.
Except maybe Wally.
He wipes her ankles out from under her
with a killer throw.
Jarin hits the ground.
Wally winks at me,
I give him a thumbs-up.
A Date
”We’ll be back in, say,
an hour or so.”
Mom pulls her purse
up onto her shoulder.
Mr. Paul smiles.
”Old enough to baby-sit now, Estele?”
I nod.
”That’s pretty grown-up,
if you ask me.
Baby-sitting on a Friday night.”
I try to smile.
Mom gives me a kiss
on the cheek.
”Coffee shop number is by the phone,
sweetheart.
Keep an eye on your brother.”
She goes out the door.
”We’ll be back soon.”
Mr. Paul squeezes my shoulder.
His hand stays there.
I duck out from under it.
”Bye.”
I lock the door
behind them.
Maybe
Mr. Paul
could end up being Mom’s labor coach.
Maybe she picked him.
I bet that’s why they’re going out.
We’ve known him forever.
I even remember him visiting
when I was little.
Once I hugged his knees,
thinking he was Dad.
I was so embarrassed,
I wouldn’t come
out of my room
the rest of the night.
I hope he doesn’t remember that.
His shoes were exactly like Dad’s.
And he did
hug me back.
A New Dad?
Would Mom
ever want to marry
Mr. Paul?
We wouldn’t call him ”Mr.”
anymore.
Or ”Paul,” even.
”Dad?”
No way
I could ever call him ”Dad.”
He’d be Mom’s husband maybe,
but not
my dad.
Gross!
A New Son?
Would the Crows
get a new son
if Chris never came back?
No way!
One person
can’t take the spot
of another.
Well, maybe the spot,
but not the persony part.
No one else
could ever be Chris.
Like no one else
could ever be Dad.
But maybe someone could fill