by K. A. Holt
Also by K.A. Holt:
Rhyme Schemer
House Arrest
Knockout
Redwood and Ponytail
The Kids Under the Stairs
BenBee and the Teacher Griefer
This book is dedicated to you.
I see you.
I’m proud of you.
I love you.
A very special thanks to Em Brewington and Alejandra Oliva, whose insightful, educational, and thoughtful readings were intrinsic to the creation of this book.
Copyright © 2021 by K.A. Holt.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.
ISBN 978-1-4521-8321-3 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-7972-0100-9 (epub, mobi)
Design by Jennifer Tolo Pierce.
Typeset in Fedra Mono, Cultura New, Air, GFY Ralston, FG Alex, FG Joe, and Karmatic Arcade.
Illustrations by K.A. Holt.
Hand-lettering by Isaac Roy.
Chronicle Books LLC
680 Second Street
San Francisco, California 94107
Chronicle Books—we see things differently. Become part of our community at www.chroniclekids.com.
Contents
WHO
WHAT
WHY
About the Author
BEFORE
SB10BEN: heyyyyyy! you found it!
0BenwhY: sign in the public n00b beta server, pop a fairy, fly to the 2nd rainforest
0BenwhY: go 2 teleporter in the tree that looks like Mom’s hair when it’s raining—
0BenwhY: that’s an epic journey to meet u at an abandoned n00b cabin, bro
SB10BEN: Remember the code I gave you? Type it in on the little sign right here.
0BenwhY: did i do it right?
0BenwhY: whoaaaa. what IS this place?
SB10BEN: My secret in-game lab!
SB10BEN: so I can test out new potions and tools and experimental stuff
SB10BEN: Technically not allowed at work, but I hate the sterile Q&A environment
0BenwhY: blerg blahb grown-up talk
0BenwhY: ooooh! what’s this? A skylight TO SPACE?
0BenwhY: is that flying fire? ahh! watch out!
0BenwhY: is that chicken inside out? Gross!
SB10BEN: See? that’s why I built this place! Invent, mess up, test stuff my bosses might not like
SB10BEN: And maybe one day I can leak things to the public to prove it’s still *my* company (and to prove my bosses wrong)
0BenwhY: Benicio! why would u do that? Won’t u get fired?
SB10BEN: Not if it stays a secret
0BenwhY: but I thought u said nothing online can ever stay a secret
SB10BEN: what! you *listened* to something I said!
SB10BEN: it’s true; you have to always believe that anything you put online could be seen by anyone
SB10BEN: but this is a little different.
0BenwhY: how?
SB10BEN: no one is looking for it. and if no one is looking for it, no one can find it.
0BenwhY:
SB10BEN: Just trust me, okay.
SB10BEN: No one is getting in trouble.
0BenwhY: and no one can get fired?
SB10BEN: Don’t worry about any of that.
SB10BEN: Just worry about all the zillions of cool new ideas and inventions we’re about to, uh . . .
0BenwhY: think of and invent?
0BenwhY: and did you just say WE????????
SB10BEN: Ha. Yes!
SB10BEN: You don’t think like everyone else, kiddo. You have a unique brain.
SB10BEN: I’d love your help. Will you help me?
0BenwhY: ooooh what’s this squishy thing?
SB10BEN: not sure yet. it might end up being building material that can float.
0BenwhY: you should call it starstone!
SB10BEN: love it. See? That’s why I need your help.
0BenwhY: It’ll just be you and me? Inventing secret stuff? Hanging out in chat? No one else?
SB10BEN: Just you and me. Inventing secret stuff. Hanging out in chat. No one else.
NOW
0BenwhY: I know you’re not here
0BenwhY: I know the blocks won’t build themselves
0BenwhY: I know the cool potions won’t invent themselves
0BenwhY: I know you’re not coming back
0BenwhY: but you said you’d be back
0BenwhY: and you ALWAYS do what you say
0BenwhY: so maybe you will come back
0BenwhY: even though I know it’s impossible
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: but . . . we MADE the impossible, remember? Right here!
0BenwhY: You always said that. Sandbox makes the impossible possible.
0BenwhY: And since you always do what you say, I think the transitive property means—
0BenwhY: Boom, you could show up any second.
0BenwhY: that’s just easy math.
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: you know what’s not easy?
0BenwhY: when i log into our chat, even though i know better
0BenwhY: and when I read the archive you kept *so we never lose any good ideas*
0BenwhY: when I just watch the cursor blink
0BenwhY: hoping one day
0BenwhY: you’ll appear
0BenwhY: you’ll say this has all been a very very very long bad dream
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: I should stop doing this. That’s what you should *really* say.
0BenwhY: get a life, Benny.
0BenwhY: stop torturing yourself, Benny.
0BenwhY: go outside and get some fresh air, Benny.
0BenwhY: but you can’t say that
0BenwhY: ghosts can’t talk
WHO
HOME
Everything was great
until it wasn’t.
It was all planned out
until it wasn’t.
I had control
until I didn’t.
I had HAIR
until I didn’t.
Esme,
a living bird chirp,
a goof made of snorts,
a tiny human,
an annoying hiccup
burping in my face
every day
all the time,
Esme,
my little sister,
says:
Don’t worry.
People love scarecrows.
Slowly,
gently,
she reaches out,
like she would
to pet a newborn kitten
or a scared puppy.
It’s so weird and gross.
I just want to touch it.
Esme,
a living bird chirp,
a goof made of snorts,
a tiny human,
my little sister,
is about to get smacked.
It’s cool and weird that you think people love scarecrows, Esme, even though I think you are probably definitely wrong about that. I also think maybe for your own safety you should only say words like weird or gross in your own head and not out loud because Ben Y will definitely yank your arm right off if you get any closer to her and she’s a LOT taller than I am so I’m not much help protecting you which I probably wouldn’t try to do anyway because my loyalty is with your sister. Sorry.
I glare at Jordan.
NOT sorry, I mean. I am not sorry to not protect you if your sister tries to beat you up with the arm she just yanked off your body.
>
I lunge toward Esme,
but stop
when I feel a flutter,
like a falling whisper
float past
my cheek.
I’m sensing a lot of feelings right now and that’s fine and okay because we all have big feelings when big things happen, and—
Jordan,
who is MY friend
(not Esme’s)
and who has
(very recently)
had a couple of sessions
with Mo,
who is a therapist
(and not an extra mom or a teacher)
seems to
(all of a sudden)
know a LOT
about feelings
and how to feel them.
Maybe Esme should stand over here out of smacking reach and maybe Ben Y, you should stay where you are by the sink because your hair doesn’t seem to be finished disintegrating and it should probably do that over the sink unless you want to move to the bathtub for easier cleanup? Esme, NO, get over here by me. Just touch all the hair on the floor. There’s more of it than on Ben Y’s head anyway—
Jordan is NOT
the boss of me.
No one is the boss of me.
No one ever has been.
No one ever will be.
But Jordan IS my friend,
and I haven’t had a lot of friends,
so he gets a special pass,
which means his words
are allowed into my brain
and not immediately shut out,
like most words
I don’t want to hear
from most people
I don’t want to listen to.
Mistake number one:
putting Esme in charge
of the timer.
No. Wait.
Mistake number one:
putting Jordan in charge
of the bleach.
No. Wait.
Mistake number one:
putting myself in charge
of thinking
anything
could be done
to make me
seem interesting
to anyone.
It’s just that—
and this is the
actual,
for real
truth . . .
I’ve never,
not one time,
ever
met a kid
or seen a kid
as cool
as Ace,
the new kid,
with the who-cares
cosplay look,
with a different wig
every day,
pink
or
blue
or
any color
of the rainbow.
And when weasel-nosed
Vice Principal
Mr. Mann
yells, Ace!
DRESS CODE!
Take that thing off!
Ace takes that thing off
and underneath
has hair
the exact same color,
hahaha,
like a magic trick,
like a big ol’ fart noise
right in the direction
of Mr. Mann’s
sniffing
weasel nose,
and I just . . .
I don’t even dare
to want to be that cool,
I just want to be
on the same planet
as cool like that.
And all of THAT
is why it seemed smart
to light a flare
and send it into the sky,
a message that said,
Hey! Ace! Notice me!
So I thought I might try
my own cosplay approach,
I might color my own hair
in some bright color
or even a whole rainbow
surrounding my face
and Ace would finally see me
and be like,
Wow, who are you supposed to be?
And I would say,
Oh, no one you’ve ever heard of,
and we’d both laugh and laugh,
and then I didn’t think past that,
even though I was thinking
A LOT
about how our conversation might go
while the bleach dissolved,
while the shiny black
was sacrificed
to be reborn
as a rainbow.
And I got lost in my thoughts
and Esme pushed OFF
on the timer without telling anyone
and Jordan was busy figuring out
if he could fit the whole rainbow
on my head
or if one or two colors
might pack more punch,
and so all that was going on
when I was like,
Ow.
And Jordan was like,
Huh?
And I was like,
Ow ow ow OW,
get it off, get it off!
And Jordan was like,
Is it time already?
And Esme was like,
Oh, was that what the timer was for?
And Jordan was like,
WHAT.
And I was like,
MY HEAD IS ABOUT TO MELT GET OUT OF THE WAY.
And as I bowed my head
into the sink . . .
And as I prayed for my head
to stay unmelted . . .
And as I rinsed the bleach
out of my hair . . .
I wondered if maybe
there was a less painful way
to get Ace to notice me.
But, yeah.
Too late for THAT idea.
Half an hour later,
when my hair was dry
and splintering off
in straw-colored clumps,
covering the bathroom floor
like a hayloft,
I realized there would be no way
for Ace
to NOT notice me now.
There would be no way
for anyone
to STOP noticing me now,
because it was becoming
very apparent
very quickly
that my cosplay plan
had dissolved
just like my hair.
What if you shave the rest of your head to even things out, and then when anyone asks, just say you had a super-great cosplay idea and that you decided to fully commit to being Avatar: The Last Hairbender?
Dang it!
Jordan always makes me laugh
even when I’d rather be crying.
We laugh and laugh
and laugh and laugh
and Jordan gets out the clippers,
the ones I haven’t seen
since Benicio lived here,
and he smooths out my head,
and then rubs it for luck,
and that’s when I stop laughing
and start crying
and confess to him
I might not be able to stop.
This may or may not be the best time to tell you this,
my best friend
talking jackhammer
saving grace
warm light of Never Quiet
says,
because you seem pretty mindfragile right now, which is totally fine and understandable—
I make a note
to add
mindfragile
to the list I’m keeping
of Jordan’s made-up,
but super-smart
words.
—but I think your mom is home.
Oh, mija.
I am too tired to deal with this.
That’s what Mom said
after her eyes
almost popped right out
of her h
ead
but then just as quickly
closed tight,
shutting out the sight
of my bald head
and the giant mess.
A big splattering sneeze
loud enough
for the whole neighborhood
and maybe the whole planet
to hear,
exploded
from behind
the shower curtain.
Hello, Jordan,
Mom said,
eyes still closed.
Hi, Ms. Ybarra,
Jordan said,
still behind
the shower curtain,
as if it could
somehow
still hide him.
Mom’s eyes opened,
but quickly closed again
as she shook her head
and walked out
toward the kitchen.
Clean it up, mija,
she yelled as she walked.
Then, a pause:
Do you need a ride home, Jordan?
No, ma’am.
Jordan’s shout echoed
from the bathtub,
hollow.
Jordan stepped out of the tub,
faced me,
and said,
Yep. I was right. Your mom is home.
I slugged him,
soft,
in the shoulder,
and we laughed
stifled, snorting, giggles
as we shut the door,
and he called his mom
to come get him,
fast.
We cleaned up.
Jordan went home.
Everything seemed quiet.
So.
I tiptoed
into the kitchen,
and here I am,
fixing myself dinner,
a bowl of the finest
knock-off cereal
anyone could wish for.
Did you at least do your homework?
Mom appears silently,
like a ghost,
but not like the ghost
I’d like to see.
She leans her head back,