by K. A. Holt
stares at the ceiling,
doesn’t move,
like she’s superglued
to the kitchen wall.
Some of it.
My answer dribbles cereal
back into the bowl.
Also, my answer is
maybe not the truth.
Esme leans her head around,
almost upside down,
peering through
the kitchen doorway.
No one asked me,
but guess what:
I really do like your hair, Benny.
Or, I guess, I like your head.
Don’t be sad about it.
Once it gets fuzzier,
and once the black comes back,
you’ll look so much like Benicio.
Even more than before.
My heart will like that.
Mom’s head snaps up,
away from the wall,
as she smooths her hands
down the front of her scrubs,
as her voice sighs out:
It’s late. Time for prayers, Esme.
Then bed.
And that is that.
Mom herds Esme off to her room,
for the nighttime prayers
they continue to whisper
day after day,
and that I continue to refuse
day after day,
and I am left at the table.
Still eating my soggy cereal.
Still bald.
Still me.
Still alone.
Day after day.
NOW
0BenwhY: I said I would never come back.
0BenwhY: To your room.
0BenwhY: Yeah, it’s still YOUR room.
0BenwhY: You didn’t have to win that argument quite so dramatically, you know.
0BenwhY: Anyway.
0BenwhY: I haven’t been here since . . .
0BenwhY: since forever.
0BenwhY: But here I am.
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: Why are you in my room, grasshopper?
0BenwhY: That’s what you’d say.
0BenwhY: if you were chatting with me instead of . . . me chatting with me
0BenwhY: I’d say, well, funny story . . .
0BenwhY: and you’d do a clapping emoji and a popcorn emoji
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: only it isn’t a funny story.
0BenwhY: not really
0BenwhY: you’d say: not *yet*, grasshopper. It isn’t a funny story *yet*
0BenwhY: and then you’d let me blow something up with an experimental potion
0BenwhY: . . .
0BenwhY: So.
0BenwhY: I shaved my head.
0BenwhY: and your room looks exactly the same as it did when you left
0BenwhY: and I just blew up a goat
0BenwhY: in Sandbox. Not in your room.
0BenwhY: I thought you might like to know.
0BenwhY: that’s my not-funny story
BEFORE
SB10BEN: Grasshopper! You’re here! Finally!
SB10BEN: I have a great plan for us today.
0BenwhY: Benicio!
0BenwhY: Look at this mess.
0BenwhY: Stop turning chickens inside out!
0BenwhY: Didn’t you see the change I made to that feather potion recipe?
SB10BEN: Not yet. I’ve been busy pondering something else.
SB10BEN: What if I teach you a superpower today?
0BenwhY: like how to pretend you’re doing hard grown-up work when you’re actually playing Sandbox with your little sister?
SB10BEN: har har. I AM working. I get paid to play, remember?
0BenwhY: what superpower are you talking about?
0BenwhY: I already know how to fly.
0BenwhY: you just pop a fairy over your head and use the dust to zoom around. easy.
SB10BEN: Not in the game.
SB10BEN: IRL
0BenwhY: U CAN TEACH ME 2 FLY IRL
SB10BEN: No, silly. something better.
SB10BEN: A gift to you before you go to middle school.
0BenwhY: will it help me pass the stupid FART?
0BenwhY: that really WOULD be a superpower
SB10BEN: omg, that Rigorous Assessment garbage is still a thing?
SB10BEN: Trust me. This is something actually useful.
SB10BEN: For middle school and beyond.
0BenwhY: WELL, TELL ME ALREADY. OR TEACH ME. OR WHATEVER.
SB10BEN: So impatient, my little grasshopper.
SB10BEN: okay, okay.
SB10BEN: Would you . . .
SB10BEN: like the ability . . .
SB10BEN: to become . . .
SB10BEN: . . . invisible?
SB10BEN:
SB10BEN: Any time you want?
0BenwhY: wut
0BenwhY: u can’t be serious.
SB10BEN: Go look on the front porch. IRL.
SB10BEN: There should be a small package addressed to you.
0BenwhY: !!!!!
0BenwhY: brb
0BenwhY: Got it! U got me a present?? Can I open it???
0BenwhY: It’s not even my birthday or anything.
SB10BEN: You’re about to be a middle schooler, grasshopper!
SB10BEN: That’s big.
SB10BEN: Yeah . . . open it.
0BenwhY: Uh. Hot-pink earbuds?
0BenwhY: isn’t hot pink the opposite of invisible?
SB10BEN: Ah, but it’s not.
SB10BEN: When you’re in the halls, or at lunch, or wherever, pop those babies in and pretend to be jamming
0BenwhY: jamming?
SB10BEN: shut up
0BenwhY:
SB10BEN: let your eyes glaze over, like you’re lost in your favorite song.
SB10BEN: don’t look directly at anybody.
SB10BEN: No one will know you’re listening to them
SB10BEN: Trust me. When people see you bopping in those earbuds . . .
0BenwhY: bopping??
SB10BEN: you’ll be invisible to them.
SB10BEN: Believe it.
SB10BEN: you’ll be right there, but invisible. And you’ll hear everything.
0BenwhY: why do i want to hear everything?
SB10BEN: why wouldn’t you? you’ll hear gossip. Secrets. You’ll be the first to know big news.
SB10BEN: people will even talk about YOU while you’re standing right there. If they think you can’t hear.
0BenwhY: Why do I want to hear people talk about me behind OR in front of my back?
SB10BEN: so you know who your real friends are, grasshopper. Trust me.
SB10BEN: this is a great trick. Use it wisely.
SB10BEN: OK, I gotta run. Dev meeting in 5.
0BenwhY: Wait! I thought we were going to test ways to milk fairy tears today.
0BenwhY: i brought a fairy trap i made all by myself
SB10BEN: Sorry. I got distracted by giving you superpowers.
SB10BEN: Next time, I promise.
SB10BEN: You can stick around and harass fairies by yourself, if you want.
SB10BEN: or blow stuff up. Either way.
0BenwhY: it’s not as fun without you, but fiiiiine.
SB10BEN: Smell ya later, crocodile.
0BenwhY: After a while, chimichanga.
0BenwhY: Thanks for the earbuds!
0BenwhY: and the maybe not-super-great advice!
SB10BEN HAS EXITED GAME
0BenwhY HAS EXITED GAME
SCHOOL
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
It’s fine.
Whoaaaaaa.
Check out Ben Who What Why!
Hey, Ben Who What Why, who is your hairstylist?
Hey, Ben Who What Why, what
ARE you—I mean, what were you thinking?
Hey, Ben Who What Whyyyyy don’t you ask Dress Code for a wig to borrow?
Ignore it.
Chin up.
Shoulders back.
Eyes forward.
Work it.
Flaunt it.
Own it.
Sleek.
Cool.
Almost scary.
Sleek.
Cool.
Almost scary.
I’ll keep repeating
all of this
in my head
until I believe it.
Will I ever believe it?
Will Ace ever believe it?
Is Ace even at school?
I haven’t heard
Mr. Mann shout
DRESS CODE
even once today.
Hey, Ben Who What Whyyyyy did you shave your head, for attention?
Why, Ben Who What Why? We already pay you a LOT of attention.
Okay, Ben Who What Why, if that’s what you who-what-want.
Challenge accepted!
I’m used to the comments.
They started when my brother died,
but those were different—
whispery,
far away,
like I had a disease
no one wanted to catch.
The comments changed
when I changed;
when I started to dress
and look
and feel
and be
Ben
instead of the Benita
everyone thought
they knew.
There are a lot of Bens in school,
so I can’t just be Ben,
I have to be Ben Y,
which is like a gift
to everyone
who wants to know
Ben WHY, did you change your name?
Ben WHO do you think you are?
Ben WHAT are you . . . trying to say?
Ben Who What Whyyyyy are you so . . . weird?
I’m used to hearing it all.
I try not to care.
Because I know
I know
even if I have dead-brother-itis,
even if I changed my name,
even if my existence
causes more questions
than answers,
I know
if I try hard enough,
I can pretend I don’t care,
I can pretend
I’m too cool
for school.
On a good day,
at least.
The problem is,
today is not a good day.
Hair is somehow . . .
different.
I can’t explain how,
it just is.
So today?
I can’t pretend I don’t care.
I can’t pretend I don’t hear.
I can’t pretend
I’m too cool
for school
because
my heart pounds loud,
my throat is closed off,
squeezing
a permanent rock,
and I can’t
stop
sweating,
even though I’m trying,
I really am,
to own it.
I’m trying,
I’m trying,
I’m trying,
but . . .
Uh.
Ace is at my locker.
Right there.
Pink hair today,
chin-length,
camo jacket,
army boots,
and it occurs to me
this might not be cosplay at all.
Maybe it’s just Ace being Ace?
But how could I really know that
without knowing Ace at all?
and without knowing
any of the comics or books
with the characters people want to become.
An idea strikes me,
out of place for right now,
for this day,
for this time,
that maybe
reading a book
(here and there)
might give you a reason
to talk to someone
(here and there)
and maybe THAT is a reason
people read stuff
like, for fun—
but then the thought is gone
when Ace opens the locker next to mine,
looks at me,
says:
I traded with that kid.
You know the one with the . . .
extra face-like face?
Anyway.
I like to move lockers
every few weeks.
Keep Mr. Mann
on his toes.
If he can’t find me,
no DRESS CODE!
That’s my theory,
at least.
It hasn’t worked yet,
but maybe this locker
is the key.
Then Ace bows,
like we just,
I don’t know,
finished dancing
or something,
and says:
Nice hair,
before slamming the locker door
and bouncing off
down the hall.
Five seconds later
I hear DRESS CODE!
echo around the corner
and I wonder:
Where will Ace’s locker be
tomorrow?
Jordan’s Muppet arms flail
around me,
toward me,
at me,
while I attempt
to figure out
exactly
what just happened.
Was Ace complimenting me?
Or teasing me?
Or—
You look super fierce. You really do! Doesn’t she look fierce?
Ben B and Javier
appear
out of nowhere,
like no one told me
my locker
is a teleporter
now.
We had an accidental adventure last night and when I went home, I was feeling some feelings about the whole thing, but now you look like a movie star who saves everyone at the end of the world and I’m feeling WAY better feelings unless it’s ACTUALLY the end of the world, in which case please save me first so you can have a hilarious sidekick who dances like there’s LITERALLY no tomorrow. But also save Ben B and Javier because we can’t live without them.
It’s . . . wow.
It’s . . . do you want to talk about it?
Or . . .
Ben B.
Carefully choosing the words he needs,
deleting the ones he doesn’t,
watching him try to talk right now
is like watching him type:
He wants so badly to get it right
but sometimes all of his trying
stops him from getting it
at all.
Javier.
Master of the five-second sketch.
He always seems to know exactly what to say,
without saying anything
at all.
Ben B, Javier, Jordan
disappear into the crowd,
on their way to class.
It’s not the first time
or the last
that I’ll wish
we all shared
every class
and that every class
was in room 113
under the stairs.
I try not to hear the whispers
or the shouts
as everyone sees me
pushing my way through the crowds,
trying to get to class fast
for maybe the first time ever.
Ms. J stands in the library doorway,
hollering at kids
to walk,
and to watch where they’re going,
and to pick up stuff they drop.
She sees me walk by,
I see her see me walk by.
She opens her mouth,
but stays frozen
for just one hot second
like she can’t find
the right words
to holler in my direction.
I shake my head
to let her know
I don’t need her to shout anything,
I don’t need her help pointing me out
in the jostling crowd.
But she has a successful reboot,
and the words shoot
from her mouth,
loud, clear,
sailing at me
across the hall:
Surprising but divine sartorial choice today, Ben Y!
Can’t wait to see you later at—
She tries to wink
but just blinks
both eyes
together
at the same time,
omg.
Newspaper Typing Club!
And seriously,
she is so
embarrassing,
I just can’t even
with any part of her
right now
or probably even later
at Newspaper Typing Club,
and ugh.
Everything is . . .
ugh.
I just can’t.
She continues to shout:
Sartorial means clothes!
I like your outfit!
That’s all I’m talking about!
And then she tries to wink again,
so I shout: I know what it means!
even though I have never heard
the word sartorial
ever in my life
until right now.
It took all summer,
but Ben B, Jordan, Javier
and I . . .
we worked REALLY hard
to get Ms. J polished and trained.
She used books and forest-bathing
to teach us
it’s okay to be divergent learners,
and we used virtual building blocks
to teach her