Redwood and Ponytail

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Redwood and Ponytail Page 1

by K. A. Holt




  For my wife, Shannon.

  Copyright © 2019 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 978-1-4521-7288-0 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-1-4521-7310-8 (epub, mobi)

  Design by Jennifer Tolo Pierce.

  Typeset in Really No 2 LT CYR.

  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.

  Alex

  Alyx

  Alexx

  We are the kids in the halls . . .

  We are the kids you don’t see . . .

  We are the kids watching . . .

  We are everyone.

  We are everywhere.

  We are everything.

  And what do we see?

  And what do we see?

  And what do we see?

  A love story?

  A tragedy?

  A comedy?

  Real life?

  Will we cry?

  Will we laugh?

  I guess we’ll find out.

  I guess we’ll find out.

  I guess we’ll find out.

  Our quest for normal . . .

  Our search for truth . . .

  Our all-knowing glances . . .

  always watching her.

  always watching him.

  always watching you.

  TAM

  Kate

  I dig the heel of my palm

  I stare out the window

  calmly pressing

  the sun huge

  into my chest

  bright

  harder and harder

  burning

  because I know it’s there

  taking up the whole sky

  it has to be

  and it’s like

  somewhere

  I can see inside

  beating

  my chest

  my heart

  my heart

  my heart

  So why does it feel

  Bursting

  missing

  too full

  skipping

  it hurts

  every

  so much

  beat

  all the feelings

  nothing alive

  pressed into my ribs

  inside me?

  like my eyes to the window.

  Could it be

  Could it be

  that my palm digs calmly

  that all the feelings

  because you can’t panic

  are exploding

  when you have no

  at once, finally

  beats?

  free?

  my heart

  my heart

  my heart

  Where are you?

  Why are you like this?

  Where could you be?

  Why do this to me?

  Why would you leave me here

  Why aren’t you

  so quiet

  normal?

  so empty?

  Why can’t you leave me be?

  TAM

  What does it mean

  to be a friend?

  I ask this question

  to my ceiling

  quietly,

  a whisper

  with no answer.

  Kate

  In my pocket,

  a book.

  Not a regular book;

  a tiny book that tells my future.

  I take it,

  open it.

  Inside, lined up in two rows,

  faceless, armless

  matches. Fates.

  They know the way.

  TAM

  I miss her.

  Every part of me.

  Every molecule.

  But this is what she wants.

  So this is my gift to her.

  Leaving her alone.

  Going away.

  My present is

  zero presence.

  Exactly what she wants.

  Kate

  The match explodes,

  a burst of light

  and sulfur.

  I hold it to the poster

  pinned to my wall.

  The poster that started it all.

  I understand now

  why people say

  flames lick

  because I see the orange tongue

  slide up the side,

  slurping the paper,

  eating its glowing snack.

  Black

  smoke also licks,

  leaving a mark on the ceiling

  while I watch everything

  burn.

  Katherine?

  Mom barges in.

  KATHERINE?

  The smoke alarm

  bright in my ears:

  Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

  Katherine!

  What are you—?

  Get the—!

  Oh my G—!

  Mom tries to push me

  out out out of the room

  but I don’t budge.

  She runs past me,

  shouts,

  Where’s the fire extinguisher?!

  And in my chest

  everything lurches,

  comes alive

  pounds

  beats

  a new pulse

  matching the alarm.

  The poster burns.

  I hold out my phone.

  I hit record.

  Flames lick, devour,

  reach golden arms to the ceiling.

  And my eyes

  close.

  I feel the heat.

  I breathe the ash.

  As a new chapter

  in the story of my future

  begins

  right

  now.

  Kate

  Just right.

  I tell myself this

  as I straighten my bow,

  smooth my skirt,

  tie my shoes.

  You’re just right.

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  Bow tight.

  Smile bright.

  Just right.

  TAM

  Like a breeze

  or a sneeze

  you blink

  and it’s over.

  How does that happen?

  I mean, really?

  Summer is here

  and then it’s gone.

  Snatched away

  and before you know it

  it’s registration day,

  new schedules,

  new classes,

  and I don’t hate the idea

  of school back in session,

  but really

  does anyone

  love it?

  Kate

  I love it!

  At least I think I do.

  I always have loved it,

  so surely this year will be the same.

  School itself is neither here nor there

  but all the kids and clubs and stuff?

  That’s the fun part.

  Right?

  It always has been.

  So I’m sure it will be that way

  this year, too.

  Almost ready?

  Born ready, Mom.

  Tell that to my watch.

  Mom’s smile

  is a little bit sideways when we get to the car,

  a troublemaker grin I recognize

  from someone else’s face,

  a grin I
haven’t seen in a long time.

  For your birthday.

  She hands me an envelope,

  and what?

  My birthday is so far away!

  I tilt my head, like a confused puppy.

  Mom laughs.

  Look inside.

  You’ll understand.

  I open the envelope

  and oh my gosh,

  so many tickets . . .

  Mom!

  She laughs again.

  MisDirection is playing?!

  ON MY BIRTHDAY?!

  I know, honey.

  I bought enough tickets for

  the whole squad.

  How could I not?

  The whole squad invited

  to a concert

  on my birthday?

  It’ll be amazing . . .

  Mom smiles, taps her temple.

  Always thinking ahead.

  Right.

  I should be cheer captain by then

  and if I’m not,

  these will seal the deal.

  Kate

  I make my hand into a microphone,

  I sing,

  Oh, baby,

  Oh, baby,

  Mom puts the car in reverse,

  turns to look behind her,

  backs out of the driveway,

  eyes focused,

  smile tight now,

  tight as my bow.

  And this smile,

  the familiar one,

  not the lopsided one,

  the all-knowing,

  all-seeing

  Mom-smirk . . .

  it makes my stomach flip

  just a tiny smidge.

  I keep looking at Mom,

  I croon into my hand

  softer this time:

  Oh, baby,

  Don’t,

  Don’t,

  Don’t break my heart in two.

  Because yeah,

  I’m happy about the tickets

  but also?

  Does everything,

  even my birthday

  have to be a chess move?

  TAM

  Are you stoked for school?

  Mom. Please don’t say stoked.

  Don’t be shook, baby.

  I’m sure it will be very lit.

  Mom. No. Never say those words.

  We’re both laughing now

  as the car wheezes up to

  school

  and the radio kicks in

  with ridiculous bass

  and that stupid song

  Oh, Baby

  starts up

  and my ears,

  they bleed.

  Ahhh! No!! It’s too much!

  Between you and this,

  just . . .

  turn it off!

  Turn you off!

  Mom cackles her witch laugh,

  pulls to the curb at school:

  Oh, baby,

  oh, baby,

  how I love yoooooou.

  Please, baby, please,

  don’t break my heart in

  twoooooo.

  STOPPPPPPPP!

  I jump out,

  slam the car door,

  laughing even though it

  encourages her.

  See you later!

  I can still hear Mom singing

  as she drives off.

  Kate

  Becca’s scream is so loud,

  so long,

  so piercing,

  I’m afraid for a minute

  she’s going to turn herself

  inside out.

  MisDirection?!

  ALL of us?!

  LOVE YOUR MOM!!!!

  Seriously, I think she might cry.

  And for some reason

  her enthusiasm,

  her made-for-TV freak-out,

  it just,

  I don’t know,

  oh, baby,

  oh, baby,

  how I wishhhhhhhh

  I’d kept the secret

  a little bit longer.

  Is that weird?

  I don’t know.

  TAM

  Juggernaut-less gym

  today.

  No whistles.

  No squeaks.

  No leaping and landing,

  digging and diving.

  Instead,

  pencils and schedules,

  sighs and lines.

  Registration day.

  Seventh grade.

  I look up at the caged bulbs,

  big round bright,

  they heave

  fluorescent sighs

  coughing out light on

  one table at a time.

  Find my line

  A through F

  whisper an apology

  to the lights:

  Tomorrow night,

  first practice.

  It’ll be more fun in here,

  I promise.

  Volleyballs

  whizzing by,

  no tables

  no signs

  no pencils

  in sight.

  Kate

  Fingers sticky from all the tape,

  I smooth my skirt,

  survey the gym.

  It looks fine.

  Better than fine.

  It looks fabulous.

  So why does everything feel . . .

  so much the same?

  Kate.

  Kate?

  My MisDirection Queen?

  Hey.

  Earth to Kate.

  Can you help with this bunting?

  It’s collapsing under its own weight.

  My smile,

  can it be fake and sincere?

  Is that even a thing?

  Hmm?

  I say.

  Bunting? I’ll be right there, okay?

  Welcome back, sheep,

  don’t you all look so fluffy

  and pretty

  today.

  TAM

  Levi.

  My happy little flea

  boink boink boink

  bouncing

  around the gym

  saying hi to everyone.

  We’ve been friends since kinder

  and he’s always been the one

  who knows my sentences

  before I say them,

  who laughs at my jokes

  when they’re super dumb.

  My kid,

  my pal,

  my shortstack,

  my man about town.

  Levi, Levi.

  I can count on him

  cause he’s always around.

  Hey, nerd!

  Hey, turd!

  How’s my man’s man,

  ladies’ man,

  man about town?

  Juuuust fine.

  How’s the reigning volleyball

  champion of the world?

  Juuuuust fine.

  We high-five

  low-five

  fake-out five

  then someone waves,

  Hey, Levi!

  and he’s off.

  King of the school,

  strutting his stuff,

  my favorite goof,

  my shortstack bud.

  Kate

  Mom would love this.

  She really would.

  The girls surrounding me,

  singing,

  so thrilled for the concert.

  It’s like everyone is here today

  to see me

  to talk to me

  to hang out with me.

  Registration is . . . secondary.

  TAM

  Over there

  strutting,

  laughing,

  she thinks I don’t see

  but I do,

  I do,

  that little cheerleader

  looking at me.

  The red bow in her hair

  snapped military tight,

  right?

  Like she must’ve used a ruler
r />   and glue

  and maybe an iron, too,

  to get that perfect

  swoop

  on top of a perfect

  swinging

  ponytail

  like I’ve never seen,

  swish swish

 

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