I look at them all—Becca flipping her hair, Dad with his arm around her, Mom swinging her purse, and Alex in his basketball shorts—and I realize that what Mom said is true: they are my family, and they’re under my skin, like it or not.
One thought comes to me, though, as I’m watching all of them tromp through the snow. I am a sort of a muse. In my own way. And that’s a pretty good thing to be.
hings happen in funny ways. Or I should say things change in funny ways.
One week after the Friendship Fair, Alex’s team lost in the semifinals. Dad really did cry this time. He was a lot more upset about it than Alex, who was more concerned about coming up with a creative way to ask his girlfriend to winter formal.
I asked him, “Is she one of those silly cheerleaders?”
He said, “No. In fact, she reminds me a little bit of you.”
Becca told my parents that after this year, she’s definitely done with the skating team.
“Then I guess I’m done with the costume committee,” Mom said.
“This whole family’s falling apart,” Dad moaned.
“Not falling apart,” Mom said, “just reorganizing itself. For the better. More gold, less rush.”
I know Mom is secretly happy about the prospect of having fewer Post-its on the Calendar in the future, except for the new green ones. They all say Mom—Piano Lesson. The other day, she even had time to wash the minivan. I hope that someday soon, I’ll spot her at the front window with a cup of coffee when I’m coming in from school.
At first, it looked like Dad didn’t know what to talk about at the dinner table after we stopped doing the ABC game. So one night, I brought up my worries about the polar bears. We discussed it for the whole time! No one mentioned any achievements, unless you count Mom telling us about learning to play her first Broadway show tune.
Grandma Gold put the picture of Noah and me in a frame and gave it to me. We both have proud, happy smiles. Before everything happened at the Friendship Fair, I was considering stuffing the one of my family into a drawer, but I decided not to. I put the one of Noah and me right next to it on my dresser.
Mrs. Bezner asked me to work with Noah on a regular basis, even though the Peer Helper Program is over for now and he has an aide helping him. Twice a week at recess, I go upstairs and read stories with him and just hang out and talk. I think I might even want to be a teacher one day.
But I promise I won’t wear socks with insects on them and take my shoes off in the afternoon.
Or maybe I will.
One thing’s for sure. I know I can raise my voice when I need to. I am a Gold, after all.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book has been a dream of mine since I was young and I am still in disbelief that my dream has come true. To say that this was a journey is a grand understatement. There were many bumps along the road, times I wanted to throw in the towel, and moments of pure insanity. I am grateful beyond words to my editor, Caroline Meckler, and to Wendy Lamb, for seeing the light and joy in this story and for their advice, questions, and editing; to Vikki Sheatsley for her wonderful cover design; to my agent, Jennifer Flannery, who called me on a cold March afternoon when she was only on page fifty-eight, and whose support of this book never, ever wavered, not even in my most doubtful days; to my soul sister, Lauren, who has been a steadfast listener and provided ongoing encouragement and enthusiasm (what would I do without our lunches?); to the members of my mother-daughter book club, the Bookie Buddies, who openly shared what they liked and didn’t like about the books we read; to my mom, who always said she was my biggest fan (I so dearly wish you were here, but somehow, I know that you are); and to my dad, who I am so very much like and who showed me what it takes to achieve a dream. My heart is filled with love for my four anchors, who keep me afloat amidst the craziness: Ben, who listens endlessly, even when he’s falling asleep, does my taxes, and puts up with my cobralike intensity; Rachel, whose maturity and insight go way beyond her years; Sam, the inspiration for Calli’s brother, with his even temperament and constant ball-playing in the family room; and especially Cassie, my first reader and real-life muse, who reminded me what was funny, and was absolutely positive from day one that this was “a book.”
It can be a challenge to find your voice within a family. Stay true. Like Grandma Gold told Noah, “You make your own words in this life. Don’t look to anybody else to do it for you.” Always believe that you can, and you will.
About the Author
Michele Weber Hurwitz grew up in a suburb of Chicago and still lives in the same area with her husband and three children. She does not have a huge calendar taped to her kitchen wall but has been known, on occasion, to drive with Post-it notes stuck to the steering wheel. This is her first novel.
Visit her at micheleweberhurwitz.com.
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