by Jamie Sumner
“Thank you, sir,” I say, sweet as apple pie. Mom, for once, is silent. When he walks away, she watches me throw the card in a trash can without a word.
“Brava,” Well says, and claps.
14 Auld Lang Syne
Ginger hung tinsel and twinkle lights from every sconce and light fixture in the house. And she cooked. Well… she heated up pigs in a blanket and mini quiches, her version of cooking.
It’s eleven forty-five p.m. Fifteen minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve and everybody who’s anybody is here, meaning Ginger and Dan and Well and Geneva and Tucker and Jacob and Mom. Mom brought a cheesecake that she made from scratch in the kitchen of her new apartment. Who knew my mom could cook? She’s in the kitchen now, sitting on the counter and eating that cheesecake right off the serving platter with Ginger. We all played Scrabble until Dan had to take a time-out after Jacob played “xu” for twenty-seven points. I tried Jenga with Geneva, but it was a little too stressful. Currently, I’m trying not to fall asleep in the corner of the sofa.
We got back from Tahoe yesterday. Mom and Ginger and Dan and I flew out for the court hearing. I didn’t melt down on the plane. But I did turn the music up so loud my ears rang for an hour after we landed. Maria met us at the airport. Because I have the iPhone now, I gave her back the iPod and told her to pass it on to another kid who needed it.
Tahoe in December was exactly like a postcard. Snow everywhere. Big old-fashioned Christmas lights strung on all the ski lodges and pubs and pizza places. Icicles clinging to the pines. The water was still that same clear blue with the mountains standing watch in the distance. We stopped in at Joe’s for lox-and-cream-cheese bagels and the biggest latte he could make. He still didn’t let us pay.
When the judge, an older lady with bright red cat’s-eye glasses and a neat bob, asked me what I wanted to do, whether I thought it would be better to live with Mom or stay with Dan and Ginger, I knew whatever I said wasn’t going to be the final call. Melissa and Maria had already explained that my testimony was just one of the pieces of the puzzle. But still, I wanted to be honest and to say what I’d been thinking as best I could.
I stood in the front row of the tiny courtroom with wood-paneled walls and creaky benches and said, “I know my mom and I weren’t living so great there for a while, and I know she made some mistakes and I shouldn’t have been driving that truck. Sorry about that, ma’am.”
The judge smiled and nodded for me to go on.
“I’m so grateful I got to meet my aunt Ginger and uncle Dan. They gave me my first real home and put me in a school that I actually really like. So I don’t want to go back to not seeing them again.
“But”—I took a breath—“my mom’s my mom. I can’t picture not seeing her, either. She’s got a new apartment, and she’s working at a coffee shop in Nashville. She’s doing okay. The thing is… I don’t want to pick between Mom and Dan and Ginger. I want everybody.”
Maybe the judge already had her decision made. But when she read her ruling, I can’t help but think it was something I said that tipped the scales. So, yeah, I’m staying with Dan and Ginger for now. Maybe, if Mom can keep her job and her promise to go with me to all my OT appointments and not so much as suggest an open-mike night, then we can talk about our living arrangements again this summer. But for now, I get to finish the school year at Chickering. Mom even agreed to let Dan and Ginger pay my tuition, which is proof that miracles do happen. I get to keep my mom, my aunt, my uncle, my friends, and my school. It seems like too much good all at once for one person, but I’ll take it.
* * *
“Come on. Do it.”
“No.”
Well leans over from his end of the couch. He’s in a powder-blue tuxedo and top hat. He said he saw it in a movie once. His nails are silver.
“For old times’ sake?”
“No.”
“For New Year’s sake?”
“No.”
“For my sake?” He takes off his top hat and holds it to his chest. I fiddle with the silver tassels along the hem of my dress. It’s a 1920s flapper dress that Mom found at a thrift store. I kind of love it.
“Fine.”
“Don’t sound too excited.”
“Three more seconds and I’m taking it back.”
“Okay, okay!”
When the countdown begins and the ball drops, I plug my ears with my fingers. But when it hits the big flashing 2021, Ginger hushes everybody, and Mom whips out her old guitar in the center of the room. I let my hands fall to my sides and take my place next to Well in front of the fireplace.
He hums a key, she counts us off, and I begin:
“ ‘Should old acquaintance be forgot…’ ”
“Auld Lang Syne” is a beautiful song to sing with old and new friends. I take it nice and slow and let the rumbling in my chest carry it forward. Of course, Well joins in like he’s Justin Timberlake and sends it into hyperspeed, but whatever, that’s Well.
I match his pace, and we rock it out, Mom playing for all she’s worth. Then it’s a giant game of musical chairs as everybody runs to toast everybody else. The rest of the song kind of falls apart because we can’t stop laughing. When it’s over, we bow, and Tucker and Geneva and Jacob hold up signs with APPLAUSE! written in glittery marker. Everybody mimes clapping. Well tips his hat to me and winks.
If there is a more normal version of the world out there, it can’t be better than this.
Acknowledgments
If you could rate your editors on Goodreads, Reka Simonsen and Julia McCarthy at Atheneum Books for Young Readers would get five stars. Thank you both for helping Lou find her way and for keeping my fictional days and coffee shops straight.
Agents should get stars too. Keely Boeving, you keep me grounded, and your first reactions to Well were priceless. Thanks for loving these characters as much as I do.
To my fellow Nashville MG writer, Kristin Tubb, you read the first five pages of this before we ever knew each other, and your encouragement was much needed and much appreciated. I’m so glad I’m an S and you’re a T so we can sit together at all the festivals.
I love research! But it can only get you so far before you need to call in the experts. Special thanks go to my early readers, Stacey Steinberg and Kate Forest, for lending their knowledge of the foster care system and the Department of Children’s Services. And to Katy Dieckhaus, for her wisdom and insight into working with children with sensory processing disorders.
Celia Krampien, your talents as a cover artist are beyond compare. Thank you for getting Lou just right and for creating a cover for this book that is so beautiful it sings.
Dear children of mine, Charlie, Jonas, and Cora: None of you were in school yet when this book was written. Thanks for playing nicely so I could do it. I promise to make you cinnamon rolls every Saturday for the rest of your lives.
Dear husband of mine: Thanks for marrying this theater girl and appreciating my drama. If you wondered how I became the plot-whisperer, now you know.
A special note to the teachers and librarians: thank you for championing my storytelling from the very beginning! Your support for Roll with It has made me braver as a writer. I am so grateful to you for getting my stories into the hands of the kids who need them and for working tirelessly in the classroom every single day.
Lastly, this book is for the kids living with invisible disabilities. I see you. You are not alone. Here’s a not-so-secret secret: we’re all still figuring ourselves out. Remember, there is no normal.
More from the Author
Roll with It
About the Author
Photo courtesy of Bethany Rogers
Jamie Sumner is the author of Roll with It. Her work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, and other publications. She loves stories that celebrate the grit and beauty in all kids. She and her family live in Nashville, Tennessee. Visit her at jamie-sumner.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2020 by Jamie Sumner
Jacket illustration copyright © 2020 by Celia Krampien
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sumner, Jamie, author.
Title: Tune it out / Jamie Sumner.
Description: First edition. | New York : Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2020. | Audience: Ages 10 Up. | Audience: Grades 4–6. | Summary: Twelve-year-old Lou Montgomery’s life has been centered on her mother’s terrifying plan to make her a singing star, but a crisis reveals Lou’s sensory processing disorder and people determined to help her address it.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019044635 | ISBN 9781534457003 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781534457027 (eBook)
Subjects: CYAC: Singers—Fiction. | Sensory disorders—Fiction. | Mothers and daughters—Fiction. | Custody of children—Fiction. | Theater—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S8545 Tun 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019044635