The Way to Stay in Destiny

by Augusta Scattergood

  From the way Uncle Raymond’s mouth twitches, I hope he’s working it out in his head. “Seems you’ve thought hard about this,” he says.

  “Our favorite baseball player, Hank Aaron — he had to be apart from his family. When he wasn’t much older than me.” I take a deep breath and wait.

  My uncle smiles at Aaron’s name. “What’s Miss Sister think?” he asks.

  Miss Sister doesn’t know about my plan. Uncle Raymond needed to hear it first.

  “She’ll think it’s a good idea,” I say hopefully. “I’ll have my piano, but you don’t have to hear.”

  “Bet they have music classes over in Mount Flora. You could play at school. Much bigger school there.” He’s trying to convince both of us.

  “Miss Sister’s a plenty good piano teacher.” For a minute the room seems crowded, like there’s not enough air or enough light. But it’s my room now. I’m not leaving. I’m not the one deciding to take off.

  “If Miss Sister agrees, you can give it a try. At least till school starts.” Uncle Raymond looks right at me. “I reckon we’re doing okay, aren’t we, boy?”

  Sure, now that I have a plan, I’m okay. Slipping my hand in my shorts pocket, I pull out my good-luck piece. “Maybe you want this back?”

  “Naw, son. That’s yours to keep,” he answers and closes my palm around his old guitar pick.

  I squeeze that quarter all the way downstairs, not sure which one of us needs luck the most.

  * * *

  After supper, I sit on the porch listening to the crickets until Miss Sister comes out. “You did yourself proud today, Theo. Best music I ever had!” she says.

  “Thanks,” I tell her. “For letting me be in the recital.” Even though I’m about to explode inside, I say slowly, “Got something to ask you.”

  “Go ahead, ask away,” she answers, pushing the creaky glider back and forth.

  “My uncle told you about his job in Mount Flora. But the Rest Easy’s my home now. Destiny’s where I want to live. If I have to leave with him, I’ll miss Anabel. Maybe even Mamie. Well, maybe not Mamie. The truth is, I’d mostly miss you.” Once I get started, the words spill over each other like that thing Miss Sister taught me, an arpeggio, one note after another. “Can I stay at the Rest Easy while Uncle Raymond goes back and forth? At least this summer. By school time, September, maybe something will be different.”

  “Don’t even have to think twice, honey. It would be a joy. If Raymond approves. You two are both stubborn as mules.” When she raises an eyebrow at me, I smile so big my face might crack open.

  “My uncle says it’s okay for now. He could decide he hates the job and he could change his mind about hearing my music. Maybe I’ll even be ready to leave after the summer.”

  Maybe, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave here.

  “Right now, you need a steady riverbank to come home to. Destiny and the Rest Easy seem just about right.” Miss Sister points to the row of pillows, their curlicued lessons lined up on the glider. “Time heals just about anything, Theo,” she says.

  A lot of time went by since Uncle Raymond stopped loving his only sister, and nothing healed. A lot of time since he came back from that war, but he hasn’t forgotten who ridiculed him. But really, since he met me, not that much time’s passed. Already he likes me more than when we stepped onto that bus in Kentucky.

  “I told him you’ll help with my piano and I’ll play for your classes.”

  “Tiny details! Easy to work out,” she says. “Just watch where you throw that baseball. My toolshed’s taking a beating.” Miss Sister rattles the melting ice in her sweet tea and laughs. Fanning herself with a paper fan decorated with roses, she says, “Don’t know why anybody lives in Florida in the summer. Just too hot to breathe.”

  Since the ceiling fan on the front porch moves the air a little bit, we sit together waiting for Uncle Raymond till the cuckoo clock announces seven thirty. I’d almost forgotten! Anabel!

  When my uncle steps onto the porch, we nearly knock each other flat down. “Whoa, son. Where you off to in such a hurry?” he says.

  “Can I meet Anabel at the ice-cream stand? To celebrate the end of school. And the end of her dance career.” Miss Sister and I laugh out loud at the exact same minute.

  “Be back before the streetlights come on,” he says. “Nighttime’s —”

  I interrupt. “The worst time for getting in trouble. You told me that once or twice.” This time his stupid rule makes me smile. I skip down the front steps, not caring who sees me now.

  At the end of the sidewalk, I hear a tune drifting down from the porch. I swear it’s my uncle whistling the “Glow Worm” song.

  I run all the way to Main Street. Before I even catch my breath, Anabel’s talking. “First off, I’m sorry. About the way my mother acted.”

  “I bet she loves me now. If she heard what I said about ballroom dancing, she might sign us up for lessons.” Okay, that was pretty funny. Me and Anabel, dancing together. Anabel doesn’t laugh.

  When we step up to the window and order, I stare up at the big awning painted with flamingos, seashells, a little boy eating ice cream. “ ‘Best Ice Cream and Sno-Cones in Destiny, Florida. The Town Time Forgot.’ Weird town motto, huh?”

  “Ha. The town everybody and everything forgot,” she says, slurping her ice cream. “I bet not even baseball players remember living here.”

  “Maybe I’ll write to Henry Aaron. See if he wants his tackle box back.” I wipe bright orange sno-cone drips off my hand and onto my shorts.

  “You know, Theo, we may not have famous baseball players strolling around Destiny anymore, but I had fun figuring it out.”

  Saying nothing, I blush a color that matches my sno-cone.

  She reaches into her knapsack. “Almost forgot. Brought you something. Kind of an if-you-go-away and thank-you thing.”

  Nobody gives me gifts. Well, not since my uncle took over.

  “It’s Henry Aaron’s baseball for sure,” she says, handing me the ball from our Destiny Day display. “You saw where he’d tossed it against Miss Sister’s shed.”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, it could have been his.”

  I turn the ball over. Who knows? Maybe it did belong to Hammerin’ Hank Aaron. “Thanks, Anabel, but guess what. I’m not leaving. I figured out a way to stay in Destiny.” I offer her the ball.

  “Keep it,” she says, pushing it toward me. “So what are we doing this summer?”

  “I’ll work on my piano playing. Miss Sister’s letting me help with her classes. Don’t suppose you’ll be signing up for advanced tap? Maybe toe dancing?” I do a little dance just to show her how great it could be.

  “Very funny.” She laughs but doesn’t attempt a shuffle-ball-change. “Wonder how you can sneak out from practicing the piano to play baseball.”

  Anabel has no clue.

  “Maybe you’ll teach me to surf this summer?” I ask.

  Before she can answer, a shiny black car stops across the street. All four windows slide down. A tall, skinny guy steps out and saunters up to the ice-cream window, his back to us.

  “Nobody here drives a car that fancy,” Anabel says.

  We move close enough to hear him order. “Two orange sno-cones, with cream topping. One plain vanilla milk shake. To go.” He carries the cardboard tray to the car, gets in, and they drive slowly toward the highway out of town.

  Grabbing my hand, Anabel steps off the sidewalk and stares. “Theo! Did you see that license plate? I think it said Georgia HLA 715. It’s Henry Aaron! Back in town to check out the Rest Easy!”

  “Anabel, you are totally out to lunch.”

  “Wow! Wish he’d shown up earlier. Hank Aaron! At our Baseball History in Destiny booth.”

  “We would have gotten a zillion extra-credit points,” I joke. “We’ll never know.”

  She smiles and heads down the street. “See you tomorrow?” she calls back.

  “Sure. The beach? Teach me
body surfing?”

  I don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, but I’m making my wishes big.

  When I get to the Rest Easy, Uncle Raymond’s waiting on the front porch. As the stars pop out, he points to the sky. “Big Dipper. Almost as pretty as in Alaska.” If he’s decided there’s something in Florida almost as good as his memories, my uncle might be coming around. “Maybe rain’s not threatening after all,” he says.

  “What’s that thing about weather in Destiny?” I ask, remembering Mr. Dawson’s jokes. “Blink and it changes. Kind of like my life these days, come to think about it.”

  Uncle Raymond laughs. I’ll never get used to hearing that sound.

  When Miss Sister comes out, I say, “Thank you for letting me stay here while my uncle sees about his new job.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way. I picture great things for you, honey.” She sinks into her white rocking chair and swishes her paper fan back and forth, hardly stirring up the air. “Speaking of greatness, why don’t you go inside and tickle my ivories for a bit?”

  My uncle stands up quick, running away from my music. But in the faint light of the porch lamp, I see Miss Sister wink and wave her jangly bracelets to shoo me off. Just because he can’t bear to hear doesn’t mean I can’t play quietly to myself.

  Inside the dance studio, I open the big window. Next to it is my favorite of Miss Sister’s sayings: Music Makes Memories, under a picture of a little girl dancing in her tutu with her grandmother.

  A tiny breeze drifts in from the porch, and memories and music hop in my head to the beat of Miss Sister’s rocking chair thump-thump-thumping. Uncle Raymond’s there, too, his long legs stretched across the bottom step, as far from the window as he can get. But at least he’s still out there.

  When I sit on the piano bench, my toes reach for the shiny pedal on the right. Miss Sister told me that pedal holds the notes. Maybe they’ll drift through the front hall to Mr. and Mrs. Hernandez clinking checkers on the board in the dining room. Then sneak quietly under the porch where Ginger Rogers keeps cool. Even to Mamie’s room — if she promises not to sing along off-key.

  I decide on a hymn my grandma and I sang back in Kentucky, “Rock of Ages.” Uncle Raymond told me he and my mama were in the choir together. Maybe he remembers this one.

  Stretching up to the sky, then wiggling my fingers, I send the melody quietly flowing from the piano keys to the front porch. I mix in two black notes — F-sharp, B-flat. Everything pours out perfectly, fitting together like on Mr. Monk’s record album. I’m calling this song “Theo’s Dream.”

  Music and dance connections seem to tap into my life at just the right time. A special nod to my childhood friend Sandra, dancer extraordinaire, and also to Barbara, who showed me all the right moves, from tap to the Twist. The character of Miss Sister is based partially on my own very special dance teacher, Ruth Hart, and on the stories I heard growing up in Cleveland, Mississippi, from the students of Kathlyn “Sister” Cockersole and her mother, Ruth Keywood. For all the dancers and pianists who’ve inspired me with your art, your music, and your words, a huge thanks.

  To the entire team at Scholastic, your choreography leaps off the pages of my books. An enthusiastic Brava! goes to my editor, the wise and funny Andrea Davis Pinkney.

  Linda Pratt, my talented agent, challenged me to make this book the best it could be. Many, many thanks for your generosity, skill, and patience. Especially patience.

  Without my critique groups, Theo might still be languishing in his room at the Rest Easy, surrounded by all the wrong people. He first came to life from a writing prompt thrown out by my longtime friend, Leslie Guccione. Another writer, Teddie Aggeles, helped this story grow in many ways, including remembering the color of her cafeteria trays. Near what I thought was the novel’s end, my longtime critique partner, Janet McLaughlin, read Theo’s tarot cards and kept me from taking a misstep.

  Stories begin with questions, and answers turn up in unexpected places. For many reasons and many answers, I’m fortunate to be surrounded by SCBWI members, especially those in my new home state of Florida.

  Like performing, writing requires practice. An enthusiastic audience makes the long preparation worth every minute. To my friends and family who encourage me, you know who you are. I know I am eternally grateful.

  Augusta Scattergood is the author of Glory Be, a National Public Radio Backseat Book Club selection, a Texas Bluebonnet Award nominee, and a novel hailed by Newbery medalist Richard Peck as the story of a bygone era “beautifully recalled.” A children’s book reviewer and former librarian, Ms. Scattergood has devoted her life and career to getting books into the hands of young readers. Her reviews and articles regularly appear in The Christian Science Monitor, Delta Magazine, and other publications. Ms. Scattergood, who lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, and Madison, New Jersey, is an avid blogger. To learn more about her and her books, please visit www.ascattergood.com.

  Copyright © 2015 by Augusta Scattergood

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available

  First edition, January 2015

  Cover art © 2015 by Sara Wood

  Cover design by Elizabeth B. Parisi & Sara Wood

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-63364-2

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.