Time for Change

by Varian Johnson

  Red laughed. “Okay, okay. How about just Land of the Free Verse? Thoughts?”

  One by one, we nodded our heads in agreement. I still liked Liberty Bells, but with Land of the Free Verse, I could picture us strutting onto the stage, just like the Pink Poetics had. The name carried confidence in it.

  “Perfect!” Red said, clapping his hands. “It’s agreed then. I now pronounce us Land of the Free Verse! Let’s make some noise by giving Bria an …”

  “AWESOME SAUCE!”

  “All right,” Red said. “We’ve got our mock slam—” He stopped and looked at me. “Before you ask, yes, we can still call it the Liberty Bells Battle.”

  “Yeah!” I said. “Thanks, cuz!”

  “We’ve got our mock slam on Monday, so let’s work hard today. We’ll hear Gabby’s poem now. Then we’ll split into teams to work on the group poems. If we have time at the end, I’ll do my poem. Snap your fingers if you’re on board with that plan.”

  “Way to build the slam atmosphere, bro!” Alejandro said.

  “Gabby—you’re on!”

  I jumped up, notebook in hand. Using one of the techniques Mrs. Baxter taught me to help my words come out more smoothly, I closed my eyes for a second and pictured the words of the first stanza of my poem in my head. When I had the words there good and solid, I opened my eyes and began.

  “When I th-th-think of my dreams

  I remind myself

  a sss-seed doesn’t know

  what kind of fl-fl-flower it will become

  But it pushes up through the sss-soil

  no matter what,

  until it reaches the sun.”

  I continued, gaining confidence as I went. This next stanza was my favorite.

  “What if a caterpillar

  never built a cocoon?

  Just stayed a www-worm

  inching along?”

  I finished the poem and nodded my head to show I was done. I’d stuttered a little, but I was proud of how it went.

  “Way to lay down some smokin’ verses, cuz!” Red said. “See, there’s a reason we chose you to do a solo poem! Now, who’s got some feedback for Gabby?”

  Isaiah raised his hand. “I love how you used the image of a seed pushing through the earth to say how you never give up. I think a lot of people can relate to that.”

  “I have something,” Bria said. “I liked how you asked a question at the end—it grabbed my attention and made me wonder how I would answer it.”

  “But also,” Teagan piped up, “aren’t caterpillars not really worms? I sort of got distracted by that. Maybe try something else there?”

  That was a good point. Maybe I could rework that line.

  “Okay, great,” Red said. “Now let’s get to work on those group poems.”

  I followed Teagan as she bounced over to our usual spot against the wall. Even with her heavy backpack, she looked like she was walking on springs. She couldn’t have liked my poem that much, could she?

  “Look!” Teagan said as we sat down. She held up a loose sheet of paper. “My teacher returned this today!”

  It was a test—one with A written on the top. “Teagan! This is … is …” I grinned. “It’s awesome sauce! I knew you could do it!”

  “I know, right!” We leaned in and hugged each other. “It finally feels like all that studying is paying off. It was definitely the right decision to pass on the solo for Voices. Plus, this gives me more time for my Halloween costume. Want to work on them on Sunday?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t. We’re getting our pointe shoes! What about Saturday?”

  She shook her head. “Grandpa and I have plans to—”

  Teagan and I both ducked as a balled-up piece of paper came flying at us. Red sat across the room, staring at us. Then he picked up a pencil and motioned for us to get started writing.

  “Okay, okay, we get it,” Teagan said as she opened her notebook.

  “I wrote some more lines for the duet,” I told Teagan. “Want to hear them?”

  “Of course!” Teagan said. “I wrote some, too. But you first.”

  I pulled my notebook closer to me, then began to read.

  “Friendship is love

  and standing together.

  It’s silliness,

  seriousness,

  be-with-you-ness.”

  Teagan smiled. Be-with-you-ness was one of my favorite things about our friendship, and I knew she loved it, too. How we could sometimes just sit quietly and “be alone together.” I continued:

  “It’s standing up for a friend who’s defenseless.

  It’s laughter,

  and jokes,

  like the Enchilada Princess.

  A friend is a gift

  like a chest full of treasure.

  The more friends you have,

  the greater the pleasure.”

  I put my notebook back down. “That’s it,” I said. “What do you think?”

  “I like the first part,” Teagan said, squirming a little. “But what was that line about enchiladas?”

  “Oh,” I said, “it’s just this thing from school with Isaiah and Aaliyah. I wanted to put in how friends have inside jokes and stuff—things that are only funny to them, you know?”

  Teagan nodded, an odd look on her face. “It’s … sort of random,” she said. “Like, the audience might not get it.”

  That was another good point. But I really loved that line. It made me smile on the inside and the outside when I said it. “But don’t you think it’s kind of funny, even without knowing the joke?” I asked. “Maybe we can at least try it out at the battle on Monday? See what the reaction is?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Teagan said. She shrugged.

  I thought she maybe had more to say, but she just sat there quietly for a few seconds. It felt different from our usual be-with-you-ness.

  “Want to do your lines?” I finally asked.

  Teagan glanced at the clock. “That’s okay. Let’s just use what we had before, plus your new lines.”

  “Um, okay,” I said, though we still had more than five minutes left. Teagan was being weird. “So, for Monday, how about I say the first stanza, you the second, and me the third?”

  “Yeah, that works,” she said. Without a word, she copied the lines down in her notebook.

  Teagan had been so happy only a few minutes ago when she showed me the test from school. Had I said something to upset her?

  “Tell me more about what’s going on at Main Line,” I said, giving her a little poke on the knee.

  She was silent for a moment, but then a big smile spread across her face.

  “Actually, there’s a fall festival next weekend on Saturday and Sunday! There’ll be all sorts of games—egg tosses, tug-of-war, and even a three-legged race!”

  We both giggled. Teagan and I had competed in the three-legged race every year at our elementary school carnival. One year, we won these ginormous stuffed octopuses. We’d named them Otto Octopus and Colonel Cephalopod.

  “So what do you think?” she asked. “Want to come?”

  “It sounds like fun,” I said. “Count me in!”

  “And did I tell you about this super-cool coding project we’re doing?” she continued. “All the sixth graders are creating video games using the coding language Pascal. The first place team wins a brand-new laptop!” She began bouncing a little as she described the project.

  “That sounds neat,” I said after she finished. “Who else is on your team?”

  Her face twisted in confusion. “What? Oh, well, you can have a few people per team, but you don’t have to. I like working by myself. More control over the project, you know?”

  I thought she might continue, but she just sort of sat there, so I changed the subject and told her more about the ScareFest.

  “I don’t know how you’re doing it all, Gabby,” Teagan said, shaking her head. “You’ve got ambassadors and your individual poem, and our duet and pointe, and your other dance classes, too�
�”

  “I’m fine,” I said, my voice a little more forceful than I intended. First Isaiah and Aaliyah, now Teagan. I knew I could do all this.

  How come they didn’t?

  I woke up with a start on Sunday morning to classical music blasting throughout the house.

  I knew that melody. That was the “Waltz of the Snowflakes” from The Nutcracker! What was going on?

  Daddy and Red burst into my room, doing their best impression of ballerinas, though they looked more like two ostriches hyped up on caffeine. I busted out laughing.

  “Time to get up, my sleepy snowflake,” Mama said from my doorway. “It’s Pointe Shoes Day!”

  My heart did a little happy dance, but at the same time, my eyes flicked to check the clock. I had been getting up super early on weekdays, but I counted on sleeping in on the weekends. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet! Why did Amelia have to schedule this field trip so early?

  Daddy and Red curtsied and then headed back downstairs with Mama. My muscles ached as I climbed down from my loft bed. I’d spent yesterday at school hauling bales of hay into a back corner of the gym in preparation for the ScareFest. It was fun hanging out with Sondra, Bryson, Aaliyah, and the other kids who were helping, but I was sore today. Ms. Tottenham was always telling us that leadership required strength of character, but apparently it required some physical strength, too. Was my body even up for trying on pointe shoes?

  Forty-five minutes later, Mama and I met Amelia and the other girls at the dancewear shop.

  “Happy Pointe Shoes Day!” Amelia said as we stepped inside, the bell on the door tinkling behind us. She came over and wrapped me in a big hug, then grabbed Mama, too.

  “I bet you’ve been dreaming of this day for quite a while, huh?” Amelia said to Mama when we pulled away.

  “You bet,” Mama said. “Since …” She thought a moment. “Well, since I found out we were having a daughter, honestly.”

  Wow. I thought I’d been dreaming about my pointe shoes for a long time!

  “Go ahead and join the other girls, Gabby,” Amelia said. “The manager said she’ll be with us in a few minutes.”

  I walked past the racks of leotards and ballet skirts to the shoe area at the back of the store. Natalia and some other girls were seated on a poofy couch near a wall mirror and the shortest ballet barre I’d ever seen. It was just long enough for maybe two dancers to stand at. The girls were taking pictures of the stacks and stacks of pointe shoe boxes lined up along the wall. Natalia let out a giggle as she and Mandy posed for a photo.

  “Gabby!” Natalia’s mom said as I walked up. She grabbed Natalia’s phone from her. “Why don’t you get in there, too? I’ll take a pic of all three of you.”

  As I put my arm around Natalia, I realized this was the first time I’d seen these girls outside of ballet class in at least a year. We used to hang out all the time, but ever since Red started the poetry group, I guess I’d been hanging out with those friends instead.

  A few minutes later, Amelia introduced us to a woman named Deborah, who was going to fit us for our shoes. Mama got her phone ready to take photos. All the other moms did, too. I smiled, thinking how it seemed like the moms were more excited than us dancers were, but then I looked to my left. Natalia was bouncing on the couch and Mandy was smiling so big I could see the braces on her back teeth.

  I flashed back to my awesome sauce outburst when Amelia told us we were getting our pointe shoes. Did I feel awesome sauce excitement right now? Not really.

  You’re just tired, I thought.

  Deborah had us take our shoes and socks off, then she examined all of our feet. She called out shoe brands and sizes while an assistant pulled boxes of shoes from the wall. Deborah explained how our toes had to have enough room to properly work inside the shoes—our toes had to be straight, not curled, when we were en pointe—but the shoes also had to be snug enough to support our feet. The pair Deborah picked for me were extra narrow.

  “Like mother like daughter,” Mama said, slipping her foot out of her own shoe and wiggling her skinny toes. The moms giggled.

  Once every girl had a pair of shoes in front of her, Deborah gave us some padding to choose from. There was lamb’s wool, gel pads, or if we were really brave, Amelia said, we could cut off the toes of a sock and just use that. I picked the lamb’s wool because I could use as little or as much as I wanted.

  Deborah showed me how to place the wool around my toes, then gently slid the shoe on my foot. It was so stiff! And heavy!

  “Go ahead,” Deborah said to me once the second shoe was on. “Go try them out at the barre.”

  I stood up from the couch and immediately wobbled.

  “Whoa there,” Mama said, coming over to offer me a hand. “They feel a little funny, right?”

  I nodded. “They feel b-b-bumpy on the b-b-bottom!”

  Mama laughed. “You’ll get used to the thick soles.”

  She walked me to the barre, where I grabbed on with both hands. Slowly, I did an exercise from class. The shoes crackled as I rolled up to demi-pointe, then all the way up to my toes. I was almost as tall as Mama like this!

  “Hear that?” Amelia said, coming up behind me. “That sound is the glue in the shank and box breaking down. The shoes will mold to your feet and become more flexible as you dance in them more.”

  Deborah pinched various parts of the shoe as I did some more exercises, finally nodding to herself. “We hit the jackpot with this first pair in terms of fit! How do they feel?”

  “Pretty g-g-good,” I said. “I think.”

  “And how do you feel,” Mama said to me, holding up her phone. She was taking a video. “My little dancer, all grown up!”

  I smiled for the camera and did a couple more roll-ups to full pointe, but didn’t answer Mama. I didn’t know exactly what I’d expected to feel when I slipped on these shoes I’d dreamed about forever and ever—maybe something like that buzz I’d felt at the Voices slam. But if I was being honest, today didn’t feel that different from any other time we’d come here for new ballet or tap shoes. And speaking of tap shoes …

  “Mama,” I said, nodding toward a shelf to my right with all sorts of fancy taps on it, including a pair that was hot pink and turquoise. “Can I try on some tap shoes while we’re here?”

  Mama stopped filming, a puzzled look on her face. “I guess so, Gabby, if you’re done with the pointe shoes. We have to wait for the other girls to finish up, anyway. We thought we’d all go to Franklin Fountain for root beer floats afterward to celebrate. How does that sound?”

  I glanced at Natalia and Mandy. What were we going to talk about at Franklin’s, other than ballet? Mama and I were supposed to go shopping for my Bride of Frankenstein costume, too, but I still had to memorize both my solo and the duet before tomorrow’s Liberty Bells Battle. And my shoulders were starting to ache from the hay bales again.

  “Is it okay if we just go home?” I asked Mama. “I have some things I need to do.”

  “Sure, Gabby,” Mama said. “If that’s what you want. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  As I took off the pointe shoes and we checked out, Mama made chitchat with the cashier. They traded stories about their own first pairs of pointe shoes.

  “Just imagine,” the cashier said to me as she handed us our bag. “This’ll be you someday, telling your own kid about the day your biggest dream came true.”

  On the drive home, I tried to picture a scene like the cashier described. But when I imagined telling someone about the day my biggest dream came true, I couldn’t get any words out. My stutter wasn’t the problem in this imaginary conversation—with my stutter, I knew what I wanted to say and just couldn’t say the words. In this case, I didn’t even have any words to say in the first place.

  It wasn’t until later that night, after Mama helped me sew the ribbons and elastic on my shoes and I’d memorized my “Dream Big” poem, that I realized why.

  I couldn’t picture the day my biggest dre
am came true, because that day hadn’t happened yet.

  Voices was still three weeks away.

  All right, I said to myself. Time to try without the notebook.

  I’d been sitting in Mama’s Liberty office for half an hour trying to memorize our “Friendship” poem for this afternoon’s Liberty Bells Battle.

  I took a deep breath, turned my notebook so I couldn’t see the words, and gave it a go.

  Approximately three minutes later, I’d actually gotten through the whole thing!

  Maybe.

  I glanced at the notebook to check. Nope—I’d missed one line in my third stanza.

  Maybe Mrs. Baxter’s “picture the words” technique works for memorizing things, too, I thought. I leaned my elbow on the desk and closed my eyes.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up to someone knocking on the door and a sticky note from Mama’s desk stuck to my cheek.

  “You coming, Gabby?” Stan stood in the doorway, his thumb hooked in a belt loop on his coveralls. “Don’t want to be late.” Along with Mama and Mr. Harmon, Stan was a judge for the mock slam.

  “Thanks,” I said, shaking the sleep out of me. “I’ll head to the studio in a minute. I want to run through this poem one more time.”

  Stan shook his head. “Change of plans,” he said. “Everybody’s in the theater.”

  I sighed. Red sure was taking this mock slam seriously.

  Little did I know how seriously.

  In the theater, my Land of the Free Verse teammates were seated in the front row, where a RESERVED FOR POETS sign was taped. Mama, Mr. Harmon, and Stan sat in the second row, dry-erase boards on their laps. Red was whispering to them, probably explaining how things would go. A couple of seats away, one of Mama’s older dancers was checking her phone, a black stopwatch around her neck.

  Red had found a timekeeper, too?! I half expected a DJ and emcee to pop up from backstage at any second.

  A nervous flutter started up in my belly, but one smile from Mama turned it into an excited buzz. I couldn’t wait to share “Dream Big” with her. And I wanted to hear everyone else’s poems, too, especially Red’s. He’d written about Aunt Tonya and had been working really hard—I could often hear him through the walls at night, reciting the poem to himself.