Southern butter pecan. I swear, someday I was going to try it. It couldn’t be worse than fat-free full-sugar French vanilla. I walked over and placed it on Nevaeh’s desk.
Nevaeh came in, saw the creamer, and smiled.
“You’re my hero,” I said.
She looked around. “Where’s Trevor?”
“Library. Three-day suspension.”
She said, “I can’t believe it.”
I said, “Even Ms. Davonte couldn’t ignore all of us.” We’d worked as a pack, all us girls. A wolf pack.
“I guess not,” Nevaeh said.
* * *
■ ■ ■
At recess, Luisa came up and thanked me. Mackinleigh shook her head. “I’m worried,” she said. “Now he’ll just do it when the teachers aren’t around.”
I said, “Not if we all work together. Not if we make sure he knows that every one of us will tell on him anytime he does. Second offense for inappropriate touching is out-of-school suspension.” That meant he’d have to stay home with his angry mother for at least three days. I didn’t think he’d risk it. Picking on us wasn’t that much fun.
Second offense for punching someone was also out-of-school suspension. If I had actually punched Trevor a second time, instead of speaking up, I’d be sitting at home now. Pretty sure Francine wouldn’t have bought me a milkshake.
“I’m not going to hit him again,” I said.
Nevaeh grinned at me. “You gonna quit cussing?”
I grinned back. “Probably not,” I said. “I like strong words.”
We ran over to the swing set and had a contest to see who could swing the highest. I was trying my best but I didn’t have a chance. Luisa was a swing set ninja.
I was soaring in the air, thinking about Trevor, and Clifton, and Suki. And thinking about my new pack.
All at once, I knew what I needed to do. I stopped swinging. I took a deep breath. It was the best possible thing, if I was brave enough to do it.
I was.
44
At dinner I said, “I need to talk to my lawyer.” We were having spaghetti again. Not as good as mac ’n’ cheese, but close.
Francine choked on her can of soda. “What for? You planning to sue somebody?”
“I’ve got a lawyer, I ought to be able to talk to him.” I’d met him. Not for very long, and not lately, but he said not to expect to see him much until closer to the trial.
“Of course,” Francine said. “But—”
Suki’s eyes went wolf-like. Wary. She put her fork down and stared at me. “Why do you need to talk to the lawyer, Della?”
I stared right back. “Because I am going to testify against Clifton in person. I don’t want to use that video.”
“Why not?” said Suki. “The video will work just as well. You’ve already made it. You don’t need to talk about all that stuff again.”
“I want to,” I said. “I’m going to sit in that courtroom in front of everyone.”
“It will be super hard,” Suki said. “In front of everyone. In front of Clifton.”
“In front of Clifton,” I agreed. “I’m going to tell everyone exactly what he did to me. And then”—I paused here, took a big breath, kept going—“I’m going to tell them everything I can about what he did to you.”
Francine whistled between her teeth.
Suki went pale. “No, you aren’t,” she said.
“Yes. I am.”
Suki said, “It’s my story.”
I said, “It’s your story and it’s mine. I don’t know how you feel. I can’t tell them exactly what he did to you, or when. But everything he did to you hurt me too. It’s as much my story to tell as it is yours. I’m going to tell them everything I know about both of us.”
Suki rested her forehead in her hands. She said, “You don’t have any idea how difficult that will be.”
I said, “I do. I’m doing it anyway.”
Suki said, “Della, think about it. Really think. You want to talk out loud, in person, in a courtroom? They’ll be trying to find holes in your story. They’ll be trying to prove you’re a liar.”
“I won’t be lying,” I said, “so they won’t be able to.”
She said, “You don’t know the details. Not what he did to me.”
“I’ll tell them everything I do know,” I said. “I’ll ask Teena to tell them too. She’ll do it, for us.”
Suki and I stared at each other. I said, “I do know how hard it will be. I’m still going to do it.”
“Francine,” Suki said, “tell her it’s a bad idea.”
Francine slurped up spaghetti and shrugged. “If she’s that brave, I ain’t gonna stop her.”
Suki got up. She put her plate in the sink and went into the bathroom. I felt a fluttering of fear in my gut. Any knives in the bathroom? Any medicines or poisons or other harmful stuff in there?
The toilet flushed and Suki came out. She sat back down at the table. “Don’t look so panicky, Della,” she said. She flashed her wrist at me. The semicolon tattoo. “I promised, didn’t I?” She looked hard at me for another moment. “It really scared you, didn’t it? Just my going to the bathroom.”
“Yep,” I said.
She grimaced. “I’m so sorry. What I did scared you so bad.”
We did the dishes and then Suki opened her laptop and spread her homework across the kitchen table. I got out my coloring book and started working on a female wolf, strong and beautiful, howling at the moon.
“Della,” Suki said, after a while.
I looked up.
“Come look at this video I found.”
I scooched my chair around until I could see the screen. Suki hit play.
It was about the wolves in Yellowstone.
It started with a picture of a white wolf howling. A man’s voice began to tell the story.
Wolves had been extinct at Yellowstone for a long time. Over seventy years. Then, in 1995, some people moved a small pack back into the park. Fourteen wolves.
At the time, there were too many deer in the park. They were eating all the plants and causing lots of damage. The wolves ate some of the deer, and scared others away. The grass started to grow back, and then the trees. Beavers came back. Foxes and rabbits and mice came back. Weasels and hawks and songbirds and eagles. The riverbanks quit eroding. The rivers grew deeper and more stable.
The wolves made everything better.
When we finished watching, Suki looked at me. She said, “It wasn’t very many wolves, but they changed everything.”
I nodded. She clicked a few keys. “Here’s something else I found. The Yellowstone Youth Conservation Corps.” The pictures showed a bunch of kids Suki’s age, wearing yellow hard hats and tan shirts. “It’s for high school students,” she said. “They work for a month at Yellowstone.”
“They get paid?” I said. “It’s like a real job?”
Suki nodded. “And they give you food and housing.”
“Shoo,” I said. I almost couldn’t imagine it. Getting paid to live among the wolves.
Suki flipped back to the video and started it again. On the screen, the white wolf pointed her nose to the sky and howled. It was the most beautiful sound.
“Do you think I could—I mean we could—”
“If I get a car,” Suki said, “we could drive out there.”
I said, “Could we stop and see Mama on the way?”
Suki stared at the wolves. “Not a good idea, Della,” she said. “It won’t help. Mama won’t ever be the way we need her to be.”
“I still want to see her,” I said.
“She won’t be good.”
“I just want a memory that isn’t that motel room.”
Suki gave me a hug. “Okay. We can try.”
She started the video a third time
. Wolves at Yellowstone. I could see it starting to fall into place. A real Permanency Plan. “Suki,” I said, “it’s great to be a wolf.”
She looked up at me but didn’t say anything.
“Do you mind my telling your story? In court?” I asked.
She took a deep breath. Held it, blew it out. “Yes,” she said. “But Francine’s right. It’s your story too. I can’t stop you.”
“Will you be angry with me?”
“I don’t think so. Not if I can help it.”
“I looked it up,” I said. “If I tell them everything Clifton did, he might get twenty years.”
“Only if they believe you,” Suki said. “They probably won’t.”
I said, “I want to try.”
45
I went to sleep happy with my decision. I would be the strong sister, for a change. I would speak out. I would help Suki.
She wouldn’t have to sit in court with Clifton scowling at her. She wouldn’t have to feel so afraid.
I went to sleep, but something was bothering me around the edges of my mind. When I woke up I knew what it was.
The alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet, but it was starting to get light outside. Well past Suki’s screaming hour. She hadn’t had a nightmare since she came home.
She was sleeping hard now, on her back, softly snoring. I nudged her. “Wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “What?”
“I figured something out,” I said. “You’re wrong about having to testify in person. You can do it on tape. Remember?”
“I’ll have to answer questions if I want anyone to believe me. In person. With him there.”
“You won’t,” I said. “They can ask your doctors questions. Your therapists. Everyone you told in the hospital. You can just talk on the tape. Like you already did.”
Tears swam up in her eyes. She said, “Only children get to testify on tape.”
“Suki,” I said. My breath caught in my throat. “You were a child.”
She stared at me. “You are a child,” I said. “A kid. You still are.”
She shook her head. “I never got to be a kid. Somebody had to be the grown-up.” Tears filled her lower eyelids, threatening to overflow.
“You had to act like a grown-up,” I said. “You weren’t one. You were just a little kid.” I could feel my own eyes filling. “You were so little, Suki. You did your best, but even now—you’re not a grown-up. You’re a girl.”
We’d needed a mama to protect us. Or a father. Or both. We’d needed our own pack of wolves, to watch over us until we were grown.
Tears poured down Suki’s face. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I feel so sorry for that scared little girl.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks too. I nodded. “Me too,” I said. “I still do.”
Suki put her face into her pillow. Her shoulders shook. She sobbed and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I lay down next to her, my head against hers, holding her tight.
Eventually we both quit crying. Suki’s breath came easier. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. I already knew what she would do.
46
The next night, Suki worked a short shift at Food City. At home I messed around on her laptop. I was looking up two things. The first was Suki’s semicolon.
It was a symbol of survival. Of hope.
I was a survivor too, but not in quite the same way as Suki. I started looking for my second thing. Eventually I found it.
I went into the living room and plopped down beside Francine. She was playing a game on her phone and watching TV. “Yo,” she said.
“Yo,” I said. “You know how you gotta pay for everything Suki and me absolutely need?”
She hit pause on her game and looked up. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re probably right, and I know your sister can’t afford it yet. I’ll get you a phone. Just don’t expect it to go on the internet.”
“Not that.” I showed her a piece of paper.
“What?” she said. “It’s an ‘and’ symbol, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s called an ampersand. It also means union. Or going on a journey. Or”—I’d written this down because I liked it so much but knew I’d never remember it exactly. I read it out—“an expectation for something more to occur.”
Francine said, “That little squiggly thing?”
I said, “When it’s a tattoo.”
Francine stared at me. “Oh snow,” she said. “I’d be contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
“Suki’s a minor.”
“Not nearly as much as you.”
“I won’t tell anybody.”
“I think it would be a very bad idea.”
“Francine?”
“Tattoos hurt like snow, you know. Also they’re permanent.”
“Right,” I said. “This is another part of my Permanency Plan.”
Francine looked at me without blinking for practically a minute. Then she went back to her phone. “I’m getting you some kind of big cuff bracelet,” she said. “Big enough to cover it. I want you to wear it every single time your caseworker is anywhere around.”
I nodded, grinning.
“Or in court,” she said.
“Absolutely in court,” I said.
Francine sniffed. “I’ll have to call my buddy. See if he’ll bring some stuff by the house. Nobody’s going to tattoo a ten-year-old in broad daylight in a store. That’s way too illegal.”
I grinned so hard, my cheeks started hurting. “Thanks, Francine.”
“Yeah, whatever. I suppose you want one for Suki too?”
“That’s the idea.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
When Suki came home I showed her the ampersand. She said, “You’re the smartest, best sister in the whole wide world.”
47
So Francine’s buddy, who was tattooed pretty much everywhere except the palms of his hands, came and inked two perfect ampersands, one on Suki’s wrist—across the scar from the semicolon—and the other on mine. He didn’t even charge Francine. “Public service,” he said. “My good deed for the year.”
* * *
■ ■ ■
And here I am at school, just come back from recess, Ms. Davonte staring at my wrist. “Della,” she says, “is that a real tattoo?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, holding it up.
&
An expectation for something more to occur.
Suki’s going to testify on tape. I am going to testify in person. I want to. I know it will be hard, but Suki promises she’ll sit somewhere I can see her. I’ll look at my sister’s face instead of Clifton’s. If I need to, I can look down at my wrist and see the same symbol that’s on Suki’s. She can do that too. Our stories will be separate but always intertwined.
* * *
■ ■ ■
Standing just inside the fourth-grade classroom, I look up at Ms. Davonte. I smile. I say, “This is to remind me of the best day of my life.”
She looks down at me. For a wonder, she smiles back. “When was that?” she asks.
“Tomorrow,” I say.
* * *
■ ■ ■
And that right there, that’s the very best part of this story.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The first thing I want you to know is, it happened to me.
The second thing is, I was able to heal. It took time, and work, and I did it. People can always heal.
When I was a child I was sexually abused. It was hard and bad and affected my life in lots of difficult ways. I didn’t tell anyone for a very long time. When I started being able to talk about it, other people began telling me their stories too. Lots of them. I realized that a lot of people are affected by sexual abuse. Most of them find it very hard to talk about, but being able
to talk about it is one of the first steps toward overcoming the damage it caused.
Eventually I found my words. I wrote this book hoping it would help readers find theirs.
Why is it so hard to talk about? I think it’s because children who are assaulted are forced to deal with adult stuff years before they’re ready to. They don’t understand what happened to them. They’re powerless, and frightened. They imagine there must be something wrong with them— that somehow, what happened must be their fault. (It never is.)
Some families face struggles like addiction and mental health disorders that make everything worse. When adults can’t take proper care of children, the children—like Suki—end up having to act like adults themselves, taking on responsibilities they aren’t ready to handle. It’s difficult, and damaging, to have to be an adult when you aren’t finished being a child.
Families can look healthy on the surface but still be entirely messed up. You can’t always tell by looking at someone whether or not they’re having a hard time.
So what do we do? Start by believing. If someone tells you they’ve been hurt, or they need help, believe them. Say, “I’m really sorry.” Say, “It’s not your fault.” Say, “You’re very brave to speak up. I’m proud of you.”
If you’re the person who was hurt, start by believing it wasn’t your fault. Believe, too, that it was wrong, and harmful, and that you deserve help. Work on finding your words.
As soon as you can, get help—for yourself or for the friend who trusted you. Tell your parents if you can, or any other adult you trust. If that person doesn’t help you, tell someone else. Teachers, police officers, and doctors are all mandatory reporters. That means when someone tells them about sexual abuse, they are required to make an official report. Tell any adult that you trust, and keep telling them, until they help you.
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