“You didn’t think this through, did you?”
Lando smiled. “I totally did.”
We walked quietly through the entrance of Stagecoach Pass, glancing at each other every now and then.
Lando swung his backpack around. “I have something for you.” He unzipped it and pulled out a stack of papers. He opened my bag and slipped them inside.
“What is it?” I asked.
“You’ll see. Just read it when you get home.”
“Okay.”
We kept walking, and Lando kicked at a rock in the middle of Main Street. It bounced off a rusty metal trashcan and made a loud clang. “So it’s Halloween next week,” he said.
“Yeah, so?”
“So, I’m dressing up.”
“You are not.”
“I am, too. I already have a costume.”
“You are not wearing your Captain America costume to school. No one dresses up anymore. Everyone thinks you’re a huge dweeb if you dress up.”
Lando stopped, serious now. He adjusted his backpack over his shoulder. “Do I look like I care about what anyone else does or thinks, Aven?”
I glanced at him and then moved my eyes to the ground, ashamed of what I had said. “No. No, I don’t think you do.”
“When are you going to realize that what other people think doesn’t matter?”
I bit my lip. “Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be sorry.”
I opened my mouth to say sorry again but stopped myself. I watched my dusty feet as we continued making our way along the dirt road, Lando walking quietly next me. “I wish I could be more like you,” I said.
Lando stopped, and I stopped and looked up at him. He stood there for what felt like the longest time, staring at me, studying me, like he was trying to figure something out. Figure me out. Or maybe he already had. Finally he said, “And I wish you could be more like you.”
As soon as Dad left to take Lando home, I went to my room and pulled out the stack of papers Lando had shoved in my bag. I sat down on the floor and stared at the stack, slowly sorting through the pages with my toes.
They were drawings of . . . me.
Me with a long green cape and mask, blazing red hair swirling in every direction around my masked face.
Me in my Armless Master costume, defending my friends from snarling bullies, wildly whirling nunchuks held in my toes.
Me in my purple dress with bright purple streaks in my red hair, playing a guitar with my feet, my mouth open with musical notes flowing from it.
Me riding a flying llamacorn across a cloudless desert sky.
Me . . . as I had always wished to be.
33
You’ve pushed me down.
I may be low.
But you’re stuck where you are.
And I have room to grow.
— The Square Pegs
THE NEXT DAY, I FOUND COACH Devin’s office and kicked gently on the door.
“Come in,” he called from inside.
I gripped the handle between my chin and shoulder and opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw me. “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”
I cleared my throat and wiggled to adjust my shoulder bag. “Um, yes. My name is Aven Green.”
“You’re a friend of Lando’s brother, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“I see you two watching practice sometimes.”
I bit my lip. “Yeah, I guess we kind of stand out.”
He smiled. “That’s not what I meant. Not many people sit out there watching in the heat.” He motioned toward a seat in the corner of the small room. “Would you like to sit down?”
My legs felt shaky as I took a deep breath. “I’m here about Lando.”
Coach Devin leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers over the desk. “Yeah, I’m really disappointed he quit the team. He’s a good player.”
“He quit because of Joshua Baker.”
He put his hands down. “Yes, he told me that.”
“But he didn’t tell you why.”
“It really doesn’t matter. We’re always going to butt heads with people. It’s good to learn how to work with people you have disagreements with.”
I studied the thin blue, worn carpet of the office floor. “This is so much more than a disagreement,” I said. I looked up at the coach. “Doesn’t this school have a strict anti-bullying policy?”
The coach nodded. “Of course. But I can’t see anyone bullying Lando. He seems fairly popular.”
“It’s not Lando who’s being bullied. It’s Zion and me.”
Coach Devin furrowed his brow. “Do you want to tell me what’s been going on?”
“I do,” I said, my voice cracking. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “I want to tell you everything.”
34
It’s time to say goodbye.
I’ll carry you with me forever.
It’s time for me to cry.
But our bond will never sever.
— Llama Parade
I SAT IN MY ROOM ON MY BED, staring at the box of ashes on my side table. Then I looked over at the Find My Family box on my desk. Too many boxes. Too many feelings.
I heard a knock and walked out to the living room. Mom opened the door, and Connor and his mom came in. “Hey,” Connor said to me, giving me a sad smile.
“Hey,” I said. “Hi, Mrs. Bradley.”
She gave me a sad smile and a hug. “Hi, Aven. I’m so sorry.”
I nodded into her chest. “It’s okay,” I said.
The door was still open as Zion and Lando walked in with their parents. I pulled away from Mrs. Bradley. “Thank you for coming,” I said. Zion stared down at the floor. I stepped a little closer to him. “Thank you for coming.” He finally looked up at me, his head still low, his eyebrows raised. I smiled a little. He smiled back a little. We were a little okay.
Mrs. Hill gave me a hug and squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe while Zion and Connor did a sad little fist bump.
Connor, Zion, and I sat on the couch while the grown-ups chatted about boring stuff—the kind of stuff you talk about to pass time. I glanced at Lando and his eyes caught mine. I got up and stood in a corner of the room with him. “Hi,” I said.
“Hi.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. I know he was important to you.”
I nodded and bit my lip and forbade myself to cry again. I think I’d shed more tears since starting high school than I had in all fourteen years of my life before it.
“Joshua’s been suspended,” Lando said.
I did my best to act surprised. “Really?”
Lando studied my face. “Yes. And that means he can’t play football.”
I cleared my throat. “Really? Does that mean . . .”
Lando tilted his head down at me. “That I’m going to play again?”
I nodded.
His face lit up with his bright smile. “Yeah, Coach asked me to come back.”
“That’s so great.” I kicked at the nearby baseboard, studied the patterns in the stuccoed wall. I felt awkward standing there with him, not sure what else to say, so I turned to go sit back down with Connor and Zion.
“Hey, Aven,” Lando said. I turned around. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For sticking up for me.”
I blushed. I didn’t think the coach would tell Lando about me—that I had gone to him and told him everything that had happened, including the Great Humiliation and all things since. It had been a hard choice but one that was necessary to set things right. “I didn’t think he would tell you.”
Lando smiled. “He didn’t.”
I wanted to say something about his beautiful drawings, about what they meant to me, how they made me feel. But I struggled to find the right words. “Your drawings,” I started to say. Lando’s eyes widened and he looked at me expectantly, but then Josephine walked in . . . with Milf
ord.
The whole room went quiet. “Hi, Josephine,” Mom said. “We’re so glad to see you.” They gave each other a polite hug. “Who’s this handsome gentleman?”
“It’s Milford,” I said, not able to keep from smiling.
“Hi, Aven,” he said shyly and hugged me. Funerals sure were huggy things.
“Nice to meet you, Milford,” Dad said while I grinned slyly at Josephine, who rolled her eyes at me.
“Is he your date?” I whispered to her.
She huffed. “One does not bring a date to a funeral.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s a sociable outing together.”
After Denise and Trilby and her parents and a few other workers showed up, we all made our way, one long procession, up the hill behind Stagecoach Pass. I stood next to my giant saguaro, and I realized it had been one year since I’d sat here and compared my insignificant troubles to all the monumental events that had taken place in the last couple of centuries during the life of this one cactus. As insignificant as I tried to make my worries feel, they were still important to me. And today was the same. The difference, though, was that I was alone then. Today I was surrounded by people who cared about me.
I steadied my breathing and began to speak. “Spaghetti was the best llama ever. He was a great friend. An attentive listener. He never rambled on and on about himself. He never judged.” My voice cracked a little.
I took a deep breath. “He knew what it felt like to be different.” I gazed at the people around me, but my eyes stopped on Lando. “He knew what it felt like to be made fun of. To be hurt.” Lando’s eyebrows drew together, and he looked like he was concentrating on something. Not crying? I looked away from him. “I think sometimes the chickens bullied him.” Everyone giggled a little bit. “But he was too kind and gentle to retaliate.
“No one could ever take his place.” I turned to Denise, who was holding the small box of ashes. Such a small box. He’d been so skinny when he died. I looked at Connor, who had his phone ready to go with a special Llama Parade song.
“We will miss you forever, Spaghetti,” I said. Connor played the song as Denise wiped at her eyes and opened the small box. She shook it into the air. We watched the big ash cloud drift up into the sky, swirling around like it was dancing to the music. But then a breeze picked it up and started blowing the ashes back at us, forcing us all to run down the side of the hill screaming, trying to avoid getting covered in dead llama ashes.
I guess we all took a little piece of Spaghetti home with us that day.
35
Can you believe in yourself?
Please don’t lie.
Can you do it for you?
Tell me you’ll try.
— Kids from Alcatraz
MOM AND I WALKED INTO HENRYS hospital room together. He looked over from his bed and gave us a weak half smile. Mom and I sat down next to his bed, and Mom grabbed his hand. “How are you feeling today, Henry?”
“Oh,” he said, his voice shaky and slurred. “I’ve been better.”
“Well, you had a minor stroke.” Mom squeezed his hand in both of hers. “It’s going to be a bit before you’re feeling yourself.”
Henry shook his head. “I think those days are over.”
Mom rubbed her hand over his messy, thin, white hair. “Well, no one knows what might happen.” She turned to me. “Should I go get us some drinks from the cafeteria?”
I nodded, and once she was gone, I moved over a seat so I was closer to Henry. He mumbled something, and I leaned in closer. “What, Henry?”
He mumbled it again, and I had to lean in closer, my face only inches from his. “How many boyfriends do you have, little Aven?” he said, his voice slow and tired.
I sat back and thought about Lando. “None,” I told him. “And they’re not breaking down my door, if that was going to be your next question.”
“They will,” Henry said.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Then Henry turned his face slowly until he was looking right at me. And I could tell he was wasn’t just looking at me, but he could clearly see me. He knew me. And he was . . . angry with me. “Stop that,” he scolded.
I had a hard time meeting his gaze, and I dropped my eyes to the white sheets. “Sorry.”
“Stop that, too.”
I swallowed and focused on the sheets.
He touched my chin lightly and turned my face to him. “Will you please do something for me?” he said.
I nodded. “Sure.”
His lips trembled, and a tear fell down his wrinkled slack cheek. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not enough.”
“Henry—” I started to say but he shushed me.
“Don’t ever let anyone make you think you’re not good enough or smart enough or talented enough or brave enough. I let people make me feel that way. They hurt me. They wounded me. On the outside. On the inside. I carried that hurt with me my whole life. I never had anyone around to tell me that even my insignificant life was worth something. But you have so many people who love you and believe in you. And you are worth more than you know. Don’t let any one person take that away.”
I sniffed. “You need to stop talking like you’re going to die. You’re going to be all right.”
His pale gray eyes watered and spilled over onto his sagging cheeks. “You are good and smart and talented and brave. You have to believe it. Can you do that for me? Can you believe it?”
I wasn’t sure if I could do that, but I wouldn’t tell Henry no. Not right now. “Yes,” I said. “I’ll try.”
Henry shook his head. “Don’t try. Just believe.”
I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek into his hand. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll believe.” I opened my eyes. “Now I want you to do something for me.”
• • •
“Down,” I ordered Chili, and she lowered to the ground. I swung my leg over her and slipped my boots into the stirrups. “Stand.”
Chili and I walked around the arena a few times, Bill standing at the center watching us. I pulled on the left rein and pushed on Chili’s right side with my leg. When we were near Bill, I said, “Whoa,” and Chili stopped.
I sat on Chili a moment, thinking about Henry’s words.
Don’t try. Just believe.
I looked down at Bill. “I’m ready.”
His face exploded with excitement. “Really?”
I nodded. “Yes, let’s do it before I lose my nerve.”
I turned Chili until we faced the jump. “Walk,” I told her. I clucked my tongue to move her up a gait, and then we were trotting. I clucked my tongue again to put her at a canter, but as the jump neared, my mind went blank. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t think. In my confusion, I clucked my tongue again, and then Chili was running, and I could hear Bill yelling at us. I’d never run before. No way could I hold on.
And then we were in the air. And then I was in the air. By myself. Like, not on the horse anymore. And then I was on the ground. And then the world started fading to black. But before it went completely dark, my final thoughts were that this was how I would die. Just like my birth mother.
36
I guess I kind of lost my way.
But I’ll find it again.
And I’ll find it today.
— Kids from Alcatraz
OKAY, SO I TOTALLY DIDNT DIE. I can be a tad dramatic at times. I woke up, still lying on the dirt, four worried faces hovering over mine—Mom, Dad, Bill, and Chili.
“Hello?” I said. I wasn’t sure what was happening.
“It’s okay, Aven,” Bill said. “You fell.”
“Fell? Off the building?” I definitely wasn’t with it, as Dad would say.
Mom and Dad exchanged worried looks. “No, Sheebs,” Dad said. “You fell off your horse.”
“Oh.” Things were coming back to me. “Did I do the jump?”
Bill scratched at his beard. “Well, I’d say you did about
half the jump.”
Mom turned to Bill. “Should we try to get her up? Should we take her helmet off?”
“Does anything hurt?” Bill asked.
“My head.”
Bill removed his cowboy hat and fanned it lightly at my face. “She might have a concussion.”
“But she’s wearing a helmet,” Dad said.
“She hit the ground hard. A helmet will keep her skull from getting cracked, but it can’t stop a concussion. The brain still gets a pretty good jolt. You better get her to the doctor.”
I looked from Mom to Dad. “So I fell off the horse?”
Mom rubbed a hand over my cheek. “Yes, honey.”
“And I’m not dead?”
“No, sweetheart,” Mom said. “You’re very much not dead.”
“Oh.” I smiled a little bit to myself.
“We better get her to the doctor quickly,” Mom said. “She’s acting funny.”
But I was just realizing that the worst thing I feared had happened—I had jumped. I had fallen. I had hit my head. Even gotten knocked unconscious. But I had survived. Which meant I could survive anything.
• • •
The doctor shined a light in my eyes, asked me to follow his finger, moved my head around to check my neck, asked me a bunch of questions about how vomity I felt, and then determined that yes, I did have a concussion.
But I wasn’t dead. So I wasn’t all that concerned.
Mom and Dad took me out for dinner after the doctor visit. We sat in a dimly lit booth and ordered burgers, though when mine came I felt too nauseated to eat it.
“We’ll save it for later, Sheebs,” Dad said. “Just drink some water.”
Maybe it was the concussion or Henry or Lando. I didn’t know. But I sat there in the booth with my parents and vomited everything up. And I don’t mean food. I word-vomited everything, everything, up. Everything that had happened since the first day of high school—my Great Humiliation, the ongoing bullying, my jealousy over Amanda, and what had happened with Lando.
When at last I was done word-vomiting probably an hour later, and their burgers had gotten cold, they sat there quietly staring down at the table. Mom wiped at her cheeks, then put an arm around me. “Thank you for telling us what’s been going on with you.”
Momentous Events in the Life of a Cactus Page 16