Knockout

by K. A. Holt

  I wrinkle my nose,

  she holds her armpit in my face.

  How’s volleyball, Tam?

  Killing it

  as usual.

  You guys should come to a game.

  First one’s next week.

  Sweet!

  I love watching Tam play.

  She spikes the ball

  and it smashes into the floor

  like a meteor

  from outer space.

  Plus,

  she always gives me a wink

  just before she serves,

  our special signal

  that the next point

  is for me.

  Ever thought about playing a sport, Sport?

  This is what Dad asks

  while he and Tam and I eat cheeseburgers

  and look out over the river.

  Of course I’ve thought about it.

  But as Mom reminds me, I’m barely sixty pounds,

  soaking wet.

  As Mom reminds me, I’m a teacup version of

  a normal human.

  As Mom reminds me,

  sports are dangerous

  sports are for bigger kids.

  I take a puff from my puffer.

  Sure. I’ve thought about it.

  Baseball?

  I could throw hard

  but could I throw fast?

  I don’t know. Seems boring.

  Football?

  All three of us look at each other,

  laugh.

  Besides, Mom won’t let me do contact sports.

  Why?

  I point to the scar on my neck.

  Duh.

  I point to my lungs.

  Duh.

  Sport, you can do anything you want.

  Yeah, Sport.

  Tam winks and shoves me.

  Dad puts his hand on my shoulder.

  Choose something. I don’t care what.

  I’ll pay for it.

  I nod, thinking he’s crazy.

  We won’t tell Mom.

  He smiles,

  looks at Tam,

  holds a finger to his lips.

  You get a sport.

  We get a secret.

  Oh, boy.

  My heart does a

  This might be a terrible idea.

  But also

  it might be superfun.

  If being alive won’t make me die

  then maybe a sport won’t either!

  Only

  two

  more

  days

  of summer

  and I barely remember

  how to school.

  I like school.

  There. I said it.

  I like it.

  I like learning.

  I like making people laugh.

  I mean, do I like homework?

  No.

  Do I forget to study for tests?

  All the time.

  Does Mom chew her lip because

  I get sick a lot?

  Yep.

  Does Timothy shake his head,

  soooooooo disappointed?

  Constantly.

  But none of those things change the fact

  that

  I like school.

  And it starts the day after tomorrow

  and I can’t sleep because I’m so excited,

  biggest dork in the world.

  It’s hot

  bouncy

  I sweat

  swallow hard

  will not get carsick.

  Dad wants me to ride the bus

  and somehow

  through magic

  or a miracle

  or just wearing her down

  convinced Mom

  to let me.

  And here I am

  in the seat

  hot

  bouncing

  not puking

  seventh grade

  awaiting me.

  Man’s man!

  Ladies’ man!

  Man about town!

  This is what I say on the first day.

  Some people laugh,

  pat me on the back.

  Some people roll their eyes.

  I don’t really know what it means

  (I saw it in a movie once)

  but it’s fun to say it loudly,

  it’s fun to be brash.

  Settle down, Levi.

  Mr. Schoop is not a fan

  of a Man’s Man

  Ladies’ Man

  Man About Town.

  Well, maybe

  I am not a fan

  of Mr. Schoop.

  It’s quite a trick

  the

  of school

  balancing

  wobbling

  no one to catch you.

  Except I have skillz . . .

  I don’t fall off the tightrope

  I jump!

  Surprise!

  I make them laugh.

  I make them point.

  That way

  the tightrope is mine

  to control.

  I will never be invisible

  everyone will always see me.

  I am too different.

  I am Levi,

  speck-boy,

  spindle-arms,

  spider-legs.

  I am Levi,

  baby man,

  short guy.

  But I will not let them

  tell me what I look like.

  I burn bright.

  I can’t be invisible

  so I shine right in their eyes.

  Hey, nerd.

  Hey, turd.

  Breathin’ easy?

  Breathin’ sleepy.

  Tam and I

  in the halls

  owning the school,

  short and tall.

  Bell rings

  first period stings.

  See you at lunch, nerd!

  Only if you’re lucky, turd!

  Tam and I grab our lunch trays

  but I stop short because

  wait . . .

  Is that a cheerleader at our table?

  Uh

  I point.

  Is she like those dolphins?

  The ones whose sonar gets messed up?

  And they swim off?

  Into the deep sea?

  Away from their friends?

  Confused and lost?

  Oh, that’s Kate!

  Unlike somebody,

  she shoves my arm,

  we have a million classes together.

  So why not lunch, too?

  Tam laughs.

  We plop our trays on the table across from Kate.

  Why not?

  Because lunch is practically the only time

  Tam and I

  have together.

  But I stay quiet.

  The cheerleader dolphin stares back.

  She looks familiar . . .

  I guess from the halls.

  She smiles

  slow.

  For just a second

  I see a shark,

  but then

  Tam holds up her chocolate milk.

  Kate gives her a cheers with her apple juice.

  And the way

  Tam’s smile

  takes over her face

  makes my own sonar

  ping back something new,

  something my own dolphin brain

  can’t quite

  place.

  It’s not a Dad night

  but he’s here with me.

  (Mom said it was okay.)

  Tam smashes the ball,

  gives me so many winks

  I can’t keep track of the points.

  We stand and cheer.

  Tam finds us in the crowd,

  gives me a bow.

  I could never play volleyball like that

  J U M P

  H I T

  S M A S H

  A T T A C K

  but I do love<
br />
  how Tam and I are like a secret team,

  winks and cheers

  that only we can see.

  I told Mom.

  About Dad.

  About him telling me to pick a sport.

  I had to.

  She pulls secrets from the air

  like a net snatching butterflies.

  She’d figure it out and be so red-faced mad.

  So I told her.

  She chewed her lip

  said OK.

  I said, Wait, what?

  OK. Pick a sport.

  Golf or rowing or something.

  I didn’t say anything.

  Is golf really a sport?

  Clubs can be like sports, too, you know.

  Teamwork, coaches, all that stuff.

  You’re so smart, Levi.

  Have you looked at any of the clubs at school?

  Clubs?

  Ugh.

  Like Chess Club!

  You’d be great.

  So smart and strategic.

  You’d blow everyone away.

  Sounds dorky.

  Sounds dumb.

  You know,

  they show chess on ESPN.

  I give Mom a look.

  Yeah, like

  ESPN

  5.

  Before school

  I’m standing

  in the lunchroom

  rubbing my sleepy

  eyes.

  National Junior Honor Society

  Model U.N.

  Student Council

  Math Club

  So many signup sheets.

  So many things

  I’m not interested in.

  Tam is bent over a table

  signing her name.

  Is it

  Tall Volleyball Players Council?

  Meteor Smashers Anonymous?

  No.

  It’s Chess Club!

  Huh.

  Sign up, Levi!

  It’ll be fun!

  We can hang out

  and I can beat your butt.

  Oh, it’s ON, nerd.

  Is it, turd?

  ’Cause I’m gonna wipe the floor with you.

  Not if I wipe it with you first!

  I will find a sport, too,

  and maybe I’ll be good at it.

  Maybe Mom won’t catch my

  secret as it flits around.

  Maybe Dad will think I’m cool.

  And maybe Timothy will finally see

  I am me

  and not some

  wimpy

  baby.

  Karate

  Gymnastics

  Archery

  Swimming

  Diving

  Soccer

  Wrestling

  Rowing

  Tam and I sat outside for lunch

  (with Kate)

  and this is the list we made,

  all the sports

  I might like to play.

  I whispered

  Dad will pay, remember?

  I whispered

  Mom doesn’t know, remember?

  and would blow

  her stack

  or have a heart

  attack

  if she found out.

  Tam whispered

  A conspiracy

  I whispered

  And look at you helping me.

  (Kate chattered about cheerleading

  which is a sport,

  she says.)

  We made the list

  longer and

  longer and

  longer

  and we laughed at

  so many possibilities.

  don’t limit yourself

  that’s what Dad texted me.

  you give yourself 2 many rules

  But they aren’t really my rules.

  They’re Mom’s rules.

  And Timothy’s.

  You can do anything you want.

  Your almost a man.

  Your no golfer levi.

  Unless you want 2 be.

  Your fierce, Sport.

  Your scrappy.

  You might be small

  but you could kick someone’s butt.

  And then I wonder.

  Do I want to kick someone’s butt?

  Hmm.

  I kind of do.

  I want to kick Dad’s butt.

  It’s “YOU’RE,” Dad.

  I am trying to kick Tam’s butt

  at chess

  after school

  in a room

  with bright lights

  no windows.

  It feels like detention

  even though it’s a club

  and Mrs. Rubrick

  is trying to make it fun with

  cookies, sodas, classical music.

  I whack Tam’s queen with my rook.

  Knockout! I yell,

  and Tam starts to laugh.

  It’s called checkmate, nerd,

  and you aren’t even close.

  She tries to teach me the rules,

  but all I can think about

  is the ticking of the clock

  and how soon I can get

  out the door.

  I am not kicking anyone’s butt

  except for my own

  for agreeing to do this.

  Ugh.

  I take

  the pieces

  and make

  a play.

  I line up

  the king

  the queen

  the pawns

  planning a heist

  to steal the knight’s horse.

  Tam starts to laugh

  and I start to laugh

  and Mrs. Rubrick

  does not laugh

  but the time goes by

  fast.

  Wanna come over?

  Play some video games?

  Tam asks me this

  when Mrs. Rubrick

  is finished warning us

  to behave next time

  or we’re out of Chess Club.

  OK. Let me ask.

  I say

  Then I’ll call you.

  My insides feel huge

  like a balloon

  is in my chest

  making me float

  off the ground.

  I love Tam’s house

  though I hardly ever go because

  Mom and Timothy

  like to keep me at home.

  Timothy doesn’t answer

  not at first

  when I ask about Tam.

  Then he says

  Not tonight.

  Maybe Tam

  wants to come to our place to play?

  And the balloon in my chest

  bursts

  and then we’re home

  like always.

  Tam always comes to my house

  and I barely ever go to hers.

  (And we don’t play.

  We’re twelve years old.

  We hang out.

  Guh.

  Just more proof I am a baby

  in Timothy’s eyes.)

  Now I know what

  house arrest

  is like.

  Don’t say that.

  Timothy’s eyebrows make one long line

  so do his lips.

  Well, it’s true.

  You won’t let me go out.

  You won’t let me see Tam.

  You won’t let me have any fun!

  Any fun!

  At all!

  I’m trapped here.

  A prisoner.

  I throw my backpack.

  It slides

  like a hockey puck

  slamming into the wall

  B O O M

  goal

  look at me, good at sports.

  Your homework isn’t done.

  Your inhaler . . .

  He grabs it from my backpack.

  His look gets even darker.

  is empty.
<
br />   He throws it at my chest.

  I catch it.

  You’re not going out.

  You’re not my dad!

  And you should be happy about that!

  The Cat Tornadoes blow through me,

  their music like a howling wind

  tearing at my insides.

  My guts spiral up

  spin around and around,

  my feelings . . .

  confused

  tangled

  twisted and thrashing, but

  contained for a moment.

  These earbuds,

  little speakers

  of my soul.

  In my room

  I sit and breathe

  try to calm down

  just breathe

  just breathe.

  It’s like I can feel cartoon smoke

  moving in and out of my chest

  then I realize

  the mad feeling is gone

  but the breathing-hard feeling is still there.

  I take a puff from a new puffer,

  no help.

  Weird.

  But then the smoky feeling goes away,

  I’m breathing easy again.

  No emergency jet packs to Cincinnati.

  Not today.

  I peek in Timothy’s room

  maybe to say I’m sorry,

  maybe to tell him why

  my puffer was out of juice

  (I’ve been needing it so much)

  but he isn’t in there,

  so I sit at his desk,

  all messy,

  flipping open notebooks

  looking at study notes

  wondering if maybe I am secretly

  super extra big time smart.

  We could take college classes together

  and be on a TV show

  about smart brothers

  who are also hilarious

  and good-looking.

  Then, in a blue notebook, I see:

  Huh?

  These aren’t study notes.

  This is a journal!

  I slam it shut . . .

  before I open it again.

  I shouldn’t read it

  but I can’t help it.

  I hear the footsteps too late.

  I leap from the desk,

  a surprised cat.