Words with Wings

by Nikki Grimes

  and Mr. Spicer

  doesn’t even say a thing

  to stop me.

  Canyon

  Say “canyon,”

  and I am at

  horizon’s rim,

  leaning over

  a deep bowl of echoes.

  I gape at the grand cavern

  and call

  “GABRIELLA!”

  then wait

  for the soft,

  round sound of

  ELLA!

  E l l a!

  e l l a!

  as it returns.

  Idea

  “Gabriella,”

  says Mr. Spicer.

  “Didn’t you hear the bell?”

  I come back from my travels.

  “Sorry,” I whisper,

  gathering my books to go.

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  “But before you go,

  I have something to show you.

  Remember this?”

  He hands me the paper

  he’d taken from me

  earlier.

  Here it comes, I’m thinking.

  My punishment.

  I slide down in my seat,

  search for some way

  to disappear.

  “This was your daydream,

  wasn’t it?” he asks.

  I nod, my tongue too tied

  to answer.

  “It’s wonderfully vivid,” he says.

  “In fact, it’s given me an idea.

  I’ll tell you all about it,

  tomorrow.

  That’s it for today.

  Go on home.”

  I leave

  on giggly knees.

  Now what?

  Announcement

  The next morning,

  I race to school,

  my mind too full of questions

  to wander anywhere else.

  I bounce up and down in my seat

  while Mr. Spicer

  takes ten times forever

  to call the roll.

  Then, finally,

  “Class,” says Mr. Spicer,

  “starting tomorrow, we will

  stop what we’re doing

  once a day

  and daydream for fifteen minutes,

  then write those daydreams down.”

  David looks at me,

  his eyes wide as the moon.

  “You’ll never know when, though,”

  continues Mr. Spicer.

  “So you’ll have to keep your eyes front

  and pay attention.

  Does that sound good?”

  I swallow these words like honey,

  smile at their sweetness,

  and say, “Yes!”

  my favorite word

  of all.

  Good Night

  When class lets out,

  I hurry home,

  hungry for dinner

  and hoping to find

  more words with wings

  to dream and write about

  tomorrow.

  Home

  I kick my shoes off

  at the door,

  drop my books

  on the kitchen table,

  then hunt for snacks.

  “Shoes in your room, please,”

  says Mom.

  I groan, but do exactly

  what she tells me.

  When I get back,

  she’s reading my paper!

  The stupid page must’ve

  slipped from my notebook.

  I growl, then turn to leave

  until Mom says,

  “This is lovely, Gabriella.

  I wish I could write like you.”

  What?

  I slice up Mom’s words

  and nibble on them,

  one at a time.

  When I find my voice again,

  I tell her all about

  Mr. Spicer’s plan

  for our class.

  “Good,” she says,

  smoothing my paper

  like it’s something—

  precious.

  If this is a daydream,

  I don’t want to know.

  It’s Here!

  Tomorrow arrives

  like a miracle.

  Even so, the class creeps by

  slow as the night

  before Christmas.

  I can’t wait to open my

  notebook and jot down

  whatever daydream

  comes to me.

  I peek at David,

  who shrugs in answer

  to the question in my eyes:

  When?

  Finally, Mr. Spicer says,

  “Okay. Class, workbooks shut.

  It’s daydream time.”

  I’m telling you,

  I just about cry.

  All In

  Four weeks have passed

  and my notebook is thick

  with daydreams.

  Funny how much better

  I’m doing in school.

  Somehow lessons don’t seem

  half as boring.

  I’m not perfect, but

  I hear most of what

  Mr. Spicer teaches these days.

  Plus homework’s easier,

  now that my mind’s not

  always meandering.

  There’s one more thing that’s new:

  My mom is starting

  to daydream, too.

  Author

  Say “Gabriella,”

  and Mom sees me,

  silver-tipped pen in hand,

  swirling “Best Wishes”

  across the front pages

  of dozens of books

  with my name

  printed on them.

  I sign hundreds

  round the clock

  for a line of happy fans

  that stretch a city block.

  And there is Mom, beaming

  right beside me.

  Fair Is Fair

  I never told Mom

  I wanted to be a writer,

  but I’ll let her

  keep her daydreams,

  since she’s finally

  letting me

  keep mine.

  Acknowledgments

  In the creation of every book, there are always particular people to thank for their encouragement, support, and inspiration. Words with Wings is no different.

  I’d like to thank editor Rebecca Davis for encouraging me to expand the original picture book manuscript into a novel. Thanks to Amy Malskeit, who read and critiqued the manuscript while balancing a newborn baby girl on her hip. (Thanks, Lucie, for lending me your mom!) Thanks to agent Elizabeth Harding. I couldn’t ask for a more enthusiastic fan.

  I save my most heartfelt thanks for teacher Ed Spicer, who served as model for the teacher in my story. Ed regularly honors and nurtures the daydreamers who pass through his classroom by allowing them time to dream, and to capture their daydreams on paper. That was an inspiration to me and helped in the shaping of this story. It only seemed fitting to name my character after him. Thanks, Mr. Spicer!