Swing Read online

  Suite for Jazz Orchestra No. 2: Scherzo

  Walt brings Mo

  a plate of chicken

  and salad.

  He slowly moves

  the food around

  his plate.

  He keeps his headphones

  plugged in his ears,

  but I can tell

  he hears everything,

  all the small talk

  and the pretend talk,

  so we don’t call attention

  to how weird things

  are getting right now.

  He only responds

  with a nod

  here and there.

  And Walt is in total denial

  that there’s anything wrong

  with his hero,

  his brother.

  He looks great, doesn’t he, y’all? Walt says.

  Suite for Jazz Orchestra No. 2: Lullaby

  It’s like he’s asleep.

  He looks sunken,

  smells of BO,

  and earth,

  and night

  coming fast.

  Every few seconds

  he jerks a little,

  like his body

  and mind

  are on autopilot.

  My big brother’s home, Walt says, smiling at him. Mo,

  this is Divya, my friend, and you remember Noah, and

  Uncle—

  Moses. Not Jackie. Moses. Not Jackie. Moses. Not Jackie.

  Moses. Not Jackie. Moses. Not Jackie.

  And Mo goes on and on like this

  for minutes, until

  he puts

  another piece of chicken

  in his mouth.

  But, it’s still a little awkward,

  as the classical music

  on Pandora

  swirls

  around our heads

  like we’re all in

  a madhouse.

  He’s talking about Moses Fleetwood Walker, Walt

  says to us. That’s who he was named after. Everybody

  thinks Jackie Robinson was the first African American

  to play Major League baseball, but it was actually

  Moses Fleetwood Walker. He played for the Toledo Blue

  Stockings. Died of pneumonia.

  BAM!

  Mo screams out—

  and it sounds

  like a blast

  from a mortar.

  Suite for Jazz Orchestra No. 2: Serenade

  BAM! BAM! BAM! I need my platoon, he continues.

  Your platoon? Walt says, looking a little scared for the first

  time.

  My cocoon. My sleeping bag. My pillow. And the ground.

  That’s all anyone needs. When you’ve been sleeping in the

  middle of a combat zone, that’ll do.

  We all shake our heads

  in agreement,

  like he’s making

  more sense than

  we’ve ever heard,

  but he’s not,

  and everyone

  but Walt

  is royally freaked.

  Yeah, man. That’s all you need, I say, realizing I probably

  sound ignorant, but not knowing what else to say.

  I should probably roll, he says, standing and walking

  toward the door.

  I’ll go with you, Walt says, jumping up. Let me just grab

  my stuff.

  Want me to come with you? Divya asks.

  But by the time

  they grab

  their belongings,

  Mo’s gone,

  disappeared, like he

  was never here.

  Text to Sam

  12:43 am

  Did you make it home?

  Please let me know

  you got home okay.

  Walt’s brother was here.

  1:31 am

  I reread

  Corinthian’s letters

  to remind myself

  there’s no turning back

  when love comes calling.

  The past cannot be changed.

  The future is in my hands

  to be molded and shaped.

  And love is a many-splendored thing.

  These are all the things

  I’m thinking

  when

  a loud knock

  to my bedroom door

  jolts me

  back to now.

  What does Walt want this time?

  The Right Time

  What are you doing here?

  I needed to see you.

  I’m glad you came back.

  You sent my heart and my world spinning.

  I’m sorry about everything.

  I can’t believe it’s you. I just can’t.

  Well, that makes me feel good.

  No, I mean, how could I have not known? Why didn’t

  you ever tell me, Noah?

  I never found the right time.

  In eight years?

  One day, you’re in third grade, holding hands on a

  field trip.

  I remember that.

  And before you know it, the girl you love is your best

  friend.

  You love me?

  . . . .

  What am I supposed to do with that, Noah?

  We lie across the bed

  holding hands

  in silence,

  staring at stars

  painted on the ceiling,

  and before it gets

  more awkward,

  I play some music.

  Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

  Can we play something else?

  Why? It’s jazz. Just listen—it’s really good.

  It’s a little depressing.

  Give it a try. This album is great. It’s Brazilian.

  Can you play something American?

  How about I turn it down some?

  Maybe turn it off.

  It’s not depressing, it’s yearning. It’s pure pleasure. It’s

  magic, I say.

  Yearning for what, a bullet to the head?

  What do you want to hear?

  Beyoncé.

  . . . .

  I change the music

  and the subject.

  How was Cruz?

  I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s difficult. It’s complex.

  What went down tonight is just a lot, Noah, she says,

  placing

  her hand

  in mine,

  and suddenly

  the music

  doesn’t matter.

  Actually, nothing matters.

  You okay with all this?

  It’s been eight years, so it’s gonna take some getting used

  to, Noah.

  I know.

  I just feel like I was thrown from a roller coaster, but I

  landed on a cloud. You don’t think you’ll land softly after

  a night like this. You don’t think your best friend will end

  up being the person who has loved you all these years. And

  then you find yourself lying in his bed holding his hand

  and having heart flutters.

  Heart flutters?

  It’s confusing, I’m going to be honest, but I’m just blown

  away by your art, by your words, by how you feel. It makes

  me feel so special, so cared about, and all I can think

  about is how maybe this . . . us . . . deserves a chance.

  2:06 am

  She texts her mom

  that she’s okay

  and crashing

  at my house,

  which theoretically

  is not a big deal

  since she’s done it

  many times over the years,

  but never

  like this,

  so close

  I can feel

  her breathe.

  Moon River

  Her eyes sparkle
/>
  with the sacred moonlight

  glowing through

  the window.

  She cuddles.

  You’re warm, she says.

  My entire body is on fire,

  I want to say.

  It is kinda hot in here, I answer.

  I open the window,

  to the ghostly rustling

  of trees,

  like they know

  the secret of how

  this will all

  play out.

  She cuddles closer.

  How was Mo?

  Not good. Not good at all.

  Like what?

  He was spaced out, like he was here, but he was

  somewhere else. And random and jerky.

  You think he’s on drugs?

  Maybe. Also, the war. PTSD.

  What does Walt say?

  Nothing—it was like he didn’t see it at all.

  It’s his brother. Sometimes, we don’t want to see the not-so-

  good things happening to our loved ones.

  True.

  I need to get something off my chest.

  Okay. What is it?

  There’s something I never told you.

  What is it? My heart pounds waiting for the reveal, as

  if this could be something I really, really don’t want to

  know. Or something I do.

  I tried something. Just once.

  Tried what?

  Weed.

  That’s random. Why are you telling me now?

  I don’t know. We were talking about Mo, and we’re here,

  and I’m feeling kinda vulnerable, and I just wanted to.

  . . . .

  What?

  Nothing.

  . . . .

  What are you thinking about now?

  I like when it snows in April, like it did this year. The way

  the flowers peek out from under the snow blanket.

  O-kay.

  And I like taking a long nap when it rains.

  I knew that.

  You did not.

  I’ve seen you nap dozens of times when it rains, and we’re

  supposed to be studying.

  That was, like, fifth grade.

  I remember.

  But did you know I liked it?

  I did . . . because you always look so peaceful and happy

  sleeping.

  You study me while I’m sleeping?

  Ummm . . . yeah, I guess I do.

  Creepy. Creepy. She uses her fingernails to crawl her

  fingers through my hair. Just creepy. Her dancing fingers

  and smile send electric bolts of thrill throughout my

  body.

  I know a lot about you, Samantha.

  Turns out I know very little about you, Mr. Picasso. I

  should have known when you started lecturing Walt and

  me on art.

  Yeah, I just knew you were gonna figure me out then.

  You’re a real sneaky devil, Noah Wallace.

  You’re a sneaky devil.

  And a brilliant artist too. They were all so beautiful, minus

  the LICK, of course.

  You’re beautiful, I say.

  Please don’t call me that.

  Sorry. Why?

  What am I? How am I beautiful? Calling me beautiful

  feels like a line.

  Haven’t you read all my letters? Haven’t you seen what

  you do to me? How foolish you make me look?

  She laughs,

  squeezes me tight.

  You’re you and that’s why you’re beautiful. There’s no one

  in the world like you, Sam.

  . . . .

  Conversation

  What’s going on in there? Walt says, banging on the door.

  Go away, we’re making out, Sam screams.

  WOOHOO! Walt screams. I LOVE IT! ALL ABOARD

  NOAH’S ARK. ROW, ROW, ROW YOUR BOAT!

  Walt, nothing’s happening, I say, opening the door,

  revealing Sam under the covers in

  my bed, and my sleeping bag next to it.

  Dude, the party was epic. Until it wasn’t. The party was

  outta control. Y’all good?

  We’re great, Sam says. Now, can you let us get back to our

  tongue fight?

  Good night, Walt, I say.

  Good night? Dude, it’s six am.

  Huh?

  If you open your curtains, you’d see that.

  He shuts the door, and

  we start laughing

  at the wonder

  and bliss

  of having talked

  and held hands

  ’til the break

  of dawn.

  On Monday

  when we go

  to get coffee,

  I feel like

  I own the world.

  I order

  for all of us

  like I’m ordering

  outlaws

  off my ranch,

  like I’m the good guy

  winning the girl

  and the whole

  hazelnut town.

  When I get

  to the car,

  I hand them

  their coffees

  and grab her hand

  to make sure

  I still can.

  But only for a second,

  ’cause I can’t drive

  and drink

  and hold

  my future

  at the same time.

  When I get to school

  it seems like there’s

  someone smiling

  or applauding

  everywhere I turn.

  At my locker,

  in English class,

  at the library

  when I return

  my overdue book.

  During physics, Mr. Albert,

  our favorite teacher, says

  there’s an equation to the law

  of attraction and love.

  And he looks at me and smiles

  as he draws it up on the board.

  Even in ASL,

  everybody’s signing Bravo

  and lover boy.

  Who’s da man? Walt asks himself.

  Indubitably, you da man! he shouts.

  I’ve Got You Under My Skin

  I wait for Sam

  after school,

  and she comes out

  with Walt,

  and I hug her

  like she’s the North Star

  planted firmly

  in my astrology

  in my astronomy

  in my prayers

  in my tomorrow

  in my forever

  in this one great, precious life.

  Prelude to a Kiss

  You two lovebirds should get a room, Walt says.

  Wanna come back to my house? We can order pizza and

  do homework, I say to Sam.

  As long as we don’t have to listen to any more of that

  wretched music?

  Noah, I don’t know, but you may have to nix this love

  thing if she’s hating on jazz, Walt says to me, shaking his

  head. We may be too sophisticated for her.

  You calling me unsophisticated, Walt?

  If the shoe fits . . .

  C’mon, Noah, let’s go back to your place, and I can show

  you how a sophisticated lady acts.

  I’m down for that, I say, grabbing her hand.

  Duke Ellington, May 24, 1974. Lung cancer and

  pneumonia. He said, “Music is how I live, why I live, and

  how I will be remembered,” then BAM!

  Thanks for the history lesson. We’ll see ya, Swing.

  Wait, I thought we were hitting the batting cages, Noah.

  I’m gonna pass on that.

  You’re gonna play me like that, dude?

  Are you even getting better,
Walt? Sam says, laughing.

  I’m as good as your man is at love letters.

  Then you must be exceptional, she says, kissing me on the

  cheek.

  Have fun, lovebirds, he says, walking away, chuckling.

  Save me some dinner.

  The week with Sam

  is like a dream deferred

  that’s finally arrived.

  I carry her backpack,

  take her home

  from school,

  hold her hand

  ’til the streetlights

  go out,

  and sometimes after.

  We make sugar cookies,

  study for our big trig exam,

  and listen to

  Beyoncé so much

  that I find myself

  drinking lemonade,

  crazy in love every day.

  All I can think about is her.

  All I want to do is slow dance

  with her heart

  in the arms

  of mine.

  We cuddle,

  watch videos

  of cats dancing,

  and Junior Wilson’s leap,

  which has over one million views.

  I take new routes

  to my classes to

  avoid Cruz,

  but he’s been missing

  most of the week,

  and I pray he’s

  dropped out.