Swing Page 2
But I guess
if you gotta go,
that’s the way
to do it.
I Don’t Understand Jazz
While the rest
of the world
listens to trap
and country music,
I’m listening
to Benny Goodman,
and getting accosted
by Walt
and his after-coffee breath.
To me, jazz sounds like
what biting
into a lemon
would taste like
if you could hear it.
I just don’t see
the plum sweetness, I guess.
Swing
My best friend
Walt Disney Jones
is obsessed with jazz,
baseball,
dead famous people,
and finding cool,
if it’s the last thing
we ever do.
But cool has eluded us
since we met
on the losing-est
third grade baseball team
in the history
of earth.
Cool is Satchel Paige,
the best pitcher
to play the game.
We’re just two
juniors in high school
who’ve struck out
on the field
as much as off.
But Walt’s a
self-proclaimed expert
on how to
never give up
until you win.
In other words,
he’s delusional.
But he is right
about one thing:
Baseball’s in my genes, Noah.
His brother, Moses,
is Satchel Paige incarnate,
a baseball phenom
in our town
who got drafted
by the Yankees,
then disappeared into
a sea of camouflage
when he decided instead
to fight
for our country.
But Walt’s no Moses,
and neither am I.
Discharged
Mo’s coming home from Afghanistan.
YEAH?!
Like this month. MY BIG BRO IS COMING HOME!
WOOHOO!
Perfect timing. Maybe he can teach us how to finally
catch cool. It’s exhausting chasing it.
Noah, we’re gonna own cool. Like, when people google
cool, a picture of me and you spitting seeds and tobacco
with our hats to the back will pop up.
First of all, I don’t chew seeds. And no one chews
tobacco anymore. You gonna eat your fries?
We’re destined to make the team next year.
I told you I’m not trying out again. Gimme your fries.
Quit thinking negatively. Don’t build more walls to block
what’s possible. Crash through, Noah. Crash the heck
through.
Who are you, Oprah now?
It’s from a podcast I listen to.
What podcast?
The podcast that is our ticket out of the desert of
callowness. Life is simple, Noah, but you have to use the
miracle power of your mind to tap into the cosmic power
known as The Woohoo Woman.
I have no idea what that means.
It’s the secret. If we’re gonna learn how women think, we
have to listen to women.
. . . .
Truth
Walt knows everything, believes
in the power of anything,
and the stuff he’s unsure of,
the stuff he doesn’t know, you’d never know,
’cause he’s so confident sharing
every idea, tidbit, factoid,
hypothesis, positive mantra
that floats around
in his big ole brain.
I’m not gifted
like him.
Some things, I tell him,
are actually impossible,
like finding
the right words
to tell Sam
she’s my archangel,
the one who saves me,
the one who flies
through my mind
night and day.
So, I draw.
My Secret
In an old
shoebox
under my bed
are drawings
and patchworks
and art pieces
from third grade
’til now.
Baseball bats,
gloves and balls,
starry nights
and moons,
strange dreams,
and hundreds of
hearts sketched
for Sam.
No one knows
about my secret stash.
No one
but my parents
and Walt.
The Dare
The Odyssey, yo. Really?
What? It’s art.
Libraries consider defacing a book vandalism and
mutilation. It’s a threat to intellectual property. I concur.
Whatever.
Did you hear anything I said, Michelangelo?
I heard every word you said, Mr. Woohoo Woman!
It’s time for us to know ourselves, conquer our inner cool,
or one day we’re gonna end up walking down the street of
possibility, alone, naked, and unhappy.
Dude, you’ve lost me. You gonna eat all your fries?
Did you ask her out yet?
Why are you rushing me?
If 2,539 days is rushing, I’d hate for you to be patient. Yet
do I marvel. Yet do I freakin’ marvel!
She’s my best friend. It’s delicate. When I’m ready, I’ll do it!
FIND a way to tell her, or I’ll tell her for you.
No, you won’t. YOU ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT TELL
HER!
Seven years is a long freakin’ time not to hook up with your
self-proclaimed soulmate.
I never said she was my soulmate.
No, what you said was, and I quote, “Your smile is a joyful
noise that sings to me like a Baptist choir on first Sunday.
So strong, it makes me wanna HOLLA!”
I said that?
Eighth grade, in Mrs. Allen’s class. Killer metaphor, yo!
Oh.
Time to own it, Noah.
Dude, Cruz will kick my—
Assume it won’t come to that.
Why?
The day is coming when she’ll be available.
Doubtful.
Yo, have you noticed she’s calling you a lot more lately,
wanting to study a lot more lately, generally trying to be
all up in our mix lately? You think that’s a coincidence?
. . . .
It’s not. At worst, she’s unhappy. At best, she’s unhinged.
Guys like Cruz can throw you off your center. She can do
better than him. It’s just a matter of time.
How do you know all this?
My cousin Floyd.
Your cousin Floyd? What does he know about this?
HE KNOWS EVERYTHING. He’s the one who hipped
me to the podcast.
Hipped? Who are you, Shaft now?
Floyd used to date a reality TV star, and he knows a thing
or two about love. Girls are always fighting over him.
I think Steve Harvey was going to do an episode about
him and all his lady friends. He’s my romance guru. He
counsels me on my love life.
What love life?
The one where I’m going to the prom with the baddest girl
on earth.
&n
bsp; And who is that?
Don’t know. Haven’t met her yet.
. . . .
Anyway, Floyd is super cool, man.
. . . .
Get in the game, yo!
Yeah, okay.
I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Let’s go see him
tomorrow.
Can’t tomorrow, I’m helping my mom get ready for her
trip.
Then let’s go this weekend.
We’re going to see my granny.
She lives around the corner from you, yo.
Maybe next week.
You’re not getting out of this, Noah. You and me, next
week, at Dairy Queen.
Dairy Queen?
That’s where he’s currently employed.
Wait, he works at Dairy Queen? I thought you said he
was cool?
Here, taste this, he says, mixing his bowl of spaghetti with
his fries. You still want a fry?
. . . .
Next Week
The bell rings.
We all slide out
of our chairs
and rush the doors.
Pretty much everyone else
in my class
casually strolls
to their car,
or a friend’s car,
to drive home, or to a job,
or to get some eats, while
lucky me
still gets to mad dash it
to the bus.
Except for today.
Walt’s been harassing me
for a week to meet
his cousin.
So, today, I’m going to Dairy Queen.
Today, I’m getting schooled
on romance
by a romance guru
who works
at Dairy Queen.
Today, we’re supposedly
coming up with a plan—at Dairy Queen—to
finally
tell my best friend
of seven years
that I think
I love her.
While I’m waiting
for Walt
by the flagpole,
baking beneath sun
hot as the equator,
someone walks up
behind me,
covers my eyes,
and whispers
in a voice
smooth as silk:
Guess who?
Surprise
Sam, Walt, and I
used to hang
every day
after school.
Skipping rocks.
Walks to the lake.
Video games.
Homework.
Just kicking it.
Granted, that was
middle school,
but still, we had fun.
Together.
Ever since
we got to high school,
she’s all new—classes
and friends.
I mean, we still hang,
but it’s always
on her terms,
mostly baseball games
to see Cruz play,
and sometimes
we study together.
Well, she studies.
I listen to music
and crack jokes
with Walt,
and pretend
my heart isn’t beating
like hip-hop,
and my stomach
isn’t all jumbled
like heavy metal.
Like it is
right now, right
now it is like
jumbled metal, right now
a heavy pain
jumbled
into metal, heavy
in my soul like metal
waiting to be
unjumbled. Right now.
My Funny Valentine
You know what today is, Noah?
Wednesday.
You’re hopelessly unromantic.
. . . .
It’s Valentine’s Day.
Oh. Why aren’t you with Cruz?
I’d rather be with my bestie, she says, grabbing my hand,
not knowing her teasing is torture.
. . . ..
Hey! What are you doing?
Waiting for Walt.
I just saw him in the gym.
Really? We’re supposed to be meeting.
I guess he’s trying to get fit. You know, you could buff up a
little too, Noah. I mean, if you want to impress the ladies.
I’m not interested in impressing girls who just want guys
with muscles.
Spoken like a guy with no muscles. Come on, my car’s this
way. We’re going shopping.
Shopping?
Emergency. I need you.
Okay, but I gotta wait for Walt—we got plans.
Walt can wait. Plus, you guys are spending too much time
together, and I’m a little jealous.
You’re the one who’s always busy, Sam.
Just text him. We can hook up with him later. C’mon, let’s
ride.
What are we shopping for?
For correct grammar.
Whatever.
Dresses. We’re shopping for dresses.
. . . .
Unforgettable
Cruz may get
to be her boyfriend
every day,
but today,
right now,
I get to see her
glide out of
the dressing room
in every color
prom dress imaginable.
I get to see her
stun.
I get to see her
spin
like a whirling dervish.
I get to see her
look crazy beautiful
in every single one
of the fifty-some dresses
she tries on.
I get to see her strut out
in the red one
with the strap
off the shoulder,
the one
that makes my heart
freefall,
like an eagle diving
off a canyon.
The one that makes me realize
that I am way out
of my league,
and no amount of baseball
or Dairy Queen
will ever get me
in this game.
You okay, Noah?
Insults
You like it?
Yeah, it’s okay, I guess, I lie.
Sucknerd.
Toadlip.
Horsehead.
Big butt.
Big butt? That’s all you got? You lose.
Seriously, the dress is tight as your cornrows.
Awww, that’s beautiful, Noah. Nothing like a new dress
and a best friend to get rid of the blues.
What’s going on?
Cruz is kinda putting pressure on me.
Pressure? What do you mean?
What do you think I mean? Did you know female
dragonflies fake their own deaths to get out of relationships
with male dragonflies?
You’re scaring me.
How do I tell him to slow down?
Just tell him no.
I’m scared he might break up with me.
Then it wasn’t meant to be. Choose the YES that’s best
for you.
Huh?
Never mind. So, you’re wearing this dress to the prom?
Maybe. You think Cruz’ll like it?
I guess.
Are you going?
I don’t know.
You didn’t ask anyone yet? NOAH!
I’m weighing my options.
Michelle said she thinks you’re kinda cute.
I don’t need you to be my matchmaker, Sam.
Testy, testy! I’m just trying to help.
Plus, it’s my mom’s birthday, so I’m saving my cash for
a nice gift. Next year I’ll get the limo, the tux, do the
whole thing.
Hard to argue with a guy who thinks about his mom.
You’re a good guy, Noah. Too good.
What does that mean, too good?
Just means some girl is gonna be lucky to get you.
. . . .
Let’s keep looking.
I thought you chose the red one. Haven’t we seen enough
dresses?
Just a few more. Then we can go to the game.
The game?
Cruz has a scrimmage today.
Yay!
We sit
in the top row
of the bleachers
like we own the field,
drinking Fanta,
eating hot dogs
and salted pretzels
before the game
starts.
The players
on both teams
cross their arms
over their hearts
for the anthem,
in unity.
I get up
to do the same,
but she pulls me
back down.
What are you doing?
We’re taking a stand, Noah.
Actually, we’re sitting, I say.
Exactly.
Why?
If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for everything.