Booked Read online

  your notebook with you.

  The walk to her desk

  feels like a death march.

  Each classmate you pass is

  eager and loaded,

  ready to fire.

  No other way to look at it.

  Everyone’s gonna know.

  April’s gonna know.

  You’re pretty much dead.

  A bead of sweat drops

  from your eyebrow.

  Ms. Hardwick had to see it

  hit her desk.

  You hand her the notebook.

  She glances at it, then shoots

  a look that says,

  You’re going down, Hall!

  Then She Smiles

  If there were an award for worst teacher,

  Ms. Hardwick would win hands down.

  She’s had a frown on her face

  since the beginning of the school year.

  So, when she smiles, you’re flummoxed.*

  Well, it appears that

  Nicholas here has been

  doing a little bit of extra credit, she says,

  staring at your notebook.

  Now you’re really confused.

  She hands you back your notebook.

  Nicholas, would you please share

  this lovely new vocabulary word

  you’ve discovered.

  She winks at you when she says lovely.

  She’s gonna embarrass you in front of everyone.

  Do I have to, Ms. Hardwick?

  It’s such a wonderful, rhythmic word.

  Spell it for the class, please.

  You do, and then she goes in for the kill.

  Do you know what it means, Nicholas?

  No, you lie. (Why is she still smiling?)

  Let’s give Nicholas a round of applause.

  Everyone does. Even April.

  Class, your homework is to define limerence

  and use it in a sentence.

  Whew, you think, as you walk

  back to your seat.

  (I survived!)

  Ms. Hardwick isn’t all that bad.

  You escaped,

  but just before

  you sit down

  Winnifred raises her hand

  and starts

  spraying bullets

  everywhichaway.

  Limerence

  She says,

  from the French word limier.

  I can tell you what it means right now, Ms. Hardwick.

  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

  Go right ahead, Winnifred.

  Limerence is

  the experience of being in love with someone,

  commonly known as a crush,

  but not any old crush.

  A. Major. Crush.

  NICHOLAS B. HALL

  BELOVED SON. BEST FRIEND. SOCCER STAR.

  2003–2016

  DIED OF ONOMATOPHOBIA.*

  MAY HE REST IN PEACE.

  Coby’s Back

  When I was little,

  my favorite toy

  was a remote-control

  helicopter.

  I took it on vacation

  one summer

  and accidentally flew it

  into the hotel pool.

  I was afraid

  to jump in

  and get it

  because I couldn’t swim.

  By the time

  my dad got it out,

  the engine had flooded

  and it wouldn’t fly anymore.

  It was my favorite toy,

  and I lost it.

  I guess what I’m trying to say, Coby,

  is I’m sorry.

  I should have jumped in,

  helped you in the fight.

  He shrugs his shoulders,

  tells you,

  Don’t worry about it, Nick.

  Just have my back next time.

  Did you get in trouble?

  Yeah, I can’t play in any games

  for a week.

  WHAT?! Can you still go to Dallas?

  Of course.

  Whew!

  Sorry, Coby!

  Yeah, just deal the cards.

  Blackjack in the Library

  Let’s play soccer after school,

  Nick. I can’t. Got some chores to

  do before my dad gets home.

  You and Coby

  sit on the floor

  in the back

  near the biographies,

  playing cards,

  whispering.

  I already started packing for Dallas. You?

  Think she knows?

  Everyone knows, Nick.

  How? Did April say something?

  Nope, but Charlene gave me this note to give to you from April.

  BLACKJACK.

  SHHHHH! Let me see the note.

  What note? whispers The Mac, surprising both of us.

  I told you to be quiet, Coby.

  Hey, why are we whispering? whispers The Mac.

  ’Cause we’re in the library, Mr. Mac.

  Not in the dragonfly café. WE DROP IT LIKE IT’S HOT HERE!

  . . .

  Fellas, let me ask you a question. Do you have a fave book?

  Yeah, a checkbook, you say. Give me some cash.

  Good one, Nick, Coby says, laughing along with you.

  Ha! Ha! I’m talking about a book that wows you. Just totally rips your heart out of your chest and then brutally stomps on it. That kind of book!

  Oh, WOW! you say.

  When you find that kind of book, holla at us, Mr. Mac.

  How was that soccer book I loaned you, Nick?

  Uh, about that—it’s a kids’ book, Mr. Mac.

  Yeah, but it’s about Pelé, he says.

  Really, it’s a book about Pelé, the King of Fútbol? Coby asks. I would read that.

  You would?

  Nah, probably not, but I’d definitely look at the pictures, Coby says, and we both laugh.

  Okay, enough goofing off, fellas. And hide the note you slid under your leg before Ms. Hardwick peeps it.

  Blackjack, Coby says as The Mac walks off.

  Note from April

  Dear Nick, Charlene and I think

  “Limerence” is beautiful.

  Meet me after my swim class.

  Change of Plans

  Coby, you still wanna play soccer?

  Yeah!

  Cool!

  But I thought you had chores?

  I can do them later.

  You’re suspect, bro!

  Conversation After Soccer

  Come on, man, just wait with me.

  Can’t, I gotta get home to watch my sister.

  Just for a minute. I don’t know what to say.

  Just talk about the weather or something.

  That’s corny.

  Nick, it ain’t deep. Talk about what you know.

  Soccer?

  Yeah, talk to her about the Dallas Cup.

  Good idea, but what if she thinks it’s boring.

  Then she’s crazy, in which case you don’t want her anyway.

  True.

  I gotta go.

  But there she is. Over there on the sidewalk. What should I do?

  That’s a shame.

  What?

  That you don’t know what to say, given all the words in your dad’s dictionary.

  Hey, where ya going? Come back!

  BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

  Conversation with April

  Nice bike, Nick.

  Thanks.

  Thanks for coming.

  Yeah.

  Aren’t you gonna ask me how was swimming class?

  How was swimming class?

  Well, Ms. Hardwick jumped in the pool.

  What? No freakin’ way!

  Yeah, she wanted to test the water. Get it? Test?

  That’s funny.

  Did you hear she isn’t coming back next year?

  Seriously?

  Yep. She’
s going to another school. In Texas.

  WOW! That’s cool!

  I like her.

  Yeah, she’s okay I guess, you lie.

  . . .

  Hey, I’m going to Texas.

  That’s nice. For what?

  Dallas Cup. It’s a pretty prestigious soccer tournament.

  I like when you say words like that.

  Prestigious? That’s not really a big word or anything.

  But you know a lot of big words?

  Yeah, thanks to my dad, the verbomaniac, I have to read his dictionary of weird words.

  What letter are you on?

  I just finished Q & R.

  Wow! Like, what kind of words?

  Like, uh, Quattlebaum.

  Miss Quattlebaum?

  Yep, her name is a portmanteau word, which means it’s made up of two different words. Her name is German. Quattle means “fruit,” and baum means “tree.”

  So she’s Miss Fruit Tree.

  Sure is, but we probably shouldn’t call her that.

  That’s funny. What about my last name, Farrow?

  Uh, I think it means “pretty” or something.*

  . . .

  So, do you like soccer?

  Not really.

  Oh!

  Just kidding. I like watching you play.

  . . .

  Hey, I’m sorry about your parents.

  Huh? I mean, what do you mean?

  I saw what you posted about them ruining your life.

  Oh, I wasn’t, I mean, they—

  My parents trip out too. It’s so annoying.

  I’m over it anyway.

  Well that’s good, ’cause I don’t want you to lose your smile again.

  . . .

  Here comes my mom. Raincheck on a big hug. See you in school, Nick.

  Okay, uh, thanks, uh, bye, April.

  The only thing

  better than getting a hug

  from April is the PROMISE

  of getting a HUG from her.

  Probability

  If there are 278,000 people

  in your city,

  what are the odds

  of you running

  into the two people

  you least

  want to run

  into?

  Boy rides his bike

  from the community center

  to his home

  like he’s always done,

  only this time,

  before he even gets

  a block away,

  he meets trouble.

  Where you going, Nick? asks Don, not

  really caring about an answer.

  Yeah, didn’t think you’d see us again

  this year, did you? says Dean.

  The only thing

  to do

  right now

  is gallop like a thoroughbred

  as fast as your bike will possibly go,

  and race

  for your life.

  Seems like to me, you owe us, says Dean.

  For what? you manage to ask.

  For getting us kicked out of school, punk.

  . . .

  Give us your bike.

  Uh, I can’t give it to you. I’ll get in trouble.

  Then I guess we’ll kick the crap out of you.

  Boy rides his bike

  from the community center

  to his home

  like he’s always done,

  only this time,

  before he even gets

  a block away,

  he meets trouble

  and ends up

  walking.

  Kentucky

  Maybe living there is not

  such a bad thing. At least you

  wouldn’t be bullied anymore.

  Breakdown

  An hour later

  you tiptoe

  up the stairs,

  try to sneak

  past his room

  before he—

  (Too late.)

  Nicholas, come here.

  Very next time

  you disobey me,

  there’ll be no Dallas.

  Now do what you were supposed to do

  and come home after school every day.

  And give me your phone.

  It’s not fair. IT’S JUST NOT FAIR.

  You better lower your voice!

  I HAD TO WALK ALL THE WAY HOME.

  Where’s your bus pass? Is your lip bleeding?

  I rode my bike. I’m going to bed.

  I asked you a question? And where’s your bike?

  They took it.

  Who is they? And why’d you let them take it?

  Why are you always blaming me?

  No one’s blaming you. I’m just asking—

  I’m tired of this. You’re always fussing

  at me for not reading your stupid dictionary

  or cleaning up my room.

  You don’t let me do ANYTHING.

  You take my phone,

  you took Mom,

  and now you want to

  take away

  the last good thing

  in my freakin’ life:

  SOCCER.

  Calm down, Nicholas.

  NO. I’m sick of it.

  My life sucks.

  I get bullied at school.

  I get bullied at home.

  I HATE MY LIFE!

  I wish I was. Sometimes, I just wish I was—

  What? You wish you were what?

  Dead.

  A Good Cry

  The blasting rap music

  in your headphones

  makes you feel less sad

  but still angry

  about things, so

  you start ripping

  pages

  from books

  on your shelf

  and only stop

  when you get to

  his dictionary, because

  even though you’re pissed

  you’re not stupid.

  At the top

  of the page

  you almost ripped

  is the word

  sweven.*

  You fall asleep

  repeating it

  497 times

  and dream that . . .

  You sprained your ankle

  on a dictionary while

  moonwalking

  with Michael Jackson.

  Your parents

  celebrate

  their twentieth anniversary

  at the Dallas Cup.

  You beat up

  Dean and Don

  for picking on April, and then

  you fall off

  a mountain

  but right before

  you CRASH

  you wake up

  crying

  in your mom’s

  arms.

  What are you doing here?

  Dad called, she says, wiping your tears. I drove all night. We’re both worried about you, Nicky.

  I’m fine, Mom.

  He told me what you said.

  Mom, of course I’m not gonna kill myself. I was just upset when I said that.

  What about that stuff you posted online?

  Seriously, Mom. I’m fine. I say stuff all the time that I don’t mean.

  So, you lie?

  C’mon, Mom.

  . . .

  . . .

  Let’s get out of here.

  Huh?

  Put on your clothes. Let’s go to the field.

  I don’t feel like it.

  That’s a first! C’mon, I’m gonna give you a soccer lesson today.

  Do I have to?

  Yes, but clean up this room first.

  . . .

  1 on 1

  like lightning

  you strike

  fast and free

  legs zoom

  downfield

  eyes fixed

  on the checkered ball

  on the goal

 
ten yards to go

  can’t nobody stop you

  can’t nobody cop you

  till, like a siren in a storm,

  she catches you

  zips past you

  strips the ball

  trips you (fall)

  watching her

  dribble away

  all the while thinking

  it’s bad that you got beat

  by another girl

  and worse

  that the other girl is

  your mother.

  This morning

  was just like old times:

  cinnamon French toast,

  Dutch pancakes,

  Ping-Pong.

  Now she’s on

  the pitch

  talking trash

  and you’re feeling

  a little better

  until . . .

  Conversation with Mom

  I’ve been calling and calling.

  Been a little busy with—

  Sugar balls, Nicky! Too busy to return a call?

  I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. I have a life.

  Oh, you have a life, do you?