I stayed where I was.
Volpe snapped a few more shots with that camera. “Here now before you is the truest blessing of the Lord. Gaze upon this child and let your heart be lifted up.”
My heart didn’t feel especially heavy, and Mr. Abernathy didn’t seem to care either way, but I really was feeling bad about what I’d said about his wife, so I stepped in closer as a kind of apology. Besides, even though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anybody there that day, I wanted to see the baby for myself. Since the night of the birth, I’d had a hard time getting that scrunched-up face out of my mind, those sky blue eyes that stared right through me. So, not sure what to expect, I looked at Miracle.
Despite what you might have heard, she did not have golden hair. There was no white glow surrounding her. No cross-shaped birthmark adorned her forehead. The fact is, her head was hairy and still shaped a little funny from being squeezed like it was. Her pink skin seemed flawless to me, not a scar or a freckle or a wrinkle to be found.
But if I’m going to be a full and true witness, I have to be honest and tell you something else. The air around Miracle was thick with that scent I couldn’t quite place, the same one I smelled the night she was born. I was waiting for her to open her eyes, so I kept inhaling, sniffing at this scent you’d never expect from a baby or hospital. That baby girl smelled of vanilla, rich and pure, and there in that waiting room I remembered where I’d smelled it before: the fairy fort.
I almost asked if anyone else noticed it, but I was afraid they might think I was making some kind of joke.
“She’s great, Mr. Abernathy,” I said. “I’m glad she’s okay and hope Mrs. Abernathy’s okay.”
He nodded at me but said nothing. Volpe piped up, “Grace’s placenta ruptured, but she’s recovering nicely. Dr. Ghadari expects to release her in the morning. She’s resting now, but when she wakes, I’ll tell her that you send your good wishes and prayers.”
I didn’t like Volpe putting words in my mouth, let alone prayers. I was on the verge of correcting her, but Daniel said, “Baby Miracle’s having a little dream.”
We all leaned in and looked closely, but the sleeping child’s face seemed no different to me.
Volpe asked, “What is she dreaming about?”
Daniel glanced at my mother and then at me, as if seeking permission. Neither of us told him not to answer, so he did. “About angels. All babies come from heaven but they forget when they start growing up. So she’s dreaming all about it while she still remembers.”
This delighted Volpe, who got so choked up she had to tug a white handkerchief from her pocket. “God’s greatest blessing,” she said, fighting back tears as she poked a folded corner up inside her gold glasses.
When her cell phone rang, it startled us all. She answered it and listened, then said, “No, we’re downstairs. Yes, in the visitors’ room.”
“Time for us to go, Ma,” I said.
Volpe shot me a sharp look.
“What’s this about?” my mother said.
“It’s about us leaving,” I told her. I took Daniel’s hand and started for the door, but something anchored me.
Volpe had ahold of his other hand. She bent down and said, “I never stopped believing in you, Daniel. Lo these many trials, I never once doubted.” Her eyes were bright and shiny, the way eyes get just before tears come on. “I swear by the grace of God,” she said, “others will know what you’ve done here. I will spread word of the wonders you have worked.”
Over my dead body, you psycho bitch, I thought.
And that’s as good a place as any to mark as the birth of the Anti-Miracle Plan.
I’d like to first thank my former editor Cheryl Klein, who years back brought me an idea about a troubled high school wrestler and then gave me the space to make the story my own. When the project was handed over to Nick Thomas, I was skeptical anyone could fill Cheryl’s shoes, but his steadfast optimism, perceptive eye, and stalwart intransigence on key aesthetic elements have proven invaluable. He got this book into fighting shape.
I’m in debt to Natnaree Junboonta, Michael Jerryson, and Dan Fethke for their expert insights into Thai culture and Buddhist tradition, as well as Julie Francisco of the Kalpa Bhadra Kadampa Buddhist Center of Harrisburg for her wisdom and generosity of time and spirit. For sharing their keen understanding on matters of meditation, I thank Toru Sato and Tomoko Grabosky.
I drew inspiration from many individuals I met through my involvement with wrestling and judo, among them Dave Holmes, Hachiro Oishi, my nephews Jerrod and Brian, and my brother John. A special nod to his son Keegan, whose combination of ferocity on the mat and gentle kindness outside the arena struck me as an interesting character core long ago.
This book was helped greatly by a sabbatical from my teaching post at Shippensburg University, and I should like to thank the committee and administration. I must also note the support of my colleagues, among them Nicole, Kim, Rich, Shari, and Sharon.
I also need to give a shout-out to Chris Naddeo, long-time reader, for his unreasonable encouragement of my writing and his impenetrable defense to a tai otoshi.
Finally I’m grateful beyond words to Beth and our boys, for continually giving me reason to write.
NEIL CONNELLY is the author of seven critically acclaimed books, including four YA novels with Arthur A. Levine Books. The most recent was Into the Hurricane, which Kirkus Reviews called “thoughtful and provocative.” He teaches creative writing at Shippensburg University and lives in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, with his wife and their sons. You can find him on the web at neilconnelly.com.
Into the Hurricane
The Miracle Stealer
St. Michael’s Scales
Copyright © 2019 by Neil Connelly
All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Connelly, Neil O., author.
Title: Brawler / Neil Connelly.
Description: First edition. | New York : Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., 2019. | Summary: High school champion wrestler Eddie MacIntyre does not mind his well-earned reputation as a loose cannon, but when he punches a referee he not only loses his chance at the state championships, he gets expelled from school — facing the strong possibility of joining his father in prison, he runs away and joins an illegal underground fighting ring, where he and a girl fighter named Khajee find themselves trapped in a violent world, run by bad men and gamblers.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018017568| ISBN 9781338157758 (hardcover : alk. paper) | ISBN 1338157752 (hardcover : alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Boxing stories. | Hand-to-hand fighting — Juvenile fiction. | Violence in sports — Juvenile fiction. | Aggressiveness — Juvenile fiction. | Organized crime — Juvenile fiction. | Gambling — Juvenile fiction. | Man-woman relationships — Juvenile fiction. | CYAC: Boxing — Fiction. | Hand-to-hand fighting — Fiction. | Aggressiveness — Fiction. | Organized crime — Fiction. | Gambling — Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.C76186 Br 2019 | DDC [Fic] — dc23 LC record available at https://catalog.loc.gov/vwebv/search?searchCode=LCCN&searchArg=2018017568&searchType=1&permalink=y
First edition, April 2019
Jacket design by Phil Falco
e-ISBN 978-1-338-15776-5
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitt
ed, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Brawler Page 28
