Focused

by Alyson Gerber

  “I know you don’t, sweetheart.” She rests her hand on my shoulder, rubbing in slow, gentle circles. “I wish this wasn’t happening. But if Dr. Paul says you need a brace, then you do. We have to do everything we can right now to stop your curve from getting worse. This is your chance to avoid surgery.”

  I look at Dr. Paul. He’s looking at his phone.

  “But you had surgery and you’re fine,” I say.

  “I was really lucky, Rachel. There are big risks when you have a spinal fusion. The surgeons use metal rods and screws to straighten and fuse the vertebrae into a solid bone. You don’t want surgery unless you absolutely need it.” She grabs my hand and looks at me. Her eyes are welling up again. “I love you. And we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I nod. I didn’t know any of that about her surgery. “What does a back brace even look like?” I ask.

  Mom takes a deep breath. “It goes under your clothes, you know, like the brace I had on my knee, only this one is plastic and there’s padding on the inside that helps keep your spine straight as you grow.” Mom hurt herself running last spring, and she had to wear a brace for a few weeks. You couldn’t see it under her pants.

  “They should have samples in the brace shop,” Dr. Paul says, like he thinks that’s helpful.

  “It’ll be okay. I promise,” Mom says. “It’s not nearly as bad as what I went through. You’re lucky. Trust me.”

  “Okay,” I say. “I do.”

  * * *

  When we get home, I go straight up to my room and turn on “Soccer Jams,” aka the greatest compilation of pump-up music ever. I’m really into making playlists, and I’m not trying to brag, but this one is a masterpiece. I turn it up until it’s loud enough that I can’t hear myself think about getting a back brace or about how much longer it’s going to be before Dad gets home from work—but not so loud that I get in trouble. I need Dad to be here now to answer the most important question ever: Can I still play soccer after I get a brace?

  I didn’t think of it right away because Mom said the brace was like hers, and she could still run with the one she had. But then when we were walking out to the car, I realized that sometimes when people get braces or casts, they have to sit out of sports. By that point, it was too late to ask anyone other than Mom, who said she wasn’t sure and I should ask Dad. I thought about calling him on the ride home, but today is an operating day, so his phone is off and there’s no way to know what time he’ll be home.

  I let the happy, fast-paced songs find their way into my head. One by one they pick me up, until I’m dancing in circles on the soft carpet, moving around my room to the beat. When the garage door rumbles open, I realize I forgot I was waiting for it—for Dad.

  I run down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dad is standing by the stove whispering something to Mom. She stirs a big pan of vegetables with one hand and rubs her stomach with the other. She nods quickly and a lot of times but doesn’t say anything back to him.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say.

  He smiles and walks over to me, hugging me with one arm. He’s still holding his briefcase. “I know this stinks, kiddo. But we’re going to get you better. I promise.”

  “Okay. But Dad, I really want to play soccer so badly.”

  “Did Dr. Paul say you couldn’t?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “He didn’t say anything about sports, but I didn’t tell him I play.”

  “I can’t think of a reason why you’d have to stop playing soccer altogether. You need to ask when you go back. But I really don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”

  “See? Look at that!” Mom says. “And if you had surgery, you’d be out for at least six months, maybe even a year. This is so much better.”

  I look at Dad.

  He nods. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Kate McKean, my amazing literary agent, thank you for believing in my books.

  David Levithan, thank you for getting why this book mattered from the beginning and for giving me insightful, honest, and always smart feedback. You’ve taught me so much, first as my teacher and now as my editor. I feel very lucky to have your support. Big thanks to Maya Marlette for knowing everything about chess and for sharing all the answers with me.

  Thank you to everyone at Scholastic for supporting this book: Ellie Berger, Lizette Serrano, Robin Hoffman, Milena Giunco, Elizabeth Parisi, Baily Crawford, Bill Franke, and Jackie Hornberger.

  Corey Haydu, Amy Ewing, Jess Verdi, and Caela Carter—you are my writing rocks. Thank you for telling me this story was important over and over, and for getting why I needed you to keep saying it. Cheryl Klein, I will be forever grateful to you for believing in me and teaching me how to write a book in a way I could understand.

  I’m lucky to have so many amazing friends who get and accept me. I love you. You know who you are.

  Thank you to all of my teachers for your patience, especially Mrs. White, who taught me to ask for help and to forgive myself for my mistakes.

  I am grateful to Dr. D. for treating my ADHD, for helping me to understand my mind, and for teaching me to manage my symptoms. Thank you to my friend Dr. Nina Shiffrin, who advised and guided me to the right information, and to Meghan Shann for being an educational resource. Thanks to Dr. Sharon Saline, Corey Greene, David Kraemer, Dr. Rodriguez, and Bianca Territo for your help.

  Caroline, Henley’s character is based on our sisterhood and the unwavering patience and kindness you’ve shown me since the day you were born. Thank you for always giving me another chance to try again, even when I didn’t deserve your understanding. I am better because of you.

  Adam, I don’t know where or who I would be if you hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD. You saved me. I hope this book shows every kid like us that smart, capable people come in all different packages.

  Papa, there are no words to describe how special you are to me. Gammie, I wish you’d had a chance to read this book. I think you would have liked it. I’ll make sure there is a copy in your library. I miss you.

  Mom, I struggled so much, for so long, and yet somehow you found a way to make sure I loved books and school and learning. Thank you for filling my world with stories, for valuing my voice, and for doing everything in your power to help me find my way.

  Dad, I’ve never been afraid to try or scared of hard work or ashamed to fall, because of you. You showed me that the smartest people—people like you—who go to the most important schools and accomplish big things and help others—work and fall and get back up and do it all over again.

  Juliette, right now you are small and growing every day. You are a wonder—fierce and powerful and determined. And I am thankful that at least for today I can fix all of your problems, just by being your mother. That won’t always be the case. But know that whatever challenges you face—no matter how big they are and no matter how overwhelming they feel—they will make you strong.

  Andrew, I let you see all the holes and the problems and the things I thought were wrong with me, and it turned out that everything I thought was bad—you thought was good and special. You changed the way I saw myself. Thank you for teaching me to believe. It is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. I love you.

  Alyson Gerber is the author of Braced. She is a graduate of The New School’s MFA in Writing for Children and lives in Brooklyn, New York, with her husband and daughter. Visit her at alysongerber.com and find her everywhere else at @ alysongerber.

  Copyright © 2019 by Alyson Gerber

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos 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 o
r 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 available

  First edition, April 2019

  Jacket image © 2019, by Mike Heath

  Chalk art and lettering by Baily Crawford

  Jacket design by Elizabeth B. Parisi

  e-ISBN 978-1-338-18599-7

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