by Ann Braden
I release Bryce and follow Fuchsia down the stairs to help. I’m sure I’ll get used these stairs.
“Zoey?”
I look up to see Bryce watching from the landing.
“Yeah?” I say.
“Did Fuchsia find that mattress just for us?”
“Yeah, buddy, I think she did.”
Bryce bites his lip and nods—and then heads back into the apartment.
Fuchsia calls to me from the bottom of the stairs. “Zoey! Are you coming?”
“Yup! On my way!”
On Monday morning, I take the bus with Fuchsia. We don’t talk much—she’s never been much of a morning person and I haven’t gotten much sleep, based on the fact that Bryce is still waking up with nightmares, and when I try to get back to sleep my mom and Hector are somehow always taking up most of the bed. I guess the last time she and I shared a mattress with a baby (that time it was Bryce), I was smaller.
It’s weird that Fuchsia isn’t waiting for me at my locker. She had mumbled something about going to the nurse and had disappeared as soon as we got into school. Maybe she didn’t sleep well the last two nights either. I don’t know if she’s much of a fan of having to share a bed with Crystal, but she insisted that Bryce and Aurora could use hers.
Still, it works out that she’s not leaning against the locker next to mine, since someone’s decorated it up and down with valentine hearts. I guess today is Valentine’s Day. I stuff my jacket into my locker and head into homeroom.
Inside, everyone’s in a tizzy over who got carnations and from whom and how many. Miss Popularity Savannah Bobbins is at her desk surrounded by most of the homeroom. “Hold on! I lost count again! I have to start all over.”
I give them wide berth and find my way to a seat in the back. As soon as I sit, I put my head down on my desk, and close my eyes, but I can still hear her squealing.
“Who’s this red one from?” someone says. “You know what the red means, right?”
“Hey,” someone close to me says. I wish they’d all stay put and not wander back here.
“So, I just wanted to say,” the close-by voice says. Who is he talking to? It’s like he’s right on top of me.
I sneak a peek out from under my arm, and I see Matt. I lift my head.
He’s not talking to anybody, though.
No, I mean, he is. He’s talking to me.
“I just hadn’t really thought about those things until you said them,” he’s saying. “And you were right about Silas. I sat with him on the bus today so I could apologize, and he wasn’t anything like I had been thinking.”
I open my mouth but nothing comes out.
“So, I just wanted to say,” Matt continues, “that I’m sorry and that you should come back to the debate club. You’re really good at it.”
I quickly look away and shake my head. “You’re the kind of person who should be in the debate club. Someone who can be confident without getting so upset that they knock over a cardboard cutout of Harry Potter. Like when you gave that speech before the student council election, totally professional.”
I glance at him and he’s looking more uncomfortable than I think I’ve ever seen him.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers.
I look up. Is he blushing?
“What?” I say.
“My mom wrote that speech for me.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. It was easy to be calm since it was a good speech, and since most of the people watching were my friends.”
“Your mom really wrote that for you?” I still can’t get over that.
“Yeah, is that wrong? I figured it was a better speech than I could have written, and people deserved a good speech, so … ” He trails off. “That was probably wrong, wasn’t it?”
I shrug. “I just can’t imagine my mom ever writing a student council election speech for me.”
“I just wanted people to like the speech, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“But that’s why you should come back to debate club because you don’t need your mom to write a speech for you. You don’t even need notes. Lydia wants you to come back, too. Because you just say what you think, you know? And that’s really cool.”
I try to picture going back to debate club. Could I really do it? Wait—did Matt Hubbard just call me cool?
“Like, really,” he continues, “I think I’d score better points at the tournament if I could be more like you were on Friday.”
I look at him. At his nicely combed hair. At his pleading brown eyes. At his complete cluelessness that somehow it all comes down to how many points you can score in a tournament.
I take a deep breath. “I think that sometimes you need to have your back up against the wall to find out what you’re made of. And you just haven’t had that happen to you yet.”
Matt nods like he totally gets what I’m saying and that maybe you can order a having-your-back-up-against-the-wall experience online and have it delivered to your house.
“You know what could be good to do?” I say. Because if somehow the world has turned upside down and I, Zoey Albro, am giving Matt Hubbard advice, then I might as well keep going. “If you imagine what it’s like to have your back up against the wall all the time, you might be less likely to assume someone’s stupid and evil.” I glance down at the desk. “Especially someone like Silas.”
I never see Silas during the school day except at lunch, but usually he’s in mute mode so that doesn’t really count.
Today is different because when I’m on my way to the hot lunch line, I see him crossing the cafeteria. And he’s coming right over to me.
“Where were you this morning?” he asks. With words, out loud words.
People are streaming past us on their way to the line. “It’s kind of complicated,” I say. “We kind of moved.”
“Moved? But Lenny’s car was still there last night.”
“Moved without Lenny,” I say. “Moved because of Lenny.”
Silas bites his lip and nods. “Oh … ” He studies the cafeteria floor. “Matt Hubbard talked to me on the bus this morning. He said you said something about me at debate club.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “It wasn’t really my business, but I—”
“Thanks,” he says. He’s looking up at me now and his freckles want me to connect them into rainbows and unicorns. “Matt and I talked for a while. It was cool.”
I look away from his freckles. “Did you tell Matt about bobcat hunting?”
“No. Why?”
Because it’s our special secret, that’s why! “No reason.”
“You know, my dad and I are going back out to scout Squaretail Brook again early on Sunday.” He steps to the side to get out of someone’s way. “The bobcat hunting season ended last week, but I still want to find some sign of it. Something to prove that it’s really there.”
I study the fake wood pattern in the closest cafeteria table and try not to show how much I suddenly wish I could be scouting Squaretail Brook with him.
“You know, it’s cool that you’re doing debate club,” Silas says. “That takes lots of guts.”
I shake my head. “I just did it for a few weeks. I don’t know if I’m going to go back.” I follow the concentric circles of the fake wood as they get bigger and bigger.
“Well, it sounded like you were pretty good at it based on what Matt said.”
I keep my eyes glued to the table. Did he really just say that?
“So, when am I going to see you?” Silas asks.
He couldn’t have just said that.
“Hey, Zoey. Hey, Silas.”
I look up to see Matt walking past on his way to the lunch line.
Kaylee is right behind him. “Did you seriously just say hi to them?” she hisses loud enough for me to hear.
Matt glances back at me. “Yeah. Why shouldn’t I?”
They keep walking.
“Zoey, are you okay?” Silas a
sks.
My face must be a total mess of disbelief.
I take a deep breath and look at Silas with his hazel eyes and unicorns made of freckles. “Yes. I am.” I take a second deep breath. Then, I rip a piece of paper out of my math notebook. “This is my mom’s cell phone number. Maybe we could meet up after school sometime?”
Silas stares at the paper I’m handing him and then takes it. “Thanks.”
I swallow down all of the nerves trying to erupt out of me. “Like maybe could I come with you and your dad when you go scouting for bobcats?”
He looks up at me. “How about Sunday morning?”
I manage a nod. “That’d be great.”
When I’m sitting in English class an hour later I realize I should probably keep going to debate club meetings, too. And that I could sit next to Kyla.
Because I’m pretty sure she knows what it’s like to have your back up against the wall—and it’s always good to stick together.
I get to social studies class early, and Ms. Rochambeau is up out of her chair as soon as she sees me.
“Zoey. I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I’m so glad you said what you did at that last debate club practice. What I need to know now is: Are you safe?
“What do you mean?”
“You talked about an adult intimidating a girl with a gun. Was that you?”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t.” Half of me wants to spit out Fuchsia’s name, but the rest of me knows enough to keep it locked up tight.
“Are you sure? Are you sure that you’re safe?”
“I am. I wasn’t before, but it wasn’t because of a gun. It was because of a guy, a different guy.” I look up at her. “A guy who was really good at discrediting his opponent.”
Ms. Rochambeau exhales and sits back down in her chair. “Tell me.”
I glance at the door and see other kids starting to arrive. “The main thing is that you helped me see what he was doing. I realized that I didn’t have to look at things the way he wanted.”
Ms. Rochambeau’s face changes. I think she’s trying to keep from crying. She nods and then wipes her eyes and pulls me into a hug. “If anyone could do it, it was you, Zoey.”
When she finally releases me she looks at me. “So, will you come back to debate club?”
I swallow. “I have to help my friend today, but I promise I’ll be there tomorrow.” I hesitate. “Can you still drive me? I live somewhere else now.”
“I’ll drive you wherever you need to go, Zoey. And listen.” She takes a form off her desk and slips it into my hand. “I’ll be handing out these debate tournament entry forms today after school, and I want you to seriously think about it. The fees will be covered. All you’d need to bring is yourself.” She raises her eyebrows and smiles at me. “And your willingness to speak up.”
I bite back a smile. On my way to my seat, I don’t throw the form in the trash. I don’t even drop it in the paper recycling. Instead, I tuck it into my pocket.
CHAPTER 28
In the afternoon I take the bus with Fuchsia, and we get off two stops early at the police department so she can drop off the paperwork that Crystal finally agreed to fill out to keep Michael away. When we get to Fuchsia’s apartment, my mom has already left for work—but since Crystal is done with her early shift at the bakery by 1:30 p.m., she agreed to watch Hector until I get home from school.
“I can take Hector with me to go meet Bryce and Aurora at their new bus stop. I’m used to that,” I say.
Crystal eyes Hector with all of the take-out containers on the floor. “Okay.”
I heft him onto my hip. “You know the drill, little man. You’re coming with me.” He pulls at my hair. I nuzzle my nose into the side of his face and reach for the door.
“Wait,” Crystal says, opening the fridge. “I’m supposed to let you know that these are in here. Your mom got them for you guys.”
There are nine perfect yogurt containers lined up on the refrigerator shelf.
“And she put a stack of clean laundry on the bed for you.”
I look at Crystal, but she just shrugs like between letting me know about this and watching Hector, she’s hit her maternal limit.
“Thank you,” I say.
I slip out the door before my eyes can tear up more.
A few hours later, Bryce, Aurora, Fuchsia, Crystal, and I have all eaten a yogurt and also some day-old pastry bear claws that Crystal produced from her bag. Even Hector got to stick his fist into a yogurt before I realized what was happening. Someday when he’s a grown-up one-year-old he’ll look back on this time without his ExerSaucer as the good old days when he was naked and free. Too bad for him I’ve got plans to check the free exchange spot at the dump this weekend. They always have a broken ExerSaucer or two, and it’s going to bring Hector’s yogurt-covered party to an end.
It’s Bryce who I’m most worried about. When he woke up from those nightmares last night, he was soaked through with sweat and it was like he couldn’t wake up enough to realize that it wasn’t real. And how do you get inside someone’s head to help them when they’re wrapped up in fear like that?
Especially because both me and him would know that I’d be lying if I said that everything’s going to be fine now that we’ve moved.
The garbage bags are now in the bedroom and I dig through one of them, trying not to let stuff fall out and make a mess on the floor. Finally, my hand closes around the thin plastic rectangle that I’m looking for and I pull it out. The Mickey Mouse night-light.
I plug it in, and call to Bryce and Aurora. “Do you want a story tonight?”
“’Tory! ’Tory! ’Tory!” Aurora cries, bouncing into the room with Jane Kitty clutched in her hands like Godzilla with its hostage.
Bryce comes in more hesitantly.
“Do you want help changing into your pajamas?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but then he just sits down on the new mattress that’s squeezed against the wall.
“Here.” I find his pajamas in the pile where he left them in the morning, and help him out of his shirt. “Do you want to listen to a story?” I pull his threadbare pajama shirt over his head.
He shrugs. I help him switch from jeans to pajama pants. “That’s cozier, right?” I put my arm around him and scooch us back farther onto the mattress. Aurora, who has already put on her Hello Kitty nightgown comes over and plants herself on my lap. Hector is busy emptying all of our things out of one of the trash bags, so that should occupy him for a while.
I’m just about to start telling a story when Fuchsia comes into the bedroom.
“Are we in your way?” I ask.
She shakes her head but just stands there, looking at us awkwardly.
“I was going to tell them a story,” I say.
“Yeah, I heard.” Fuchsia bites her lip. “Can I listen, too?”
Suddenly Aurora is out of my lap, clearing off random clothes from the mattress. “You can come ’nuggle, too!” she cries. “There’s lots of ’pace.”
Fuchsia looks at me and then quickly looks away. Still, she lowers herself onto the mattress in the glow of the Mickey Mouse night-light and settles in.
I start in on the story. It’s about some kids floating around in the ocean far away from land, and there are sharks—so many sharks. But they manage to find some pieces of wood floating nearby. And the kids gang up together, and with the biggest pieces of wood they can find they all whack those sharks on the head until they stop circling. And then they drag all of their pieces of wood together and use rope to build a huge awesome raft. The raft has a little spot where they can cook their food, stairs going up to a loft where they can sleep, and great views of the sunrise.
I’ve been rubbing Bryce’s back, and he turns to look at me. “Where’s the kids’ mom?”
I swallow. “You can’t always see her, but she’s there. She’s been swimming underwater, trying to find every piece of wood she can for her kids, doing everything she can to help them survive.�
�
Bryce nods and leans back against me. After a long moment, he says, “How many people are in the water?”
I glance at Fuchsia. “There are a lot of people in the water.”
“So then, they need to make the raft big enough so everyone can fit on it, right?” he says.
“Well,” I say slowly. “I’m sure they’ll make it as big as they can. They’ll use every single piece of wood that they have.”
Aurora looks up from where she’s been lying in my lap, twirling her hair around her finger. “Maybe the other people in the water have wood, too. They can help make the raft bigger!”
I wrap my octopus tentacles around both of them. “Maybe they do.”
Or maybe I have it all wrong. The ocean is a fine place to live for an octopus. And maybe it’s all those people who are spending their whole lives up on dry land—never once going into the water to see what it feels like—who are missing out.
I keep rubbing Bryce’s back until he slumps forward and curls up around Aurora. Two tired, little monkeys.
And both of those tired, little monkeys sleep through the night—without waking up from a nightmare once.
But I stay awake for hours. Because I’m suddenly bursting with stories. Not made-up stories. Real ones. I guess they’re actually not stories if they’re real things that happen to real people. They are: Things That Need To Be Said.
Out loud.
At debate club.
So those other kids can hear it.
By morning, I’ve even filled out the entry form for the debate tournament and put it in my backpack. Because I’m going. And I’m going to speak up. No matter how scary it is.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist if it weren’t for a village of amazing people. Like Elizabeth Immergut, who was concerned that her students living in rural poverty didn’t see themselves enough in books and turned to me and told me to write this. Like Pamela Simmons, who inspired me by “finding her brave” and speaking out about her experience with domestic violence. I watched her reclaim her voice and found out exactly how strong people could be.
