The Ship We Built

by Lexie Bean

  I do wonder how Mr. B always knows that all those homework pages are from me. I change the name so often, but he never marks me as incomplete. Luckily, I narrowed it down to a few names, so I bet that helps, Charlie, Sawyer, Logan, and Sean, and Paul and Max and Kye, Aaron, Alex, and Alison and Lila. Even Ilona and Tanya are nice names too. Or maybe even MJ or just a C, not sure what those letters would stand for, but I think that they sound cool. I guess that’s more than a few. I guess I got a lot more work to do. It’s just a lot on top of schoolwork, I think. Sometimes I have trouble filling out tests when the name part feels like a test too. The name blank is always on the tippy-top of every page. It’s bad. When I write letters, I love that you have to read all of my thoughts and stories before I say any name at all. You have to make it to the very end to know.

  I just really hope that Mom walked away from the gym still thinking I am good and the teacher won’t ever mark me as incomplete. To be honest with you, I really wanted Mom to pat my back the same way Nathan Lucas’s dad did for him. Instead, we walked out of the school and drove past so many pine trees and streetlights in silence. It’s not weird for me not to say anything, but it’s definitely weird for her. The radio wasn’t even on. Maybe this is strange to say, but I imagined myself outside running alongside the car. That version of me is much faster at running than I am in real life.

  I came back to my body all of a sudden when my mom said, “Mr. B seems like a nice man.” I wish she had said more. There was another long silence that lasted until we pulled into Freedom Valu’s gas station, the one next to Portage Bridge and the Houghton welcome sign. It was time for her to get the usual skim milk and bingo cards. The wind threw the car door shut. Mom locked it with me inside facing that yellow WE LOVE SERVING YOU THE VERY BEST sign. I thought about checking the Houghton welcome sign for any letters, but instead I decided to fill in a page from that coloring book Mom gave me. I was hoping that Mom would tell me “I love it” when it was all done, and then that would mean that she loves me.

  The first page I opened to had a picture of a horse with a saddle and reins. I imagined the horse was secretly a unicorn, so I left the fur white and made the mane purple. The leaves in the background took longer to color than anything. I wanted to make them like fall time with a mix of yellow and orange colored pencil. I didn’t get to color in the fence because Mom was already walking back with her plastic shopping bag. I ripped out the page, wrote the name Ellie as big as I could on the bottom, and slid it between the front seats. I only had six seconds left to brush my hair with my fingers.

  She plopped into her seat and slammed the door shut, maybe louder than she meant to. From the backseat, I could see Mom’s red polished nails pick up the secret unicorn. She put it down right where I had left it and started the engine. I know that she just looked at it for only three seconds, but I hope it made her happy.

  Hope to hear from you or anybody, really.

  Sincerely,

  Ellie

  PS, If you and I really were friends, maybe you could invite me to your birthday party? I would be really good and also do my best to make sure you have fun. I would show you my new hat from Dad’s store and we could talk about deer season starting or ice skating. I don’t know, it’s just something to think about.

  Sincerely again,

  Ellie Beck

  Tuesday, November 4, 1997

  To Whom It May Concern:

  I don’t know who even writes a letter that starts like that, but in school we have been learning how to write business complaints and letters to people we don’t know. This isn’t a complaint, but I decided to skip chocolate milk again this week just so I have enough money to write more than one balloon letter.

  Sofie, Richard, and I finally painted their car white after school today. Sofie really is going to arrive to the big winter concert in a white horse carriage, just like Selena did. To make it, we did some sanding and then covered all the car lights and windows with thick tape so they didn’t get messed up. We had to wear gloves and junk shirts too. My favorite part was getting to listen to a radio station that played fast music that I never get to listen to with my parents.

  After that, Mrs. Gavia let me stay for their whitefish dinner. She’s a nice lady, also from Detroit. But there’s a bad rumor at school that Sofie’s family aren’t true Yoopers because they weren’t born in the Upper Peninsula. I don’t know what to believe, but I will say that Mrs. Gavia knows how to clean a fish real good. I also got to meet Sofie’s baby sister for the first time ever too. Her name is Viivi. She was actually born here in Houghton, so I guess those mad people can at least call her a true Yooper. She has black curly hair, the world’s tiniest Big Bird overalls, and we made lots of eye contact since she doesn’t know any real words yet. I have to admit, she’s very cute. I kind of wish I had a brother or sister now too, so we could do things and remember things together.

  Anyways, we just chilled after that. The whole family played Uno and ate raspberry coffee cake while the cat, Dusty, slept on the floor. Sofie’s dad had a hard time, though, because he’s actually color blind, but he still got second place. Sofie’s house is so cool. It’s not like mine at all. She’s got a carpet and polka-dotted wallpaper in the basement, an ocean-themed bathroom without a weight scale, and a pretty painting of tree roots and branches that hangs on the front porch. I got to stay all the way until it was time for Sofie’s singing lesson. She and her dad practice singing “Do-Re-Mi” over and over again at the top of their lungs. He wants to get her ready in time for the winter concert. Hold on, I’ll be right back.

  Sorry about that. I was just thinking about asking my parents to turn down the TV, but then I changed my mind. The last time I went downstairs to ask Dad to turn the volume down, it only got turned up to teach me a lesson. Sometimes I don’t really understand what he’s trying to teach me. To be honest, it’s almost impossible to think with how loud the TV is sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I like my shows and all. But Mom and Dad are actually in love with that TV, especially when the Patriots are losing or it’s telling the weather that will be wrong anyways. They also really like these cop shows where people shout a lot and they take away girls with skirts and blurry faces. It’s weird.

  Sorry. Let’s talk about something else now.

  Well, okay, in case you were wondering, I send out my balloon letters late at night when everyone is busy with something else. I usually get the day’s balloon on my way home from school, which means I get to spend fifteen minutes less at home and fifteen minutes more all by myself, feeling like a grown-up. When I get home, I hide my balloon in the back corner of my bedroom closet. Sometimes before dinner, I check on it to make sure it is still afloat.

  Most of the time, I write my letter an hour or two after dinner, when Mom thinks that I’m sleeping. After I finish my writing, I tie it to the end of my balloon with triple knots. The very, very last step is opening my window, and letting the balloon fly past my neighbors’ trees and everything else in my world.

  So anyways, that’s all I really wanted to say. I’m going to go now and listen to that “Do-Re-Mi” song. At our last secret bathroom meeting, Sofie gave me the Sound of Music tape to borrow. Sometimes it’s helpful to have songs ready when we practice our confident walks, especially when we want to add some cool arm moves. Last week we tried with that “What is love? Baby, don’t hurt me no more” song and it was really fun. Don’t worry, though, I just move my lips. I’ve learned from Halloween to never sing in front of anybody for as long as I live and I’m okay with that. I don’t even like singing that much.

  Also, guess what. Speaking of Halloween, I narrowed down what candy I want to give Dylan. It’s now between Reese’s, a mystery Airhead, an Extreme Sour Warhead, and little pack of Starbursts. In a dream world, I would have candy cigarettes to offer him, but I’m sure I will figure it out soon.

  Later, gator,

  Sawyer Beck


  Thursday, November 6, 1997

  Hey-lo,

  Things are so good right now. I almost want to write my name at the top of the page for a change, but I will save it for the end. The sun really peeked out today too. The light going through the leaves almost looked like stained glass. Some of the leaves fell onto my head as I walked to Sofie’s to put a rock on her porch.

  I like fall time the most of all because people find change beautiful for once. Usually they don’t like change so much, like that time the news said that Dad’s old copper mine might get turned into a landfill or nuclear waste zone. He threw the remote and said that the government was just using us so we could become a “theme park for other places.” It’s true, people do come from other parts of Michigan, and even Wisconsin, just to see our nature and leaf colors change. They take these long drives, and it’s a celebration for them. They notice how the trees have changed from green to fire colors overnight, and then they leave. But it’s not that simple. A lot more is changing.

  I hope someone celebrates me when I change. Today I feel good, but sometimes I’m afraid of changing in the wrong ways. I’ve been having growth spurts, and not just in my height. The things I like aren’t even the same. It’s not good. I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, especially because I shared a Halloween candy with Dylan yesterday and it went so well. In case you were wondering, I ended up going with the Reese’s. It felt a little warmer than expected when I pulled it out of my pocket. I slid it onto his desk, and crossed my fingers that the chocolate didn’t melt too much. Dylan dropped the Green Bay paper football he was trying to fold, and said “Boo-yah.” He ate his present right away.

  Courtney and Mary turned their heads in our direction when all that happened. You should have seen Mary’s face, though. She almost looked like she had the Scream mask on. Either way, they looked really cool in their scrunchy shirts and seashell necklaces. I bet they thought I was a little bit cool too, because just a minute later Dylan Beaman smiled at me. He showed bits of chocolate in the corners of his lips and in between his two front teeth. Dylan seemed truly excited for the first time in forever. He even looked happier than that time I got to watch him up close at that all-boys burping contest. I wanted to give him a hug with his candy, but I decided that would be a bad idea because everyone would have seen it.

  Really, I had Sofie to thank for all the success because she helped me choose which candy to give Dylan. That was nice of her. She doesn’t know Dylan well, but she is good at paying attention. She said, “Dylan would of course like the peanut butter candy because he has been eating peanut butter sandwiches every day ever since the first grade.” That was before I moved to Houghton, so I didn’t even know that.

  Sofie did a really nice thing today too. During silent reading time, I was reading a book about a lost dog and I noticed Sofie rattling the pencil sharpener near my desk. She covered her mouth trying to keep the SRT rule, but I could see her giggling right through it.

  I looked down and there was a Skechers’ shoebox by my feet. It was filled to the very top with all of her trick-or-treat goodies that had a green wrapper. Can you believe it? She knew my favorite color is green without ever even asking me. It was like finding buried treasure without a map. All I had to do was look down, which is good because I’m not so great at following maps made by other people. I wouldn’t say this at any slumber party in the history of ever, but I’ll tell you. I think that Sofie is all that and a bag of chips.

  At recess, the two of us dumped the shoebox onto the grass by the Secrets Tree that we couldn’t chop down. Every piece of candy tumbled out of the box. I never knew there were so many shades of green. The candies were lime colored, spooky olive colored, hunting gear colored, and others were the same color as a mermaid’s tail. We looked at our fortune, and Sofie said, “I want to try something.”

  She had me lie flat on the soft ground, and then she placed the green candies around my body like a tree getting ready to shed its leaves. She worked carefully, as if she knew where each piece belonged. Do you ever feel like you’re exactly in the right place at the right time? That’s how I felt. I liked listening to her quietly sing the song “MmmBop” while she placed the candies around me, the wrappers crinkling in my ears. I watched the clouds stretch out like cotton balls with the smallest of threads keeping them together in the middle of Sofie’s “ba du bops” and “ba duba dops.” I think her dad’s singing lessons of not saying real words have really been paying off. I must have stayed there with my eyes half-open for nearly twenty minutes, sinking more and more into the ground until I almost fell asleep.

  Just before the end of recess, Sofie gently tapped on my tennis shoes. I got up a little dizzy, and fixed my ponytail right away. It almost felt like we had just finished a long trip together. Sofie took a deep breath, and I looked down at what she made. The candy tracing made a shape of myself I had never seen before. My arms and legs were spread out almost like the X on a treasure map. Sofie did the tiniest of dances watching my smile grow.

  I wish the two of us could have jumped into the wrappers like a real pile of leaves, but there wasn’t enough time. We both knew that we would have to fill up the box and let things go back to normal again as soon as the bell rang. The candy thudded into the cardboard like a broken heartbeat. Have you ever been so happy and so sad at the same time? As we put the pieces back where they belonged, the cold wind came out of nowhere between the trees. Sofie sniffled her nose, and I started moving faster just to warm up.

  Then out of the blue, Sofie asked me, “What does the name Ellie mean to you?” I didn’t want to tell her it meant “beautiful” to somebody else, and I especially didn’t want to tell her that I never wanted a girl name to begin with. I just looked away and said, “I don’t know.”

  She put her hands on her hips and asked me, “So, what’s your name?”

  I was surprised she asked me that, but I surprised myself even more. The leaves danced in the new wind, and I zipped up my jacket. I told her, “My name is Rowan.”

  It’s funny because I never actually thought of that name before. It just slipped out. Now that I think about it, that’s probably how a lot of true things are said.

  Sofie smiled and put the lid back onto the box. I wonder if she found this change beautiful too.

  If she asked me “How are you?” right then, I would have said “I’m really, really good,” and I would have been telling the absolute truth. Do you want to be asked about how you are right now? It’s good to ask questions. Either way, I hope you like this balloon as much as I do, even if they are kind of bad for the Earth. This one is red and matches the tree in our front yard perfectly. It’s nice to watch the colors fly up instead of fall down like always.

  Anyways, thanks for listening. I hope you have a really good sleep.

  Sincerely,

  Rowan

  Friday, November 14, 1997

  Hi,

  I’m feeling so alone right now and haven’t left my refrigerator box since my after-school snack. I thought Dylan Beaman was in an extra good mood today because he got a cool Koosh ball and a gun for his birthday. Plus, he brought those little ice cream cups with the wooden spoons for everyone in class. I just wish I had known it was his birthday sooner. I would have tried harder to make him happy again.

  He looked at my long division quiz at the end of math class, then whispered in a loud way, “Why are you using a boy’s name when you’re a girl?” I didn’t want to erase my name, but I also wanted Dylan Beaman to like me.

  I’ve been secretly calling myself Rowan for the past week. I like how it feels, more than any name I’ve ever had. I’ve written it on nearly every assignment. Dylan Beaman must have figured it out because he likes to read off of my papers looking for answers. I thought that I was safe this whole entire time if I just avoided talking out loud. Dylan Beaman’s question about being a real girl was as stressful as th
e parent-teacher conference plus winter concert rehearsals plus slumber parties times infinity plus ten. I squeezed my new basketball pencil until I thought I would snap it in half. Maybe Dylan wouldn’t ever have a crush on me back if I’m not a girl.

  That was the only time in my life I have ever wished for Dylan Beaman to stop staring at me. I wished Sofie or anybody else would have decided right then to use the noisy sharper next to our desks. I did the next best thing, and pretended not to hear Dylan ask about my name. I went through my pencil case for no reason. I pulled out some shavings, my new eraser, and reached back in for who knows what. The truth is I can’t forget his question. “Why are you using a boy’s name when you’re a girl?” I might not ever forget it. The whole thing makes me afraid to write the name Rowan down ever again, but maybe it doesn’t matter as long as I make all the other answers right for Dylan Beaman.

  Thank goodness Mr. B finally came back from the bathroom and it was time for spelling. He put his hair into a little bun and started talking about how limited life would be if we only had five letters in the alphabet. I don’t know. Maybe he said that to make us feel better about spelling, but how to spell things is something that I forget how to do no matter how many letters I have. I seem to always forget the words that are obvious to everybody else.

  Dylan Beaman hardly listens to Mr. B, but he is still an impressive speller. Dylan even knows the bonus words that go at the very end of all the tests. He even knew how to spell out that miners’ lung disease, pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis, like it was no big deal. For Pete’s sake, why does he think that the name Rowan is weird, but that word isn’t? I had to look that up in the dictionary just to write it down in this letter.

  Dylan Beaman didn’t have a reason to look my way for the whole hour after that. He stayed glued to his own paper and we didn’t even have the blue plastic dividers up. He knows that I am no good at spelling. It’s actually the only subject he isn’t a copycat for. I just wish that Dylan Beaman would find other ways to think of me as important and, yeah, I know letting someone cheat is really serious business. But I don’t want to get him into big trouble, especially since his parents might use a belt. I don’t want him to get hurt because of me. So I will never tell on him, or anybody else for that matter.