by Louis Sachar
Armpit had been a little disappointed when the San Francisco district attorney told him that. If there were a trial then he’d get to go back to San Francisco and see Kaira again. Maybe they would go to Chinatown together and eat a couple of those steamed pork buns.
He still hadn’t heard from her. He thought about trying to get in touch with her but didn’t know where or how to find her.
“You shouldn’t have to call her,” said X-Ray. “She should call you! Not even a thank you! She’s such an ungrateful—” He stopped because Ginny was there.
“She’s going through some hard times,” Armpit said.
From everything he’d read in the papers, Kaira’s life was a train wreck. That woman Aileen had stolen most of the money from the concert tour, and there were still many people who needed to be paid and ticket holders who needed to be reimbursed. According to the newspapers, Kaira was broke. Whatever money she had left was being eaten up by lawyers and accountants. Of course, he realized, broke for someone like her didn’t mean the same as broke for someone like him.
Aileen had been arrested in Belize a few weeks earlier, but the money was never recovered. A police detective had discovered that Theodore Johnson’s airline ticket was purchased over the Internet and that the same computer had also purchased a ticket to Costa Rica for someone named Denise Linaria.
Worse for Kaira than the loss of her money was the loss of her voice. The doctors said she might never be able to sing again.
Armpit looked around at Ginny’s stuffed animals. Like Hooter, the owl who couldn’t see, or Daisy, the dog who couldn’t hear, Kaira might be a singer who couldn’t sing.
36
But she did sing again.
It was in late February. Armpit was just getting out of bed when he heard her voice on the radio.
It’s a lost and lonely kind of feeling,
To wake up wearing a disguise.
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling,
I don’t know who I am,
There’s little that I can
Fully recognize. . . .
Her voice sounded fragile, like fine crystal that might break at any moment, but each note was true and clear. There weren’t any backup singers or elaborate instrumentation; just the gentle plinkity-plank of a piano.
But I’m taking small steps,
’Cause I don’t know where I’m going.
I’m taking small steps
And I don’t know what to say.
Small steps,
Trying to pull myself together,
And maybe I’ll discover
A clue along the way. . . .
Armpit smiled despite the lump in his throat.
Just to make it through the day and not to get hurt,
Seems about the best that I can hope.
Like coffee stains splattered on your sweatshirt,
There isn’t any pattern.
Everything’s uncertain.
It’s difficult to cope. . . .
The lump in his throat turned into tears.
But I’m taking small steps,
’Cause I don’t know where I’m going.
I’m taking small steps,
And I’ve forgotten how to play.
Small steps,
Trying to pull myself together,
And maybe I’ll discover,
A clue along the way. . . .
The coffee stains were still on his sweatshirt. His mother had tried washing them out, but they were permanently set.
And if someday my small steps bring me near you,
Please don’t rush to tell me all you feel.
You don’t have to speak for me to hear you.
If I softly sigh,
Look me in the eye
And let me know I’m real. . . .
Then we’ll take small steps,
’Cause we won’t know where we’re going.
We’ll take small steps,
And we’ll have too much to say.
Small steps,
Hand in hand we’ll walk together,
And maybe we’ll discover
A clue along the way. . . .
She didn’t say she would see him again, just if. The song could mean anything or nothing at all, he realized. It might just be a song that he inspired, and that was nice too. More than anything, he was just glad to hear her singing again.
Anyway, he couldn’t let his life revolve around Kaira DeLeon. He had his own set of small steps to take. 1. Graduate from high school. 2. Attend two years of Austin Community College. 3. Do well enough to transfer to the University of Texas. (Jack Dunlevy wanted him to major in landscape architecture, but Armpit wasn’t sure he wanted to dig holes the rest of his life. He was considering studying occupational therapy, so he could help people like Ginny.) 4. Don’t do anything stupid. And 5. Lose the name Armpit.
Small steps,
’Cause I don’t know where I’m goin’.
Small steps,
I just take it day to day.
Small steps,
Somehow get myself together,
Then maybe I’ll discover
Who I am along the way. . . .
About the Author
LOUIS SACHAR is the bestselling author of the award-winning novel Holes, as well as Stanley Yelnats’ Survival Guide to Camp Green Lake, Dogs Don’t Tell Jokes, The Boy Who Lost His Face, There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom, and the Marvin Redpost series, among many others.
OTHER BOOKS BY LOUIS SACHAR
Holes
Stanley Yelnats’ Survival Guide to Camp Green Lake
Dogs Don’t Tell Jokes
The Boy Who Lost His Face
There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom
Awards for
HOLES
Winner of the Newbery Medal
Winner of the National Book Award
Winner of the Boston Globe–Horn Book Award
An ALA Best Book for Young Adults
An ALA Notable Book
An ALA Quick Pick
Winner of the Christopher Award for Juvenile Fiction
A New York Times Book Review Notable Children’s
Book of the Year
A Horn Book Fanfare
A Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year
A Bulletin Blue Ribbon Book
A School Library Journal Best Book of the Year
Praise for
HOLES
“A smart jigsaw puzzle of a novel.” —The New York Times Book Review
“[A] rugged, engrossing adventure.” —School Library Journal
“Larger-than-life.” —Publishers Weekly
Published by
Delacorte Press
an imprint of
Random House Children’s Books
a division of Random House, Inc.
New York
Text copyright © 2006 by Louis Sachar
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
The trademark Delacorte Press is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Sachar, Louis.
Small steps / Louis Sachar.
p. cm.
Summary: Three years after being released from Camp Green Lake, Armpit is trying hard to keep his life on track.
[1. Juvenile delinquents—Rehabilitation—Fiction. 2. Cerebral palsy—Fiction. 3. People with disabilities—Fiction. 4. Singers—Fiction. 5. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 6. African Americans—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7 .S1185Sma 2006
[Fic] — dc22
2005009102
eISBN: 978-0-375-84069-2
v3.0
