If there’s one thing you can’t do on this planet, Mr. Khalil once told me, it’s defy physics. What goes up must come down. Matter cannot be destroyed or created. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And though you might want to, you can’t stop time.
“Sunshine of My Life” comes to an end.
Otis’s grandma tips the coffeepot, but no more coffee comes out.
The folding chairs go clap, clap, clap as they get folded up.
Car doors answer with a clunk, clunk, clunk as people get in.
Pretty soon the yard is emptied out, the guests on their way home, the graduation on its way to being a memory.
“Armstrong, time to get on the bus.”
That’s Otis, with his head poking out a side window. Five more heads poke out. They look just like me, only older and girls.
“Armstrong,” Lenai says, “the bus has to leave.”
The engine rumbles to life. I take a last look at this schoolyard I stepped onto almost a year ago, and I think to myself, I’m glad I had the opportunity to come.
Then I turn toward the bus, but a voice calls out to me.
“Armstrong, wait!”
Charlie Ross comes running up with something in his hand.
Charlie
“There was one more shot on Andy’s roll,” I tell him. “My mom took it the night you slept over. She printed it this morning, for you.”
I hand him a photograph of the two of us. I’m on the rollaway with my mouth wide open—probably snoring—and the covers all twisted around my legs. Armstrong’s in my bed, peaceful and asleep. He smiles now at the picture.
“Mine to keep?”
“Yours to keep.”
He looks at me and says, “Think we’ll see each other again?”
It’s the question I’ve been afraid to ask. Mrs. Wilson once told us this was an experimental year for Opportunity Busing. If it goes well, they’ll expand the program to more schools. Next year the buses might even run both ways. But right now nobody knows for sure.
“We can get together over the summer,” I say. “We can get together during breaks.”
“That’d be nice, Ross. That’d be real nice.” And then he adds, “But just in case …”
With a swift jerk of his hands, Armstrong rips the picture in half. I gasp like he just ripped me in half.
“You hold on to me. I’ll hold on to you. Someday we’ll tape us back together again.”
He tucks the picture of me into his pocket. I tuck the one of him into mine.
Our hands come out and clasp together like we’re going to arm-wrestle—but we’re not about to start that again. Instead, they slide into a handshake and pull back until our fingers meet, like a hinge.
Armstrong tugs me toward him. We put our arms around each other and stand there like two trunks grown into a single tree. The only tree in the Canyon, it feels like. The only one in the world.
And then,
because the sun has gone down,
because all the chairs have been folded up and taken away,
because the parking lot is empty,
because the bus has to leave,
because the janitor has to lock the gate,
because we’re the last ones on the yard,
because we can’t stop time,
because we have to,
we let go.
Gratitude
Armstrong & Charlie would not exist without the inspiration, guidance, and guardianship of the following people:
The students who rode into my life in the 1970s on a long yellow bus—you broke down barriers, opened hearts and minds, and widened our Laurel Canyon world.
My real-life brothers, Michael and Danny Frank, who were okay with being killed off in fiction.
My father, Marty Frank, who allowed me to write about his pain.
My mother, Merona Frank, who read an early draft on her cell phone and gave the perfect blend of encouragement and advice, especially about Charlie’s mom.
Michael Frank, brother in both blood and craft, who dug deep into the psychology of these characters as no one else can, and who was essential in getting the book out the door.
Maira Kalman for a much-appreciated introduction to Charlotte Sheedy.
Charlotte, who gave the manuscript to Kevin O’Connor.
Kevin, whose candor, clarity, and diamond-cutting skills made Armstrong & Charlie the book that it is.
Margaret Raymo at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Books for all Readers; you were my dream editor, and you came true.
Thanks also to the whole team at HMH—Betsy Groban, Mary Wilcox, Linda Magram, Karen Walsh, and Lisa DiSarro for helping launch the book and making the writer feel so welcome; to the logical, hawk-eyed Susan Buckheit for copyediting the book; and to Sharismar Rodriguez and Andy Smith for designing and drawing a cover that jumps off the shelf into a reader’s arms.
To my students at Le Lycée Français de Los Angeles, who, over many years, have kept me “au courant” with the devilish and delightful workings of the middle school brain; to my aunt, Harriet Frank, Jr., an early and ardent champion of this book; my mother-in-law, Nana Bette, who has been asking for a long time for something of mine to read; my children, Sophie, Sam, and Mia, for tolerating a dad who stands at the kitchen counter typing all the time; and to my wife, Julie, who lives patiently with the voices in my head.
Finally to you, Reader, for your gift of attention and time.
MiddleGradeMania.com
About the Author
Present-day photo by Julie Frank
STEVEN B. FRANK teaches middle school at Le Lyceé Français de Los Angeles. He is the author of The Pen Commandments, a playful guide for the young writer. Armstrong & Charlie was inspired by his own sixth grade year at Wonderland Avenue Elementary.
Learn more at www.stevenbfrank.com
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