Once Angel’s done, I have to read the new poems we created from all the words. I look down to make sure my note cards are in order, and then I freeze. I’m supposed to have five cards, but there are only three in my hand. I shuffle through them again, but the number doesn’t change.
“And now, Isaiah will show you how words can do whatever you need them to.”
Angel’s voice sounds far away, and I am glued to my spot like Anna in the movie Frozen, which I’ve seen a thousand times with Charlie.
“Ummm, Isaiah?” Angel gives me a look.
“Huh?” I snap out of it. “Oh, um, hold on a second.”
I dash from the front of the class to our table and unzip my backpack. As I’m digging around inside, I remember Charlie playing with my cards last night. But when I snatched them from her, I thought I had them all. My heart sinks; Angel’s gonna be so mad at me. Maybe she’ll go back to being mean. My fingers brush Daddy’s notebook, and that makes me imagine myself as Isaiah Dunn, Superhero. I don’t have a bowl of beans and rice, but I do have my daddy’s words. I take a few quick breaths and walk back to the front, carrying the notebook with me.
“What we did is kinda like magic,” I say. I look over, and Angel’s face is like, “What are you doing?”
“Think about it: All these words made up the poems Angel read.” I point at the poster. “But they also can be used for new poems. Like this.”
I study the board, taking in all the words. I know I have to think super fast. Lucky for me, the words fly toward me like a fastball in baseball.
“Dreams are snow, new every year, and useful even when they stop falling.”
I make up another poem about an exploding sandwich, and everyone laughs. I ask if anyone else wants to try, and Mike O gives it a shot.
“Um, I walk with the snowman, whose eyes are raisins, and the sun melts him into a bed of, ummm”—Mike O stares at the board for a word—“a bed of moonlight!”
Mike O takes a bow while everyone claps. Even Mrs. Fisher tries a poem. After that, Angel ends our presentation. When I sit down, I feel like I just hit a game-winning shot in basketball.
Right before recess Mrs. Fisher tells me and Angel that we did an excellent job.
“It was so creative!” she says with a huge smile on her face. “And I’m so proud of the way you worked together!”
Angel pokes her lips out, but she doesn’t say anything smart.
“You know, we should really have a poetry club here at Woodson,” Mrs. Fisher continues. “Would you two be interested in starting one?”
“We’ll think about it,” Angel says.
“Please do!” Mrs. Fisher says, moving on to talk to someone else.
I don’t tell Angel this, but along with the A we just got, I also like the way she says “we’ll.”
May 2
THE RECEPTION ROOM at the library is small—which is good—but packed with people, which is not good. Mr. Shephard meets us at the door and shows us which table’s ours. He promises I won’t have to talk, but I’m still nervous. Charlie squeals when she sees her full name in fancy letters on a card by her plate.
“Look, Mama! It’s my whole name!” she says.
“This is so nice!” Mama says, scanning the room and smiling. She’s wearing a pretty dress the color of grape juice, and before we got here, she kept complaining that the dress was showing all her “rolls,” even though I told her she looked awesome.
“Well, we love to honor our writers.” Mr. Shephard winks and fist-bumps me. “You guys sit down and relax. You’ll be able to get your food in just a minute.”
I turn around and see steaming-hot serving trays lined up on a table against the wall. In my mind, I pray real hard that there’s no beans and rice over there!
“How come I have two forks?” Charlie asks loudly.
“Shhh!” I tell her. Mama doesn’t seem to mind. She tells Charlie one fork’s for the salad and one’s for the dinner.
“Well, aren’t you handsome, young man!” says a lady who’s sitting at our table. “That’s quite a tie you have on.”
“Thanks,” I say, touching the tie. It’s too big for me, but I don’t care. It’s Daddy’s, and I told Mama I had to have him with me today.
“What about my dress?” Charlie asks, jumping up from her seat and twirling. The lady laughs.
“Your dress is lovely!” she says. “All three of you look so beautiful.”
“Charlie, sit down!” I hiss, cuz the girl won’t stop spinning around! Luckily, someone comes to tell us our table can go get food. Mama and the lady talk while we go through the line, and I help Charlie put food on her plate.
“This smells so good!” Charlie’s as excited as me to see the salad, corn, baked chicken, mashed potatoes with tons of gravy, and soft, buttery rolls. We don’t even mind the green beans!
The program starts while we’re eating. A bunch of important people talk about the library and all its programs, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m too busy making sure Charlie doesn’t knock over the candle that’s in the middle of the table. I wonder if I have time to get seconds before I have to go up for Daddy’s award.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, to introduce our short-story contest winners, here’s Marsha Priest, president of the Hamilton Plaza Library Literacy Foundation!”
The audience claps politely, and my mouth drops open when the lady from our table stands up and walks to the front. I gulp, hoping she didn’t think Charlie was too annoying.
Mrs. Priest starts by thanking everyone for coming to celebrate good writing. I feel warm inside. She’s talking about Daddy!
“I promise, I read each and every story, and loved them all. But the three winners we honor tonight are nothing short of brilliant. Please join me in celebrating our third-place winner, Gordon Jeffries!”
We all clap as Mr. Jeffries, a pretty old dude, grins as he walks to the front of the room. Mama reaches over Charlie and squeezes my hand. I squeeze back and pretend to be Isaiah Dunn, Superhero, who’s not scared of anything.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a round of applause to our second-place winner, Gary Dunn, whom we honor posthumously tonight. His wonderful son, Isaiah, submitted his piece and will be accepting the award on his behalf.”
Everyone starts clapping as I stand up. I see Mr. Shephard clapping and whistling, and I hear Charlie shout, “Yay, Isaiah!”
I make it to the front without tripping, and smile big when they take a picture of me and Mrs. Priest with the award. After the picture, Mrs. Priest hands me an envelope and whispers in my ear, “Make sure you give this to your mom.”
I walk back to our table with the envelope and the award, which is in the shape of an open notebook. I hand both to Mama. I know the prize money isn’t as much as first place, but it will still help.
Mama runs her fingers over Daddy’s name on the award and smiles. We all clap big for the first-place winner, and then the library staff passes out cake and ice cream. I try to hold on to the sweetness for a long time, cuz it’ll probably be a while before I get ice cream again.
“Isaiah, we are just so proud of you!” Mrs. Priest comes back to the table right after I stuffed my face with a huge bite of cake. She turns to Mama next, so I don’t have to talk right away.
“Mrs. Dunn, I am very sorry for your loss,” she says, and I stop chewing. Why would she say that? Doesn’t she know it will only make Mama get sad? I watch Mama’s face closely as she gives Mrs. Priest a small smile.
“Thank you so much,” she tells Mrs. Priest. “Things have definitely been tough. But Isaiah’s doing a great job of keeping his dad with us.”
That makes me feel good. And as other people come up and tell us the same thing Mrs. Priest did, Mama’s smile gets bigger and bigger. Mine, too.
Thanks, Daddy.
May 6
“YO, WE GOTTA do our routine to this,” Sneaky says, playing a Bruno Mars song on his cell phone.
“That one’s cool,” I say. We decided to enter our school’s talent show and do the candy boy shake. Sneaky thinks it’ll make us famous, and he wants to practice, like, ALL the time.
Mama musta known I needed a break from Charlie, cuz she dropped me off to hang with Sneaky while she and Charlie visit a free gymnastics class. I think Mama taking Charlie to stuff like that is a good sign that things are getting better.
After an hour of practice, Sneaky’s ready for a break. His mom is busy watching a movie in the living room, and Antwan is out with his friends, so we have the room to ourselves. Before he turns on his PlayStation, Sneaky goes to his closet, digs around, and comes back with a bag of Doritos.
“Aight, let’s go,” he says, putting in NBA 2K19. He picks the Lakers, and he beats my Pistons.
“Yo, that’s the only way you ever win at basketball,” I say. I see the basketball hoop I got him up on his door, and I feel good that he’s using it.
“Don’t hate, dude,” Sneaky says, crunching on a handful of chips and restarting the game. We play again, and this time my Pistons beat Sneaky’s Knicks.
“Why you always pick the Pistons, bro?” Sneaky asks when I pick them again for our third game.
“They’re my team,” I tell him.
“Your dad liked them, too, right?” Sneaky asks. “That’s probably why you like them.”
“I guess.”
I think about this dude Daddy always talked about, Isiah Thomas. He said Isiah Thomas was an awesome basketball player, one of the best. Daddy liked him so much, he named me after him! Mama said they went back and forth about my name, even in the delivery room before I was born. Finally, Mama gave in, but she told Daddy they had to spell my name the Bible way.
Daddy used to have a signed Isiah Thomas poster hanging in our living room, and he always wore this old Isiah Thomas jersey whenever he watched a Pistons game. I wonder where all that stuff is. I need to remember to ask Mama. The jersey might even fit me now.
I guess I’m thinking too hard, cuz Sneaky beats me in game three. It’s cool being as loud as we want, with no Antwan to worry about, and no Charlie whining about not getting a turn.
“Game switch!” Sneaky says, grabbing Star Wars Battlefront. “You want some Oreos?”
“Yeah, where are they?”
“In the kitchen,” Sneaky says. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”
Sneaky tiptoes out, all stealth-mode, and I know he’s probably gonna try to sneak some past his mom. After a few minutes, I hear Sneaky’s footsteps coming down the hall, and a loud “SNEAKY!”
Sneaky tosses me the package of Oreos from the door and says, “Yeah?”
“Excuse me?” his mom calls from the living room.
“Yes, Mama?”
“What are you doing? Come here!”
Sneaky sighs and heads to the living room. I hear his mom fuss at him about playing video games all day, and I’m pretty sure she’ll have us washing windows in a second. Sneaky says something, and then I don’t hear anything else. A second later, Sneaky rushes into the room and closes the door.
“She ’bout to put us to work?” I ask.
“Nah, she got a phone call from some dude,” Sneaky says, picking up his controller and turning the volume down a little.
“She got a boyfriend?”
“Nah, man,” Sneaky says, twisting up his face. That means he’s mad, and maybe what I just asked is true.
I don’t say anything else. I’d probably be mad, too, if some guy was trying to hang around Mama.
We eat Oreos and play Star Wars for a long time, until Mama comes to pick me up. She talks with Sneaky’s mom for a little while, which gives me and Sneaky a chance to practice our routine in front of Charlie. She tries to copy us, of course.
“If you let me dance with you guys, I know you’ll win!” she begs. “I can do a flip; look!”
Charlie attempts a raggedy tumble that makes me and Sneaky bust up laughing.
“Maybe one day, Charlie,” Sneaky says, patting her shoulder. Charlie runs to the living room to show off her flip to the adults.
“How long y’all gonna be staying in that motel?” Sneaky asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell Sneaky. “Till Mama gets more money, I guess.”
“I hope y’all can get your old place,” Sneaky says. “Then you can come over all the time, like before.”
At first, that’s what I hoped, too. But now I know our next place has to be better. We’re gonna get a nice, big house. I’ll hang the Isiah Thomas poster up in my room, and wear the Pistons jersey whenever Sneaky comes to visit.
May 9
FOR THE THIRD day in a row, I wake up to the sound of Mama humming and something sizzling. Yesterday it was pancakes, and today, it’s real bacon! And even crazier, Mama’s dressed up nice, like she’s going somewhere special.
First thing I always do in the morning is check my backpack for Daddy’s notebooks and the sock with my money. I do it every night, too. Once I see that everything’s there, I walk over to where Mama’s standing.
“Hey, Mama,” I say. “You look nice.”
“Thank you, baby,” she says, flipping the strips of bacon. There’s only four, and I’m hoping I get the extra piece.
“I think,” begins Mama, spreading butter on slices of bread, “I think I’m ready to go back to work.”
“For real?” I ask, feeling excited. If Mama starts working again, we’ll be outta Smoky Inn in no time!
“Yes, for real,” Mama says with a laugh. Then she stops what she’s doing and gives me a hug.
“I miss Daddy so much,” she says softly, her voice strong.
“I do, too,” I say.
“This story thing would make him so proud, Isaiah,” Mama says, finally letting me go. “Now I gotta make him proud, too.”
While Charlie’s still sleeping, me and Mama sit at the table and eat bread and bacon. She tells me that she’s gonna meet with somebody at her old job, to see when she can start.
“You remember Ms. Martin, don’t you, ’Saiah?” Mama asks.
“Um, yeah,” I say, even though I don’t.
“She told me to come back whenever I’m ready.” Mama chews and swallows. “I think I’m ready.”
I nod. This is the most me and her have talked in forever. I like it. I almost tell her about the money I’m saving, but nah. I think it’ll be better to surprise her. Maybe when I have a little more.
We finish eating, and Mama goes to wake Charlie up, which means lots of whining is about to start. Charlie hates getting up early; always has. Usually, Mama lets her stay in her pajamas when they drop me off at school, but now she says Charlie’s gonna have to go to daycare.
“Mommy, noooo!” Charlie groans, trying hard to keep the cover over her face.
“Charlie, there’s bacon,” I tell her, and she peeks out with a sleepy smile. Got her!
School is a breeze, probably because Mrs. Fisher’s out, and the sub—this skinny dude with a ponytail—spends more time talking to us about his life than using the lesson notes I know Mrs. Fisher left. I hear a few girls whisper that he’s soooo cute. Gross.
Having the sub makes it easy for me to get a pass and sneak to the lunchroom when the fourth graders are in there. Sneaky said he and Antwan went back to P.J.’s to buy more candy, and those guys from before weren’t there. When I asked Sneaky why Antwan was being so nice to him, Sneaky said, “Everybody gonna be nice when you give them ten bucks!” He also said Antwan and his friends have beef with those other boys. The morning bell rang before I could ask him what kind of beef, but I know it can’t be good.
I sell a bunch of candy during the fourth graders’ lunch, which makes me even more hyp
ed about going to the barbershop after school. I only work at the shop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I know I’m doing such an awesome job that pretty soon Rock’s gonna want me there every day.
I hustle hard, and Rock gives me a whole twenty bucks for sweeping, mopping, and helping him restock hair supplies. I can’t wait to put it in my sock. The money from today is gonna take me to seventy-four dollars! That plus Daddy’s two-hundred-dollar prize money should have us out of Smoky Inn for good.
“You know how much apartments cost?” I ask Rock while I’m waiting for Mama to pick me up.
“It all depends, li’l man,” Rock says. “How many rooms, if it’s downtown or not, if it has a good view or not.”
I think it would be pretty cool to have a place downtown, where you can look at the city lights at night.
“What about downtown?” I ask. “Three bedrooms.”
Rock whistles. “That could be a nice chunk of change you talkin’ about. Seventeen, eighteen hundred, maybe more.”
Whoa. So maybe not downtown.
“Okay. What if it wasn’t downtown?” I ask. “Just a regular place?”
“You shoppin’ for real estate, li’l man?” Rock grins.
“No, it’s something for school,” I lie.
Rock tells me some places are six or seven hundred a month, which I figure could work for us if Mama gets her job back.
I’m putting the broom away when I hear Mama’s horn beep loudly outside.
“Aight, ’Saiah,” Rock says, nodding at me on my way out. “See ya Thursday.”
I tell Rock bye and run to the car.
“Hey, Mama. Hey, Charlie,” I say. I put my fingers in my pocket and feel the crinkle of the crisp twenty. Mama says hey, but she leans forward with a frown to look into New Growth.
“ ’Saiah, I don’t know about this,” she says. “What boy needs to be hanging around a barbershop with crazy grown men?”
Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero Page 8
