House Arrest by K.A. Holt Page B
Authors: K.A. Holt
Tags: ISBN 978-1-4521-4084-1, Diaries—Juvenile fiction. 2., Juvenile delinquents—Juvenile fiction. 3., Detention of persons—Juvenile fiction. [1. Novels in verse. 2. Diaries—Fiction. 3. Juvenile delinquency—Fiction. 4. Detention of persons--Fiction.], I. Title.
Ads: Link
a speech
using only her hands
and everyone loved it
and gave her a zillion dollars
and she started this TV show.
Or maybe sheâs just an actress.
I hate to think that, though.
I hate to think sheâs just an actress.
He hasnât called since we moved.
Not once.
Who knew the Butt Creek apartments
had punching bags
a treadmill
a thing with those big round weights?
Who knew James would
gasp
break a rule
and let me in the tiny gym
even though I am under sixteen.
Who knew it would be so great
to punch that bag
really slam it
over and over and over and over
until my arms went limp and wiggly
like giant worms.
The Timothy Gun Show.
Coming soon
to some arms near you.
WEEK 48
Youâre coming, right?
Mrs. B?
To the Carnival of Giving?
I mean, you donât have to give money
it just seems like you should be there
and James, too.
We wouldnât even be having this thing
without you guys.
So you better be there.
You better.
Maybe I will write something down.
In case I have to do the speech.
Or, no.
Maybe I wonât.
Because Iâm not going to get onstage.
No way.
Nope.
Clowns.
People on stilts.
A fire-eater.
A dunking booth.
Tacos!
And Levi.
Out in public for the first time
in a long time.
His face was so funny
watching all those things,
trying to figure out the world
outside of his four walls.
I guess thatâs what made me take the microphone,
what made me make that speech
(without any notes!)
what made me say those things
about my own four walls
my walls made of James and Mrs. B and Mom
and now Joséâs house, sometimes, too.
I guess thatâs why I talked about
how strong Levi is
how nothing scares him
how he could be attached to a ten-ton boulder
and he would still learn to drag it behind him.
Still learn to run.
I guess thatâs why I said those things,
watching his walls open up like that,
and how it all made me think of my own walls
and how they made me open up
instead of the other way around.
Up there onstage,
looking out over all the peopleâ
holding the microphone,
seeing so many facesâ
it wasnât as scary as I thought.
I think I used more feeling words
at one time
than I have ever used before.
And I wasnât even really thinking about it.
I was just talking.
Just telling people how things are.
The feelings came out on their own.
And not one of those feelings
made me want to punch a wall.
And that was something.
That was really something.
Seriously.
You guys.
Was that fun or what?
I donât even care if they raised a hundred dollars,
or a million dollars,
it was just
so
much
fun.
All day, outside, laughing and talking
like regular people,
just me and Levi and Mom
and Marisol and James and Mrs. B
and Joseâs one million sisters
and Isa.
Just hanging out
eating corn dogs
goofing around
watching that crazy fire-eater
watching Levi grin and sign
more more more
hot smile man more more more .
I wanted more, too.
I wanted it to never stop.
A real gullywasher.
A frog strangler
as Dad would say.
The rain just pounding
so loud
so loud
it makes you smile wide
because how can nature be so crazy?
I almost didnât hear the knock
because of the rain
and the howling wind,
but my spidey senses . . .
they kicked in and
sure enough
right there
in the pouring rain
stood Mrs. B.
She held up a piece of paper
so wet it looked like it was melting.
Her hair was stuck to her face
the rain dripping down her chin
and into that little throat space,
that little neck hollow,
like a tiny pool.
Her smile was huge
lighting up the doorway
brighter than the lightning.
Timothy! It was a gasp.
The melted paper hit me in the chest.
I just got it. I couldnât wait. I printed it for you.
Read it! Mom came around the corner
holding a squirming Levi.
Maureen? What are you doing out there?
Come in! Come in!
Youâll wash away. So she came in.
Mrs. B.
Dripping.
In my house.
Looking so young
all wet and smiley like that.
I took the soaking paper
careful not to let it tear
and read it.
Then
using only her hands
and everyone loved it
and gave her a zillion dollars
and she started this TV show.
Or maybe sheâs just an actress.
I hate to think that, though.
I hate to think sheâs just an actress.
He hasnât called since we moved.
Not once.
Who knew the Butt Creek apartments
had punching bags
a treadmill
a thing with those big round weights?
Who knew James would
gasp
break a rule
and let me in the tiny gym
even though I am under sixteen.
Who knew it would be so great
to punch that bag
really slam it
over and over and over and over
until my arms went limp and wiggly
like giant worms.
The Timothy Gun Show.
Coming soon
to some arms near you.
WEEK 48
Youâre coming, right?
Mrs. B?
To the Carnival of Giving?
I mean, you donât have to give money
it just seems like you should be there
and James, too.
We wouldnât even be having this thing
without you guys.
So you better be there.
You better.
Maybe I will write something down.
In case I have to do the speech.
Or, no.
Maybe I wonât.
Because Iâm not going to get onstage.
No way.
Nope.
Clowns.
People on stilts.
A fire-eater.
A dunking booth.
Tacos!
And Levi.
Out in public for the first time
in a long time.
His face was so funny
watching all those things,
trying to figure out the world
outside of his four walls.
I guess thatâs what made me take the microphone,
what made me make that speech
(without any notes!)
what made me say those things
about my own four walls
my walls made of James and Mrs. B and Mom
and now Joséâs house, sometimes, too.
I guess thatâs why I talked about
how strong Levi is
how nothing scares him
how he could be attached to a ten-ton boulder
and he would still learn to drag it behind him.
Still learn to run.
I guess thatâs why I said those things,
watching his walls open up like that,
and how it all made me think of my own walls
and how they made me open up
instead of the other way around.
Up there onstage,
looking out over all the peopleâ
holding the microphone,
seeing so many facesâ
it wasnât as scary as I thought.
I think I used more feeling words
at one time
than I have ever used before.
And I wasnât even really thinking about it.
I was just talking.
Just telling people how things are.
The feelings came out on their own.
And not one of those feelings
made me want to punch a wall.
And that was something.
That was really something.
Seriously.
You guys.
Was that fun or what?
I donât even care if they raised a hundred dollars,
or a million dollars,
it was just
so
much
fun.
All day, outside, laughing and talking
like regular people,
just me and Levi and Mom
and Marisol and James and Mrs. B
and Joseâs one million sisters
and Isa.
Just hanging out
eating corn dogs
goofing around
watching that crazy fire-eater
watching Levi grin and sign
more more more
hot smile man more more more .
I wanted more, too.
I wanted it to never stop.
A real gullywasher.
A frog strangler
as Dad would say.
The rain just pounding
so loud
so loud
it makes you smile wide
because how can nature be so crazy?
I almost didnât hear the knock
because of the rain
and the howling wind,
but my spidey senses . . .
they kicked in and
sure enough
right there
in the pouring rain
stood Mrs. B.
She held up a piece of paper
so wet it looked like it was melting.
Her hair was stuck to her face
the rain dripping down her chin
and into that little throat space,
that little neck hollow,
like a tiny pool.
Her smile was huge
lighting up the doorway
brighter than the lightning.
Timothy! It was a gasp.
The melted paper hit me in the chest.
I just got it. I couldnât wait. I printed it for you.
Read it! Mom came around the corner
holding a squirming Levi.
Maureen? What are you doing out there?
Come in! Come in!
Youâll wash away. So she came in.
Mrs. B.
Dripping.
In my house.
Looking so young
all wet and smiley like that.
I took the soaking paper
careful not to let it tear
and read it.
Then
Similar Books
