nap.”
I check out the window for David. He’s swinging hard on the wooden swing set Dad made him. Mom rests against the slide, her cell phone to her ear.
Leaning way back, David laughs, his eyes scrunched shut as he pumps his legs. I can’t stand that feeling — free-falling through the sky with my eyes closed — but David loves it.
“Come on over.”
In my room I collect markers, pencils, my ruler, paints, and brushes, until Kristi arrives.
Her blank, white poster board reminds me of Jason’s cards, only huge.
“We need one sign for the admission desk and one for the refreshment stand.” Kristi lays the poster board on my checkered rug. “Which one do you want to make?”
I shrug. “I’ll make the one for the admission desk.”
“It needs to say ‘dance’ and how much it costs,” Kristi says.
Kneeling in front of the poster board, there’s so much whiteness, I’m tempted to find a soft-lead pencil and draw tiny footprints, maybe two sets, walking through a windswept field of snow.
My marker squeaks as I write each huge red letter: D tipping forward, A leaning back, N shivery, C stretched tall, and the lines of E poking out at funny angles, the word itself dancing. I begin a border of fireworks exploding around the edges of the poster. Awesome fireworks.
“You’re a good artist,” Kristi says, grimacing at her pillow-fat letters spelling “Refreshments.” R is big, but each letter after is a little smaller, like if the word kept going and going, it’d disappear.
“Maybe if you color them in?”
She picks up a yellow marker.
“I think I need another color on these fireworks.” I show her my poster. “What do you think?”
“You didn’t use green.” Kristi hands me the marker. “I still wish you were coming to the dance.”
“It’s better since I don’t dance — in fact, I have a rule against it. No dancing unless I’m alone in my room or it’s pitch-black dark.”
Kristi huffs. “That’s a dumb —”
My door bangs open. For a change I’m glad to see David standing there, his face flushed from swinging.
“David, do you like to dance?” Kristi stands up.
Holding the green marker, I look between David waiting in my doorway and Kristi choosing a CD from my shelf. “Let’s show Catherine how.”
“Don’t.” I scramble to my feet. “He’ll step on the posters.”
But Kristi starts my Avril Lavigne CD. “Come on, David.” She shimmies her body, elbows bent, her hair swinging. “Let’s dance.”
When David dances, it’s from his heart, from the inside out. Jumping around my room in an all-over wiggly dance, feet kicking, he steps on markers. Cinnamon and Nutmeg start squealing.
“Quiet, pigs!” David claps his hands over his ears.
“Stop it!” I snatch the posters off the floor as his heel snaps my ruler in half. Stumbling across the room to my CD player, I wince as markers jab my bare feet.
I turn the music off.
“Why’d you do that?” Kristi asks.
As I lay the posters back on the floor, I hear a car door slam outside.
David is gone from my room so fast my calendar flutters in the breeze he makes running past.
“Ready to go, sport?” I hear Dad call — late again.
“You’re no fun.” Kristi flops back onto my rug.
Behind my eyes, I feel the sizzle of tears. I want to be fun, but — “I don’t like when people make David look stupid.”
“I asked him to dance. How is that making him look stupid? He liked it, didn’t he?” Her marker squeaks, scribbling hard strokes.
Kneeling beside her, I uncap the green marker. “Did your mom say you can only go to the dance with Ryan if I go, too?”
“I thought you said you couldn’t go.”
“I can’t.”
“Then it doesn’t matter,” she says, not looking at me.
We finish our posters, barely talking. Green ruins my fireworks. I trace the lines and bursts, wishing there were a way to go backward and make them what I wanted them to be.
I open the door that says ELLIOT’S ANTIQUES
I check out the window for David. He’s swinging hard on the wooden swing set Dad made him. Mom rests against the slide, her cell phone to her ear.
Leaning way back, David laughs, his eyes scrunched shut as he pumps his legs. I can’t stand that feeling — free-falling through the sky with my eyes closed — but David loves it.
“Come on over.”
In my room I collect markers, pencils, my ruler, paints, and brushes, until Kristi arrives.
Her blank, white poster board reminds me of Jason’s cards, only huge.
“We need one sign for the admission desk and one for the refreshment stand.” Kristi lays the poster board on my checkered rug. “Which one do you want to make?”
I shrug. “I’ll make the one for the admission desk.”
“It needs to say ‘dance’ and how much it costs,” Kristi says.
Kneeling in front of the poster board, there’s so much whiteness, I’m tempted to find a soft-lead pencil and draw tiny footprints, maybe two sets, walking through a windswept field of snow.
My marker squeaks as I write each huge red letter: D tipping forward, A leaning back, N shivery, C stretched tall, and the lines of E poking out at funny angles, the word itself dancing. I begin a border of fireworks exploding around the edges of the poster. Awesome fireworks.
“You’re a good artist,” Kristi says, grimacing at her pillow-fat letters spelling “Refreshments.” R is big, but each letter after is a little smaller, like if the word kept going and going, it’d disappear.
“Maybe if you color them in?”
She picks up a yellow marker.
“I think I need another color on these fireworks.” I show her my poster. “What do you think?”
“You didn’t use green.” Kristi hands me the marker. “I still wish you were coming to the dance.”
“It’s better since I don’t dance — in fact, I have a rule against it. No dancing unless I’m alone in my room or it’s pitch-black dark.”
Kristi huffs. “That’s a dumb —”
My door bangs open. For a change I’m glad to see David standing there, his face flushed from swinging.
“David, do you like to dance?” Kristi stands up.
Holding the green marker, I look between David waiting in my doorway and Kristi choosing a CD from my shelf. “Let’s show Catherine how.”
“Don’t.” I scramble to my feet. “He’ll step on the posters.”
But Kristi starts my Avril Lavigne CD. “Come on, David.” She shimmies her body, elbows bent, her hair swinging. “Let’s dance.”
When David dances, it’s from his heart, from the inside out. Jumping around my room in an all-over wiggly dance, feet kicking, he steps on markers. Cinnamon and Nutmeg start squealing.
“Quiet, pigs!” David claps his hands over his ears.
“Stop it!” I snatch the posters off the floor as his heel snaps my ruler in half. Stumbling across the room to my CD player, I wince as markers jab my bare feet.
I turn the music off.
“Why’d you do that?” Kristi asks.
As I lay the posters back on the floor, I hear a car door slam outside.
David is gone from my room so fast my calendar flutters in the breeze he makes running past.
“Ready to go, sport?” I hear Dad call — late again.
“You’re no fun.” Kristi flops back onto my rug.
Behind my eyes, I feel the sizzle of tears. I want to be fun, but — “I don’t like when people make David look stupid.”
“I asked him to dance. How is that making him look stupid? He liked it, didn’t he?” Her marker squeaks, scribbling hard strokes.
Kneeling beside her, I uncap the green marker. “Did your mom say you can only go to the dance with Ryan if I go, too?”
“I thought you said you couldn’t go.”
“I can’t.”
“Then it doesn’t matter,” she says, not looking at me.
We finish our posters, barely talking. Green ruins my fireworks. I trace the lines and bursts, wishing there were a way to go backward and make them what I wanted them to be.
I open the door that says ELLIOT’S ANTIQUES
Similar Books
