Sunday Night

“I’m leaving.”

Dad stands above me
in the living room.
His eyes are
empty black spots.

On the floor,
I cram my fingers
into the throw rug fringe.
The strings
twist and grab
and hold me tight.

My little brother, Dale, is crying.
Since he’s only seven,
how much does he understand?
His eyes dart like zigzag lightning
from Dad
to Mom.
“Be a man, Dale,” my dad says.

Mom’s eyes
bulge
like her pregnant belly.
She rocks on her knees
on the cold terrazzo floor.
“Good-bye, Essie-girl,” Dad says to me.
His brown pants rake by
my skinny legs.

He opens the front door.
Dark, hot
Miami air
swooshes in,
swallowing up
our air-conditioning.

Slam.

“No!”
I yank my hands free
and stumble to the hall window.
The metal screen
presses into my lips.
“Come back,” I whisper.
My breath fogs
against the closed jalousie.
The slanted red car lights
disappear.

Dale whimpers.
Mom moans.
I shut my eyes.

The Police

I bite my fist
to stop the dead feeling
numbing me.

I snap open my eyes,
crawl to the phone,
and snatch it.

“We should call the police,
and they can stop Dad
and bring him back
because it’s like
breaking the law
for him to leave
us!”

“It’s not against the law.”

Mom lunges over to me.

The phone clatters out of my hand.

She scoops it up
and smashes it
back into its cradle.

Left Out

“Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy,” says Dale.
She doesn’t answer.

“Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy.” He tugs her shirt.
“Shhh,” I hiss.

“Mommy.
Mommy.
Mommy.”
“Would you stop already!”
I shove him.
He shoves me back.

Mom rolls to her feet
and leaves us
in the empty hall.
Her bedroom door closes.
Click.

“Es?” Dale whispers.
I pat his little sharp shoulder blades.

I’m scared
too.

Okay

“It’s time to go to bed, Doozerdude.”
Dale goes without a fight.
I tuck him in.

“When will Daddy come—,” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“But—”
“Shhh.”
“But—”
“Go to sleep, Doozerdude.”
“Are we going to be okay?”
“Yeah.”
I turn off his light.
“We’re going to be okay.”

I don’t believe it.

Four

Dad, Mom,
Dale, and I
make four.

That’s us.

Mom,
Dale, and I
make three.

Are we still
a family?

Wandering Through the House

Dad’s clothes are missing
from the laundry basket.

The ceramic beer mugs
Mom painted for him
are still on the shelf.

But the six-pack of beer
is gone from the fridge.

His secret stash of black licorice
behind the cornmeal
and his Popular Mechanics magazines
that were in the rack by the couch
are missing.

He left the TV.

It must have been too heavy
to haul out quick.

The new DVD player is gone.

But he left us the old VCR.

His toothbrush,
electric razor, and comb are gone.

That rubbery pick on a stick
for his gums.

Our radio,
our computer
and all the cool games,
our CDs,
every bit of music,
except Dale’s little kid tapes,
are gone.

But Dad’s cell phone is here.

Figures.

He wouldn’t want
us
to be able to call
him.

Work

Flick.

The light blares
above his empty desk.

Dad’s office is cleared out.

I drag my hand over
the cold metal desktop
and drop into his chair.

I spin it fast
like I’m not allowed to.

Where will he work
between sales trips?

The room zips by.

Doesn’t he need our home
at least
to work from?

Casings

I lift the curtain
and look out the office window.

The whole backyard is black.

My reflection
breaks into rectangles
on the jalousies.

I lean my elbows on the tile sill.

The curtain swings back and
brushes my arm.

Yuck!

I leap up.

Roach egg casings are clinging
to the back of the material.

Some are hard, dark brown,
and shiny.

The eggs still inside.

Others are broken open.

Left-behind, empty, hairy shells.

My skin creeps,
and I drop the material.

It sways closed.

No way I’m touching that ick.

Mom must not know
that creepo stuff is there
just out of sight.

It’s funny
the roaches stuck their eggs
in Dad’s office.

Dial Tone

Hmmmmm
goes the dial tone.
I slam the phone down
like Mom did.
The Rolodex cards
stick to my fingers,
but there’s no one to call
for help.

No way I’m calling Pastor Lyon.
It’s just too embarrassing
to think of telling him
something this bad.

None of us
know our neighbors that well.
There’s that old lady, Ms. Ruthie,
we see outside watering her flowers sometimes.
What could she ever do to help?

There’s not even anyone my age
around here.
Dale knows a few of the little kids.

Mom doesn’t have any relatives to call.
She’s an only child,
and her folks died before Dale and I were born.
Plus, she totally stopped trying
to make friends in the neighborhood
when Don and Didi moved away.
Said it was too hard on her.
Mr. Paul is about her only friend
who comes around.
And he lives way over
in the Saga Bay Apartments.
I don’t like him much.
He has creepo eyes.
I’m not
calling him.

Dad’s never let us meet his family
up in Canada somewhere.
He left home at sixteen.
Huh.
Can leaving home
become a habit?

Kitchen Calendar

I take a felt tip
and black out today,
Sunday, December 1st.

I scribble
edge to edge.

This day
is totally dark.

In Bed

“Dad gave me you
the day I was born,” I remind my old bear.

“You are ten whole years old now,
Dumplin’ Spinner.
When I first got you,
you were bigger than me.
Dad always said he loved you
the second he saw you,
and he named you right then.
Wasn’t it that way with me, too?
Must have been.
Well, I think he used to love us.”

I hug Dumplin’ Spinner
under my chin.

Praying

Why, God, why?

Why did he leave?

Why did he leave
me?

Why,
God,
why?

Wally

What will Wally say?

My best friend
since kindergarten,
the one I tell my secrets to.

I can’t tell this one
to Wally.

“My dad doesn’t want me.”

I can’t tell him that.

Garbage

If this happened to Wally
his drama teacher
would ask him
how it feels.
Wally would ask me
how Dad’s leaving feels.

It feels like garbage,
rotten stinking garbage,
is piled on top of me,
and I can’t breathe a speck
because the pile
is pressing on my chest,
making me feel like
I’m garbage too.

Freaking scared, completely mad, totally sad.
That’s how it feels.

My Whole Name

Finally,
Mom comes out of her room.
She checks on Dale.
Then she comes
to check on me.
“Estele,” she says.
“Oh, Estele Leann.” She sits
on the edge of my bed.

Her voice says
she’s sorry
for leaving us
alone
wondering what’s next.
That’s what she means
when she says my whole name.
Mom is like that.
You have to look around her words
to hear her.
Dad just says it straight.
Like tonight:
“I’m leaving.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”
Mom’s hand
brushes my cheek,
and I smell
garlic on her fingertips
from dinner.
When everything seemed normal.
“Mom—”
“Shhh.”
She tucks me tight and whispers,
“Well be okay.”
I believe it more
when she says it.
A little.

“I. L. Y.” She turns off the light.
“I. L. Y.,” I say.
I love you,
Mom.

Listening

She paces through the house.

Step, step, sniffle.

Step, step, sob.

Will she
step, step
away from me,
too?

Thinking Ahead

The air conditioner hum
stops in the middle of the night.

I get up.

Mom’s in front of the control panel.

“I’m not sure we’ll be able to afford
cool air now,” she says.

I nod.

“We have to think about what to do next.”

I nod.

“I won’t be able to get a job
until after the baby comes
because of my weak back.”

I nod.

“We have to go back to bed, Estele.”

She shuffles straight to her room.

I go to mine
and bang on the window crank
with the palm of my hand.

Finally, the jalousies creak open.

Humid air seeps in.

I lie down on my bed,
rub my sore hand,
and start to sweat
like rotting garbage.

Morning

I dress
and drag myself down the hallway.

My hand brushes
along the wall
to Dad’s office door.

Closed.

I press my ear
up against the wood.

Silence.

Creak.

I peek in.

Nope.

He’s really not here.

Breakfast

I stop outside the kitchen and listen.

“Mommy, will you leave us too?” Dale asks.

A spoon clatters.

“Oh, Dale-o,” Mom answers. “Never.Ý

“But are you sure?” he says.

“Very sure,” says Mom.

Absolutely?

Leftovers

“Your breath stinks,” I tell Dale.
“Go brush your teeth, Doozerdude.”
“Make me,” he says
and bumps me,
reaching for the cereal.
“I haven’t even eaten yet.”
“Go brush your teeth, Dale,” says Mom.
So he does
after
he glares at me.

Mom gets up
and scrubs last night’s dirty dishes.
I get everything out of the fridge
and make a turkey sandwich
with our Thanksgiving leftovers.

Everything seemed perfect
last Thursday.
Each of us
at the table
saying what
we were thankful for:
Mom—the baby inside her;
Dale—the green jiggly salad;
Me—the days off from school;
Dad—each of us.
Yeah, right.

Nuts

Where is Dad?

Where’s he staying?

Who’s going to cook for him
or make his lunches?

Because it’s my job
to make his lunch
and put it in the fridge
so it’s ready
if he makes a sales trip
or eats at home.

And I always put in fifteen peanuts,
because that’s the exact number
he likes each day.

I hate them
because sometimes I don’t see
that bitter reddish papery stuff
around the nut,
and it spoils the whole taste.

Getting a good one
isn’t worth risking that other stuff.

So where is Dad?

What am I supposed to do
with this pile
of icko peanuts?

Swallowing

Every cereal wheat square
gets stuck in my throat.

Dry, poky sticks
pile on top of each other.

Crisscrossed.

I gulp some orange juice.

It
burns through
into
my stomach.

Doozerdude

Dale drinks the milk
out of his cereal bowl,
then licks the cinnamon sugar
off his plate.

Mom doesn’t even notice.

I give him a grossed-out look
and try to kick him
under the table.

I miss.

He licks it again.

A Second

Mom’s working on a list.

Crossing stuff off.

Adding more.

Her forehead
crinkles tighter
and tighter.

“We’re going to be okay, Mom.

She looks up quick.

There’s a second of fear
before she hides it.

“You’re right, Estele.”

She pats my arm.

I grab hold of her hand
and squeeze it
until she smiles.

Off to School

Mom lowers herself
into the car.

Dale jumps into
the shady front seat.

“Get in, Estele,” Mom says.

I knock Doozerdude’s head.

“Quit it,” he whines.

“Come on, Estele,” says Mom.

I climb into the back.

The red vinyl burns off
the back side of my legs.

I suck in baked air.

Mom pulls away from the house.

We are off to school.

Like normal.

Drooping

Everything
out the window
is drooping.

Hanging heavy.

We roll past
palm trees.

Every frond
is stretched
straight down.

Mom stops
at the red light.

The heat shivers
on the asphalt.

I try not to melt
and slip
off
the seat.

A Good Day

Dale bolts across the playground.

Mom turns and pats my leg.

“Like you said, well be okay.”

I gulp back some tears,
because I hear
a maybe
around her words.

I get out.

“Have a good day. Estele,” Mom calls.

Did anyone hear her?

By her voice
everyone will know
my dad left.

My skin prickles stiff.

I bet they can see he left,
and now
they won’t want to be
around me
either.

Fear

Mom’s car disappears
around the bend,
and a freak-out jumbles me up.

I race across the playground.

My backpack thumps
the breath out of me.

In the empty bathroom,
I squat in a stall
and cry it out.

Mom’ll come back.

She’s got to come back.

She won’t leave too.

Cover Up

I splash my face
with cold water,
and press a rough paper towel
to my eyes.

Deep breath.

It doesn’t look
too much like I’ve been crying.

Maybe it looks like allergies.

That’s what I’ll say
if anyone asks.

Someone comes into the bathroom.

I hurry by
without looking
to see who.

Fifth Grade

Ms. Dry den is straightening her desk.

“Good morning, Essie.”

“Hey.”

Everyone is goofing around.

Wally’s acting like a turkey.

“Hey, Essie!
Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

I slip into my seat,
and sit on my shaking hands.

They don’t know.

They really don’t know.

I smile
and pretend to be the same person
even though
I’m not.

My Desk

I creak open my desk
and lift an old spelling paper.

Roach poop
rolls off.

I shut the top fast.

No one noticed.

I sneak it open again
and move everything around.

The roach is gone,
so I push the dry blackish balls
with an old tissue
to the hole in the desk corner.

The poop rains down onto the brown carpet.

No one notices.

No one notices stuff
if you are sneaky
enough.

Attendance

“Jarin.”

“Here.”

“Gary.”

“Here.”

“Wally.”

“Here.”

“Chris.”

…

“Chris?”

…

“Essie.”

“Here.” Kind of.

A Deal

I guess Chris got an extra day
of Thanksgiving vacation.

What a deal.

I wonder
what he’s doing?

Recess

“Come on, Essie.
Let’s get the bars
before anyone else!”

Wally tugs me across the playground.

“Mine!” he shouts,
grabbing the highest bar.

“Energize the transporter, Scotty.
Two to beam up.” He grins.

I roll my eyes.

We hook our knees on the bars
and climb up.

“Successfully transported. Captain Picard.”

“You’re mixing two
different Star Trek shows,” I say.

“Well, sorry, Mr. Roddenberry.
You sure are grumpy today.”

I shrug.

“Send her to Bones in Sick Bay,” says Wally.

I wish
that’s all I needed.

Upside Down

Wally and I
hang upside down.

His freckly face
is laughing,
but I’m just
swinging back and forth.

My braids drag in the dirt,
and the blood filling my head
seems to push out
my missing-Dad thoughts
for a second.

The Party

“Hey, Essie,” Jarin calls.
Hurry up already, Wally.
I bang the boys’ bathroom door once.

“Essie,” Jarin calls louder.
I turn around. “Me?”
“Yeah.” She looks through a stack of envelopes,
then flips her long hair behind her shoulder.

I tug my braids.
“I’m having this great boy/girl birthday party.”
“Cool,” I say.
“Yeah. My dad’s taking us
to Wynette’s Wave World,
and we are going to have pizza,
and everyone gets to stay super late.”
“Wow,” I say.
She goes through the stack again.

“Oh.” She pats my shoulder.
“I guess you’re not invited.”
She flips her hair one more time
and walks out to the playground.

Man, she’s mean.
Her and all her cool friends.
But today
Dad seems
even meaner.
Dad leaving
hurts so bad
it makes what Jarin does
feel like nothing.

Walking Back to Class

“Who wants to go to Wynette’s Wave World
with Jarin anyway?” asks Wally.

“You weren’t invited either?”

“Negative.”

Two

Ms. Dryden
loves amber.

She has this necklace
with two bugs
sealed inside
the golden
rock-hard resin.

There’s a big bug
and a little bug,
and neither one
can ever
get out.

Ever.

The Challenge

“The capital of Washington,
Essie and Juan Carlos,” says Ms. Dryden.
We stand up next to our desks.
My half of the class groans loudest.
“Come on, Essie,” whispers Wally.
This is for an extra ten minutes at recess.
Juan Carlos doesn’t answer either.

“Washington’s capital.”

I know the answer, but right now
it’s nowhere in my brain.
Nowhere.
Why can’t Juan Carlos think of it either?
“Juan,” someone whines.

“Olympia,” I say without even realizing it.
My side of the room goes wild.
It’s amazing
what your brain can do
when it’s so stuffed
with worry.

Lose

Sharpening my pencil,
I hear Chris’s friends say,
“No, I thought he’d be here today.”

“Well, we lost that basketball game
after lunch without him.”

“For sure.”

“We’ll make it up tomorrow.”

“If Chris is back.”

“Yeah.”

“We need Chris on our team.”

“Essie sits behind him.
Ask her.”

“Essie,” says Joe,
“did you hear Chris say
he was gonna
be gone today?”

“Nope,” I answer.

All those boys looking at me
makes me slip past quick
to get to my desk.

But I know what they mean
about needing
everyone
on your team.
What’ll we lose
without Dad?

Waiting

Dale leaves the pack of second graders
and lopes over to me on the parking lot curb.

“Hey, Es.”

“Hey.”

“Es, I’m pooped.

Ms. Bovencamp
makes us do so much work.
Look at my hand,
still crunched up.”

He holds it to my face
like a claw.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I push his fingers away.

“Like second grade is such a big deal.”

“It is!
She makes us write our whole name,
D A L E S H E R M A N,
on every paper. It’s way tough.”

“Whatever.”

A bunch of kids run past.

Dale moves closer to me.

“We still write ‘Sherman,’
don’t we, Es?” he whispers.

My heart bumps.

I act like I’m looking down the road for Mom.

I whisper back
with my lips half closed,

“What are you talking about?”

He cups his hand to my ear and
spits the hot words,

“Do we still write ‘Sherman’
even though Daddy isn’t here—
I mean isn’t at our house?”

I jerk back
and rub off his breath.

“We are Shermans, no matter what!”

I say it
louder than I mean to.

“Dad can take lots of stuff away,
but not our name.”

“Okay, okay,” Dale says.

“I was just hoping that was right.”

“It’s right, all right.”

I check around
to be sure no one
heard us.
“Dad!” yells some kid.
“Mom!” another calls,
running to climb into a car.
No one heard us
at all.

Freaking

Mom’s a little late
picking us up.

Is she okay?

Could the baby be coming so early?

It’s not due
till the end of January.

Or could she
not want us either?

A little late
can make a big freak-out
if you are seven or ten.

Neither Dale nor I
lets the freak-out out,
but we are both having it—
silently,
so the other kids don’t see it.

But I can see it
in Dale’s crazy eyes,
and I know he can see it in mine,
until Mom pulls up,
and we both stop
freaking
for now.

Driving Home

“Was it a good day?” Mom asks.

“Yeah,” Dale and I answer.

“Did Daddy come—,” says Dale.

“No.”

Mom adjusts the rearview mirror.

Her eyes lock onto mine.

I look out the window.

If Dad didn’t come home, this day was no good.

It stinks.

Dale Asks

Dale and I pick the red flowers
off our ixora bush
and suck the honey
out of the stems.

“Do you think Daddy will come back?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Ever?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“I think he will,” he says.

We each tug a flower off
and suck deep.

“I don’t know, Doozerdude,” I say,
because
I really don’t.

Mowing After School

I lean against the handle.

“Go! Move!” I growl over the noise.

The mower inches forward through the thick, fat grass.

I’ll
never
finish
the
lawn.

The mower dies.

“Man!”

I bang the handle,
then yank the pull.

Pppttt, pppttt.

I yank it harder.

Vvvrrrmmm.

Sweat
drips off my face.

I blow on my palms
to cool them.

Dad could have at least
mowed
before he left.

The Talk

“Thanks for mowing, sweetheart.

That’s such a big job,” says Mom.

I shrug.

She shifts on the couch.

“I bet your shower felt good.”

“Yeah.” I wrap a towel around my hair.

“Sit down. Estele. We need to talk.
You must have questions.”

Whoa. This is big
for Mom.

I sit down
and pull my knees under my chin.
“Um,” I say.

I pick at the loose blister skin
on my palm.
Mom grimaces and pats my hand
till I stop.

“Go ahead,” she says.
“Did you know Dad was going to leave?”
“Only the last few days.”
“Why did he leave?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
She does a big swallow.

“You guys never fought or anything,” I say real quiet.
“No, we didn’t. I think your dad
is just really unhappy.”
“Because of us?”
“No, because of himself.”
“Oh.”

I suck on my knee and think.
“Can we call him?” I ask.
“He didn’t give me a number.”
“Will he come back. Mom?”
“Probably not.”
Her sigh whistles
through her clenched teeth.

That “probably not” aches so bad,
I know it was hard for her
to say it straight.
My tears roll off my knees.
Hers splash onto her shirt
and soak her big belly.
I lay my head down
on the little lap she has left.
Mom hugs me.

Garbage

I see inside the black garbage bag
before Mom bundles it closed.

The stuff Dad
didn’t take.

She leaves it for a minute
to get the phone.

I peek in and see magazines
I’ve never seen before.

These are Dad’s?

Did he leave Mom
for someone who
looks like these naked magazine women?

I punch the mound of stuff down,
kick it hard,
and walk away.

I don’t want to look anymore
at the garbage
he left behind.

Knocked Out

I’ve been telling Doozerdude a lot
that he stinks
and needs a bath.
Especially his neck
when it gets all ringed
with dirty sweat beads.

I yelled at him
for touching Dumplin’ Spinner
last week.

And that one broiling hot Saturday
way back before school started,
I complained and complained
to Dad
about us not having a pool.

And my room
hasn’t been so neat lately.

And when Dad and Mom
were playing cards last week,
I butted in
and whined to play too.

None of that
is a good reason
for him to leave.
Is it?
But what if Dad
added all that stuff up?
Was there enough
to knock out his love
and make him leave me?

Books

The books I’ve read
with divorce stuff in them
say the kids always think
it’s their fault when parents split.
The grown-ups always say it’s not.
Maybe the kids
are right after all.

Secretly

I sneak our biggest photo album
to my room and lock the door.
Where are some pictures of Dad?
There.

There we are at the Seaquarium.
At the bay.

Camping last summer near Lake Okeechobee
where those cold springs were.

He loved me then.

Didn’t he?

His face looks happy.

And he’s smiling right at me.

”Es?”

Dale knocks.

I slam the album shut.

”Go away!”

”All right, you don’t have to yell.”

His footsteps disappear.

I crack open the door.

All’s clear.

I race the album back to the shelf.

No one will know
I needed to look.

Tuesday

Chris’s chair stays empty.
”Where is Chris?”
”Why hasn’t he come back yet?”
”Where could Chris be?”
everyone asks.
”Kidnapped!”
The answer ripples
through the room
right through Chris’s
empty seat.

For Real

Ms. Dryden stacks some papers,
erases the board,
waters the plants,
feeds Scurvy,
our hermit crab,
then stands in front of us.
She watches the door
until Mr. Turinsky, our principal,
comes in.
Everyone sits up straight.
Ms. Dryden clasps her hands
tight.
”Thank you for being here, Mr. Turinsky.”
He nods to her.
She turns to us.
”Chris Crow is missing.”
”Missing?” asks Buffy.
”He’s been—,” Ms. Dryden starts.
”Kidnapped?” asks Rock.
Ms. Dryden takes a big breath.
”Yes, last Wednesday, before Thanksgiving.
”But,” adds Mr. Turinsky, ”right now,
I want you each to know
you are safe here.
Our school is a safe place.”
”But I heard
Chris got kidnapped
at his bus stop,” says Juan Carlos.
Ms. Dryden looks at the ceiling.
Mr. Turinsky shoves his hands into his pockets.
No one says a thing,
but everyone sneaks scaredy peeks
at Chris’s desk.

Not Supposed To

We aren’t supposed to have prayer in school
so we have a moment of silence for Chris.
I’m thinking there’s praying going on
for him anyway,
and a lot of thanks going up
that it wasn’t us
kidnapped.

Bogus

”This is so bogus,” says Rock.

”Excuse me?”

Ms. Dryden
shoots a warning look at him.

It doesn’t stop him. “The police should have
hit the media last Wednesday.

You know, using the AMBER Plan.

Then everyone in radio and TV
would have worked together right away
to say Chris was kidnapped.

Even the electronic road signs
would have run the info.

People could have found out fast
and kept a lookout.

Kids get found quick with the AMBER Plan.

What a waste
the cops didn’t use it.”

”Well, son,” Mr. Turinsky says, stepping forward,
”the police believed the situation was a
runaway scenario. Not a kidnapping.”

”Yeah, well. That’s lame.”

Mr. Turinsky and Ms. Dryden
just stare at Rock.

He always knows about crime stuff.

He watches detective shows
and wants to be a forensic scientist.

Rock shoves his chair back.

”You’ve got to catch the kidnapper
within a day or two
or chances of survival are nil.”

”That’s enough for now.”

Ms. Dryden glares at Rock.

”Thank you for coming, Mr. Turinsky.
We all appreciate your time.”

She guides him to the door.

”I’m right, you know,” Rock says to us.

Sure we know.

But who wants to hear it?

Heading Out for Recess

”I can’t believe it.”
”Me either.”
”Creepy!”
”It makes me so scared.”
”Yeah.”
”Man.”
”I can’t believe it.”

How’s It Feel?

No one wants to be alone.
All Chris’s friends
are under the basketball hoop.
But no one is shooting.
There are small circles of kids
all over the playground.
”I wonder what it feels like,” says Wally.
”Just stop,” Buffy whines.
”No, I’m thinking
like my drama teacher says to.
When things happen
we’re supposed to check how it feels
in case we ever have to act out something like it.”
”It feels scary,” says Buffy.
I nod.
”Yeah, and that’s how we feel here
at school.” Wally looks us each in the eye.
”But what does Chris feel right now?”
”Freaking scared. Completely mad. Totally sad,”
I answer.
Everyone
stares at me.

Theirs

What was Thanksgiving like
for Chris’s family
when he was already missing
a day,
and no one else but the police knew it?
I bet there was no Thanksgiving at all
at their house.
I got to have Thanksgiving.

The Big Question to Me

Why did the police
think Chris was a runaway?
What was going on at his house?
Everything sure seemed normal
about Chris.
But I guess you never know
what’s really going on
inside families’ homes.

The Truth

Wally and I
walk to the parking lot.

”I’m so scared
of getting kidnapped,” I say.
”I know what you mean.
But come on, Essie.”
He brushes his hand against mine.
”It’s not like two kids
from the same class
would ever get taken.
The odds are so off.”
Yeah. Wally is way smart.
”And besides,” he says,
grinning and shifting his books,
”who would ever want us?”
He is so right.
He climbs into his dad’s car.

Waiting for Mom

”Es, Es!”
Dale runs up.
”I heard a kid in your class
was kidnapped!”
”Yeah,” I say.
”Whoa! I wonder who got him,
and if they had a gun,
or tied him up, or—”
”Stop!”
I glare at him.
For once,
he actually does.

She Heard

”Estele! Dale!”

Mom pulls us
into the front seat of the car
right next to her.

She squashes us and smothers us with kisses.

”Oh, oh,” she keeps saying.

She starts bawling,
and we start sniffling.

”Get the seat belt on,” she says
and rubs her belly of baby.

We ride all the way home
snuggly tight.

And I don’t even mind
how Dale’s shoulder
pushes warm against mine.

Washing the Car

Dale sprays me with the hose.
”Stop! ”I yell,
but I’m laughing.
Mom slides the sopping sponge
across the hood to me.
I splatter him with it.
”Woooo, that’s cold!”
He cracks up.
Mom takes the hose
and sprays it straight up into the air.
Doozerdude and I
twirl under the rainbows
together,
and Mom smiles.

Publix

Dale pushes the cart
into my heel.
”Stop!” I hiss.
He smiles
and does it again.
Mom looks up
from her list.
”Both of you, knock it off.”
He sticks his tongue out
at me.
I stick my nose in the air.
Dale grabs some junk cereal.
”Can we? Can we have this, Mommy?”
”No.” She pulls it out of his grip
and puts it back.
That’s the whole rest
of our shopping time in Publix.
Can we, can we, can we—no.
No to the cookies.
She drops white rice in the cart.
No to the juice boxes,
and she drops milk in.
No to the chips,
and she drives on to the dried beans and peas.
”Yuck!” Dale and I mouth to each other
at check out.

Putting Away

We pull into our driveway.

Dale launches out of the car
and dive-bombs his friend Mike,
who’s walking by.

The two laugh and wrestle in the front yard.

”Stay where I can see you,” calls Mom.

”Yup,” he shouts back.

Mom and I heft in the groceries.

Figures Dale gets out of the work.

Mom makes room
in the dried-stuff drawer.

She tugs out
the bag of peanuts
and drops it on the floor.

There isn’t enough space
with the beans and rice.

I poke the peanuts with my foot.

”What should I do with these, Mom?”

”Trash them.”

I do it.

I pick up the bag
and slam it
right down
into the garbage.

I’ve never hated peanuts more.

Marking the Day

When Mom sets the table,
I flip the calendar back down
to November.
There.
The 27th.
With my markers
I draw a yellow spiral
tighter and tighter
in the box.
Then I color a little red spot
in the center.
That’s Chris.
They are going to find him.
I hook December back up.

Mac and Cheese

Dale wants to talk
about kidnapping—
who and how,
where and why.
Mom wants to talk
about safety—
who and how,
where and why.
I want to talk
about the macaroni—
how creamy good it is.
That’s all.

Trying to Protect Us

Dale flicks the TV on,
but Mom grabs the remote
and turns it off
before the picture hardly comes up.
”I wanna see my show,” he whines.
”I don’t think we need any TV tonight, Dale-o.”
”But there might be news on Chris,” I point out.
”I’ll tune in later and let you know.”
She puts the remote on the highest shelf.
Like I couldn’t just hit the button on the TV
if I wanted.
”You’ll sleep better without details
running through your minds,” she says.
Dale and I roll our eyes.
Like we don’t already
have details packed in there.

Tuesday Night Headache

”Here, take this.”
Mom hands me a long white pill.
I just barely swallow it.
She brushes her fingertips
across my forehead.
”I know it hurts, sweetheart.
Don’t talk. Just rest.”
I can hardly nod.
My head thumps
like a railroad spike
is being hammered
into my skull.
Pound.
Pound.
Pound.
It crams in.
I squeeze my head.
How can it feel so little
and the pain feel
so big?

Seconds

Lying still in bed,
I stare at the rough wall
inches from my nose.
Chris.
Dad.
I’m so scared for Chris.
I hate Dad.
I want to scream,
”Don’t you ever come back!”
But Chris—
maybe he won’t.
If they both don’t come back
in the very next second,
I’m going to shatter
into a million slivers,
and none of my pieces
will end up
touching each other.

Morning

I wet the comb,
dig the teeth into my scalp,
cut a perfect part,
and weave half my hair
into a braid.
One piece
wraps another.
The band snaps
under my fingers.
I drag the comb
through the other side,
divide it
into three sections,
and braid it tight.
There.
I tug them straight.
Something
just right.

She Changes Her Mind

”Was there any news last night, Mom?” I ask
from the backseat.
Mom puts on the ticker and changes lanes.
”Just what we’d already heard.”
”Well I want to watch for myself today.”
”Me too,” says Doozerdude.
She looks at me in the rearview mirror.
”I was thinking. Maybe that is a good idea.”
Yes!
”Maybe it would keep the situation
closer to the facts.
You won’t be tempted to believe rumors
that are sure to fly around the school
if you see the news.”
Whatever. I just want to know
what everyone else does.

My Turn

Each of us
goes to the school library alone.

Like usual, the stacks are cozy,
stuffed to the top
with books to read.
Until I step around the corner
and two policemen
are sitting at the center circle table,
all their dark-color clothes
and shiny badge stuff
looking scary at me.
”Estele Sherman?” one asks.
I blink.
”Take a seat here, please.”
I sit down on the tippy edge
of the slippery chair.

The Interview

The policeman opens a file.

”Do you remember
what Chris Crow was wearing
the last day
he was at school, Estele,
the Wednesday
before Thanksgiving?”

”No.”

How could I
sit right behind Chris
and not see
at least what his shirt looked like?

”No, I don’t.”

”Did Chris ever reflect
on running away?” the other police officer asks.

”Reflect?”

”Talk about.”

”No. I guess Chris and I
aren’t friends.”

”You do sit directly behind him?”

”Yes.”

Finally I can say yes to something.

”Did you hear Chris mention
he was going anywhere after school
last Wednesday?”

I shake my head.

”Did he speak about Thanksgiving plans?”

”Just like everyone else.”

”How was that, Estele?”

”He was going to hang out with his family
and eat a ton of turkey.”

”Is that everything you remember?”

”Yes.”

”That will be all, Estele,” the first one says.

”You can go back to class.”

”Um.”

”Yes?”

”You don’t help find dads that are missing too,
do you?”

”Well if there’s been an accident or—”

”No, I mean if he just leaves.”

”No, Estele, I can’t say we do that.”

I nod and slink out.

Chris is missing—
and Dad.

Why?

So why don’t I know Chris better?
He’s really cool and nice,
and he has lots of friends.
I should have still tried
to be his friend.
At least a little bit.
Like smiling at him.
Then if he didn’t want to be friends,
at least it wouldn’t be my fault
we aren’t.
And if we were,
maybe I could have helped
the police find him.

Clothes

A plaid short-sleeved shirt
long brown pants,
a big silver belt buckle
with a gold eagle on it,
lace-up suede shoes,
aftershave,
and sticky hair gel.
I know
what Dad was wearing
when he went missing.

Did You Remember?

I scoop out
Scurvy’s dirty gravel.

”Here, Essie,” says Wally. “I’ll hold the bag.”

”Okay.” I start to shovel the dirty bits
but stop to look out the window and watch Jarin.

She misses the kickball.

”I know how that feels,” says Wally,
”but I still don’t feel sorry for her.”

I smile and go back to scooping.

”Did you think the police interview
was scary?” I ask.

Wally nods and ties the bag.

”Yeah. Mostly it made it seem so real.”

“Like Chris is really gone,” I add.
“Yeah. This isn’t a play
or a movie or something.”

I scoot Scurvy to the corner
and dump clean gravel
across the bottom of his cage.

“Did you remember
what Chris was wearing, Wally?”

“He had on jeans
and that favorite basketball T-shirt of his.”

“Oh, right.”

Wally pushes my hand out
and clips the cover on the cage.

“Come on.” He heads for the door.

“Ms. Dryden’ll be back in a minute
and recess’ll be over soon.”

He races out.

I stand there trying hard to remember
what exactly
Chris’s favorite basketball T-shirt
looks like.

Daydream During Math

“So you were there
the night your father left?” asks the policeman.

“Yes,” I say.

“And you just let him walk out?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t grab his leg?”

“No.”

“And hold him tight?”

“No.”

“And stop him from leaving?”

“No.”

“You did nothing?”

“Yes.”

What I Do Know About Chris

Chris has brown, straight hair
that kinda hangs in his eyes.

His skin is darker
than mine.

He’s a little shorter than me.

He wears jeans and T-shirts.

His backpack is black.

I know because I’m always kicking it
by accident.

He wears tennis shoes.

His voice is soft and low.

He’s pretty quiet.

Doesn’t make fun of anyone.

Jarin thinks he’s cute,
but he doesn’t pay much attention to her.

Chris makes mostly Bs
and plays basketball and baseball.

He almost always ends up being captain
of one of our kickball teams.

He picked me for his team
last game.

And in dodgeball
he doesn’t throw it to hurt you.

I heard someone say
he doesn’t have brothers and sisters.

That’s about everything I know
about Chris Crow.

Crazy Thoughts

“Self-portraits,” Ms. Dryden kind of sings.

She sets out all the paints.

Buffy passes out paper.

“I don’t want to paint,” someone whines.

“I want to!” says Wally.

Want.

At least the kidnapper wanted Chris.

Maybe the person won’t hurt him,
and they’ll have some fun together,
and then the person will bring Chris
back to his family.

Everyone will be happy.

So why couldn’t the kidnapper have picked me,
taken me,
wanted me
with him?

Dad didn’t.

Mess

The paintbrushes
are too big.

The brown I used for my hair
looks like dirt.

At least the red will be good
for my shirt.

A big blob falls off the brush
and plops onto my picture.

Right on my forehead.

“Ugh.”

I smash the bristles
and swirl all the colors
into a big red-brown mess.

“That looks just like you!”

Jarin says and walks past fast.

I glare at her back.

“Try again.”

Ms. Dryden pulls my paper away
and sets down a clean sheet.

I don’t want to try
anymore.

Screwballs

The police cars drive quietly around the school.

Like we don’t notice them?

When the ice cream man pulls up,
and everyone runs to buy a screwball,
the police roll by.

Is the ice cream man
a guy who steals kids?

My hand shakes
when I give him the quarters
I found under our sofa cushions.

Mom said
we have to watch our money
by not using the air-conditioning,
by being careful about which groceries we get.

No more fun food for sure.

I grab the screwball from the ice cream man,
peel the lid off,
and lick before I can give it back.

The cold nudges my guilty, burbly stomach.

The ice cream man drives away.

His little truck dings a song.

Everyone shows what color screwball they got.

“Mine’s green,” says Wally.

“Red!” shouts Jarin.

“This is my favorite!” Buffy says. Her lips are
already turning blueish.

“I got yellow,” I say,
which is always too sour.

We flop on the swings
and slurp.

I get to the bottom.

The thin plastic collapses between my fingers.

There isn’t any gum at the bottom of mine.

I cover it up and ditch the trash.

Everyone else chomps and blows bubbles
before Ms. Dryden calls us in.

The police circle again.

They don’t care that the ice cream man
ripped me off
by not giving me a gumball.

Like they don’t care
about missing dads.

I shouldn’t get gum anyway,
since I stole the money
from my family.

Ms. Dryden Steps Out for a Second

“Maybe the kidnapper offered him a kitten.

“Nah. Chris wouldn’t fall for that.”

“Maybe it was candy.”

“No way.”

“Maybe Chris did run away.”

“Not when basketball season’s started.
He wouldn’t want to miss playing.”

“Besides he seemed totally happy to me.”

“Yeah. And cool.”

“Yeah. Chris was cool—”

“Is!”

Swinging

Wally and I swing,
and it feels good
to rush back and forth.

“Warp speed, Scotty!” he yells
and zooms so high
that the chains slack at the top.

But I fly just high enough,
then soar back down.

The very same thing
over and over.

The warm air swooshing
against my front,
then my back.

The hot black seat
that holds me tight.

The cool rusty chains
that creak, creak, creak.

Swinging
is the best.

Teenage Stuff

I slow to a stop.

“Do you think Chris
could have run away, Wally?”

He drags his feet to slow down.

“He’s only ten, Es.”

“Yeah?”

“It just seems kind of young
for someone to run.
I don’t mean like a little kid
packing a suitcase and pretending.”

“Right.”

“Running is more like teenage stuff.
Usually. I don’t think he ran,” he says.

“Me either, Wally.”

Second Try

“Finished,” I tell Ms. Dryden.

“That’s lovely, Essie.
Are you sure you’re done?”

I check my painting.

Even with the ugly brown for my hair
it looks a lot like me.

“Yeah,” I say.

Ms. Dryden stares at me.

“Essie, you forgot a mouth.”

“No-”

I did.

I quick grab a paintbrush
with a bit of red on the end
and stab it at my paper.

It looks like a big sore,
but that’s better
than nothing.

“Now I’m done.”

“Good job trying again.”

Ms. Dryden squeezes my shoulder.

Making an Effort

“Hello,” calls Mom
to the neighbor, Ms. Ruthie.

The woman switches her hose
to her other hand and waves back.

That’s weird.

Mom’s never said hi that I remember.

“How are you doing?” the woman asks.

“Pretty good.” Mom smiles. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Ms. Ruthie answers.

Wow.

All that
from just saying hello for once.

Errand

“I have to run
to the store
for bread and milk,” says Mom.

“Lock the door,
and don’t let anyone in. Anyone.”

“What about Daddy?” asks Dale.

“He’s not coming,” I say.

“And if he ever did,” Mom says,
“he’d wait out in the car
until I got back.”

Why would Dad
have to wait outside in his car?

Wow.

Would he have to
because Mom thinks
he’d steal us from her?

I have heard
about dads kidnapping their own kids.

But ours wouldn’t.

He left us.

He doesn’t want us,
but I’m not telling Mom.

I put my arm
around Dale’s shoulders.

He doesn’t shrug me off.

Dad should
have to wait
out in the car.

Commercial

“That’s Chris!” I yelp
and stop in front of the TV.
There Chris is
on our TV!

“And join us for our special report: Boy was kidnapped last week. Complete news coverage at five.”

I knew he didn’t run!
But why would anyone
kidnap Chris?
Where have they taken him?
Will they give him back?
Ever?

Not

Dale grabs my arm.

“Whoa, Es! Another kid was kidnapped!”

“No, that’s the same one.” I tug away.

“You mean the same one from your class?
The one that used to sit in front of you?
The one who was your friend? Huh, Es, huh?”

“Yes, that’s the kid from my class.”

My stomach gushes with guilt
over not
knowing Chris better,
over not
being his friend.

The Message

The info keeps looping
at the bottom of the TV screen.
Stuff about Chris.
What he looks like
and the truck he was last seen in.
It keeps running at the bottom
letting everyone
know.

Five O’clock News

The suspect is a white male, about forty years old, who perpetrated the crime after the boy exited the school bus. The mother says her son did not reach home following school.

Today, a fellow student reported that he saw the victim enter a blue Ford pickup truck with the suspect. The victim appeared reluctant and struggled, but once in the cab, he waved at the student. The student did not report the incident until questioned today. Quote: “Chris seemed okay with the guy after he was in the truck. I thought everything was cool. Chris can handle himself. Man, I didn’t know it was a kidnapper. Of course I would have told.” The student was unable to describe the suspect, whose face was shadowed by a Marlins baseball cap.

The parents are offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for help in locating their son.

Today’s weather was hot and humid …

Jabs

“Take that!”

Dale jabs the TV
with the cardboard sword
he made a couple days ago.

He tugs the lamp shade
down onto his head
and looks through the eye slits
he cut.

He’s got his armor on,
and he’s looking pretty fierce
for a seven-year-old wearing a shade
and fighting with cardboard.

“You’ll never get me, kidnapper!”
he yells at the TV.

“You’ll never get me
or my sister!”

Setting the Table

So who saw Chris
get in the truck?

Man, why wasn’t it me?

Why didn’t I get to see
and be helpful
and maybe even
get the reward?

I would have told
right away.

My reflection wobbles in the plate.

Chris’s parents would have
loved me for it.

Both his mom
and
his dad.

Victim

What makes a victim?

They are calling Chris one.

I guess it’s like when someone
does a bad thing to you.

Like Jarin
and her stupid party invitations.

That could make me a victim.

Or Dad leaving
could make me a victim.

So who wants to be a victim?

No way Chris does.

Me either.

I’m not going
to be one.

Irritating

I finish setting the table perfectly.

Dale grabs my napkin
and runs.

“Give it back!”

I chase him.

His T-shirt tugs out of my fingertips.

“Give it, Doozerdude!”

“Make me! Make me!” He laughs.

“Urgh!” I shove my chair against the table.

Water slops in our glasses.

“Make me, Es,” Dale whimpers.

I stomp to my room
and slam my door.

Watching Our Money

Mom serves up the beanie weanies.

We eat our helpings gone.

“Mom,” says Dale, “I’m still hungry.”

I grab the serving dish before he can.

“This bite is mine.”

I scrape the last bit of hot dog out.

“You had a bigger serving than me.”

Dale snatches the food
right off my spoon
with his grubby fingers
and crams it in his mouth.

Before I can say anything,
he swallows and smiles.

“Pig!” I mutter.

“Come here, Estele,” says Mom.

She hugs me close.

I put my head down on her round belly
and find a cold bean stuck to her shirt.

I nibble it in with my lips.

I got seconds after all.

Mom’s Belly

The baby rolls
under my ear.

I flinch and stand up.

“It’s the baby,” Mom says,
sitting there
looking so happy.

She pulls my hand
back to the spot.

I feel a heel or an elbow,
a head or a bottom,
pressing up against me.

“Hello, sweet baby,” I whisper
to the little heart
deep inside
that doesn’t know
its father has
left.

After Dinner

“Going out to play!” yells Dale.

The screen door slams.

“Stay in the yard,” Mom calls.

“Okay!”

“I mean it. Stay close.
I want to look out
and be able to see you
every second.”

“Yup!” calls Doozerdude.

I clear the table,
fill the sink with soapy water,
scrub the pots,
and load the dishwasher.

We’re ready for our next meal.

Totally ready,
and we are already
hungry.

Reward

How much did the TV say the reward was?
Ten thousand?
Wow.
That is a huge amount of money.
We could buy food
for a really long time.
And Chris would be found.

I jump on my bike
and peddle out of the neighborhood
before Mom sees and says no.

I look up and down streets.

I zoom through the new development
with its powder-puff colors.

I skid to a stop on the edge of the glades.

No Chris
anywhere.

The grass stretches to the horizon.

An egret skims the clouds.

I cup my hands and yell “Chris!”

Only the frogs answer back.

I turn
and go home.
How stupid
to think for a second
that I
could find Chris.

Flipping Out

I roll up to the garage
and flick my kickstand.

Mom appears,
grips my arm,
and tugs me off my bike.

“Do not ever
ride out of my sight again.”

Mom huffs. She’s trembling.

“Do I make myself clear,
young lady?”

“Yeah. But I stayed in the boundary, Mom.”

“That boundary was before—”

“Okay, okay.”

I knew she’d freak.

But I just had to check for myself.

Stupid or not.

Jacks

My hand brushes the cement
and gathers the nubby metal jacks.
They poke out between my fingers.
I wave to Mom
at the window
checking on us again.
She waves back.

The jacks clink and roll
out of my sweaty palm.
I toss the rubber bouncy ball
and scoop up threesies.
Why is there no one
my age to play with in our neighborhood?
Dale gallops by on a stick.
His three friends
race after him.

I finish threesies
and toss the jacks for foursies.
It usually doesn’t bother me
that I don’t have friends around here.
Books are just as good.

But now
it might be nice
to have a friend close by.
I’d like
someone to get mad at Dad with.
Maybe I will tell Wally
sometime.
I miss a foursie,
leaving a jack behind.

The Look

“Time to come in.
You need to do your homework.
Wednesday is a school night.”

No duh, Mom.

I swat a fat, loaded mosquito
on my arm.

Blood bursts out
of the smooshed black lump.

“Come on,” calls Mom.

“I am.”

I wipe the mess up onto my fingers
and smear it in the grass.

There. Clean.

I cram my jacks into their red velvet bag and trudge across the lawn.

Dale barrels past
and knocks into me.

I stumble and reach to shove him.

He scootches by Mom in time.

She gives me
the look,
of course.

Math Scratch Paper

Mad

Sad

Mad

Sad

Mad

Sad

Never

Glad

Bad

Dad

Mad

Sad

Before Bed

I scrounge in the cupboard.

There!

In the way back.

An opened bag of crackers.

I sneak it past Dale
under my shirt
to my room.

Click.

I lock the door.

Crinkle, crunch.

Stale.

I eat every crumb.

Bedtime Prayer

“Don’t forget to pray,” says Mom.

“Okay.”

She flicks out my light and leaves.

God, please don’t let us starve.

Please keep the baby inside Mom safe.

Please bring Chris back safe.

Please bring Dad back
or punish him good.

Overheard

Going for a drink of water, I stop.

Mom’s on the phone.

I peek around the corner.

“I know. Thank you for saying so.”

Her voice is all melty.

She’s curled in the chair
and holding the phone tight.

Dad?

“You don’t need to say that, Paul.”

Yuck! It’s her friend.

“It’s just so hard on all of us.
And I’m so angry.”

She starts crying.

“Thank you. See you soon.
Me too.”

Forget the water.

I hurry back to bed.

Me Too

I kick the covers off my bed.

They tumble to the floor.

Me too.

Did Mr. Paul say,
“Love you,”
or something lame like that?

Is that what Mom said
“Me too” for?

But she always yells that
to him after he calls out,
“Love ya!” to her and Dad
as he drives off in his old Porsche.

That’s always seemed so fake
and creeped me out.

And now
it’s creepier.

Mom

She’s crying again.

Her sobs
seep through the concrete walls.

There’s no way she knows it,
or she’d stop.

But I hear it.

I know exactly how she’s feeling.

I turn my pillow over
and feel for a dry spot.

Red Xs

“Here you go, Essie.” Ms. Dryden
drops a pill in my hand.
She closes my fingers over it.
Her warm hand
makes my pain less
for a second.

“Hurry to the fountain
and come right back.”
“Okay.”
My head thuds when I stand up.

Ms. Dryden holds on to me
until the pounding fades
and I can walk.

I aim for the door
without looking at anyone in class.
I think it was Wally
who patted my back.

I’m so glad
Mom’s given Ms. Dryden
a bottle of medicine
for my headaches.
The office even made it
so I don’t have to go to the nurse.
I can just get the pill
and start feeling better
without missing class.

Mom might have told Ms. Dryden
about Dad leaving while they were talking.
Maybe.
But I’m not going to say anything,
and I bet she won’t either.
If she actually does know anything.
At all.

If I get a headache,
Ms. Dryden marks a red X on the calendar
and gives me one pill.
It usually works.
The pounding stops
till the next day.

Lunch

Gary laughs
and leaves
half his sandwich
on his desk.

Buffy didn’t eat the crumbs
left in her chip bag.

I ball my trash up.

Every speck of my
peanut butter sandwich
is gone.

I’m almost drooling
for Wally’s granola bar.

“Want a bite?” he asks.

“Well, sure. If you
aren’t really hungry.”

“Not very.”

He snaps off a piece for me.

Mmm.

I suck it till it turns soggy
to make it last
as long as I can.

Thanks to the Sumerians

So we made
pretend cuneiform letters
and pressed
the shapes onto
a round clay cylinder.
My make-believe message says,
“My dad left,”
over and over
around the whole thing.
Now I get to roll
it out across
a big piece of soft clay.

My dad left.

“How beautiful,” Ms. Dryden says.
“What does it tell us, Essie?”
“Dad loves me.”
“How nice.” She moves on.
I roll out
another row.

Friends

Wally and I
sit on top of the monkey bars.

“Are you okay?” he finally asks,
covering my hand with his.

“Yeah,” I say.

“Sure?”

I nod.

“I don’t believe you,” he says.

Me either.

I don’t pull my hand
away.

Pretty Scary

“Your mom having a baby
is pretty scary, isn’t it?” he asks.

“What?”

I shade my eyes
to see his face better.

“You know,” he shrugs,
“they’re so little,
and noisy,
and smelly.”

“So?”

Wally swings his legs.

“It just seems like
when babies arrive,
bigger kids disappear some.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s what happened
when Wilhelmina was born
a couple years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. That’s when I started drama.

My parents never could both make it
to my plays.

One had to stay with the baby at home
or walk her out in the hallway.

It seemed like
I wasn’t as important anymore.”

“Hmm.”

“This year they’ve promised
to leave her with a sitter
and both come to my play.”

“That’s great.”

“We’ll see.”

Zap

“There’s the buzzer.
Come on.” Wally climbs down.

I jump.

Shooty pains
zap my legs
when I land.

I shake out the tingles.

I’m
not
going to disappear.

Chatter

“The cops think
the kidnapper is someone
Chris’s dad
put in jail a while ago.”
“Whoa.”
“I guess you can make a lot
of enemies
when you’re a lawyer.”

I wonder if Chris’s dad
feels like it’s his fault.
But it’s not.
Absolutely not.

By the Side of the Road

Mom takes the turn
and we drive by
a home
with a bunch of stuff
put out on the curb.

There’s one old stuffed chair
that stands out from everything,
sitting on the tippy edge of the cement,
alone.

A FREE sign is stuck to it.

And nobody is even taking it.

Mom picks up speed.

I watch it out the back window.

That’s what you do when you don’t want something.

You stick it out on the curb
and leave it.

The garbage man will take it
if no one else does.

Those people sure don’t want
that chair anymore.

It doesn’t look that bad
to me.

Ahhh

The automatic doors
whoosh open
and the library air-conditioning
blasts us.

“Ahhh,” Mom, Doozerdude, and I say.

We take off in different directions
to find our books,
but we are all
smiling.

Really Cool

I search the kids’ fiction shelves
and fill my bag.

Then, really cool like,
I wander over to the YA section.

There’s an author’s name I’ve seen before.

I pull the book down,
waiting for the children’s librarian
to rush over
and make me put it back.

I glance over my shoulder.

She’s not even looking at me.

Dale waves,
down in front of the little kids’ books.

I wave back,
feeling very grown-up
in YA.

Checking the Calendar

How do days and nights
keep happening
when a huge chunk of my life
is missing?

How can Friday just zoom by
like nothing?
It’s been five days
without Dad.

Can a clock keep running
if the battery is taken out?

Can a computer run
without a hard drive?

How can days and nights,
our family,
keep going
without Dad?

Chris has been gone eight days.

Is his family still going
without him?

Ring!

“Yes.
No.”

Mom squeezes the receiver.

Her hand is white.

“Fine.
See you then.”

She hangs up.

“Your father’s coming
tomorrow afternoon.”

“Whoop-de-doo!” Dale yells.

“This Saturday would be his day off,” she says,
“because last Saturday he worked.
Even though it was Thanksgiving weekend.
If he really was working.”

She rambles on and on.

Thinking It Through

He really wasn’t missing.

To us he was.

But not to him.

Dad’s always known
where he was.

Does Chris know
where he is?

He’s the one
really missing.

That’s why
the police
have to find him.

Dad
can make it home
all on his own.

If he wants.

Waiting

“Mom,” I say.

She doesn’t answer
and keeps mumbling
while looking out the window.

Dale leaps around the room.

“I’ve got to find
that Corvette for Daddy to play with.”

He digs through his can of cars.

“He always likes to play with the Corvette.”

Mom’s still stuck at the window.

What’s she thinking?

That she’ll see Dad driving up
any second?

He’s not coming till tomorrow.

That she hates Dad?

That she loves him?

“It’s not here. Maybe it’s in my room.”

Dale zips off.

I tiptoe away,
embarrassed I was staring at Mom.

Pretty soon
she’ll be crying.

I don’t want her
to have to disappear
to her room
like she’s been doing lately.

Pretending she
doesn’t cry.

Midnight

“Es.” Dale shakes me awake.

“What?”

I pull away. “What do you want?”

He squeezes the tail of his rubber lizard, Izzy.

“He’s coming back.
Just like I said he would.
He’s coming back tomorrow
for forever.”

“Maybe, Doozerdude.
Go back to bed.”

“Okay.”

His feet pad across the terrazzo to his room.

I snuggle down.

Maybe Dad is coming back
for forever.

Even Later

When he comes back,
will it be for keeps
or just be some stupid visit?

How can someone visit
their own home?

What will it be?

What will it mean?

When is tomorrow
going to get here?

All Day

Dale drives his cars
around the braided rug.

The Corvette is in a special
parking place
on top of the TV.

I read two books
as the clock hums above the couch.

Mom paces.

Does laundry.

Mops.

Paces.

She showers.

Does her hair up.

Puts on her best maternity dress
with the polka dots.

Paces.

I turn pages.

Dale drives in circles.

All day long.

All afternoon.

Until the sun sets.

And we each end up in the living room
staring at the floor.

Too ashamed to look at the clock
for the millionth time.

Too ashamed to look at each other.

Because
we believed him.

In the Bathroom

I go to ditch my tissue
in the trash can
and see it in there.

The Corvette.

Doozerdude
chucked it.

I fish it out
in case he changes his mind.

It’s hidden way back
behind the washcloths now.

Tucked in Bed

I press my lips
together
as tight as I can.

I try to hold it in.

Not to cry,
because I know Mom’s listening in the hallway.

And she’s beat from taking care of Dale’s bawling.

But my face is burning up
keeping the tears inside.

My eyeballs are going to catch fire.

I have to act
like I don’t care
he didn’t show up.

If I care,
I might see
that he doesn’t.

I’m Not Worth It

Obviously.

Sunday Morning

“Hello?” Mom answers.

Dale and I look at each other.

“Where were you?” she hisses,
then heads to her room with the phone.

I bet she has some more hissing to do
at Dad
for not showing up,
for not coming back for forever,
for not giving us money,
for leaving in the first stinking place.

“What about the house payment?”

Her door slams on the question.

“I’m glad she went to her room,” says Dale.

“Me too, for once. I don’t want to hear about it.”

I hope
the baby can’t hear it
either.

An Inch

Dale pouts.

“How come
he doesn’t ask
to talk to us, Es?”

“I don’t know.
What would you say, anyway?”

“Well.” He crushes some cereal
with his thumbnail.

“That I was first in the fifty-yard dash last week.”

He starts picking at a scab on his knee.

“And that I’ve probably grown like an inch
since he was here.”

“Since he left,” I say.

“Since he was here.”

“It’s not the same thing, you know.”

“I know.” He picks and picks till it bleeds.

I pass him my napkin.

“Just stop already.
It’s only been a week, anyway,” I say.

He shrugs,
flicks the scab onto the floor,
then presses the napkin
to his knee.

We watch the blood seep through.

“Since he left here,” Dale admits.

Church

Mom hauls us to church.

After Sunday school
we sit in the same pew
like always,
the three of us.

Of course
Dad’s not in the back
ushering,
making me proud.

He’s not here at all,
making me embarrassed
when folks ask,
“Where’s your daddy, Essie?”

I slouch down
and look away without answering,
and they don’t say much else.

On the way out,
I slip right by Pastor Lyon
and his wife
so they won’t look at me
and know something’s wrong
with me
or my family.

Back Home

I lift my legs from the poky fat grass.

Dad said this kind would be best
for our yard.

But it’s so prickly,
until you stop moving all around.

The clouds hang heavy and poochy.

Dad loved to lie in the grass
with me
and figure out all the cloud types.

We’d argue if it was cumulonimbus
or just cumulus.

Or if it was just a big cat floating
through the sky.

I’d always bounce my head on his stomach.

And he’d laugh and bounce my head more.

“Ow!”

Red ants swarm my legs!

I leap up
and beat my calves.

The ants bite hard
and hang on.

“Stop it! Mom, help!”

I’m crying
and trying to brush them off.

But they hold tight.

I smash my fingers
down my legs.

The little ant bodies
roll into balls
and fall into the grass.

Shew.

They’re gone.

I check and double-check.

Every ant is off,
but the bites burn.

Man.

Mom didn’t ever
hear me.

Sunday Sunset

Mom finds me in the mango tree out back.

“Come on down, Estele,” she calls.

But I don’t want to.

Up here,
alone,
I feel safe.

No ants.

No kidnappers
or bad dads around.

Just lots of green leaves,
getting ready to make sweet, sweet mangoes.

“Estele Leann,” she calls louder.

I take a deep gulp of mango peace
and shimmy down.

What About?

“What about kidnapping, Mom?
Is it super awful?” I ask.

“Super, super awful,” she says.

She puts her arm around my waist
and pulls me close
as we walk together.

“Is it worse than a dad leaving a family?”

“Worse,” she says.

“Because the kid could die?”

I look up at her.

“Let’s not think of that, Estele,”
she says to the red sky.

“Sometimes I wish Dad would die,” I whisper.
Mom stops for a second
and stares down at me.
“Let’s not think of that either, Estele.”

Creeped

Mom stretches out on the couch
and groans.

“Feel here, Estele.”

She grabs my hand.

A munching hardness
is creeping up
her belly of baby.

Inch by inch
it crunches up.

Mom blows out
a mouthful of hot air.

“Whoa,” she says. “Braxton Hicks contractions.”

I pull my hand away,
creeped out.

She smiles. “That’s my body practicing
to push the baby out.”

“Oh.” I shiver.

It is
going to come out soon.

Who is going to take care of it
when there’s no one
taking care
of us?

Names

“Do you still like the names
Kevin and Chloe?” Mom asks.

I shrug. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Me too.” She rubs her belly in a circle.

“But Dad likes
Dietrich and Gretchen,” I say.

“Bottom line is
I, you, and Dale-o like Kevin and Chloe.
And your father never will.”

That
makes them perfect.

Digging

I dig at an ant bite.

“Sweetheart,
what happened to your legs?”

“I sat on an ants’ nest, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I did.”

“Let’s get some aloe
on those bites.”

She heaves herself up
and waddles down the hall.

I scratch at my legs
till a couple of spots
start to bleed.

Off to Bed

It’s so quiet at night now.

Mom hardly watches TV
except for the news.

There’s no talking
between her and Dad.

His voice
doesn’t float out of his office
while I fall asleep.

It’s just quiet
until
one of us
starts to cry.

Milk

It’s Chris’s turn
to be milk monitor.

Gary goes instead.

Jarin passes it out.

Accidentally she puts one on Chris’s desk
and walks past me.

No dad.

No milk money.

I stare at Chris’s carton
sitting cockeyed in front of me.

I reach over,
snatch it,
secretly tear it open
in my lap,
and gulp it down.

No one notices.

Shew.

A Problem

“We seem to have a problem.
We are short one milk.”
Ms. Dryden examines the carry box
like an extra carton will appear.
Nobody’s really paying attention.
They are talking and laughing.
I scootch way down
and swallow a burp.

“Well, they must have miscounted,”
she tells Gary who is standing there
looking really thirsty.
“Jarin would you walk over
and get another?”
“Sure.” She goes out.
I crunch the carton
under my desk,
stuff it in my lunch bag,
and walk up to throw it away.

I squeeze past Gary.
Ms. Dryden stops me.
“Feeling okay today, Essie?”
“Uh-huh.” I lick my lips
and stare at the carpet.
“Glad to hear it. I’ll take that trash
for you.”
She swipes it from my hands
and drops it in the can.

Shaking, I rush back
to my desk.
I’m a thief.
The police
are going to be after me.
I’m the stupid one
they’ll end up finding.

Spelling

Ms. Dryden
says to pass our spelling tests forward.

I get the stack from Wally behind me,
and stretch to pass mine and the rest forward.

Chris’s empty desk is between Buffy and me.

I lean forward as far as I can.

“Here.”

Buffy leans back as far as she can.

She takes the papers
and turns around.

We stretched right through Chris’s spot
like it’s normal he’s not here.

Sometimes we forget.

It shouldn’t be normal.

As I Say

“Go on and wash up.”

Mom scoots us into the house.

“Why?” Dale whines.

“Just do as I say.”

“But I want a snack first, Mom.”

I toss my backpack on the couch.

She tugs my braids.

“Both of you now.
Your father may be coming.”

Dale and I stare at her.

“Get a move on!” she snaps.

Doozerdude and I
hustle to the bathroom
and start scrubbing.

Zings and Stings

Dale’s toothpaste blops into the sink.

“Do you think he’ll come?”

“I don’t know.
Just finish brushing.”

Bubbles hang from his sudsy mouth.

I redo my braids.

Yes zings around my heart.

No stings my brain.

Thanks

I dig the Corvette out from the washcloths.

“Here.”

“But I thought this was gone,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I found it.”

He globs me with a hug.

“Thanks, Es.”

“No problem, Doozerdude.”

Waiting

Dale stands at the window
and watches.

“He’s here!”

Doozerdude flies out the door.

“You’re home!
You’re back!
You’re home!
Look here’s your Corvette!”

Ugh.

I can’t look.

What if he’s not here
for forever?

Hi

“Hi, Essie-girl.”
Pasted grin.
He steps forward.
I step back.
He steps back.
“Hi.” I shrink.

Man, I want to run away
so bad.
Run to Mom,
run outside
to the mango tree,
or down the road
and never stop.
My legs are so jumpy.
I want to run from him,
before he runs away from me
again.

My toes grip the cold terrazzo.
I’m staying.

An Envelope

Dad hands Mom an envelope.

She clutches it.

“That should cover
the next few months,” he says.

“Thank you.” Mom looks down.

It makes me sick
she said that.

Why should she
thank him for anything?

His Sacrifice

Mom gets tinier and tinier
as Dad drives us away
to the mall.

Will he bring us back?

Don’t even think of that!

When
he brings us back,
will he stay?

I face forward.

Dad never goes to the mall.

This must be to make up
for not coming last Saturday.

The Mall

“Come on,” I say,
and I drag Dale by the hand
in and out of packed shoe stores
to find new sneakers that fit
his wide feet
he inherited from Dad,
who follows at a distance,
supposedly
ready to use his credit card.

Now Dad drags my ketchup
all over my cheeseburger wrapper
with my last fry.
“What’s that over there, Essie-girl?” he jokes
to get me to look away.
He swallows my fry.
I look at him
and don’t laugh.

“Well, let’s hit that bathroom then, little man.”
He and Dale disappear
behind the men’s-room door.
Figures Dad would leave me alone
with the trash.

Waiting

I tie my straw
into knots.

I guess
I could
act
happy
and act
like everything is great
when it stinks.

I could
act
happy
so Dad would stay with us always,
seeing how happy I am.

I could
act
as good as Wally.

Forget it.

Paused

The three of us
sit in the booth
like we are on pause.

The whole restaurant
moves around us.

Trays clatter,
lines shift,
mops slop,
oil sizzles,
beeps blare,
talk hums,
music beats.

Everything moves.

We three sit still
and look at our laps.

I Have to Know

Dad slips a quarter into Dale’s palm.
“Go save the universe,” he says.
“All right!”
Dale runs over to the video games.
I cross my arms.
“We have to know
if you are back
for forever.”
His mouth opens
and kinda dangles there.
That big old fly
on the red wall behind him
could swoop right in.

“Essie-girl—”
I stare at him
while the begging jumps up
from my insides
and pours out of my eyes
as tears.
Dad crosses his arms.

“Your mother and I are separated, Essie-girl.
This is just a visit today.
I’m taking time to visit you.
I want you and the little man
to know I care about you still.”

It’s just a stupid visit.

Everyone

I wipe my eyes
so dry on the napkin
that no one can see I was begging.
He looks away
while I get it together.

‘Okay, Essie-girl.
Here’s the thing.”
He cleans his thumbnail.
“Everyone is divorced nowadays.
It’s a normal event.
The kids are normal.
The parents are normal.
And besides”—
he looks at his clean nails—
“like I said before,
your mother and I are only separated.
So come on, Essie-girl.
Give a go
at acting normal for me.”

I cram my knotted straw into my empty cup.
Other kids are fine.
Lots of kids at school come from divorced homes.
Their parents are friendly.
They live at both places.
There are a bizillion books on kids
dealing with divorce.

“So maybe I’m not normal,” I finally answer.
Or maybe I am,
and the rest of the stupid divorced world
isn’t.

Did You Know?

“Did you even know
some man kidnapped
a kid from my class?”
I kick the table leg.
Dad nods and wipes his forehead
with his crumpled napkin.
He takes a sip of his orange drink.

I kick the leg again.
“Some guy wanted a kid
so bad he took someone else’s.”
Dad sputters the sticky stuff
across the table.
“I guess he knew not to pick me either.”

I stomp
to the bathroom
while Dad chokes at the table.

Mystery

How can one man steal kids
and another man
run away from them?

Is it the men who are nutballs
or are the kids wacked-out?

Going Home

Doozerdude and I scootch low
in the backseat of Dad’s car.

No one talks.

Dale spins the Corvette’s wheels.

It’s so hard not to kick
the back of Dad’s seat.

Hard.

More than once.

Instead I step on his seat belt
softly.

Slowly
I put more and more pressure
on the strap.
I imagine
his guts being strangled.
His eyes glare at me in the rearview mirror.
“Oh, sorry,” I say
and lift my foot.
He looks back at the traffic.

I slouch more
to drive my knees
into the back of his seat.
Dale hooks my pinkie with his
and shakes his head.
“Don’t” he mouths
and points to his new shoes.

I sit up
and hold Dale’s pinkie
all the way home.

In Our House

Mom barely says, “Hey,”
before she slips off to their bedroom.
Her bedroom.
I sit on the couch. At least he brought us back.

Dad wrestles Dale
until Doozerdude gets a bonk on his nose
and starts crying.

“Hey, hey, little man,” says Dad.

“I’m not a man!” wails Dale.

“I’m a kid, and you’re supposed to be
the man.”

Doozerdude crams the Corvette
into Dad’s shirt pocket.

I start bawling too.

It just blasts out.

Which makes me mad
and my head start hurting major big time.

“Not you too, Essie-girl,” he begs.

“I can’t take this.”

Dad walks out
again
and drives away
super fast.

He didn’t even give Dale
the Corvette back.

Steam

“He was supposed to stay
for forever,” whines Dale.

Mom comes out of her room
and hugs Dale and me tight
even though it’s really muggy tonight.

“For forever,” sobs Doozerdude.

Mom doesn’t even hear him.

“Did he feed you?”

“Not until like eight o’clock.”

“He didn’t feed you dinner
until eight?”

I feel the heat
steaming off her,
especially her armpit,
where my shoulder happens to be.

She’s like the fumaroles
we studied in science a while ago.

Those holes on the side of volcanoes
where all the steam shoots out.

I want to slip away
when she says,
“Oh, Estele Leann.

Why didn’t you say
you needed to eat earlier?”

“It’s not my fault
what he does.”

Did I say that out loud?

“You’re right, sweetheart.
I’m sorry.”

I am right.

In Bed

The ice cube
melts against my forehead,
runs down my cheek,
and stops in the hollow
of my throat.

It is so hot tonight
that even the ice cube
burns my fingers.

I sit up and spread the water over my face.

The cube disappears in my hand.

After Dad left,
Mom tried to make up
the hugs and kisses
he forgot.

But Dale kept saying
he didn’t want to be the man of the house.

And that Dad was supposed to stay
for forever.

And he didn’t even want Mom to hug him.

And I just wanted to be alone.

We all went to our own rooms
mad.

No air comes through my screen at all.

The mango tree
is perfectly still.

Even the quiet
is sticky hot.

Being mad
burns you up.

What Would Mrs. Crow Say?

Separated.

Not divorced.

Like that’s supposed
to make me happy.

What would Mrs. Crow say
if they told her,
“Oh, you are just separated
from Chris”?

Yeah, right.

Some big comfort
separation is.

The Envelope

I stare into the nearly empty fridge.

“Man, Mom. There’s nothing
to eat for breakfast.”

“I’ll fix you and Dale-o some oatmeal.
He’ll be in here looking soon enough too.

I shove the door closed,
flop down at the table,
and wait.

“Can’t we get some
better groceries now?” I whine.

She stops measuring the water.

“What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t that money Dad gave you last night?”

She shakes her head.

“The envelope, I mean.”

“That’s for the house payment
and the utilities, Estele.”

“Can’t we just go grocery shopping instead?”

She flicks the burner knob hard.

“No, Estele Leann, we can’t.
We need this house.”

She bangs the pot down,
and water sloshes out.

“Sorry, Mom,” I say super quietly.

She grips the edge of the stove tight
and nods.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Is it?

Because

Because of my headaches,
I have to visit the school counselor
instead of going out to lunch recess.
Mom told our whole big fat story
to him, I guess.

She said she had to
for my own good.
And of course
she didn’t mention it
till I was getting out of the car
this morning.

At least the counselor is nice and all.
But I can’t even look at him.
He knows
everything.

“How are you, Estele?”

“Fine.”

“I understand
your father came by last night.”

I shrug and swing my legs.

“It was just a stupid visit.
I don’t want to talk about it.”

That keeps him away from asking
me
way too personal stuff.

He should be talking to my dad
anyway
about why
he
left us.

And then I could get out to the playground.

Besides, I’m getting a headache in here,
and Ms. Dryden
has my medicine.

Money

Walking back to class,
I find a dime and pick it up.

Will anyone get the reward
for finding Chris?

Or will there be a ransom
for him?

Will the kidnapper
want money
to give Chris back?

How much?

How much would his folks pay
a kidnapper
to get him back?

A million?

Probably.

I rub the ridges of the dime.

Could I pay my dad to come back?

How much?

A million?

Probably not enough
to make him
want to come back
to us.

Besides,
all I have is this dime.

I stuff it into my jeans.

I gave my piggy bank to Mom
for food.

Idiot

Maybe
someone is paying Dad
to stay away.

Like some TV show
is filming us,
and hell win us a million bucks
if he stays away for a long time.

Maybe a million
is enough for Dad.

If he played the game,
he’d be an idiot.

I look around the hallway.

No hidden cameras anywhere.

He’s still an idiot.

Questions

The note says:

“Message from Starfleet:
So what was that about?
Where were you after lunch?
Wally”

I shrug.
I know he sees it
and that’s enough
for him to know
not to ask
any more questions.

Reading Time

I don’t think we should read any further
in The Wizard of Oz.

Chris will miss out
and not know
how Dorothy really gets back to her family.

I bet Ms. Dryden skipped last week
hoping he’d get back to hear the story.

But today
she opens to the bookmark
and reads aloud anyway.

Lies

Dorothy’s shoes
weren’t red.

They were silver.

In the movie on TV,
they were sparkly red.

Liars.

Maybe the TV
is lying about Chris, too.

Maybe he’s not kidnapped
after all.

Or …

Maybe the TV is right this time.

What if Chris was kidnapped
and now he’s dead?

Deader than the Wicked Witch of the East.

Dead.

The word sizzles through my brain
like the electricity
zoomed through the circuit panel
we made this morning.

It burns and sears.

I yank the battery
out of that thought.

Hats, Coats, Socks

“Everybody remember
your hats, coats, and socks tomorrow.”

Ms. Dryden straightens her desk.

We file out the door.

“Of course, if it was a real snow day,
we’d get to stay home,” says Jarin.

“It’s still fun, though,” says Wally,
shouldering his backpack.

“It’s fun to nail you with snowballs!”

He grins.

“You wish” is all she says back.

We step out into the sunshine.

It must be ninety-five degrees today.

“See ya,” I call to Wally.

“Later,” he says.

Is that what Chris said
to his buddies
when they saw him
last?

He’s Thinking

I give Dale a push
on our swing in the avocado tree.

He flies high.

“You know what, Es?” he shouts.

“What?” I ask.

“I don’t need Daddy to come back.

“Really?”

I push again.

“Really.
I can
be the man
and take care of us”—
he leaps out of the swing
at the highest point—
“myself!”
Dale lands hard.

His legs buckle;
he falls to the grass,
then gets up quick.

“I meant to do that,” he says.

Laundry

Mom turns the socks
right side out
and lines them up
on the couch.

I try to match the pairs.

“If it was an option,”
she starts, then pauses really long,
“would you want to stay
with your dad?”

“What?”

My hand is stuck
in a sock ball.

Is she saying
that she wants us to?

I yank out my fist.

“I mean if you could?” she says.

“Do you want us—”

“No! I don’t want you
to leave,
but if you had the opportunity—”

“Mom, this
is my home.”

“Our home.” She smiles.

We work quietly
and match up all the socks.
Not one
is left
alone.

Back Massage

Mom lets me stay up late
if I massage her back.

I dig my thumbs into her back muscles
as hard as I can.

She sighs and hits the remote
to run through the channels.

It’s worth making her feel better,
even if I didn’t get to stay up.

It’s one more thing she might stick around here for.

Gone

The message about Chris
doesn’t loop
the bottom of the TV screen anymore.

But that doesn’t mean anything.

Does it?

No.

Except that everyone knows now
who to look for.

Not Going to Be

Whenever Mom cooks now,
she sweats
and rocks from one foot to the other
because her back hurts so much
from being so way pregnant.

Dale holds his sword tight
when he heads off to bed.

I look at myself
in the bathroom mirror
every morning
and say,
“Not a victim,
not a victim,
not a victim.”

Fake Snow

It’s Chris’s grandpa
who owns the ice factory.

So once a year
a giant dump truck comes
and unloads a pile of crushed ice
on the school playground
next to the hibiscus bushes.

Each grade gets a turn to play.

Everyone wears a couple of sweaters
and socks on their hands.

We chuck snowballs at each other
and scream and laugh.

Today, we didn’t see Chris’s grandpa
or his dad,
but two trucks came.
We had more snow than ever.

Wally and I scored two great hits on Jarin.

The ice chunks
stuck in her fake bunny-fur jacket.

But she got me hard
on the back of my head.

Wally checked for blood.

Man, that girl is mean.

Overall, it was still a blast.

But Chris wasn’t there.

And I didn’t get to tell Dad
all about it.

He used to always
want to hear
about Snow Day.

Buzzed Over

“Come on, get in.”

Mr. Paul grins up at me.

I climb into the teensy backseat.

Dale stays on the curb.

“Mom says not to ride with strangers.”

“Come on, Doozerdude.”

“Dale-o, I’m not a stranger.
Get in.”

Mr. Paul pats the front seat.

“Your mother didn’t feel up to driving
so I buzzed over for her.”

“What’s the secret password then?”

“Bufo.”

Dale grins and slides into the car.

“That’s my favorite kind of toad.”

“Me too,” says Mr. Paul.

And he drives us home
while Dale tells him
all about Snow Day.

Pizza

Even if
he ordered in for us
pizza with crab topping,
and played cars with Dale,
and did the dishes,
and helped with my math,
he didn’t
need to sit in Dad’s chair
at the table
or rub Mom’s neck
like that.

Morning News

Mom flicks on the TV
while Dale and I eat our cereal.

“Chris Crow has been missing for over two weeks. His parents maintain hope while the authorities pursue leads. Former clients of Mr. Crow’s law office are being interviewed.”

The camera zooms in on Chris’s mom. “Please give my boy back,” she begs, choking the words out.

A commercial
for a remote-control car comes on.

“Cool I want that!” Dale sputters.

“You make me sick!”

I dump my cereal down the disposal.

“Estele Leann. You apologize
to your brother right now.
He doesn’t realize—”

“Sorry,” I barely mutter,
and I stuff my math book
into my backpack.

Doozerdude still
makes me sick.

Recess Giants

Wally does a giant on the bar.

“Whoa!” he yells.

His body sticks out straight
as he twirls around and around.

He breaks in the middle
and his hips nail the bar.

“Ugh.”

I hold tight
till the bars stop shaking.

“Cool, huh?” he asks.

“Warp speed on that one,” I agree.

“Try it, Essie.”

“No, I like this better.”

I scoot back
and spin.

Over and over.

The bar rocks
against my knees,
then thighs,
till I slow
and end up hanging down.

I look up at Wally‘s dizzy, freckly face.

“I like to spin
all curled up tight.”

“Not me,” he says
and swings out
to do more giants.

“I like to fly!” he yells.

PE

My class gathers closer
around the bars.

Coach Skytema has his stopwatch.

Buffy is shaking
in her flexed-arm hang.

“Keep it up, Buff,” says Juan Carlos.

“Fourteen, fifteen,” counts Coach.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper to Wally.

“Sure you can.” He nudges my shoulder.

That’s what he says
every year.

But I can’t.

I can’t even hang
for three seconds.

Buffy drops to the dirt.

”Excellent endurance!”

Coach high-fives her.

”Essie,” he calls.

Oh, great.

Coach’s Announcement

”Essie has the qualifying time
in the shuttle run,
the fifty-yard dash,
and the hundred.”

Someone whistles.

I tug my braids.

”All she needs
is fifteen seconds
on the flexed-arm hang.”

”No way,” Jarin says.

”Okay, Essie.” He looks at me.

”Palms away from you.
Step up on the stool,
and then I’ll pull it away.”

I’m shaking,
and I haven’t even
touched the bar.

As Tight As I Can

I space my hands.

Nod to Coach.

Clench as tight as I can.

He pulls away the stool.

And
I drop.

Not even two seconds.

A couple of boys bust up laughing.

Another whispers, ”Loser.”

I turn from Jarin’s smirk.

”Told you I couldn’t, Wally,”
I choke out.

He gives me the Vulcan sign
to live long and prosper.

In other words,
it’s okay.

”Sorry about that.”

Coach pats my shoulder.

”Every year you miss
the fitness badge
by the flexed-arm hang.”

”Yeah.”

He crosses my name
off the list,
and I shrink
to the back
of the crowd.

A Shower

With Mr. Paul’s
leftover pizza
and Mom’s rice and black beans,
I’m almost full.

I get a clean towel
from the linen closet
and go to shower.

”Oh, man. Mom!” I yell.

There’s water all over
the bathroom floor.

Floaty toys are scattered everywhere,
and there’s a gray scum ring
in the tub.

Mom comes up behind me.

”What is it now, Estele?”

”Look what that Doozerdude did!”

”Estele, I’m tired.
Just clean it up
and drop the issue.”

”But Mom!”

”Do it.”

She shuffles to her room.

I throw Dale’s towel down
into the slop
and shove it around with my foot.

He gets away
with everything!

Tight

Dale peeks in my room
at bedtime.

”Did you get the fitness award, Es?”

”No.” I refuse
to look away
from my book.

”Flexed-arm hang?”

”Yes.”

”That stinks, Es.”

He doesn’t go away.

”I think you should have
gotten the award.”

He hugs my arm tight
and runs off.

I look up into my dresser mirror.

A little bit of the mad stuff
slips off my face.

Picking Up My Room

Chris gets the fitness award
every year.

He has like four patches.

The boys get to do pull-ups
and he aces those.

He really is fit.

But he didn’t get
to do the pull-ups yet.

Will they save the patch for him?

For when he gets back
or if—

Smack

”It’s Friday.
It’s Friday,”

Dale sings all the way to school.

His big head
balanced on his little neck.

I just want to smack it.

He took the last cereal
the last milk,
and left goops of toothpaste
in the sink that I had to rub out.

”It’s Friday.
It’s Friday.”

Mom joins in the singing.

I glare at my reflection
in the window.

I want
to smack everyone
this morning.

Whacking

Ms. Dryden gives us tasks.

”Only a week until vacation.
Let’s start getting this room in order.”

Wally and I straighten the bookshelf.

I’m slamming the books back
as far as they’ll go.

”Essie.” Wally grips my wrist.

”What’s wrong?”

I pick at one of the book spines.

”I don’t know.

I just feel so—
mad. I want to whack someone.”

”No kidding. Can I get my little sister,
Wilhelmina, for you?
She could use some serious whacking.”

Laughter burbles up
out of somewhere deep in me.

”I’m serious,” says Wally.

”My parents don’t believe
in telling the kid no. She can dump my plate of spaghetti
on her head,
and they thinks it’s cute.
They get the camera!”

Wally stands up
and imitates Wilhelmina.

He toddles around
like a goofball
until I’m rolling on the floor
laughing so hard.

”How about a little focus,”
Ms. Dryden calls to us.

”Right,” we say together.

And swallow our giggles
because everyone
is staring.

At the Curb

”See you at the party!”

Buffy calls to Jarin.

Joe stops her.

”What time is it at?”

”Five,” She pushes back her hair.

”I’m so glad you can come, Joe.
This is my first boy/girl party.”

”I don’t have anything else to do,” he says
and tears off to the buses.

Jarin sees me staring.

She flounces off.

Who wants to go to a stupid
boy/girl party anyway?

Even if it is Wynette’s Wave World.

Whatever.

I chuck my backpack on the curb
and wait for Dale and Mom.

Pea Soup

Mom groans.

Dale and I
look up from our pea soup.

”It’s okay,” she says
and snaps the elastic away from her belly.

Dale slurps another spoonful.

”There is one thing
I need to discuss with you both.”

I put my spoon down
and Doozerdude squeezes his tight.

”We don’t have money
for a Christmas tree.”

”But Mom,” Dale starts.

She holds up her hand.

He shoves back his chair
and runs to her
for a hug.

”I’m sorry. So sorry,” she whispers.

I gulp.

”We can decorate your plant
by the couch,” I suggest.

”What a good idea, Estele.”

She reaches over
and squeezes my hand.

Not getting a tree
is Dad’s fault
as much as
this awful
green, lumpy soup.

Dinky

”Come on and join us, Estele.”

Mom pulls me onto the couch
with her and Dale.

The little breeze
coming through the screen
keeps us from sticking together.

The three of us
watch the fake-looking
Christmas program.

I used to love these
little puppet guys moving around,
singing carols,
worried Christmas wouldn’t come,
or Rudolph wouldn’t make it,
or the Abominable Snowman
was going to get everyone.

It seemed so exciting.

Now it looks dinky.

Compared to
Chris being kidnapped
and Dad leaving us.

It’s silly,
but I watch it anyway
just to be snuggled up to Mom.

This is way better
than Jarin’s stupid party.

Especially
when it starts to pour rain!

Interruption

The phone rings.

”I’ll get it.”

I reach over.

”Hello?”

”Well, hello, Estele Leann.

Don’t you sound beautiful tonight.”

Mr. Paul.

”Uh, do you want to talk to Mom?”

”Yes, I’d like that very much.”

I hand the phone to her quick
to get rid of the cooties
crawling up my arm.

Mom gets up
and our snuggle time is shot.

Dale leans over.

”Get off.” I nudge him away.

”Rroaarrr,” he says like Abominable.

”Would you two hush,” Mom whispers.

Great.

He gets me in trouble again.

Like forever.

Getting to Laze Around

I hang out in bed
all morning.

Just lazing around and reading,
totally by myself.

The voices from the TV in Mom’s room
drift under my door
while she’s doing the ironing.

”All leads turned out to be dead ends in the search for the missing boy. The police and family continue to maintain hope despite the length of time since his disappearance.”

God, I pray,
please, please, please
help the police find Chris
so he can hang out in his own room
totally alone
like I get to. He missed Snow Day,
and the fitness test,
and Jarin’s dumb party,
which isn’t so bad,
but he needs to get home
and be able to hang out.
He’s a kid, God, like me.
Please?

Up and at ’Em

”Come on, Estele.
Up and at ’em.”

Mom rolls me out of bed
and sits down on it herself.

”But why do I need to get up?” I whine.

”Why?

”Because it isn’t healthy
to stay in bed all day.”

She picks up some clothes
off the floor with her toes
and flicks them at me.

I giggle
because she can’t lean over
with her big belly.

”Stop your laughing
and get dressed.”

I clutch the clothes.

”Is Dad coming or something?”

She shakes her head no
and rolls to her side to stand.

”Not that I know of.

But it’s good to face the day
head on.”

She goes out.

”Change, Estele.”

I do.

Head On

I stand in the dim, stuffy garage
and breathe in
as much as I can.

I close my eyes.

It’s Dad.

The oil smell
from the car.

The gas from the mower.

The dead grass
I rolled in on the wheels last time.

It’s Dad.

I wipe the tear
on my T-shirt,
let out a shaky sigh,
and hurl up the garage door.

The sunshine blasts in,
and a tiny wind
whisks Dad away.

Stronger

It’s not as hard this time.

The grass
isn’t as tall
as Dad lets it get.

Plus
I’m stronger,
since I did it once already.

My fingers grip the handle,
and I push the mower
the length of the lawn.

Bits fly out to the side.

Chopped, tiny pieces
fling out.

I did that.

I turn at the edge
and head back.

The grass quivers
before
I roll right over it.

Sunday School

Winsome and Michaela
are talking about
Jarin’s party
in Sunday school.

”Girls,” interrupts
Mrs. Villanueva,
”not now.”

They giggle
and settle down.

Man. Anger
is creeping up my face again.

It’s squinching me tight.

I try to sing
”Oh, Worship the King”
but give up halfway through.

Everything is pressing down so heavy
my song can’t get out.

Looking at Mom

Mom shifts in the pew.

Her knees are opened up—
not very ladylike,
she tells me
when I try to sit like that.

Wow. And her ankles
are chubbed up totally.

She squirms some more.

Doozerdude is doing better
sitting still
than she is.

Going

”It’s an oven!” I cry.

”Roll down the windows!”
says Mom.

Dale and I do
as fast as we can.

She peels the car
out of the church parking lot
to get the air moving.

Pretty soon she’s going sixty-five
down the turnpike.

Doozerdude hangs his head out.

”Yow!” he yells.

Mom’s hair is whipping around her face
and she’s smiling.

Even my heavy braids
raise a bit in the wind.

It’s like we actually
are going somewhere.

And we’re doing it
fast!

Weird

Mom turns the car
toward home.

”Dry your tongue out,” says Dale.

”Okay.”

We both stick our tongues
out in the breeze
the whole way home.

Mom pulls into the driveway.

”Done,” we try to say
and bring them back in.

Doozerdude and I crack up.

Our tongues are dry, and cold,
and puffed up.

Like they don’t even belong
to us
because
they’ve been outside
too long.

Weird.

Normal

The whole big week
before Christmas vacation
zooms by
like normal.

We finish up studying the Sumerians
and their cuneiform writing.

Ms. Dryden says when we come back,
we’ll look at the Egyptians
and their hieroglyphics.

Wally and I play at recess,
swinging or on the bars.

Chris’s friends play ball
without him.

Jarin whispers secrets
with her group.

I make it through another counselor visit
without really answering his questions.

The week zips by.

How can everything
be so un-normal
and normal
at the same time?

I lean forward
and rub my hand
across the back
of Chris’s chair.

I’m getting a headache.

Totally normal.

Cleaned Out

”Squirt your desktop
with this cleaner.”

Ms. Dryden holds up a bottle.

”Wipe it dry with a paper towel.

Clean out all your old papers
and whatever else you find inside.

Leave your desks clean
so that when you come back
after winter vacation,
you’ll start fresh.”

I finish up my desk,
then scrub
the top of Chris’s
spotless.

A Tree!

Dale launches out of the car
before Mom even stops.

”It’s a tree,
it’s a tree!”

He jumps up and down.

”Who—” asks Mom.

”Daddy left this for us!” Dale squeals.

Doozerdude runs back and forth
around the branches
leaning up
against the front door.

Mom gets a big smile
across her face.

It wasn’t Dad.

I slide down in the seat.

It was Mr. Paul.

Blinking Lights

Doozerdude is dancing around,
wrapped up in lights
that are blinking on and off.

I hate the blinkers.

I like the tree to stay lit
the whole same way
the whole time.

Not on, off. On, off.

It makes me feel jumpy
wondering if they are going to
make it on again.

”Thank you for the tree, Paul,” says Mom,
and she wanders into the kitchen
with the phone.

Dale stops and stands still.

That’s the saddest
lit-up-with-lights face
ever.

”It doesn’t matter that
Dad didn’t bring the tree,
Doozerdude.”

He starts crying
while I unwind him
before he gets
electrocuted or something.

The Weekend

Because only a few presents are under
Mr. Paul’s tree,
it is more real
that Dad’s gone.

I’d rather not have had
a stupid tree
at all.

At school
Joe was saying
the Crows have a giant tree
and tons of gifts
hoping Chris will
come home in time.

I bet it
only makes it more real to them
that he’s gone.

Scurrying to Make Gifts

We are each
cutting and pasting
and hiding stuff
in our drawers and closets.

Little scraps of paper
are all over the house
as we scrounge
to make each other gifts.

I tear a piece of tape in half
so we don’t run out
before everything
gets wrapped.