On winter break, Halle pretends she has not forgotten Sam, and Sam pretends she doesn’t mind that Halle has abandoned her. She goes over to Halle’s house and helps light candles for Hanukkah. Halle’s mom and dad are Jewish, so they don’t put up decorations. They don’t even have a tree—but they do give one present per night for eight nights. Sam tells her dad about this, and he says, “Oh yeah, I know. I’m Jewish too.”
“What?” They are eating burgers on Rantoul Street, and he is stealing Sam’s fries. “You never told me that. You never gave me eight presents.”
“I’m nonpracticing.”
Mitchell never mentioned this before, but Sam asks her mom, and yes, it’s true. He was born Jewish, but he had it easy because his mom and dad were not religious. Courtney’s parents were the opposite. Her dad was a minister, so she had to listen to his sermons and memorize a gazillion Bible verses. Courtney would never put her kids through that—even though Noah’s name is in the Bible, and Sam is partly in there too.
Courtney still knows her verses. For you have created my inmost being. You have knit me together in my mother’s womb…I have loved you with an everlasting love. I have drawn you with loving-kindness…And we know that in all things…She makes Sam and Noah laugh; she is so fast.
Courtney says, “You think it’s funny, because you never had to learn them.” The truth is, religion causes wars, so they don’t go to church, or synagogue either. The only holiday they celebrate is Christmas, because it’s secular. Even that one is not Courtney’s favorite, since that’s when Jack appears. He wants Noah to come over, but his parents are in Florida, so Courtney says no.
Then he pressures Courtney. He comes over to the salon and to the apartment and he talks to Courtney on the phone. Sam can hear him pretending to be nice. He says, Why can’t Noah just come over for the day? And he says, Why can’t we all celebrate together? Courtney says no to everything.
Sam watches her do it. Her mom is standing in the kitchen with her phone and she says, “No. Just no.” She also says, “Jack, I’m not going to say it again,” but then she says it again anyway. “No.” The way she says it, the word comes from deep inside her. She is like a weightlifter heaving up that word. She is so tough. But after she gets off the phone, she curls up on the couch under a blanket.
On Christmas Eve, Sam carries their bags and Courtney drags a half-sleeping Noah. It’s like an escape. They pack the car and strap in Noah and drive off to Amherst. “It’s easier this way,” Courtney tells Sam. “We just won’t have to deal with Jack.”
But the next morning, at Grandma D.’s house, Courtney has to deal with him anyway. Jack is on the phone and Courtney takes it outside on the porch.
Noah is lying on the rug racing solar-powered cars while Sam looks out at the porch from the living room window.
Grandma says no feet on the couch. Then she says, “Noah, what are you learning in school?”
Sam can’t hear, but she knows what Jack is shouting because she’s listened to so many other fights. I’ll go to court and take him from you. Fat lying bitch!
He always calls Courtney fat, stupid, and ugly, even though she is the opposite.
Courtney doesn’t stay out long. She comes back inside and says, “Okay, that was nice.”
Grandma D. is saying, “Noah, I asked you a question. Look at me when I am talking to you.”
Noah does not look at Grandma D. or anyone else either. He is disappearing. All he sees is his two cars racing each other on the rug. Sam wishes she could do that.
For Christmas, Sam’s dad gives her fifty dollars. Sam’s mom gives her clothes, including a huge supersoft purple sweater that Sam can’t ever wear to school.
“Why not?” Halle asks, when Sam sleeps over.
“Because I look like a grape. See?” She pulls the sweater over her T-shirt.
Halle sits up in bed and admits, “Yeah, you kind of do.”
Halle still wears old jeans and long-sleeved shirts, but she’s got shearling boots. She doesn’t climb at Andover. She does theater instead. She is trying out for Twelfth Night to be Viola, who is a girl dressed as a boy.
She probably won’t get the part, because she’s only a ninth grader, but she has memorized a speech where Viola says what she’d do if she were in love—which she really is, but nobody knows. Halle recites it in the dark. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, / And call upon my soul within the house; / Write loyal cantons of contemned love / And sing them loud even in the dead of night…
“Wait. What’s a willow cabin?” Sam says.
“Just a little hut where she’d camp out.”
In college, Halle might go to England and study Shakespeare. She will go to libraries where the windows are diamond-paned, and the paintings are all kings and queens covered with jewels. She’s got a poster of Queen Elizabeth I on the wall above her castle-bookcase. The queen’s face is white. She has no neck, just a lace collar cut out like a snowflake. Her sleeves are so big that they fill the room.
This is what interests Halle. Velvet, silk, and diamond windows, kings, and queens. Plays full of poetry.
“Are you taking physics?” Sam asks.
Halle is not so interested in physics. She gets sleepy when Sam tells her about the roller coaster and how Corey juggled duct tape, but then she wakes up when Sam mentions Declan.
“Is he a good coach?”
“He’s okay.”
“Do you like him?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
She does not tell Halle that Declan drives her home from practice. She never talks about that, even though it’s fine. It’s not like driving with a stranger.
Sam talks to Declan about ropes and speed and hanging from a bar. It’s not really fair because the smaller you are, the longer you can hang there. In some ways it’s better to be little, but as you grow, you get stronger in your arms and back and core.
In the car, Declan shows Sam where he broke his index finger. He jammed it in a crevice, so it’s still bent. He holds it up for her.
At the gym, Sam tries to climb like he does. She stops dangling and wondering; she attacks the wall.
When she does something radical, Declan yells, “Yeah!” When she nearly makes a brilliant move and falls, he says, “Again!”
The crazier she climbs, the more he likes her. “Be fierce,” he coaches. “Get up there!”
She’s bruised all over. Tears start in her eyes, but she won’t cry in front of him.
On the way home, they review her climbs, and he remembers where she swung right and where she went wrong. He remembers everything she does, and she remembers everything he says. Go, go, go. No, that’s not it. Again! He has two voices. Harsh in the gym and gentle in the car. He always says, “I know you’ve got it in you.” He tells her that like it’s a secret between them.
“He thinks I can be good,” Sam tells her dad on Sunday afternoon.
“You’re good now,” Mitchell answers.
They are running on the beach on New Year’s Day. It was Mitchell’s idea to run into the year.
They run on rocky sand, and wind whips their hair. Dream houses stand high up on the bank above, and the ocean spreads out to the sky. Gray and green up to the clouds.
“No, I’m not good yet,” Sam pants.
“Hold on. Be patient, monkey.”
“Be patient for what?”
“You’re still young. You have lots of time.”
She hates it when he talks this way. “I’m trying to get better.”
“Why?”
“Dad!”
“No, really. What’s the plan?”
“To win in Gloucester.”
“And then what?”
“Top ten in Boston.”
“And then what?”
She doesn’t even want to say it. “Nationals?”
“And then what?”
She says, “I know winning isn’t everything and if all you care about is winning, you’ll feel empty—but I haven’t won enough to feel empty yet.”
He laughs, but then turns serious. “What do you want?”
“Prize money.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Sam. You aren’t climbing for money.”
“You practiced magic,” Sam reminds him. “You juggled for money.”
They stop to rest in the gold winter light, and Mitchell says, “Juggling is not the easiest career.”
Sam says, “Tell that to Corey.”
“Who’s Corey?” Her dad is sidetracked. “Girl or guy?”
“Guy.”
“Does your mom know about him?”
“There’s nothing to know!”
“Is he good news or bad news?”
“No news,” Sam says, and that is sort of true.