Chapter Twenty
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Jae
Today at Free Verse when Mrs. Aldana asks Derek to read, he leans his elbows on his knees and stares at the pages of his poetry notebook.
He reads.
Let’s rewind
You say, Are you okay?
And I say, No
I grab your hand, because I like how it feels,
Not because I’m trying to hide
Let’s rewind
Back in time
I’m not supposed to rhyme, am I?
So it’s like …
We’re in a different dimension
A different place in space-time
That’s what I’m thinking about sitting on this dead tree
Surrounded by book dweebs—but
I’m one of them now, F me
What would it feel like if we could just rewind
If I could just unwind
If I could just be me
Derek closes his notebook and looks right at me and I don’t think I’m breathing yet.
I don’t think I can hear anyone else’s voice yet.
He read his poem out loud for the first time, and he’s definitely not Langston Hughes, but he read his poem!
I’m so proud of him I forget to be mad. And it was about me.
I’m sure everyone knows this by now, with the way he’s looking at me, eyes so dark but clear beneath the visor of his cap.
How do you feel normal under a gaze like that?
How do you stop your whole body from glowing, from feeling warm and tingly?
If we could just rewind. If I could just be me. I think about the small glimpses I’ve seen. His sobs in the bathroom the first day we met. His scriptwriting and love for Bollywood movies. Him trying to get me into the water. Dancing on the beach. Laughing on the yacht.
Do all those moments cancel out the negative ones?
I’m next, and I read my poem, distracted. Then I listen to CJ and Swan, distracted. Nothing seems to hold the same weight as Derek’s words. Until William reads.
He stands up. He never stands up to read, but today he does, and he stuffs one hand into the pocket of his baggy jeans and holds his notebook with the other. It’s the way he’s standing that makes me pay attention. And I hear every searing word.
Strike-a-match
Six foot three
From Washington, DC
Likes the smell of fresh coffee
French toast on weekends
And road trips to find winter snow
Name is easy: Arnie Ainsley
Stepdad #3
When
He didn’t like the groan of the radiator
Or the sunlight on his hairy toes
Or I asked for more food than I should have
Or Meow-Meow meowed too loud
When
Mom’s dress was too tight or too loose
Or too red or too blue or
Something.
Anything.
His fists found a reason
For everything.
And then, because we can’t ask questions about our five-minute poems, we all sit quiet for a while, and the birds are the only ones talking. Then Mrs. Aldana tells William to see her after the meeting. And we’re all filled up like pitchers with words that mean too much.