Words with Wings Read online

  Words

  with

  Wings

  Words

  with

  Wings

  Nikki Grimes

  AN IMPRINT OF HIGHLIGHTS

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania

  Text copyright © 2013 by Nikki Grimes

  All rights reserved

  For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, contact [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  WordSong

  An Imprint of Highlights

  815 Church Street

  Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431

  ISBN: 978-1-59078-985-8 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-62979-262-0 (e-book)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013907720

  First edition

  The text of this book is set in Bembo and Gill Sans.

  Cover illustration copyright ©2013 by Eva Vazquez

  Design by Barbara Grzeslo

  Production by Margaret Mosomillo

  For Elizabeth and Julia Bailey.

  Don’t let anyone clip your wings.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Two of a Kind

  Summer Shift

  Cheri

  Hope

  First Day

  Gabby

  Words with Wings

  Getting Started

  Gone

  Concert

  Games

  Adjusting

  Setting the Table

  Washing Dishes

  Laundry

  Report Card

  Explain This, Please

  Nothing New

  Arabesque

  A Trip to Thailand

  Mom’s Complaint

  Maybe

  Sled

  Snowflake

  Waterfall

  Mom

  Favorite Words

  Missing My Old School, My Old Life, My Old Family

  Parent-Teacher Talk

  Mom the Nurse

  Wishful Thinking

  Teased

  Stuck in Dreamland

  I Quit

  Color-blind

  Perfect

  Home Work

  Correction

  Persistent

  Macaroni Memory

  Spring

  Butterfly

  Carousel

  Roller Coaster

  Willow

  Closer

  Switch

  Inside Joke

  My New Best Friend

  Stilts

  Dragon

  Camp Dreams

  Tent

  Planetarium

  Comet

  Teacher

  Practice, Practice

  Firefly

  Sand

  Uh-oh

  Later

  Canyon

  Idea

  Announcement

  Good Night

  Home

  It’s Here!

  All In

  Author

  Fair Is Fair

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Mom loves angels.

  Their pink-cheeked faces

  peek from pictures

  on every wall

  in every room.

  So—surprise!

  Mom decided to call me

  Angel.

  Dad said, “Enough already.”

  He didn’t want his kid

  named after some silly,

  weak-looking chubby cherub.

  He wanted

  a strong name for his girl

  to take out into the world.

  Mom is stubborn, though.

  She flipped through the Bible,

  found a few fierce angels

  and tried again.

  “What about naming her

  after Gabriel?

  He was so fierce

  people fainted

  at the very sight of him."

  That’s all Dad

  needed to hear.

  Words

  with

  Wings

  Two of a Kind

  Mom calls me

  Daddy’s Girl

  ’cause him and me,

  we’re both dreamers.

  “Close your eyes,” he used to say.

  “Tell me what you see.”

  I’d say, “Sky, shooting stars,

  rainbows wrapped

  round the earth.”

  “Now, it’s my turn.

  I see: you and me

  bundled up in silver space suits,

  bouncing on the moon.

  Race you!” he’d say.

  And we’d laugh,

  back before he moved

  across the street

  and we moved

  across the city.

  Our laughter

  has a lot farther

  to travel now.

  Summer Shift

  We packed our bags in June.

  I braced for a summer

  of impossible good-byes,

  and the dread

  of living without friends

  ever again.

  To chase away the fear,

  I flipped through a dictionary,

  plucked out the word hush

  and thought about

  the whisper of wind

  rustling through leaves,

  come next autumn,

  and the silence of their falling.

  Then I jumped into

  a soft deep pile of them,

  grabbed an armful

  of red, gold, and

  burnt-orange beauties,

  tossed them into the air,

  and I was all right again,

  for a while,

  and I went back to packing

  for the move.

  Cheri

  The kids at my last school

  called me weird,

  teased me,

  or left me to myself.

  Except for Cheri,

  who picked me

  to sit next to

  in kindergarten

  just because she saw me

  staring out the window

  and was dying to know

  what made me smile

  when all she saw

  were raindrops.

  I was shy about

  telling her at first,

  but Cheri didn’t mind

  my daydreaming.

  She was color-blind, but said

  whenever I described

  my daydreams,

  it was like

  helping her see

  the rainbow.

  Hope

  I hope this new school

  has a Cheri who’ll think

  daydreamers are cool.

  First Day

  I duck down in the seat

  of my new class.

  To these kids,

  I’m not Gabby yet.

  I’m just Shy Girl

  Who Lives

  Inside Her Head.

  No one even knocks

  on the door

  for a visit.

  They don’t know

  it’s beautiful

  in here.

  Gabby

  One week in,

  and already

  my new teacher complains

  about how much I daydream.

  “Gabriella!” he’ll say,

  “Where have you gone off to

  this time?”

  I try to tell Mr. Spicer

  it’s not my fault.

  Blame it on

  t
he words.

  Words with Wings

  Some words

  sit still on the page

  holding a story steady.

  Those words

  never get me into trouble.

  But other words have wings

  that wake my daydreams.

  They fly in,

  silent as sunrise,

  tickle my imagination,

  and carry my thoughts away.

  I can’t help

  but buckle up

  for the ride!

  Getting Started

  Say “fly,”

  and I go back to the

  first daydream

  that saved me.

  I remember

  there were screams,

  a plate crashing

  to the kitchen floor,

  and angry words

  ripping the air.

  I pulled the pillow

  over my head,

  dove deeper under the covers.

  Still, I could hear the awful sound

  of their raised voices.

  “Lalalalalala,” I said aloud.

  Still, I could hear them.

  If only I could fly, I thought.

  If I could fly, fly, fly away,

  I’d go to the window,

  step out on the ledge,

  spread my wings and fly way

  high above the city,

  higher than the clouds.

  I’d fly straight to Virginia,

  fly to Great-Grandma’s house.

  I’d land on the porch,

  hop on her swing,

  and listen to her hum,

  hum, humming to me.

  And just then,

  I could almost hear

  Great-Grandma’s hum,

  could almost feel the gentle sway

  of the porch swing.

  And for a few moments,

  I forgot

  my parents fighting.

  The word fly

  had set me free,

  and I wondered,

  Are there other words

  that can carry me away?

  Gone

  A few days later,

  Dad packed his bags

  and hugged me good-bye.

  Something wet was in his eye

  when he walked out the door.

  I started missing him

  that very second,

  but I didn’t cry. Instead,

  I filled the quiet

  with daydreams.

  Concert

  Say “concert,”

  and I’m somewhere

  in the past,

  sprawled out on the grass

  in Central Park,

  my head cozy

  in Mom’s lap,

  her head cozy

  on Dad’s shoulder.

  I can’t quite

  make out the music,

  but who cares?

  Games

  Say “Scrabble,”

  and I’m giggling

  next to Mom,

  whispering words in her ear

  while we gang up

  against Dad.

  He doesn’t stand a chance,

  but he grins anyway.

  We come up with QUIZ,

  beat him with a triple score,

  and roar.

  I sure do miss

  those days with Dad.

  Adjusting

  It’s been six months

  and I still miss us,

  the us that used to be

  when Mom and Dad and me

  were happy.

  “Gabriella!” Mom calls.

  “Please come and set the table.”

  I sigh and leave my memories

  in my room.

  “Coming!”

  Setting the Table

  I grab place mats

  blue as the ribbon of sky

  beyond my window

  where pigeons invite me

  outside to play.

  But I’ve got a job to do,

  so I shake my head no

  and lay down

  two knives and two forks.

  When I fling a pair of napkins

  toward the table,

  one sails on the air

  like a kite,

  and I take off running

  across the park,

  chasing my crimson high flier

  as it cuts across the blue

  and—Mom asks me why

  it’s taking me so long

  to set the table.

  “Gabby! Snap out of it!” she says.

  “I see you forgot the glasses.

  Again.”

  Washing Dishes

  Washing dishes,

  I sink my hands into

  rivers of soapy water

  soft as sea foam.

  I close my eyes

  and float in the ocean,

  sun warming my cheeks,

  breeze tickling my skin

  until Mom yells, “Gabby!

  Stop daydreaming

  and finish those dishes!”

  Laundry

  Mom runs to the store,

  leaves me in the Laundromat

  with a neighbor,

  our clothes spinning

  in the dryer.

  I’ve seen pictures

  of kids giggling in giant

  whirling teacups,

  and pretty soon I’m whirling, too,

  hands raised to catch the wind,

  dizzy with laughter,

  which makes Mom groan

  when she gets back because

  the dryer stopped

  when I wasn’t looking

  and I was supposed to be

  folding clothes.

  Report Card

  At my old school,

  all my report cards

  ended the same:

  Note:

  Gabriella’s mind

  wanders.

  I wonder why

  they bothered

  to write it down.

  (Everybody

  already knew.)

  Will Mr. Spicer

  write that, too?

  Explain This, Please

  Mom names me for a

  creature with wings, then wonders

  what makes my thoughts fly.

  Nothing New

  One or two hellos

  greet me

  at the classroom door.

  I know not to expect more.

  No one wants to be friends

  with the weird girl.

  I pass by rows of desks,

  a make-believe grin

  hiding my hurt.

  Most days,

  I’m an A+ pretender.

  When I’m not,

  I just crawl

  into my daydreams

  and disappear.

  Arabesque

  This weekend,

  I stayed with my dad.

  He bought tickets to the ballet

  like I begged him to.

  On the way home, he asked,

  “So, what did you think?”

  I closed my eyes:

  I tied on my toe shoes,

  checked the fit of my tutu,

  then pirouetted and leaped

  across the stage.

  I pulled off a tight spin

  and was about to leap again when—

  “Gabriella? Where’d you go?”

  I grabbed my dad’s hand

  and smiled.

  A Trip to Thailand

  Dad dreams out loud.

  Once, he spun imaginary stories

  about a trip to Thailand.

  Mom waved off the idea,

  said we didn’t have

  that kind of money.

  Dad knew

  she wasn’t listening.

  But, on his birthday,

  Mom took him to

  a Thai restaurant for dinner.

  That’s when he realized

 
she’d been paying attention

  all along.

  Mom’s Complaint

  Mom calls me to the kitchen,

  a note from school

  waving from one hand.

  I stand in the doorjamb,

  jumpy as a cat.

  “Gabriella,” she begins,

  “what am I going to do with you?

  You have to start paying

  attention in school.”

  I gulp,

  search my pockets

  for some promise I can offer,

  but only find the seashell

  Cheri gave me

  when we said good-bye.

  “Did you hear me?” Mom asks.

  I nod, finally breathing easy

  when she sends me

  to my room.

  Maybe

  Dad is a dreamer

  and Mom is a maker.

  I’ve been thinking,

  maybe

  I can be

  both.

  Sled

  Say “sled,”

  and my nose

  is cold and shiny

  as the blades

  of the Red Racer I haul

  to the top of the hill.

  Then it’s down down down I go

  careening through

  a lopsided snow fort,

  waking the morning

  with laughter,

  steering straight into

  the sun.

  Snowflake

  Say “snowflake,”

  I start to shiver,

  rip off my mitten

  and giggle as one wet,

  cold, lacy filigree

  of winter white

  falls onto my greedy palm,

  then melts away.

  Waterfall

  Say “waterfall,”

  and the dreary winter rain

  outside my classroom window

  turns to liquid thunder,

  pounding into a clear pool

  miles below,

  and I can’t wait

  to dive in.

  Mom

  Mom watches me, sometimes.

  I’ll return from a daydream

  and find her eyes

  studying me.

  Once, I asked her

  what was wrong.

  She shook her head.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “I—I wish I understood you better.”

  If only, I thought.

  But I let her

  go on staring.

  Favorite Words

  Mine: Pretend.

  Mom’s: Practical.

  All we have in common

  is the letter P.

  Missing My Old School, My Old Life, My Old Family