Garvey's Choice
Authors: Nikki Grimes
Text copyright © 2016 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
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-62979-740-3 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-62979-747-2 (e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016932155
First hardcover edition, 2016
First e-book edition, 2016
The text of this book is set in Bembo.
H1.1
Design by Barbara Grzeslo
Production by Sue Cole
For Deborah Taylor
and all librarians
who labor on behalf of
our children
ONTENTS
Weekend Wonder: Manny's Spicy Portobello Burger Supreme
Natasha Bedingfield Sings My Song
T
F
IGURES
When I was seven
and crazy for Mr. Spock,
a
Star Trek
lunch box
was all I craved. Instead, Dad
bought one blaring the logo
of some football team
I'd never even heard of.
I shoved that thing in
the coal black of my closet,
then celebrated with cake.
RIGAMI
Mom's got a talent
for origami, but she
can't fold me into
the jock Dad wants me to be.
At least, she knows not to try.
NGIE
Angie's the athlete.
Why should I compete with her?
“Why can't Garvey be
like his sister?” I heard Dad
ask when I was eight. Mom said,
“That's the wrong question.
Ask Garvey what interests
him
.
Talk to him, honey.”
Yeah, Dad,
I thought.
Talk to me
.
But will he? I wish I knew.
UMMER
L
OST AND
F
OUND
Stories are breadcrumbs.
Just follow the trail of books
and you will find me
lost among the galaxies
of scorched stars and ships to Mars.
TARS
Stars on my ceiling
wink at me when the full moon
comes for a visit.
I might return the favor
someday, at least in my dreams.
For now, I strap on
chapter four of
Mars Rescue
,
study the console,
then ease back on the throttle
for a smooth flight through star fields.
CI
-F
I
N
OVEL
On page 59,
I meet two red Martian Trills
and feel a sweet chill
ripple through me, till Dad says,
“Football would do you better.”
Where did he come from?
The sudden slap of words sends
my Trills scattering.
I snarl and pound my pillow.
It's too late to slam the door.
OM
S
PEAKS
Later, Mom asks him,
“Why don't you let Garvey be?”
I hear Dad snort. Twice.
“Why can't he put those books down,
play football or basketball?”
“Garvey likes to read.
When was that not a good thing?”
“Thanks, Mom,” I whisper.
“You're right,” says Dad. “But reading
doesn't build muscles, does it?
When I was his age,
my pop and I always played.
We roughhoused like, wellânormal.”
I go downstairs, grab a Coke,
wash down Dad's disappointment.
NTIDOTE
Dinner-table talk
is magically washed away
on a sea of song
the minute I clamp on my
trusty earphones and push PLAY.
HYMES WITH
H
ARVEY
Some people wonder:
Why Garvey? Why not Marcus?
So I asked my dad.
“Lots of boys named Marcus, son.
Garvey?
That's
one of a kind.”
NIQUE
How good is different?
I search stories for someone
who resembles me.
If it weren't for books and Joe,
“different” would just be lonely.
ORTRAIT
In Angela's eyes,
I'm little baby brother.
I tell her, “You're not
as much older as you think.”
She spatters me with laughter.
ERFECT
Mom says I'm perfect.
Dad says I'm football-ready,
whatever that means.
Angela calls me Sweet Chunk.
“But I still love you,” she says.
OE
Joe caught me dancing
in first grade, during recess,
out back by the slide,
aloneâor so I thought, till
Joe showed up and joined right in.
Seems funny now, 'cause
there was no music playing
and neither of us
minded or needed any.
We were our own melody.
We went back to class,
each waiting for the other
to spill his secret
for a laugh. But we didn't.
That's how we knew we'd be friends.
EST
F
RIEND
I like Joe's Garvey:
clever on the pitcher's mound,
wicked-smart in math,
number one at knock-knock jokes.
Do friends make better mirrors?
NOCK
-K
NOCK
Here's Joe's knock-knock joke:
Joe: “Knock, knock.” I say, “Who's there?”
“Orange.” “Orange who?”
“Orange you going to ask
me in?” I laugh every time.
Mine's better: “Knock, knock.”
“Who's there?” “Orange.” “Orange who?”
“Wait. Knock, knock.” “Who's there?”
“Banana.” “Banana who?”
“Orange you dying to know!”
E AND
J
OE
With window cracked wide,
we telescope the night sky
trailing Orion,
dreaming of supernovas,
mapping the stars for hours.
LIEN
Over breakfast, Dad
eyes me like an alien
never seen before.
Sometimes, I could swear that he's
hoping to make first contact.
UESDAY
Excitement beaming
from Dad's face, he bounces in,
palms a basketball.
“Look what I got for you, son!
Want to go work up a sweat?”
Who's he talking to?
After all these years, you'd think
he'd start to know me.
Will he ever stop trying
to make me someone I'm not?
HONE
C
ALL
All evening long, I
try tucking in my sadness,
but it keeps getting
snagged on my voice when I speak.
Joe catches it when he calls.
“Hey! What's up?” Joe asks.
Should I tell him? “Nothing you
haven't heard before.
I wish my dad could see me.
That sounds crazy, huh?”
“Not really,” says Joe.
“I get it. Seriously.
But you've
got
a dad.
Mine skipped out long time ago.”
Why'd I open my big mouth?
Joe shrugs off his hurt.
“Knock, knock!” he says. “Not now, Joe.”
“Come on, man! Knock, knock.”
