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Read.
Why?

Miss Baker wrote the first word. While she at the door talking to the librarian, Jaxxon sneaking up, writing the next one. Now Miss Baker wanna know why it's important to read. That ain't a good question to ask slow readers. To us there's never a good reason.

She make a deal with us. If we answer the question, we won't get no homework tonight. Of course she only telling part of the truth. We answer that question and she got three more.

When do you read?

Where do you read?

Why do you read?

My answer take care of all three questions. “I never read.” Which ain't the truth. My parents getting on my nerves.

A reading teacher don't want to hear that. Even if she know it's true. Crossing the room, sitting on the edge of my desk, she start talking about my athletic ability. Asking me to name some wrestling magazines. I name three. “See. You do read.”

If I want to know a wrestling move, I watch a video, I tell her. People jump in on our conversation. Even if you want to make a pizza, you can find someone online showing you how, Ester pointing out. “So why read about it?”

The rest of the period we talk about our reading habits. Here's what we decide. There's, like, only five reasons why a kid would want to read.

She don't like our answers. But she like that we talking about reading.

When class almost over, she say for us to open our books, swearing we got enough time to get some oral reading in. Pointing to the first girl in the first seat on the first row, she say, “Start reading, baby.”

I'm hoping she go from person to person just like that. We got eighteen kids here. By the time she get to me, class'll be over.

“Margaret, read next, please.”

Margaret is the fourth girl on row one. You could wash, blow-dry, and braid your hair by the time she read a sentence. Only today she read like she really can read, and the five lines Miss Baker give her get finished in no time.

Miss Baker skips around. Going from the second row to the fifth row to the first. Vera Gunter reads, then Kimberlee, Gordon, and Donelle. I watch the clock. Four minutes to go. Sliding down in my seat, I'm praying she don't see me. She hops to row six, pointing to Barbara Bandera.

“When … the girl real … lized she was tra … She tra … She …”

I try not to listen to people in here reading. Their words be like my CDs with gum stuck to 'em — hard to
understand or follow along. I look outside, mostly. At the sky. Clouds. Even the gray ones. They relax me.

“Autumn.” Miss Baker standing in front of me. Waiting for me to read.

I keep watching clouds.

A
utumn explodes off the whistle. Intimidated, her opponent backs up, and trips over his feet.

The gym isn't packed. But there are loads of people here. Autumn has her own fan club. Ma is among them.

James isn't wrestling. He is stalling. Pacing to the left. Pacing to the right. Ducking.

“She ain't here to box,” someone shouts.

“Take him down, Autumn.”

“Girl power,” a lady with white hair shouts.

James's coach paces the sidelines. He's asking if this is what he plans to do all season. “Run? Play chicken?” he snarls, and then kicks over a chair. “Get your butt moving, boy! Or forfeit.”

Red faced and embarrassed, James rushes forward, his arms pulling, twisting, and turning Autumn's neck,
arms, and back. With a double-leg tackle, she lands on the floor.

December screeches, “Autumn! Finish him! He your competition!”

It isn't necessary for girls to scream or shout. Or stump the bleachers as if they need heaven to hear what they are up to. December's hands go to her mouth like a megaphone. “A fall. That's what you came for, girl.”

James wins the first round with near fall points.

In stance, they begin the second round. They both move forward, and instantly end up down on the mat.

She gets penalized when she is outside the circle. A six-point lead renews James's energy.

He has her in a tight headlock.

Her feet push down on his ankles. Her body turns in toward his, tied up. They wrestle from one end of the circle to the other, until the clock runs out. “She's good,” Ma says, videotaping her for the nurses at the hospital. “Oh my God.”

I cannot figure out her obsession with this girl.

“Adonis.” She looks at my watch. “The band is frayed.”

They are about to start.

“We can afford a new one.”

“Ma! I'm working!”

Third period. Autumn takes bottom, kneeling on all
fours underneath James, who has a hand on her stomach. One knee to the ground.

The whistle blows. Autumn does a surprise move. I thought she would drive back into him, standing to gain control. Instead her feet kick sideways. She flips over his back. She stands while the crowd roars.

James did not come to lose to a girl. He penetrates, lifts, and drops her.

Autumn scrambles to her knees. James, riding her back, gets flipped. Landing on top of him, face-to-face, she grunts.

Like contortionists, their bodies twist and turn. Arms bend under backs. Elbows hit ribs. Her chin and neck are being pulled so far up, it looks as if her neck might snap. His ankle gets pounded by her left foot.

Deep inside I'd rather not root for Autumn. But she represents our team. Besides, it is difficult not to be amazed by her strength. The power in her legs. The way she strategizes on the mat. Playing chess with her body out there. I've always loved the beauty and messiness of this sport.

With seconds to go, James goes for a fall. Autumn gets him underneath her. Gritting her teeth, she's pressing in on him. Trembling, she holds him to the mat for three seconds. And wins.

S
kipping, I try to keep up with Adonis. We got our first big snow last night. Plus it rained. Now it's icy, too. I got my tongue stuck out. Catching snowflakes.

His wheels crunch the ice and wet his leather gloves. Walking behind him, I see his bumpy ride.

“Wham!”

A ice ball hit the back of my head. Jason and Kelly from the team ready to throw more. Adonis looking over his shoulders. The next three snowballs come for me, too. “Y'all quit it.” I get a few off, then running, I catch up to Adonis. Walking backward, I ask, “What you think snow taste like?” Blowing into my hands to keep 'em warm, I smell breakfast. My very own recipe. Cheerios mixed with almonds, dried cherries, chocolate-covered pretzels, and coconut.

I make another snowball. A mini. “Happy first snow day.” Holding it up to him, with a broken branch sticking out of it like it's a candle, I blow. She walks by. “Hi, Raven.” I speak first so he know I ain't jealous. I ain't seen them together since the movies, but you never know. He could be texting her.

He don't speak to her at all. She don't speak to him. I can't stop smiling.

Asking questions is the only way to find things out. I ask if she still his girlfriend. Or did they break up? What was it about her that he ain't like?

The questions come faster than foot sweeps when I'm wrestling. He want to know why I think this is my business. When we get inside, his wheels squeak on the wet, slippery floor. A girl walking beside me look over, laughing.

I ask him to the movies. Repeating my question to her friend, the girl say, “
Wanna go to the movies with me?
How lame.” She a eleventh grader with long, stringy locks past the middle of her back. Enough blue eye shadow to cover the walls.

They looking at my wrestling bag, hung over my shoulder. We got a match today.

“I thought she was gay,” one of 'em say. Turning the
corner, they look back at him. “He in a wheelchair — please. It ain't even electric.”

My feet are ice, frozen solid in place.

His wheels seem like wings, flying him away from me.

I wanna go after him. Be with him. Tell him that he gonna ride me to the prom in that chair one day. Roll up the aisle and marry me in it, too. But I stay where I am. In the middle of the hall. Letting people push me, bump into me. Wondering why they can't see me. Or him.

“Something wrong, baby?”

“No, Miss Baker. Just thinking.”

She put her arm around my shoulders, forcing me to walk with her.

“I was … my class is that way?” I point up the hall.

“Tutoring. I was expecting you this morning.”

On Monday I promised her I'd come. “I forgot. I swear.”

“That's what you said last week, Autumn.”

“Aaahh, Miss Baker —”

She stop to congratulate A'Destiny. Working hard to bring up her grades is paying off, she telling her. A'Destiny got a eighty-three average so far this new semester. “And time to bring that up even higher,” Miss Baker say, looking my way.

My rain boots make a puddle. Miss Baker make me a promise. She will no longer come to school early just to accommodate me.

It's easy for everybody to talk to me about … not passing a test. Not studying. Not being prepared. But the other day in Miss Baker's class, I took a reading test on a book, a book I read by myself. Got a B. Well, a high C. Okay, I mean a regular one. Answered every question, though. I like that author. Her book is like a movie. Every line is a camera pointing to somewhere interesting. I tell Miss Baker this.

Hugs come from her as easy as batter from a bowl. While she rubbing my back, she warning me. “I already called your mother … a little while ago, baby.” She told her I missed tutoring. And mentioned that right now a D is the best grade she could give me, “if grades came out next week …” Sometimes she will let you do makeup work. I will earn what I earn this semester, she say, pulling me into the library. “Maybe if you fall far enough … fast enough”— stopping, her hands go to her lips, like in a prayer — “you'll turn things around.”

My parents said something like that this morning 'cause I didn't want to read that book before school. Had a cramp in my leg. And my belly wanted food.

Talking to Mrs. Carolyn, our librarian, Miss Baker complains. Lots of papers to grade. Parents still calling about report cards. Testing coming up in a few months. “It's too much.” Then I hear his name. Adonis.

Turning full circle, I see him, taking a book off the shelf. Still in his coat. Ice caked in his wheels. I'm wondering,
Do other girls think he got pretty lips?

Mrs. Carolyn asking if I know him. She talking about his “voracious” reading habits, his volunteer spirit, why he's one of her favorites.

The more she say about him, the taller he sits. Perfect posture look good on him. Just like the gray button-down shirt he got on today, and that jacket. It's part of a suit, matching his pants.

Miss Baker say she doing everything she can to get our class to value books and reading. Looking at me, she admits, “Sometimes … I'm not sure … if you all ever will.”

Scratching my nose, and the back of my neck, I remember I'm allergic to libraries. I got a note once so I ain't have to come with my class. After that, Mom said get over it. “Or bring Benadryl.”

Three students come to the front desk, checking out books. A girl standing outside the library bang on the window with both hands, waving at Mrs. Carolyn,
yelling, “I'll be here fourth period. Save me some food.” Mrs. Carolyn having a lunch meeting. Her regulars will eat later, she telling us.

Adonis go over to a table with books piled higher than his chair. Miss Baker and Mrs. Carolyn talking. I'm imagining me sitting in his lap, listening to him read. Kissing him after every sentence.

“Would you like to, Autumn?”

“Huh?”

“Volunteer.” Miss Baker smiles. “Didn't you hear Mrs. Carolyn, baby? She wants to see my students in here. Giving back.”

“Firstly,” I say, hoping he hears me, “I do not like libraries.”

They correct me, calling it a media center. Scratching my elbow, I listen to Mrs. Carolyn's commercial on libraries. They are fun. You can make friends. Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Adonis is at the dictionary in the middle of the room. It's big, with like a hundred million pages. Someone donated it to the media center, Mrs. Carolyn saying.

I wonder what part of the alphabet he looking at.
A
,
F
,
W
? My favorite letter in the whole dictionary is
Q
. My favorite
Q
word is a name;
Quigley
.

When the bell ring, Mrs. Carolyn asks me to think it over.

Volunteering. At the library. Surrounded by books. Hmmm. But he couldn't get away from me in here. One whole period. Me and him. Once a week. Maybe more. “Okay.” I ask to work the same hours he do. He come twice a week, she say. Tuesdays and Thursdays, during lunch.

That's what I'll do. Come. To be with him. Adonis. Who I love.