PrologueDifferent. The same. . . .
That’s my answer if you ask
how I am after
The Invisible Beast broke
into our house, and our world.
[p19]
GarveyI ride the ripples
of song. That may sound silly
but singing heals my
heart. And in a way, music
gave me the dad I needed.
[p20]
Week-Night LessonDad’s fingers on mine,
he shows me the way to play.
My new guitar is
quickly becoming a friend
and, finally, so is Dad.
[p26]
Compared to WhatLater, I catch Mom
crying in the kitchen. I
look for onions, but
don’t see one. “Mom?” “Sorry, Son,”
she says, grabbing a tissue.
“I was just thinking
about students on breakfast
and free lunch programs.
How will they eat with schools closed?”
I never thought about that.
I never had to.
Mom sees me bite my lip. “It’s
okay, Garvey. We
teachers will figure something
out, somehow. It’s what we do.”
Mom manages the
shadow of a smile so I’ll
believe her like I
need to. What else can I do?
God, I hope you’re listening.
[p47]
Lock What?Our governor says
beginning tonight, our state
is hitting the switch,
shutting down everyday life
until further notice. What?
No work, no school, no
chorus, no baseball with Joe,
no meals with Manny,
no out, only in, except
for stocking up on supplies
till this storm passes.
At least it’s warm enough here
in California
to hang out in the backyard
if indoors gets boring, but
how long will this be?
Three weeks? Four? Mom’s not sure. “We’ll
get back to normal.
Trust me. Not even the worst
hurricane can last for long.”
[p55]
Aisle FiveThe Food Mart is filled
with a stampede of shoppers
trampling each other
for—toilet paper? This is
crazy! Get me out of here!
Back home, Angie helps
unpack the groceries while
Mom and Dad smuggle
dark whispers upstairs, as if
their worry has no echo.
Angie and I share
the truth with one long look: This
Invisible Beast
must be worse than we thought. But
we don’t dare say it out loud.
[p56]
CoughThis morning, Dad coughs.
It’s probably nothing, right?
Just a normal cold.
Or no. Worry grabs my gut
strangling me from the inside.
Breathe, I tell myself,
then I text Joe, next Manny.
Joe: dw chill
Manny: sry fx
Fingers crossed, I chill—and pray.
[p107}
Copyright © 2022 by Nikki Grimes. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.