In Your Shoes Read online

  Finally, after he heard his mom, dad and grandpop come home, Miles was able to relax. He hoped tomorrow would be a better day. Maybe during his morning matchup with Randall, he’d finally bowl a 300 game. Maybe that would be the start of a perfect day.

  Or maybe…on his way to school, Miles would be squashed by an out-of-control Buckington bus.

  Things like that could happen.

  Anything could happen.

  And sometimes did.

  Just ask undertaker Marc Bourjade.

  Miles didn’t roll a perfect game in the morning like he’d hoped, but he didn’t hustle Randall either. That felt good.

  He was glad Randall wasn’t mad at him, and they seemed to be back to normal as they walked to school—Randall in his stylish sneakers and Miles wearing his lucky bowling shoes, which didn’t seem very lucky at all.

  So far…

  During her walk to school the next day, Amy texted her friend Kat to let her know she’d decided to make one new friend today. It seemed like a reasonable goal. Amy figured there had to be one person at Buckington Middle who wanted to be her friend. If she ever wanted to create her own story’s happy ending, she’d have to start somewhere. A friend seemed like the right place to begin.

  Kat sent her a quick reply.

  Today will be a great day, Ames. You’ll make an awesome friend and it will make everything better.

  Amy texted back.

  You’re an awesome friend. Thx!

  That warranted a smiley face emoji and a reply:

  Always knew you were smart.

  Amy nodded and put her phone in her pocket. It was too cold out to keep texting.

  During her first-period class, Amy smiled at everyone, thinking if she was extra friendly, people might be friendly toward her. She smiled so much, her cheek muscles ached.

  A couple of kids smiled back or nodded, but mostly people ignored her. Everyone, Amy noticed, was already in a group. They’d worked out these alliances at the beginning of the school year or even before, she knew. No one was looking for a new friend in January.

  No one except Amy.

  In second period, she said hi to a bunch of people. Some gave half waves, but mostly they looked at her like she was weird.

  Amy had taken the bandage off her forehead, but she had a small cut and yellow-brown bruising up there. She wore a heel lift in her right sneaker. She was living in a funeral home. And she preferred fictional people to real ones.

  Maybe she was weird.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worthy of having a friend. Back home, she had Kat. And she was friends with her neighbor Pam, who would give her all her old copies of O, The Oprah Magazine—Amy used to look at the photos for character ideas. Amy was friends with Elizabeth Yeh, the woman who owned their favorite bakery, the Cupcakery. She was friends with the children’s librarian, Miss Irene, at her local public library. And with the guy who tended the community garden around the corner from their apartment building, Mr. Jakes.

  Amy was friends with lots of people.

  Back in Chicago.

  During third period, no one talked to Amy except the teacher, who told her to turn in her assignment from yesterday, which she hadn’t known about. She promised to have it to him by the end of the day.

  On her way to lunch, Amy snuck in a quick text to Kat.

  Not going well. Wish you were here.

  Kat responded right away.

  Wish you were here too! School isn’t as much fun without you, Ames. But you’ve got this, Silverman!

  The text gave Amy a tiny boost of confidence. She could do this. She would do this!

  Amy bought the school lunch and sat at the end of a table with a few girls, hoping they could talk and she might learn a few things about the school. Possibly one of them would even want to be her friend. Maybe they would all want to!

  As soon as Amy sat, the girls picked up their trays and went to another table. She deflated. What was wrong with her? They couldn’t see the heel lift in her shoe and couldn’t know she was living at a funeral home, so it must have been the dumb cut and bruise on her forehead. Or maybe the way she dressed.

  Even though the girls’ abandoning her had nothing to do with her mom, Amy couldn’t help but think about her. That made Amy feel lonelier than ever. She looked around the crowded, noisy cafeteria and wondered how she could be surrounded by so many people and still feel so isolated.

  Amy managed a few bites of her sandwich, but it was like eating layers of cardboard. Nothing on her tray had any flavor, not even the canned peach slices, which she usually loved. It was like her senses had quit working. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. But Amy still felt the giant, gaping hole her mom’s absence had left inside her.

  She dumped the rest of her lunch in the trash can, returned the tray and made her way to the cafeteria exit. She knew she was about to cry and didn’t want to do it in front of everyone.

  “Where’re you going?” asked a lunchroom monitor who was standing guard.

  “Bathroom,” Amy blurted, even though she wasn’t.

  “Can it wait till the bell?”

  Amy shook her head but didn’t make eye contact. She felt as if the dam holding back the flood of tears was about to burst.

  After a pause, the woman said, “Okay. Make it quick. I don’t want other kids roaming the halls, too. Who gets in trouble when that happens?”

  Amy knew that was a question she wasn’t expected to answer.

  “I do,” the woman said.

  Amy nodded, then slipped past her, hoping she looked like she really needed to use the bathroom. Moving quickly, she ducked around a corner, walked down a long hallway past the bathrooms and turned another corner. There, she pressed her back and palms against the wall. Her heart thudded wildly because she was looking at a door that led outside. Amy wanted to walk through that door and never return.

  Standing against the wall with her heart pounding, Amy wondered how much it would cost to take a bus back to Chicago. Maybe she could live with Pam for a while. Then she’d have Ernest back in her life, cuddling in her lap when she got home from school. Dad said they couldn’t have Ernest in the funeral home because he might disrupt a viewing with his barking. Amy knew that would be terrible, but not living with Ernest anymore was more terrible. Maybe she could move in with Kat and her family. Kat’s parents always said Amy was like a second daughter to them. Then at least she’d live near Pam and be able to visit Ernest all the time.

  Thoughts of moving back to Chicago made Amy feel a little better. Then a worried feeling crept in.

  What about Dad? He hadn’t been himself since Amy’s mom died. He was quieter, and he acted like his life force had leaked out. He needed Amy. She needed him. She couldn’t abandon him to move back to Chicago by herself. And she couldn’t bear the idea of not having a parent in her life now. It was hard enough that her dad had to be gone weekdays for an entire month of stupid training sessions. Amy couldn’t do without him all the time. She’d have to stay at Uncle Matt’s funeral home, no matter how hard it was.

  Amy slid down the wall a few inches and focused on some scuff marks on the floor. Her sadness slipped out in a sigh.

  Then she looked up.

  How had she not seen that before?

  In front of her, off to the right, a word caught Amy’s attention. That word was salve for her hurting heart. A single word that filled her with lightness, each letter a flicker of hope.

  LIBRARY.

  Amy stood tall. Her legs moved her forward. Her hand grabbed the cool handle and turned it. She opened the door and stepped inside.

  The library was loaded with shelves of colorful books, banks of computers, racks of shiny magazines. Hanging on the walls were framed posters abo
ut the awesomeness of books and reading. There was a big circulation desk with a thin man pecking away at a computer keyboard.

  Amy inhaled deeply, filling herself with library goodness. It smelled like…home.

  The man behind the circulation desk looked up. “Welcome! What can I do for you?”

  Amy didn’t know how to answer.

  The man scooted out from behind the desk. He wore a short-sleeved checkered shirt. “Hey, I don’t recognize you. New here?”

  Amy nodded.

  His warm smile and welcoming words made Amy feel like crying. She needed someone to be kind to her, but she wasn’t prepared for how it would overwhelm her emotional circuitry.

  The man offered his hand. “I’m Mr. Schu. Welcome to your library.”

  “Mr. Shoe?” Amy touched the sore spot on her forehead, thinking of the bowling shoe.

  “Schu.” He pointed to a name placard on the desk. “S-c-h-u. It’s short for Schumaker. I’m John Schumaker, your friendly school librarian.” He shook her hand with great enthusiasm.

  His hand was warm. “I’m Amy Silverman.”

  “Hey, so come on in, Amy Silverman. What do you like to read?”

  “Fairy tales.” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but something about Mr. Schu made her think it might be okay to like fairy tales even though she was in middle school. “Um, I mean—”

  “Come with me, Amy.” Mr. Schu led her to a section of shelves labeled Fairy Tales. There was a shelf of picture books below that. And three shelves labeled Graphic Novels to the right. Three shelves! Amy recognized a couple of her favorites right away—Roller Girl and El Deafo.

  Her whole body tingled. She was surprised to see these books in a middle school library. Who was this guy? Had she stepped into an alternate universe? A perfect one?

  “I’m new here myself,” Mr. Schu said. “Started this year. I’m from Chicago.”

  “You’re not!” Amy wondered if some fairy godmother had dropped this librarian in her path, as if a wonderful wish she didn’t know she’d made had been granted.

  Mr. Schu rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, actually, I’m quite sure I am.”

  Amy smiled. She couldn’t help herself. “I’m from Chicago! Moved here last week, during winter break.”

  “No way,” Mr. Schu said.

  “Yes way,” Amy replied. She realized she might be making her first friend in Buckington. Not surprisingly, it was a librarian. And a grown-up. But it was a start.

  The doors to the library whooshed open. In came a group of students and, along with them, a wave of chatter.

  “Uh-oh,” Mr. Schu said. “I’ve got to set these kids up on a research project. We’ll have to chat about Chicago later, Amy. For now, sit or browse. Enjoy yourself. I mean, it’s a library. How could you do anything but enjoy yourself? Am I right or am I right?” Mr. Schu’s smile melted the layers of ice that had formed around Amy’s aching heart.

  She pulled an illustrated volume titled Cinderella from the Fairy Tales shelf and sat on a comfortable chair at one of the tables. She ran her fingertips over the raised gold lettering on the cover and settled in to read the familiar story for what felt like the hundredth time.

  Barely three pages in, Amy got the feeling she was being watched. She glanced up and saw a girl beside a cart of books. The moment Amy looked up, the girl looked down. Amy studied her because she had a sense the girl would make a great character in a story. Her clothes were an interesting combination of layered prints, stripes and solids, worn with a pair of purple Converse sneakers. And to top it all off, the girl wore a knit penguin cap over her dark-blue hair. She looked like she’d stepped off the runway of a funky fashion show.

  The moment the girl turned toward Amy, Amy looked down at her book.

  Who was that girl, and why was she looking at Amy? Amy felt like there was a flashing neon sign over her head: WEIRD NEW GIRL.

  Amy forced herself to focus on the Cinderella story and soon lost herself in its pages.

  “Here you go!”

  Amy gasped.

  The girl stood in front of her. She put down some sort of cake on a small square napkin. “Here.”

  “Um, what’s this?” Amy asked.

  As the girl hurried away, she called over her shoulder, “It’s my kryptonite!”

  Confused, Amy poked the spongy light-brown cake. Oil residue remained on her finger. Was Amy allowed to eat in the school library? Not at her old school, certainly. The librarian there was so mean, Amy hardly ever went in unless she had to for a school assignment.

  The cake in front of Amy smelled sweet and made her mouth water. She hadn’t eaten much of her lunch.

  Mr. Schu was laughing with a bunch of kids at a row of computers. Even if he noticed her eating, Amy had a feeling Mr. Schu wouldn’t be nasty about it. He might tell her it was against the rules, but he wouldn’t make her feel bad.

  So Amy stuffed a soft chunk of the cake into her mouth. It was sweet and melted on her tongue. There was a surprise inside—grape jelly filling.

  “Great. Right?” the blue-haired, penguin-hatted girl asked, plopping down on the chair opposite Amy.

  Amy’s mouth was full. She nodded furiously.

  “Jelly Krimpets from Tastykake.” The girl pushed her hair out of her eyes, but it fell right back again. “Best pseudo-food ever invented. Whatcha reading?”

  Instinctively, Amy covered the book with her arm. She felt her cheeks warm.

  “Don’t worry,” the girl said. “I read comic books and ghost stories and Jelly Krimpet boxes and—”

  Amy laughed and moved her arm away. “I heard those Jelly Krimpet boxes are great reading.”

  “Oh, they are.” The girl leaned forward. “Hmm. Okay. Cinderella’s cool. It’s just that she’s not as kick-butt as she could be, being rescued by that dumb prince and all. And what’s with those glass slippers?”

  Amy subconsciously slid her sneaker with the heel lift behind her other one. Her mouth open, she stared at the girl. She’d never met anyone who shared her opinions about Cinderella before. And certainly no one who had those same opinions and sported blue hair, a knit penguin cap and a really cool combination of clothes. “I like your polish,” Amy said.

  The girl wiggled her fingers. “It’s called Motel Pool Blue.”

  Amy laughed.

  “So,” the girl said. “Back to Cinderella. You know how at midnight everything turns back to what it was before, except for those glass slippers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And who the heck could wear those things? Ouch! Right? I’ve always wondered about that. Why couldn’t she wear sneakers or something?”

  Amy smiled. “I’ve wondered about those glass slippers, too. They seem incredibly uncomfortable.”

  “Finally. Someone who agrees with me. My dad says I’m being ridiculous, but I bet he’s never had to wear high heels.”

  Amy imagined her own dad teetering in a pair of high heels and laughed.

  The girl adjusted her penguin hat. “Oh, I’m Tate.” She held out her hand. “Tate Elizabeth Victoria McAllister.”

  Amy shook Tate’s hand. “Amy,” she said, then winced because Tate had such a strong grip. “Amy Iris Silverman.”

  “Sorry,” Tate said. “Sometimes I forget my own strength. Nice to meet you, Amy Iris Silverman.”

  Then the bell for the end of the period shattered their conversation.

  Amy was disappointed to have to leave Tate and Mr. Schu and the library.

  “Come back tomorrow at this time, Amy, and there might be another Jelly Krimpet in it for you.”

  “I’ll try,” Amy said, but she knew she’d return to the library tomorrow even if she had to plow down the woman who stood guard at the cafeteria exit. “That sounds great.”

  As Amy floated out of the li
brary into the crowded, noisy hall, her taste buds still danced with the sweet flavor from the Jelly Krimpet.

  She felt light and happy through the rest of her classes. Some people even smiled at her first.

  Everything was going perfectly until the final bell rang and Amy headed out into the cold, back to Eternal Peace Funeral Home.

  It was at that moment Amy imagined telling her mom about her day—ached to tell her mom about her day. About meeting Mr. Schu and Tate and trying a Tastykake Jelly Krimpet. But Amy couldn’t tell her mom about her day. Couldn’t go home, kick off her shoes and share stories and hot chocolate with her mom. Couldn’t smell the lavender lotion her mom rubbed on her feet. Couldn’t dance with her mom in their little kitchen at their apartment in Chicago.

  Couldn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  Amy’s life was filled with eternal couldn’ts.

  Instead of going home to her previous perfect life, Amy had to return to a funeral home. A funeral home! Without her mom. Without her dad. Everything she loved was gone!

  Every time Amy remembered what was missing, it felt new and horrible, like a part of her was rediscovering the pain all over again—fresh and raw. Like she had to keep remembering that her mom was gone, and along with her, every good thing in Amy’s life.

  When Amy arrived at Eternal Peace Funeral Home, the parking lot was filled to overflowing. People were dressed in fancy dark-colored clothes. Her uncle, in a suit, was helping some woman inside.

  Amy’s heart galloped.

  She couldn’t go inside.

  The thing that Amy had dreaded most since arriving in Buckington was happening inside Eternal Peace right now. This would be the first funeral at the home since Amy arrived.