Read Online Skylark by Sara Cassidy - Free Book Online

think of Angie’s piece?” Mercy Girl asks Surfer.
    â€œInteresting,” he answers. “Another poem about a car. That’s three now.”
    â€œSo?” Mercy Girl asks.
    â€œSo I know something about Angie that she probably wouldn’t like people to know.”
    My body stiffens. I try to smile. “Oh, yeah?” I say, trying to sound light and breezy.
    â€œI saw you last night, Angie. On Marifield Avenue. I saw your—your house.”
    â€œYou did?” I can hardly talk.
    Surfer’s voice turns bitter. “Your house is close to the road, isn’t it? Like, super close, squished right up to the curb?”
    If Clem was here, he would rescue me. He’d get Surfer talking about something else, like surfing at Jordan River. Luckily, Twig is at the mic to announce tonight’s winners. Even though I froze onstage, I come in third. Aaron comes in second—it’s the first time he’s ever competed and not won first place. Mercy Girl wins. Her prize is a fondue set. Aaron wins a pair of fuzzy dice—lucky him—and I win a deck of cards and a cribbage board, which are actually things we could use. Our deck is missing two cards, and we keep score with paper and pen.
    Twig reminds us that summer is around the corner and Slam Night will soon be winding down for the year. She’s tallied our standings for the season. Aaron, Mercy Girl, Surfer and I and three others are to compete next week in the year’s finals.
    I’ll have to work hard, but Clem needs help with a time-trials event on the weekend. He has borrowed a camera from the school’s camera club and wants me to shoot him and also be a one-person pit crew, ready to change a tire if needed. And he wants me to bike the course and give him my take—where to take things easy, where to go for broke.
    â€œEveryone’s asking for you at the bike park,” he told me. “They’re calling me The Kid now. There’s no more The Kids. When was the last time you got on your bike?”
    I can’t remember.
    It’s a warm spring evening, still light. I don’t need my flashlight to reach the car, which is parked in our new favorite place, a quiet road close to a bicycle trail. Mom is in the front seat, knitting, and Clem’s in the back, bent over a textbook. I whistle as I approach the car to warn them.
    Mom and Clem look up, smiling. Smiling big. They’ve been waiting for me. They have news.
    â€œOur name reached the top of the list,” Mom says.
    I’m still holding the car door wide open.
    â€œHit the top and rang the big fat bell, Angie,” Clem says.
    I give him a look.
    â€œIt’s true, Angie. I swear.”
    â€œYes, sweetheart,” Mom says. “It’s true.”
    I’ve imagined this moment so many times. I’ve pictured myself whooping and laughing when I hear the news. But now that it’s really happening, I burst into tears.

Composing on the Fly
    I compose my performance piece for the finals all week. A few times, Clem waves his hand in my face to get my attention.
    â€œYou’re helping me at the time trials, right?” he asks.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say.
    â€œAngie, I need you.”
    â€œI’ve got to write this poem.”
    â€œDo it while you’re at the park.”
    I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
    Clem smiles. His teeth are the wildest teeth you’ve ever seen. They poke and dart. Some are thin, some wide, some low, some high. They’re like words, each one of them different. I think of Surfer, arrogant and threatening. How different Clem is from him.
    â€œYou’re awesome,” I blurt.
    â€œThanks,” Clem says. He looks at me for a moment, then nods and says, “You too.”
    It’s nice to be on the track again. It feels great to push down with my legs and pedal hard and to feel my stomach lift when I catch air. I offer Clem tips about the track, but