Kathryn Erskine - Lilys Promise

To you, smart reader,

with respect and best wishes

as you create your own life story

L ily stands, facing the crowd of kids. She wants nothing more than to turn and run. The dress she chose so carefully now makes her feel conspicuous, as if she stepped into J. H. Banning Upper Elementary from a different century. She picks at the charm bracelet on her left wrist. Dad said it would bring her good luck, but it feels like a heavy chain. Even pressing the Labradoodle charm between her thumb and forefinger, hard enough to leave an imprint, isnt helping.

She hears her own breathing, louder than the buzz in the cafeteria. And she smells the mixture of gravy and spray cleaner and wet that permeates the place. She thinks she might throw up.

Hobart stands behind her. He chews his lip, moving his mouth enough to wiggle his tartan bow tie. His skinny arms that dangle from a short-sleeved shirt are stuck stiffly by his sides, then folded tightly against his chest, repeatedly. Hes alternately hot and cold and wishes his body would make up its mind. And he wants to jump and yell, In the house! but knows this isnt the time.

He looks out at the crowd, willing them to be kind.

I suspect you think that Day One is the beginning of the story. Understandable error. Let me point out that just because its the first page does not mean its the beginning.

Every book has a backstory. You will never see it because it started even before the first page, but if the Imaginer does a good job, the characters will feel like real people... because they are. Theyre out there somewhere. Maybe one of them is you. Or theyre imagined. But imagination is real. Without it, we wouldnt have any of the great inventions. You wouldnt be holding this story in any formatpaper or electronic or audio. Where would we be without imagination? Without wonder?

Maybe youre wondering who I am, what character I am in this book. And why I have all the answers. I dont. Im limited by bookends. Literally. I am the book. Thats right. The book. The vessel. The holder, carrier of the story. I know some things you dont because I know the Imaginer who is writing thisfairly well but not everything that goes on in that dense, twisted mind.

I know more than you because of what the Imaginer spilled onto my pages and then rephrased or trimmed or cut altogether. Sometimes those are the most interesting bits. Or funny, or frightening, or thought-provoking. But theyre gone without any approval from me. I have no voice.

Thats why Im jealous of you. Yes, jealous. I may know more than you, what has come and gone, and when, and even why, but I am only a static vessel. A receiver. I make none of the choices.

But you? You make choices every day. And every choice has a consequencein real life, and in a story. You have complete control over your thoughts and actions. As you get older, youll have even more. Me, I will still be stuck between the covers.

Sigh.

Do books sigh?

I just did.

So yes, obviously.

As I was saying, my thoughts, my feelings, my ideas, are all given to me. Or are they? Sometimes I do run away with the story. Usually Im caught. But not always.

I invite you to accompany me on this journey. Let us bear witness together, smart reader. Why do I call you smart reader? I know, it is redundant. Obviously, if youre reading, youre smart already. Think of it as a reminder.

Ah, I hear the Imaginers footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, so we must return to Lily and Hobart.

Incidentally, Hobart? Really? With a tartan bow tie. Who does that? I do wonder about the Imaginer sometimes... no, often.

H i! Im Hobart! The boy spoke loudly enough that Lily startled and took a step back. It was noisy in the cafeteria, but did he really have to shout?

Sorry! Hobart said.

Lily wondered if he always spoke in shouts. It made her whisper, to even things out. Im Lily.

I know!

Lily tried not to shudder at the shouting that felt like a shove.

Im supposed to show you around because youre new!

Oh. Lily hadnt thought of that possibility. As a homeschooler, there was never a need for that. She looked around the mass of students. I didnt know they did that in schools.

Oh, its not a school thing. My mom told me to. Youre the new kid in my homeroom, and your mom is a professor, so she says that means youre probably really smart. Are you?

Um... II guess so.

Hobart frowned. That doesnt sound very smart.

Well, its awkward to be asked if youre really smart because if you say yes then you sound conceited, Lily found herself explaining, which surprised her because normally shed only think a response in her head.

Oh, I get it! Awkward is my middle name. Hobart smiled. Not really, thats just what my dad says.

A three-tone chime sounded, followed by an amplified voice saying, You may now proceed to your homeroom classes. Welcome to the first day of school!

Cool! Ill show you where Hobart started, but a tall sandy-haired boy in a hockey jersey walked into him, knocking him hard against a cafeteria table.

Hi, Ho-fart! The boy put his forearm to his mouth and made a farting sound before announcing, loudly, I heard Ho-fart has a medical condition that makes him fart all the time! I feel sorry for him. He pushed into the crowd of kids leaving the cafeteria, followed by a group of guffawing boys.

Hobart laughed it off with a shrug.

That was mean, Lily whispered.

Its okay. I figure if he has me to pick on then hell leave other kids alone. Hobarts face brightened into a grin. Come on! Ill take you to homeroom!

Lily couldnt help but smile, not about the bullying. That bothered her. A lot. What made her smile was that Hobart was so kind and maybe, just maybe, shed found a friend. She didnt really know how to make a friend on her ownshed been thrown in with other kids for homeschooling events, and sometimes shed played with a group of kids in her old neighborhood, but actually finding and making a friend herself? She wasnt sure she could. And almost worse than that, she wasnt sure she knew how to be a good friend... other than to Skippy.

As she followed Hobart down the scarily noisy, crowded corridor, she thought about how Dad had always encouraged her to talk with other kids. Girls make excellent friends, hed said. She wondered if Dad wouldve said boys make excellent friends, too.

S ee? I bet you were wondering about that Hobart, just like I was, initially. But names, and looks, can be deceiving. Ive grown to like Hobart a lot. Even if his father says Awkward is his middle name. That is not a fair identifier. The Imaginer says my middle name is Snarky. How she glommed on to such a ludicrous notion, I have no idea.

I am not fond of that boy who shoved Hobart. And making flatulent sounds? What is this, elementary school? Oh. Yes, I suppose it is, but the Imaginer did say J. H. Banning Upper Elementary, and I happen to know that these particular children are sixth graders. I find that boys behavior rather immature for sixth grade... although I know some of you are thinking of making, and perhaps actually making, some of those noises right now.