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Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Russell, Anna.
Title: What if / Anna Russell.
Description: New York : West 44, 2019. | Series: West 44 YA verse Identifiers: ISBN 9781538382578 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781538382585 (library bound) | ISBN 9781538383292 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Childrens poetry, American. | Childrens poetry, English.
| English poetry.
Classification: LCC PS586.3 W446 2019 | DDC 811.60809282--dc23
First Edition Published in 2019 by Enslow Publishing LLC 101 West 23rd Street, Suite #240 New York, NY 10011
Copyright 2019 Enslow Publishing LLC
Editor: Caitie McAneney Designer: Sam DeMartin
Photo Credits: cover Michael Hall/Taxi/Getty Images; back cover (drumset) Ksanawo/Shutterstock.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.
Printed in the United States of America
CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CS18W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC, New York, New York at 1-800-542-2595. For Ayden
OFFBEAT: PART ONE
My thoughts dont bother me here. Drumsticks resting between middle-finger knuckle and my thumb. Pointer finger r e l a x e d against the wood. I hit the snare.
taptap tap tap taptap tap Marching band beats. When Im drumming, things feel
right. Like finally fitting a puzzle piece into its spot.
I AM
Joshua Baker.Sixteen years old.Future rock star.The biggestrock and roll fanever to live.Training for perfection.
OFFBEAT: PART TWO
I feel the rhythm in my palm. I close my eyes, the song building to the best part: the solo but I hear a knock at my bedroom door. I feel sweat between my eyebrows. I cant: speak, lift my hands, press pause. If I dont finish, The perfect puzzle will fall apart.
THE MANAGER
Dad walks in,waving his hands at me.Hes like a manager.Tells me which showsIm allowed to play.Im only the star.Doesnt he get it? I have to finish this song.Joshua! he screams.I shake my head. My body m o v e seven though I dont tell it to.
Almost done, I try to say.
It has to be perfect, I think. But Dad snatches a stick. The music stops. (My thoughts spiral.
Have to finish or Dad will hate me forever.Must be perfect or Dad will make us move again.) Youre gonna be late for school, Dad says. Tucks the drumstick into his back pocket. My lips when he leaves: closed. My mind:
You have to finish the songor else. Something bad, bad, badis going to happen. I guess sometimes my thoughts bother me here.
my first memory
Im three. Moms cleaning, as always. Dad plays a Beatles album, which means its Sunday. The song is Blackbird. I count to 10, over and over. Cant stop until the song ends. I dont know why. My sister, Julia, scoops me in her arms. Same blond hair as mine, clear brown eyes like marbles. She makes it better. Now, Im much taller and we dont really hug. But Julia might understand the bad thoughts. Maybe Julia will help. (I need to talk to Julia.)
can you hear me?
Julia sits at the kitchen table.I can see her from the stairs.Her headphones poof her hairinto a crown of pink curls.Her piano fingersmirror whatever she listens to.I watch her pretend-play piano,and imaginewhat it would be liketo form a band. No sound from her fingers. My song, unfinished.From up high,I whisper, Julia, as quiet as the music she sends into the air. But somehow, she turns around, smiles.And for a second, I forget Im 16, that its not,you know,cool to be friends with your older sister.But in this second, I want to be.
a list of new/old things
New: School. House. Drumsticks. (My lucky ones were lost in the move.) Julias pink hair. (Mom promised she could a reward for moving.) Dads new advertising job. (The way hes stopped talking to me like were buds.) We moved closer to the city, and it feels like everything has changed. Except: Moms dishrags. Her triple chocolate cake. Daily drum practice. Two hours of lessons. One hour for fun. And the tugging inside my stomach, like being stuck in the heavy mud of a swamp when I cant control (understand) my thoughts (my worries).
worry warts
At night, Mom used to say, If you worry so much, youll get worry warts. But I couldnt stop thinking. Until: 1. I knew how many cracks were in the ceiling, counted them five times. 2. I checked my bedroom window. Unlock, open, close, lock. Check. Unlock, open, close, lock. Check. Repeat. 3. I mumbled all the words to
Abbey Road without messing up. After my shower each morning, I check everywhere for warts.
my mom
can dance tip-toed,scrubbing away invisible dust, dirt, and mold.Spinning on knees,or pushing the vacuumover rugs.As kids, when Julia and I couldntfind her, we looked in the basement.Saw her thumbingthrough pages of pastbirthday cardsandartwork fromkindergarten.Why do you think she saves it? I asked Julia, during our move. Boxes of our old papers stuffed in the trunk. The two of us waiting in the car for Dad to fill the gas tank and Mom to buy us burgers.Julia thought for a moment. Then said, softly, I think she wants all the pieces of us who we used to be.I looked out the car window,saw Mom walking toward us,sunshine-grinlighting up her face.Julia? I asked.Do you think that means shes afraidof who were going tob e c o m e?Then, our parents came back in the car and drove us toward change.
I'm too old
to wave goodbye to Mom,even though its thefirst dayat the new schooland I am scared.I get on the bus. And quickly,so none of the other kidscan see,I lift my hand,give an awkward twitch. Bye.I can (maybe) stand it if Daddoesnt like me. (Your fault, your fault, my brain says.)But with Mom, it would be much worse.I look away like the cool, new kid Im trying to be,but I hope she understands.
before we start
Whyd Dad have your drumstickthis morning?Julia asks,her voice bouncingas the bus hitsa pothole.Before I can answer, she says,You know he just wants youto focus on otherthings.But what else matters morethan the beat I create?Her question makes my swamp-stomach come back.I swallow a lumpdown into my coreas my brain starts to say,
What if something happens? It doesnt make sense,but my thoughts say,
What if Dad gets hurt because he has my drumstick? Like some bad luck charm? What if Julia starts to hate me because I wontI cant stop playing?I breathe past the nausea and start to hum the end of Hey Jude (na, na, na, nananana)under my breathmaking almost no noise,until the bus pullsinto the loop. Then, I fix my hair. Smooth my clothes.Maryville High School.A new start.
head down
Its not the first dayfor the other kids. They know where to go, whos who.Julia shrugs, says, Whats the worst that can happen?She skips to the 11th grade hall.Gone.And here I am: head down, trying my lockerover and over and over again.Three to the left,eleven to the right,all the way around again.I cant stop.Even when the bell rings.Even when I hear, Thats the new kid, right? somewhere behind me.Even when the English teacher calls my name.I run to the bathroom, count to 20, 100 times, and then 300 times.When the door opens, I panic.But a man spots me, says, Are you Joshua?I nod, Yes, eyes down, cant remember how to speak.Do you like math? the man asks.And I look up.
