Cristy Watson - On Cue

Cover shows two masquerade masks with loose strings.

CRISTY WATSON

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Copyright Cristy Watson 2016, 2022

Published in Canada and the United States in 2022 by Orca Book Publishers.

Previously published in 2016 by Orca Book Publishers as

a softcover ( ISBN 9781459811058) and as an ebook

( ISBN 9781459811065, PDF ; ISBN 9781459811072, EPUB ).

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: On cue / Cristy Watson.

Names: Watson, Cristy, 1964- author.

Series: Orca currents.

Description: Second edition. | Series statement: Orca currents | Previously published: 2016

Identifiers: Canadiana 20210346531 | ISBN 9781459834590 (softcover)

Classification: LCC PS 8645. A 8625 O 62 2022 | DDC j C 813/.6dc23

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021948641

Summary: In this high-interest accessible novel for middle-grade readers, fourteen-year-old Randi has to balance theater studies with caring for her brother, who is autistic.

Orca Book Publishers is committed to reducing the consumption of nonrenewable resources in the production of our books. We make every effort to use materials that support a sustainable future.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover photography by Dreamstime.com

Author photo by Lynne Woodley

Printed and bound in Canada.

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This book is dedicated to my mom and dad. Thanks for your help in making this a better story and for your encouragement along the way. Youve helped nurture me as a writer.

In memory of Uncle Bob, 19322015

I undo the braid in my hair and work my fingers through the auburn waves. As loose hairs fall to the floor, Mom gives me a look that says, Not at the breakfast table. My shoulders slump as she lays a bowl of soupy oatmeal in front of me. My younger brother, Toby, is loading his spoon with only the pink Froot Loops. He has the morning paper in front of him.

Matthews, Karen. Died August 22. She is survived by her brother he reads.

Does he have to do this every morning? I ask.

He has a name. Mom dips a piece of toast in her oatmeal. Some spills onto her skirt. Damn, I dont have time for this.

Damn, repeats Toby. Peters, Shirley. Died

Quit it, Toby.

Tobias, he says and jams another spoonful of the pink cereal into his mouth.

My sigh goes unnoticed. After one reading, Toby will have the obituaries memorized. Then hell repeat them all day long.

Randi, Im going to be late. If you and Toby dont hurry, youll be late too. Is that how you want to begin the school year?

The last thing I want is to be late for my first day of high school. As I swallow the gray goop, Mom finishes her toast. Before she heads out of the kitchen, she gives Toby a slurpy kiss on the top of his head. He smooths his oily black hair back into place.

I was looking forward to eighth grade. I would finally have freedom. Finally get away from the responsibility of looking after my brother all day long. I hear what the other kids say when we pass by. There goes that girl and her brother. Did you hear him wailing in the assembly last year? Do you know hell repeat swear words if you say them? Then they spew a bunch of bad words and wait for Toby to repeat them. Laughter usually follows.

They judge me by my brother. High school was going to be my chance to stand on my own.

Then Mom crashed my party. I have to walk Toby to and from his school. Every day. That means five blocks out of the way. That means the end of my social life.

No chance to be normal.

I hear the door slam as Mom leaves for work. Come on, Toby, I say. Finish your breakfast so we arent late. I still have to fiddle with my new contact lenses.

Tobias, he replies, then gets up and puts his bowl on the counter instead of in the dishwasher. Im about to reprimand him when I notice his hands flap. He begins to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. Giving him heck when hes in this state might put him over the edge. And then Ill definitely be late.

I take a deep breath so I dont sound mad. Remember, Ms. Banyan is your teacher again this year. And your favorite staff, Miss Maureen, will be waiting for you. Just like always.

Maureen loves turtles, he says. I help him tie his shoes. He stops rocking but still flaps his hands. He pats me on the head as I finish. You will be in eighth grade.

Thats right, I answer. Remember, you have to wait for me after school. I doubt he will forget. Toby has waited for me every day for three years. This year I have to leave early from my last class to get to Tobys school for the bell. He works best with solid routines.

I brush my teeth but dont stress about getting Toby to do his. I dont need the hassle.

Putting my contacts in is tricky. Not only is this the third time I have ever put them in, but my hands are sweating as I think about school. I dont want to lose a lens down the drain. I asked the doctor a million times if the contacts can slip behind my eyes. He said no, but I place them on each of my green eyes slowly, just to be sure.

The first day of high school would be easier if I still had my best friend. But Laurel moved to Calgary over the summer. As I put my dangly earrings in, I focus on the one good thing about being in high schoolwe have an elective. I chose drama. I finally get to pursue my dream of being an actress.

Mr. Dean will be our drama teacher. I met him at orientation, and he is super cute.

By the time I return to the kitchen with my knapsack, Toby has untied one shoe.

We dont have time for this crap, I say.

Crap. We dont have time.

Come on, Toby. Dont do this. I hear my mothers voice reminding me to be patient with him. We went to school every day last year. I drop you at your class. Then I pick you up at the end of the day. I slide my feet into my new flats and tie his shoe again.

The sun hits us as we head out the door. September is usually a hot month in Vancouver. Now I wish we had three months for summer vacation.

Toby has pulled his knapsack off by the time we reach his school. He claims its too itchy. Before we enter his class, he tugs on my shirt. Miss Maureen comes to the door and greets us.