Katie Van Heidrich - The In-Between

by Katie Van Heidrich The In-Between A Memoir in Verse The In-Between is a tribute to resilience in the face of adversity. Filled with compassion and tenderness, this memoir in verse will resonate with anyone who has ever felt stuck in between parents, in between homes, or in between childhood and adulthood. MEGAN E. FREEMAN, award-winning poet and author of Alone Certain names and other characteristics have been changed. ALADDIN An imprint of Simon & Schuster Childrens Publishing Division 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com First Aladdin hardcover edition January 2023 Text copyright 2023 by Katie E. Wingate Jacket illustration copyright 2023 by Michael Machira Mwangi Jackets denim texture by ivo_13/iStock All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

ALADDIN and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc. For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or . The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com. Jacket designed by Karin Paprocki Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia Library of Congress Control Number 2022946897 ISBN 9781665920124 (hc) ISBN 9781665920148 (ebook) To my sonshines, Brandon and Nasir, and my brilliant niece, Taylor. And to all the young people currently in between where they want to be and where they arekeep going.

It gets better.

With each move, I sort and pack, pack and sort. Everything has its place, its compartment, books and pictures and feelings, too and with each move, there are fewer boxes to carry. Im only thirteen but Ive done a lot of living and moving, finding that all things eventually fall apart, in time, no matter how well packed. A moment ago, wed just gotten in from the eight-and-a-half-hour drive back home to Atlanta from East St. Louis.

Wed only been gone for a few days, to attend Grandpa Pucketts funeral, who wasnt really blood but who stepped up anyway, who watched over and cared for our family anyway, when there wasnt really anyone else to be Grandpa. And as if visiting Moms hometown wasnt disaster enough, as if visiting a city we only seem to visit when theres mourning to be done wasnt tragedy enough, the ride back was grueling thick, stifling air growing more stale by the hour as we bickered over the radio, over where wed stop for food, over whose turn it was to sit in the front seat. Eight and a half hours of Youve got one more time, Haley and Watch your mouth, Josh and I dont need a cosigner, Katie (to me) and I will pull this car over right here, right NOW to all three of us until finally, by the grace of God Almighty, we turned off Roswell Road and into the parking lot of our apartment complex, tires crunching gravel, coming to a full stop in front of our building, our apartment windows eerily dark. As we tumbled out of the Mountaineer, which seems to be on its last leg, to stretch our arms and legs, to gather fast-food wrappers and empty soda cups in gas station plastic bags, to grab our bags from the trunk and make our way upstairs and to our door, an unexplainable pit appeared in my stomach and continued to grow as we climbed the stairs. And though I couldnt have possibly known it then, I somehow felt that we were walking into a much bigger disaster than anything wed already managed to survive.

Whats that smell?Mom, why wont the lights turn on?Why is it so cold? Our ping-pong questions go unanswered as Mom runs to open Claires crate, as Mom runs to comfort the pleading whimpers and cries that fill the air, air that is also thick with the uncompromising smell of waste.

We look closer and see that the landlord did not in fact let her out or feed her as promised, work something out to keep the lights or heat on, as promised, which means we also can probably kiss his promise to give Mom more time with the rent goodbye. Mom! Theyre all DEAD! Josh scream-cries from his room. Four days into 2003 and everything is already a disaster.

My siblings and I are three volcanoes, though we are not the same in how we erupt, let alone how often. Josh is mostly dormant, quiet and reserved, until hes not, quiet and to himself, until hes not. He can be an enigma, a total and complete mystery, off and away in the corners of his mind, off and away in the corners of the universe hes built for himself and himself alone, complete with Pokmon cards we cant touch and episodes of Dragon Ball Z we are warned not to change and round after round after round after round of Grand Theft Auto.

He has a certain nonchalance about homework that contrasts with my need to be most pleasing and bring home all As, but a penchant for building things out of everyday household items and creating culinary masterpieces out of everyday pantry items, what little remains in between paydays, like ramen, which, to me, shows how resourceful and practical he is. Haley, on the other hand, is an active volcano, prone to spewing hot lava and burning everything in her path because she can. She holds back nothing, freely speaking her mind without fear or consequence, despite frequent consequences for her jokes and commentary, which often go unappreciated. And though I dont always agree with her, there are times she says what I cant and does what I wont, out of fear of making Mom mad, or worse, sad. Her words are highly respected daggers, so long as theyre not aiming at you. Shes quick to say I need to grow thicker skin and Im quick to ask why she insists on making already-tense situations tenser but the comedian in her is more likely to laugh and spin on her heels, leaving you feeling mindless and spineless, too.

As for me, Ive been dormant so long I might as well be an extinct volcano. Im known for going along to get along, capable of making sense of whatever Mom decides she needs to do, no matter how suddenly or sharply her decisions might change from what was previously decided and promised, which irritates my siblings but gains me favor with Mom, which I prefer.

In my brothers room, his prized fish float upside down more evidence of the landlords broken promises their bloated bellies one pins prick away from popping and exploding. Josh, who is also always one pins prick away from popping and exploding, storms out of the room. Haley and I stare in disbelief until we rejoin him in the front, finding him sitting on the living room floor, hands cupping his shaking forehead, single tears dotting the hardwood. Mom is here too, now, crossing the room back and forth, s l o w l y at first, but soon quickening her pace, silent but furious, silent but fuming, silent but clearly plotting.

Suddenly, and without warning, she bounds two steps at a time back to Joshs room and moments later, darts back across the living room with Wonder Woman speed, hauling the fish tank with both hands with Wonder Woman strength, somehow managing not to spill a drop. Get the door!