Pat Zietlow Miller - The Quickest Kid in Clarksville

To Mark: Who believed it was possible from the very start.

P.Z.M.

To my daughter Tiffany, the fastest 4-year-old that I know. Run after your dreams. They are worth the race.

F.M.

Text copyright 2016 by Pat Zietlow Miller.
Illustrations copyright 2016 by Frank Morrison.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Miller, Pat Zietlow, author.
The quickest kid in Clarksville / by Pat Zietlow Miller ; illustrations by Frank Morrison.
pages cm
Summary: Growing up in the segregated town of Clarksville, Tennessee, in the 1960s, Altas family cannot afford to buy her new sneakersbut she still plans to attend the parade celebrating her hero Wilma Rudolphs three Olympic gold medals.
ISBN 978-1-4521-2936-5 (Hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4521-4649-2 (epub 2)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5561-6 (mobi)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5562-3 (epub 3)
ISBN 978-1-4521-5563-0 (epib)
1. Rudolph, WilmaJuvenile fiction. 2. African American girlsTennesseeClarksvilleJuvenile fiction. 3. Role modelsJuvenile fiction. 4. ParadesTennesseeClarksvilleJuvenile fiction. 5. SegregationTennesseeClarksvilleJuvenile fiction. 6. Clarksville (Tenn.)History20th centuryJuvenile fiction. [1. Rudolph, WilmaFiction. 2. African AmericansFiction. 3. Role modelsFiction. 4. ParadesFiction. 5. SegregationFiction. 6. Running Fiction. 7. Clarksville (Tenn.)History20th century Fiction.] I. Morrison, Frank, 1971- illustrator. II. Title.
PZ7.M63224Qu 2016
813.6dc23
2014018358

Design by Ryan Hayes.
Typeset in Aged and Harman.
The illustrations in this book were rendered in watercolor.

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Im running in place,

listening to my feet pound the pavement.

Pretending Im the fastest woman in the world.

Of course, Wilma Rudolphwho grew up right in this townis faster than anyone. But Im the quickest kid in Clarksville, Tennessee.

And everyone around here knows it.

Im thinking about tomorrows parade and wondering what Wilmas three Olympic gold medals would feel like hanging round my neck, when a girl Ive never seen before comes sashaying my way like she owns the sidewalk and everything on it.

She sticks a hand on her hip. Im Charmaine.
I look her up and down. Im Alta. Thats Dee-Dee and Little Mo.
Got me some new shoes, Charmaine says.

Boy-howdy, does she ever.
Brand-new, only-been-worn-by-her
shoes with stripes down the sides
and laces so white they glow.

Shoes to strut in. Shoes to run in.

Because Charmaines strutting hard enough to shame a rooster.

And her legs are just raring to run.

These shoes are like Wilmas, she says. My daddy went uptown to get em.

I stare at the concrete. I dont have a shoe-buying daddy. My sneakers have holes in the soles and laces that never thought to glimmer.

I bite my lip. Its OK.
Wilma wore a leg brace and flour-sack
dresses before she got big.

Shoes dont make you fast, I say.
Charmaines face tightens.

Reckon Im faster than anyone.
I puff up like a spitting cat. She wishes she were Wilma.
But Im the real deal.
I point to the mailbox. There and back.

We crouch low. Dee-Dee and Little Mo
count down, and were off.
My sneakers slap a sidewalk beat.
Wil-ma Ru-dolph. Wil-ma Ru-dolph.

I reach the box first, turn and sprint back.
Arms moving. Legs grooving.
I hear Charmaine huffing and puffing.

Behind me.

I do a victory dance while Charmaine glares.
Im still be-bopping when she takes off again.
To the corner, Charmaine calls over her shoulder.
Starting now.

I leap after her like a scalded frog. Wilmas come
from behind to win some of her races.
And so will I.
Wil-ma Ru-dolph. Wil-ma Ru-dolph.

When Charmaine reaches the corner, Im nipping her ankles.
Bodies lunge. Feet tangle.

I fall. Charmaine stays up. And wins.
OUCH! My toe hurts. Probably cause its poking out a brand-new hole.

Just like that, I puff up again.
You tripped me! I wouldve won if you didnt.
You were in my lane. I won fair and square.

Charmaine walks away, shaking her braids and swinging her bottom. I follow, mad as any cat. Thats when it happens. My toe hits a rock. That rock hits Charmaine.

For a minute, Charmaine looks like she might fight. But she leaves without a word.

I limp home. Feet dragging. Head hanging.

I show Mama the hole. She sighs.
Oh, baby girl. Those shoes have to last.

When parade day dawns,

Im making a banner with Dee-Dee and
Little Mo. Then, Charmaine struts by
like shes queen of the block.

I scowl at her. Then I pick up the banner and nod to Dee-Dee and Little Mo.

Lets go.

Thing is, that banner is bulky. No way Ill make it all the way to the parade.

It might be easier if I run. I force my feet to move.
But one block in, I cant go on.
I hear the beat of feet.

Wil-ma Ru-dolph.
Wil-ma Ru-dolph.

Charmaine is running by me. Pass that here, she says.