1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Thornton

Name: Patrick Thornton

Genre: Middle Grade, contemporary
Title: I’m Counting On You

CHAPTER ONE – AN EMPTY SPACE

I’m sitting on my front porch watching Stan, my best friend since kindergarten, toss a baseball in the air and snag it with his glove. School is out and I should be looking forward to goofing off in the warm Virginia summer and being at the top of the middle school food chain next year but . . .

This time Stan keeps the ball in his glove and comes over and sits next to me. He falls against me, shoulder to shoulder and says, “So you’ll be man of the house again.” 

“Very funny.” Kind of funny, since I’m a girl. Maybe not funny because I get teased for being a tomboy when most of the girls in school are into makeup and boys. I know Stan is only trying to cheer me up but that’s not happening; Dad leaves today.

I get to my feet. “I gotta go. Thanks for hanging.”

Stan tilts his head sideways and jerks on an imaginary noose. I don’t laugh and his face goes serious. “Your dad’s going to be okay.” Then adds, “Your mom too.”

“Yeah.” I wish knew that to be true. 

“See ya tomorrow,” he says as I go inside.

Tomorrow. Upstairs I sit on the edge of my bed and try not to think about what life will be like tomorrow.  

The chart I made matching up the two time zones—here at home and in Afghanistan where Dad will be—is on the wall. I’ll use it to know what time it is for Dad when I’m getting up in the morning or having dinner or whatever.

           

For now, I just want to turn my brain off. I want to put the war—what could happen to Dad, what could happen to all of us—out of my head. 

“Think fast!” 

I jump and look up just in time to grab the video game case flying at me before it hits me in the chest.  

“Nice catch.” Dad stands in my bedroom doorway wearing his National Guard uniform, all brown and green camouflage. There’s an American flag on one shoulder and his MP patch on the other.  People say I’m a girl version of my dad, probably because of our dark eyes and curly hair. And I’m in pretty good shape from lots of sports. I’m hardly any version of my mom. 

My bed creaks when Dad sits down next to me. In my hands is the new Xbox game we’ve been waiting for. He points at the game. “Practice up so I don’t embarrass you when I get back.”

It takes some effort but I twist my mouth into a fierce grin and look up at him. “Fat chance.” 

Dad responds with a chuckle. “Dill,” he says. 

My name is Dilla, after a great aunt I never met but everybody calls me Dill. Stan sometimes calls me Pickle. You know, because of dill pickle. 

“Uh huh.” I look into Dad’s eyes.

“I know it’s hard when I’m gone but you’ve always stepped up and done a great job with your mom and everything.”

No, actually, I haven’t.

“Your mom is getting better but this time will be harder on her since I won’t be able to call her every day. Phone service might not be so good from Afghanistan. And there’s the time difference.” 

And the war.

I shouldn’t bring this up again, but I do. “If I had a cell phone we could text. I could keep it secret from Mom.”

Dad shakes his head. “No secrets from your mom.” 

Mom has anxiety issues and what her therapist calls cyberphobia. Tech things, almost anything to do with computers, can trigger a panic attack. She’s kind of okay with cell phones but will not have one. She won’t let me have one either because she’s heard about kids getting cyber bullied. So, no cell phone for me or Mom. Dad has a cell phone for work but he keeps it out of sight. 

“You can email me anytime and we’ll work around the time difference to set up Skype calls once I get settled.”  He’s quiet for a second then says, “Remind your mom that letters are on the way. That should help her feel better while I’m gone.”

Gone.

Gone can mean never coming back. I want to tell him how afraid I am about that. But I don’t. “I’ll take care of everything here, Dad. You can count on me.”

“I know you will.” He nods toward the game in my hands “Don’t let anything happen to that and be ready for a serious beat down.”  He gives me a pat on the back and stands up. “Time to go.” 

“Already?” 

“I don’t want to have to arrest myself for being AWOL,” he says as we head downstairs.

AWOL. As if.

Dad’s a good soldier just like he’s a good policeman here in town when he’s not on duty with the Guard. He’s got the medals and citations to prove it. 

As we pass the family game room, I duck in to put the new game Dad gave me on top of the Xbox console. I know it’s stupid but I give the game a kiss for luck like people do with a lucky penny or a rabbit’s foot. That actually makes me feel better, like it has a little magic that will make sure Dad comes home safe.

In the living room he puts his hands on my shoulders and bends down just enough so we are eye to eye. “I’m counting on you.” He looks past me into the kitchen. I turn and see Emily hanging on Mom begging for something and, as usual, not taking no for an answer. Emily is wearing a little pink dress that used to be mine about a hundred years ago, before Mom had her first panic attack. Probably the last dress I ever wore. Mom is smiling down at Emily’s pudgy four-year-old face. But it’s a smile that looks like it wants to be something else. Mom is wearing what she calls a sun dress with bright yellow flowers on it and no sleeves. It seems to hang on her like she lost weight overnight.

“Jennifer, you and Em about ready?” Dad calls to Mom.

Nobody’s ready, Dad.

“Let’s go.” 

He puts an arm around my back and Mom slips under his other arm. As we walk out of the house Emily runs past us to the car. 

The ride to the airport is a depressing. Next to me in the back seat, Emily’s talking to a new doll, sometimes wagging a finger at the thing. Dad is talking quietly to Mom in the front seat. I feel like I’m in a weird, bad dream. Kind of floating but not in a good way. Next thing I know we’re pulling into the airport parking lot.

“Dill, come on. You need to keep an eye on Emily,” Mom tells me. 

Right. While Dad gathers his gear it’s my job to make sure Emily doesn’t run out in front of a taxi or a bus or something.

Inside the terminal, lots of men and women are hugging people they’re leaving behind. I want it all to stop. I wish there was a pause button like the one on the TV remote. 

Dad kisses Mom and Emily then turns to me.  He kisses me on the cheek then hugs me. I want to