1st 5 Pages July Workshop - Thornton Rev 2

Name: Patrick Thornton
Genre: Middle Grade, contemporary
Title: I’m Counting On You (1246 words)

PITCH: 

Twelve-year-old Dilla Gilbert loves baseball and video games. She idolizes her father and struggles to keep her anxiety-ridden mother’s spirits up. The day Dad deploys to war with the National Guard, he gives Dilla the video game they’ve been waiting for with a promise of a heated competition when he returns. That game is Dilla’s good luck charm, promising Dad comes home safely. 

The house is burglarized when Dilla forgets to lock a door and her Xbox and the precious game are stolen. With her cyberphobic mom in meltdown and little sis making big trouble, Dilla is desperate to catch the thief and get the game back. She recruits her best pal, a bright, trash-talking goofball, as Watson to her Holmes. Smoke bombs, a homeless camp, a teenage runaway who awakens Dilla’s sexual ambivalence, a boy whose father has abandoned him and a gang of toughs who threaten to kill them are all part of their hunt for the thief.

While the bulk of the story is Dilla’s first person account, Dad’s war experience is woven into the story’s narrative with intimate third-person chapters. Emails between father and daughter tie them together while they are half a world apart.

PAGES

Stan, my best friend since kindergarten, sits next to me on our front porch. The smell of freshly mowed grass is everywhere. Seventh grade is over and I should be summertime happy but . . .

After a lot of not talking Stan says, “Your dad’s going to be okay.” Then adds, “Your mom too.”

“How do you know?” The words come out angry. Stan looks down at his feet and wish I hadn’t said that, not that way. 

“Gee, Pickle . . .” 

My name is Dilla but everybody calls me Dill. Stan sometimes calls me Pickle. You know, because of dill pickle. I know Stan is just trying to cheer me up. Not happening; Dad leaves today.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean . . .”

He looks over at me and smiles. “We’re cool.”

Stan’s the best friend a girl ever had. I get to my feet. “I gotta go.”

Upstairs, I sit on the edge of my bed trying not to think about what life will be like tomorrow. The chart I made matching up the two time zones—here in Virginia 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. My computer, the only one in the house, is on my desk under the chart. On the floor next to the desk are the sports team posters I took down to make room for the chart.  

           

Wish I could turn my brain off, put the war—what could happen to Dad, what could happen to all of us—out of my head. I stand up, rub a hand across my face. Staring at the sweat on my palm, I feel like crying. Can’t do that. Not now. I rub my hand dry on the leg of my jeans and sit back down.

“Think fast!” 

I look up just in time to grab a video game case flying at me before it hits me in the chest. It’s the new Xbox game Dad and I have been waiting for.

“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’ve got some muscles from lots of sports. I’m hardly any version of my mom. She’s pretty and fragile. I’m not. 

My bed creaks when Dad sits down next to me. Tapping a finger on the new game he says, “Practice up while I’m away so I don’t embarrass you.”

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

I can’t hold the grin so I look down and turn the game over in my hands. Dad and I get pretty worked up with our Xbox competition. Mom, of course, stays far away when we do. The Xbox is in the downstairs game room in a cabinet out of sight. It was a special Christmas present that Mom agreed to as long as the door to the room is closed when the cabinet is open. I feel Dad’s arm go around my shoulders but I keep looking down at the game. 

“Dill.”

“Uh huh.”

“Your mom is getting better but this time will be harder on her since I won’t be able to call her every day like I do when I’m in the States. 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. Mom wouldn’t have to know.”

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 makes her restless and afraid. She’s okay with the land line phone but cell phones, no way. 

Dad nods toward my computer—the one I had to have for school and the reason Mom seldom comes in my room. “You can email me anytime and we should be able to Skype once I get settled.”  He’s quiet for a second then says, “Remind your mom that letters are on the way and I’ll call her when I can. I know you’ll look after things while I’m gone.”

Gone can mean never coming back. I feel tears working their out of my eyes and swipe a hand across my face to hide them. I cough, bob my head like an idiot and tell him, “Got it covered, Dad.” 

“I know you do.” Dad runs a hand gently over my hair and stands up. “Time to go.” 

“Already?” 

“I don’t want to have to arrest myself for being AWOL.” 

AWOL. Dad, Absent Without Leave. 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 even got medals he wears on his dress uniforms. 

As we pass the family game room, I duck in and open the Xbox cabinet. I give the game from Dad 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.

I give the game a gentle pat before I close up the cabinet and follow Dad to the living room where Emily is hanging on Mom begging for something and, as usual, not taking no for an answer. Emily’s little pink dress used to be mine about a hundred years ago—probably the last dress I ever wore. Mom is smiling down at Emily but her smile looks like it wants to be something else. She’s 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. We need you here. I need you here. You think I’m brave and strong and can take care of everybody when you’re not here but you don’t know how hard . . .

“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. On the way to the airport Emily sits close to me in the back scolding and wagging a finger at a doll. Dad is talking quietly to Mom up front. I feel like I’m in a bad dream, floating but not in a good way until we pull 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 people with suitcases are run-walking while others sprawl on chairs or the floor. The place smells like air conditioning, sweat, sugar and coffee.  When Dad hugs me I want to hold onto him, squeeze him so hard he can’t pull away, can’t leave. Then we’re not hugging and Dad is waving goodbye.