Attack of the 50 Foot Wallflower by Christian McKay Heidicker

Author:Christian McKay Heidicker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

One crisp February afternoon when I was thirteen, I was walking back to the motel from the pictures in Sunrise Valley when I passed two girls who whispered, “Daughter of Ook,” and started giggling.

I continued, eyes on shoes, until I heard a grunting ahead. A boy was struggling in front of the barbershop. He was bundled up for winter, and his left arm was in a sling. He was pressed up against the plate glass window, trying to get his textbooks situated in his right arm.

“Push any harder, the glass’ll shatter and you’ll be a bloody mess on the tile.” I caught his American history book before it fell in the snow. “Maybe they’d give you a free haircut though.”

The boy looked at me in surprise. He was an Indian. I hadn’t noticed until now because he was all bundled up. Down the sidewalk, the girls stared. I could get a reputation for helping a kid like this.

The boy’s arm trembled. I took the rest of his books.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

I glanced back at the girls. “It’s my pleasure.”

I hefted the books up to my chest with a grunt and started walking. The boy followed.

“I only live three blocks from here,” he said, trying to keep up.

“You do?”

I hadn’t meant to sound rude—I just didn’t think Indians were allowed to live in this town. It was even illegal to marry someone with darker skin.

The boy didn’t take my question poorly. “My dad works at the base,” he said. “He’s a Navajo code talker. Helped win the war against the Japs in Iwo Jima.”

The girls whispered behind us. From then on in that town, I’d be “Daughter of Ook,” the girl who carried books for Indian boys.

“What’s your name?” the boy asked.

“Phoebe. But it doesn’t matter.”

“No,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the girls. “I guess it doesn’t.”

I winced. I’d said it didn’t matter because I’d most likely be gone soon, but he took it a different way. I didn’t know how to clear it up.

As we walked, I stole a couple glances to the side to size up his profile. He was handsome. His shoulders were broad, and his hair was short and shiny black. Maybe we could spend the next week or so hanging out at the sock hop together. Two outcasts. We could clear out a whole corner just for ourselves.

“How’d that happen?” I asked, nodding at his arm in the sling.

He held it up like a bird wing. “Helping build hogans for the Diné reservation. Axe came off the handle and snapped my ulna in two.”

My heart awoke—maybe thinking about the pain, or maybe thinking about his muscular arms chopping.

He gave a little chuckle. “Lucky it wasn’t two-sided or you’d have to carry my books until I graduated.”

“You’re lucky to get three blocks,” I said, smirking. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His smile was so sweet I had to look away. “Ulna. That’s a smart word. You a whiz at school or something?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.

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