Summer of Brave Read online

  I being brave worth the risk?

  Twelve-year-old Lilla doesn’t exactly lie. She’s just…careful.

  To keep her parents happy, she hides how much she hates moving back and forth between their houses, and she ignores her doubts about the elite high school they’re pushing her toward.

  To keep peace with her best friend Vivi, Lilla doesn’t share that she got the junior camp counselor job Vivi wanted. And to avoid losing everything she’s worked so hard for, Lilla doesn’t argue when the camp coordinator dismisses an employee’s harassment as “boys being boys.”

  After all, if Lilla starts saying what she feels out loud, everything in her life might come crashing down. And she doesn’t need that.

  Except—maybe she does.

  Albert Whitman & Co.

  More than 100 Years of Good Books

  www.albertwhitman.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  Jacket art copyright © 2021 by Albert Whitman & Company

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Text copyright © 2021 by Amy Noelle Parks

  First published in the United States of America in 2021 by Albert Whitman & Company

  ISBN 978-0-8075-7660-1 (hardcover)

  ISBN 978-0-8075-7661-8 (ebook)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

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  Jacket art copyright © 2021 by Albert Whitman & Company

  Jacket art by Jensen Perehudoff

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  For my mom and dad, who made me brave

  CHAPTER 1

  Summer Wish

  Knox, Vivi, and I lie flat on our backs like spokes on a wheel, each with a dandelion in one hand. It’s the last day of seventh grade, and we’re about to make our Summer Wish.

  “Close your eyes,” Vivi says.

  I obey.

  Knox huffs in protest. “I have got to get some guy friends.” He’s mostly a good sport, but sometimes he complains that Vivi and I girl out on him.

  “You have Colby,” I say.

  “Only because he doesn’t know I do this stuff with you two.”

  “Shh,” Vivi says as the bell tower tolls. When the last of the five clangs fades, I purse my lips and blow. The wind catches a few seeds and lifts them up into the bright-blue sky, where they swirl about with the ones blown by Knox and Vivi.

  “Time!” Vivi says. She sits up and tosses empty containers to us. Because of her nine-month-old sister, Vivi’s house has an endless supply of baby food jars. Vivi claimed them for our summer ritual so we don’t fill up more landfills with plastic bags. I stuff my dandelion stem in and twist the lid. Vivi does the same, but Knox stays on his back, twirling his stem in his fingers.

  “No cheating,” Vivi says, plucking the dandelion out of his hand and trapping it inside the jar.

  “How’d we do?” he asks.

  “Bakery,” Vivi answers.

  Vivi and I leap up, but Knox stays on the ground, eyes closed. He’s always either moving or half-asleep, and it’s hard to get him to go from one to the other. Vivi and I each take an arm and pull him to his feet.

  “Don’t you want to see who won?” I ask.

  “It’s always Vivi. Blowing dandelions is her superpower.”

  Vivi shakes her dark, blue-tipped ponytail. “Neither of you actually wants to win. Lilla doesn’t even try.”

  This is true. Too much pressure.

  I like starting our summers this way because of the tradition, but I’m not as into winning as Vivi and Knox.

  Our game began when we were seven. Vivi and I were walking home on the last day of second grade, and I gave her a dandelion and told her to make a wish, but Vivi, being Vivi, turned wish-making into a competitive sport.

  It started with counting pips. Vivi said whoever blew off the most seeds would be the winner—the one whose wish was most likely to come true. But two years later, Vivi and Knox decided we couldn’t trust fate (and blowing) to get what we wanted. So we added a new rule: whoever had the fewest seeds left on their stem got to make an epic wish for the summer, and the losers had to make it come true.

  Vivi won (of course) and wished for the Summer of the Lemonade Stand. We set up across the street from the college campus, and I made enough money that Mom and Dad opened a bank account for me because they said it was too much to keep in my cat purse.

  When Knox won at the end of fifth grade, he demanded a trophy to give to the person who carried out his wish the best. We claimed a golden bowling ball with little tennis shoes and a goofy grin that Vivi’s parents got at some kind of ironic bowling party. I’d never admit this to Vivi or Knox, but I love its cheerful little face. Not enough to fight to keep it though.

  Vivi and Knox rush ahead toward the bakery to start counting seeds, but I’m caught by the golden afternoon light peeking through the pale-green leaves. I pull out my sketchbook, not worried about keeping up.

  I’ve gotten used to walking on my own.

  When I lived on the same street as Knox and Vivi, we went home through campus together almost every day. Vivi’s and my parents work here, and so does Knox’s mom, so the college campus has always been our playground. We went to day care at the lab school, learned to swim in the pool, had picnics in the commons, and one time knocked over a bunch of college kids when we went sledding down the main walkway in the middle of winter.

  I’m not here quite as often now because last year my parents moved to a neighborhood of smushed-together duplexes on the other side of the college. Sometimes Vivi and Knox still walk with me, pretending it’s on their way, but it’s not. This will only be a problem for one more year, because all of us will ride the bus for high school. Wherever we end up.

  Our county has two high schools: Morningside, that’s the “regular” high school, and Grover Academy, a little magnet school where you focus on either the arts or math-science sorts of things. Grover Academy uses your seventh-grade test scores to decide if you’re good enough to even apply, and we should find out if we hit the cutoffs any day now.

  Knox grabs my hand, yanking me out of my thoughts. “You fell behind. You didn’t hear a word we said, did you?” His brown eyes crinkle at the corners.

  Vivi’s eyes are laughing too. “You know we share Lilla with her imaginary friends. It was their turn to talk.”

  This is an old joke, and I scowl only because she wants me to. “What did I miss?”

  “What we’re going to make you do for the Summer Wish.” Vivi snaps her gum. “Knox wants a physical challenge, but I’m planning psychological warfare.”

  “You’re both mean.”

  “And you’re a pushover,” Vivi says. “It’s our job to toughen you up.”

  This is the story of us. Vivi is the firecracker. Knox is the joker. And I am the good girl. Which is another way of saying I’m not very interesting.

  Vivi always wants Summer Wishes that are good for us. Last year, she did the Summer of Learning a Language, a challenge Knox and I had to admit was fair, since Vivi speaks three languages, and he and I are white kids from the Midwest who only know one. We wanted her to teach us Japanese—which she knows because of her dad, but, honestly, Vivi is a terrible teacher. Everything comes so easily to her that she got mad when we didn’t catch on. But Vivi’s mom is French Canadian and was on bed re
st because of her pregnancy, so she was happy to take over our lessons if we switched to French. It ended up being my favorite Summer Wish, even though I can mostly only say that the ocean is big and that I would like to take a taxi to the airport. (Since I have never actually been in a taxi, it’s not all that useful.)

  When Knox got to pick the wish, he was completely ridiculous. During his Summer of Toothpick Ninjas, Vivi and I had to try to sneak a toothpick into someone’s shoe every day. While they were wearing it.

  I spent the summer chucking toothpicks at people’s feet and hoping for the best. Vivi easily won the trophy, but I did earn bonus points by getting a toothpick into Knox’s red Converse sneakers three separate times.

  I’ve never made the Summer Wish. I’m not really sure what I’d ask for if I won. Maybe the Summer of No Arguing. But I’ve learned that’s not the kind of thing you can make true with a wish.

  Knox and Vivi are up ahead, waiting by the door of Cookie Mistake, the on-campus bakery that sells less-than-perfect-desserts made by students in the culinary program.

  When we enter, the manager, who’s known us since we were in preschool, says, “Hey, kids. Not much left today.”

  Knox picks up a small, lopsided, chocolate layer cake.

  “For all of us?” Vivi asks.

  Knox hugs the cake to his chest. “It’s only a little one.”

  Vivi and I share a smile. Over the last year, we’ve gotten used to this new appetite of his. I’m pretty sure he turns chocolate directly into height.

  Vivi and I split a giant, underbaked cookie and eat it while we count dandelion seeds. By the time I finish, she’s drumming her fingers on the table.

  When I look up, she says, “Thirty-three!”

  Her all-time record low.

  Knox sighs. “Fifty-six.” Then he forks a giant bite of cake into his mouth. They both look at me.

  “Ninety-eight,” I admit.

  “At least she’s under a hundred this year,” Knox says. “It’s almost like she tried.”

  “I try.”

  “No, Lilla, you don’t,” Vivi says. “But that’s your bad luck.”

  “Viv,” I say, trying to put the brakes on any extreme ideas. Summer Wish or not, I’m not going to let her make me do anything I don’t want to. But I’m also not great at saying no.

  “Well,” Knox says to Vivi, taking a break from his cake eating, “what’s your diabolical plan?”

  “I wish for you two to be brave.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask. Last summer, she wanted to go horseback riding, but when I saw how big those animals were, I couldn’t make myself do it. “Nothing dangerous, right?”

  Vivi shakes her head. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  I give her a look.

  “Not as part of the Summer Wish,” she adds. “I take it seriously.” She passes the look I gave her on to Knox.

  “Hey,” he says. “Putting toothpicks in strangers’ shoes was brave.”

  Vivi rolls her eyes. “I’m not talking about stuff like that. I mean really brave. Like doing something you’re scared of or telling the total truth even if someone might not like it, or trying something new.”

  Knox points his fork at Vivi. “I don’t think you want the total truth from me.”

  Vivi steals the cake from his fork. “I’m not saying you should tell us every disturbing thought in your scary boy head.”

  Knox grins. Something in his smile makes me wonder what he’s hiding.

  “But one way or another, you’re both doing this,” Vivi says. “It’s our Summer of Brave!”

  CHAPTER 2

  White Lies and Silences

  “What if, instead, it was our Summer of Ice Cream?” I ask.

  Vivi narrows her eyes and Knox laughs.

  I want to play fair. I really do. Even if I haven’t loved every wish, I love this tradition. But right now is not a good time to be brave—for me or for Knox. “You know what it’s like for us.”

  Knox nods. “If you want brave, I’ll parasail or eat at that hot dog place with the weird bugs on the walls or get onstage and sing,” he tells Vivi. “And except for a scary boy thought or two, I can tell you and Lilla about most stuff. But not my parents. It’s not a game for me.”

  Knox’s parents got divorced when we were nine, two years before mine split up. His family’s divorce was ugly, with lots of shouting and fighting about custody. The judge made Knox pick who he wanted to live with most of the time, and he feels like his dad never forgave him. His parents still yell when they see each other and are always asking Knox to pass on snarky messages. For Knox, flying under his parents’ radar is a way of life.

  It’s a little different with Mom and Dad, who believe in Child-Centered Divorce. (They say this a lot.) From what I can tell, this mostly means they ask if I’m okay a billion times a day.

  But the only way I will be okay is if things go back to the way they were. Because even if they got back together—and I know, because I am not a kid anymore, this will not happen, but even if it did—it wouldn’t be the same. Another family bought our house, and now they get to live on the same block as Vivi and Knox. So when my parents ask, I say I’m fine.

  Because what’s the point?

  Knox meets my eyes, and I know he’s thinking the same thing. Being honest with our parents is not going to make our lives better. It’s going to make them more complicated.

  Vivi reaches across the table for our hands. “I really think this could be good. For both of you.”

  “Viv, you sound like you’re trying to fix us,” Knox says.

  Vivi’s father is a psychologist. Sometimes I think she talks about us at the dinner table and comes back with a plan. It’s not my favorite thing about her.

  “I’m not trying to fix you, but I want the Summer Wish to mean something. It’s not supposed to be silly.”

  Vivi and Knox glare at each other long enough to worry me. “I’ll do it,” I say. “As long as there are no horses.”

  Vivi squeezes my hand. “We can start small. The first challenge can be honesty. Keep track of how often you lie.”

  After a moment, Knox says, “Fine. I’m going to my dad’s this weekend. It’ll give me something to do.”

  “I don’t lie very much,” I say. And I mean it. I always tell my parents where I’m going and who I’m with. I’ve never exaggerated a grade or even taken a cookie when I’m not supposed to. “I’ll never beat Knox.”

  “There’s all kinds of ways to lie,” Vivi says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

  “White lies and silences count. And those are your specialty.”

  “Silence isn’t a lie. I’m a quiet person.”

  “Sure,” Vivi says. “But a lot of the time you’re quiet because you’re afraid. Afraid someone will be angry or will disagree or won’t think you’re the sweetest thing going.”

  “Because I am the sweetest thing going,” I say.

  “She has a point,” Knox says, licking the frosting off his fork.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “I meant Vivi,” he says with a smile.

  It’s not exactly news that Vivi thinks I keep too much to myself. She wishes I would talk more about everything—the divorce, boys, my grades, even my period. But I didn’t know Knox wanted me to be more open too. Do they think I would lie…to them?

  I mean, sure, there are things I haven’t told them. I get bored watching their soccer games sometimes. And I actually did want to take baking as one of my electives last year instead of doing outdoor explorers with the two of them. And, no, I did not think that video of the dog eating watermelon was so funny that I wanted to watch it over and over again. But so what if I kept these thoughts to myself? It’s called being nice.

  I don’t make things up. I’m just a little…careful.

  “So you want me to keep track of all my white lies and silences?” I’m still trying to understand the rules. “If I have more than Knox, will I
win?”

  “Ah, no. That’s not it at all,” Vivi says. “It’s just I don’t think you two even know how much you lie—or keep to yourselves. This challenge is about being brave enough to see what you’re doing…that’s what I’m grading.”

  “Okay,” I say, turning to Knox.

  He shrugs. “It’s her Summer Wish. But I just want to point out that if I’d won, we’d be having the Summer of Hitting Buses with Water Balloons, and it would be a lot more fun.”

  When we leave the bakery, Vivi and Knox turn to walk with me, but I shake my head. “Don’t be silly. It’s the complete opposite direction.”

  “I’m not in a hurry,” Vivi says.

  “No,” I say. Having them with me makes it worse because it reminds me of how different everything is. “I think I can find my way without the two of you holding my hand.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vivi says. She knows I’m a little touchy about the way they baby me sometimes.

  “I know, but it’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?” Knox says. Ever since I moved, they insist on walking me home if it starts to get even the littlest bit dark, but really, what’s going to happen to me in the broad daylight?

  “Get out of here,” I tell them. I don’t want them feeling sorry for me because I have to go off on my own, so I smile and wave.

  Maybe Vivi will give me extra points for this whole new kind of lie: the nonverbal.

  Honestly, I like walking on my own. I like being able to stop and sketch a tree without anyone waiting for me, or to think about a book I’m reading without getting interrupted, but I do wish I was walking toward my old house.

  There’s nothing wrong with our new place. It’s a tall, narrow duplex painted pale blue with scallopy white trim. My upstairs bedroom has a balcony out back. And it’s a two-minute walk to school, which was nice this winter.

  But it’s pretty weird.

  Mom and Dad bought the house because they didn’t want me moving back and forth between them after the divorce. But I still do—it’s just the trip is pretty quick since I only have to go up and down the back stairs. Mom lives in the upstairs apartment. Dad lives in the downstairs one. I live in both.