Take Me There by Susane Colasanti Read Free Book Online Page B

relaxed about life. They were just different people back then, wearing different clothes and even listening to different music. I basically grew up with our stereo (and, horrifyingly, our record player) exclusively playing all these songs about peace and love and a time when things were much easier for kids.
    Question: What happens to people when they grow up?
    It’s like they forget who they originally were or something. But I guess some of it rubbed off on me, because I definitely have this seventies vibe/style thing going on.
    I’m sure in another life, Mom would be one of those super involved soccer moms. But in this life, it’s all about multitasking. Which means she’s never completely here. And since I’m not really in the mood to race the clock, I’m not getting her started.
    I poke my fork into my eggs. “Long story.”
    “I’ve got time.”
    “No,” I say. “You don’t.”

    When Sheila and Brad show up way late to math, it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.
    Sheila is the most put-together girl I know. Her makeup is always perfect, and she has this amazing style with clothes where it’s like she has this different theme going every day. Like one day she’ll come in all hard-core biker-chick and the next she’ll be type peasant in lace and a flowy skirt. Plus, she’s always in a good mood. Or at least that’s how she presents herself.
    But not today. Today she looks terrible. Actually, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen her like this. Totally frazzled. It has to be Brad’s influence. He’s a mess and he’s dragging her down with him.
    I wish there was something I could do to make her realize. But how can she not already see it herself?

    We’re doing a poetry unit in English. I usually don’t like poetry, but we all got to pick a poet to do a project on. Mine is E. E. Cummings. He totally rocks. All of his poetry is like this random, flowing thought process. He liked to use lowercase letters when they should have been capital. And unlike with other poetry, even when you don’t get it, it’s still interesting.
    Today we’re getting extra credit for presenting our original poems. It’s optional because most of the stuff people are writing is way personal.
    “Tatyana?” Ms. Portman says. “Would you like to present?”
    Tatyana Dias is amazing. She has more self-confidence than everyone else in here put together. And she does all this eccentric stuff like paint her bags and write song lyrics all over her sneakers, and she wears this loud beaded jewelry her mom makes. I swear she has every color of Converse ever invented. Even the ones with polka-dots. And she’s not afraid to say these weird, random things to stick up for herself, but it’s like she’s also being funny at the same time. Like if you press her, she’ll be all, “You best back up before you get smacked up! And I put you on the bulletin board and you get tacked up!” Then she’ll crack up for days. But the coolest thing about her is that she writes freestyle poetry that completely blows you away. Just hearing two lines of her poetry makes you feel really intense. She’s already won two New York City poetry slams.
    Tatyana strides to the front of the class like nervous is this foreign country she’s never been to. She has this strong, clear voice. Totally unlike most kids who mumble so bad you can hardly hear them and the teacher always makes them repeat what they just said. And you still can’t hear them.
    Usually when someone goes to the front of the room, they’re all jittery or they ramble or they say how they don’t know what they’re doing. And you feel bad for them because you can totally see their hands shaking the paper they’re holding. But not Tatyana. She just reads.
    Rebel
    I have the might of separating the fight between darkness and light.
    With ashes that surpasses my sight, crime in time slashes, isolating my rights.
    I speak with my eyes, and visualize with my mind. I’m on a