Free Addie on the Inside by James Howe

seat,
let go, and begin to pump
my feet.
    â€œTo the moon!” I shout as higher
we fly. I know she is there
by the swish of air that sweeps
my side, and the squeak
of the swing,
    the steady, reassuring rhythm,
the breathing that breaks into
laughter, the one time she cries
in answer to a question unasked,
“Who cares!”
    As it grows dark we slow our
swinging, then stop. Becca drops
her feet to the ground with a gravelly
crunch, says, “That was fun,” and
is gone.
    I thought that little girls grew up
and never came back. I thought
I knew who Becca was. I pick up
my backpack and say to the night,
“That was fun.”

Whatever
    The final project of the year.
We’ll be working in pairs.
Ms. Watkins calls my name.
Bobby’s hand is in the air,
but not before Becca goes,
“I’ll work with Addie.
Fine, whatever.”
    Everyone stares at her.
She shrugs and sighs.
    I remember her
calling, “Who cares!”
as she pumped her
swing higher and higher,
and I say, to my surprise,
“Fine with me.
Whatever.”

Crooked Smile
    Our private language is now extinct.
Our jokes are no longer funny.
DuShawn still has his crooked smile,
but he smiles it just for Tonni.
    We meet each other only in glances.
We eat lunch at separate tables.
I see them holding hands each day.
I’ll forget him when I’m able.

Spring, When Things Begin to Blossom
    One morning, out of nowhere it seems,
there they are, small to be sure, but enough
that I tell my mother it’s time for me to get
another bra.

Addie This & Addie That
    â€œOh my, yes,” says the woman who’s stopped me
in the lingerie aisle of Awkworth & Ames, me
trying to look like I’m just passing through and not
standing with my mother directly in front of the
junior bras.
    â€œOh, yes,” the woman repeats, “at our house it’s Addie
this and Addie that, isn’t it, Clay?” The man named Clay
nods and says, “It sure is,” even while his eyes are telling us
he’s never heard my name before.
    â€œIt’s so nice to have you back in town,” my mother says,
and the conversation is sidetracked into where-
have-you-been and what-have-you-been-up-to and
how-long-have-you-two-been-married, giving me plenty of time
to picture the scene when Becca hears from her mom,
You’ll never guess who I bumped into in the junior bra

department at Awkworth & Ames
and I just know
how that’s going to play out at school on Monday so of course
I’m already planning on being sick that day and maybe
all week
    when I realize her mom is speaking to me again:
    â€œI think it’s gutsy of you to stand up for what you believe,
wearing that duct tape over your mouth and all. And that time
you told the whole class what you thought about domestic abuse,
or whatever it was, well, Becca says you were just brilliant,
    that’s all. She only wishes she had your nerve. But I’m sure
she’s told you all this herself, she certainly talks about it enough
at home, doesn’t she, Clay?” Clay’s eyes have strayed to the next aisle
where there’s a lot of lingerie involving lace, and I wish I could press
an eject button and be rocketed out of here, but I am riveted
to the spot. How could I not be, when I’m hearing
what I’m hearing?
    â€œThat’s nice” is all I can think of in response, but it’s enough
for Mrs. Wrightsman, or whatever her name is now, to say,
“You should come over sometime, Addie.”
    â€œOkay,” I mutter as my mother lifts up something involving daisies
and turns to Becca’s mom and asks with a laugh, “What
is

the point of underwire in a junior bra?” And I wonder if there
is such a thing as temporary death, because I have just died
and I can only hope it’s temporary.

Butterscotch Cookies
    Who knows if she’ll remember?
Who knows why I’m doing it?
But when she opens the door,
sees the plate of