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By the Author ofThe Best Bad Luck I Ever Had

THELIONSOFLITTLEROCKKRISTIN LEVINEG. P. PUTNAM’S SONSAn Imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONSA division of Penguin Young Readers Group.Published by The Penguin Group.Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A.Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson PenguinCanada Inc.).Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.).Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia GroupPty Ltd).Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India.Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd).Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa.Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.PUBLISHER’S NOTEThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are usedfictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirelycoincidental.Copyright 2012 by Kristin Levine.All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from thepublisher, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via anyother means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electroniceditions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights isappreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-partywebsites or their content.Published simultaneously in Canada. Printed in the United States of America.Design by Annie Ericsson. Text set in Columbus MT Std.Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.ISBN 978-1-101-55044-1

To my mother,for telling me about the lions

ContentsTHE HIGH DIVECOFFEE, TEA OR SODAQUEEN ELIZABETHFIVE LITTLE WORDSJAMES-THOMASA NEW PARTNERA NEW ROOMMATEA NEW FRIENDTHE FOOTBALL GAMEBEHIND THE GRINTHE TALISMANBLOOD LIKE A JEWELNOT THE STOMACH FLUFACING FACTSTALKING TO DADDYSENT AWAYTHE NEGRO CHURCHWHEN PRETTY BOY DIEDCOLOREDTHE WECTHREE GOOD THINGSTHE GEMTHE ROCK CRUSHERHALLOWEENBETTY JEAN’S SONBEING QUIETAT THE MEETING

THANKSGIVINGGOOD ENOUGHTHE CHRISTMAS PARADEAN UNWELCOME CHRISTMAS GIFTTHE AIRPLANE RIDENEW YEAR’S RESOLUTIONSMAIL, MEASLES AND MOREMOTHER GETS INVOLVEDFACING FEARSTHE ROLLER-SKATING PARTYSECRETS ON THE BUSROBES IN THE CLOSETDYNAMITECONSEQUENCESMOTHER’S SPEECHAFTER THE SPEECHSTOP THIS OUTRAGEOUS PURGEMAYBE BRAVESAINTS, SINNERS AND SAVABLESTHE KEYSGOD BLESS MOTHERGOD BLESS DAVIDWORRIESSTOPPING BY BETTY JEAN’SAFTERWARDSTHE ELECTIONSPEAKING UPTHE LAST DAYS OF SCHOOLSUMMER

THE HIGH DIVE, PART 2AUTHOR’S NOTEACKNOWLEDGMENTS

1THE HIGH DIVEI talk a lot. Just not out loud where anyone can hear. At least I used to be thatway. I’m no chatterbox now, but if you stop me on the street and ask medirections to the zoo, I’ll answer you. Probably. If you’re nice, I might eventell you a couple of different ways to get there. I guess I’ve learned it’s notenough to just think things. You have to say them too. Because all the wordsin the world won’t do much good if they’re just rattling around in your head.But I’m getting ahead of myself. To understand me, and how I’ve changed,I need to go back to 1958.It was a beautiful day in September and I was standing on top of a divingboard. The blue sky was reflected in the water below, the white board feltscratchy under my feet, and the smell of hot dogs wafted up from the snackstand. It was a perfect summer day—the kind you see in the movies—and Iwas positive I was going to throw up.You see, it wasn’t just any high dive. Oh, no. It was the super-huge, fivemeter-high platform diving board, the tallest at Fair Park Swimming Pool,probably the highest in all of Little Rock. It might have even been the highestin all of Arkansas. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t beenafraid of heights. But I was.Sally McDaniels had told me she was going to jump off and asked if Iwanted to come too. Everyone over the age of ten had already jumped off theboard a dozen times that summer. Except for me, and I was practicallythirteen. It was easier to nod than say no, so there I was.Sally was waiting behind me on the ladder. Blond and blue-eyed, she worea pink suit the exact color of her toenails. Sally wasn’t really pretty, but noone ever noticed because she acted like she was. “Are you all right?” sheasked.No, of course I wasn’t all right. I mean, I wasn’t sick or anything, but I wasstanding perfectly still, frozen as a Popsicle, counting prime numbers in myhead. A prime number is a number that can only be divided by itself and one.

There are twenty-five of them under a hundred, and reciting them sure doeshelp me when I’m nervous.“Go ahead and jump,” said Sally.I didn’t move. A plane flew across the clouds . . . 2, 3, 5, 7, 11 . . . I wishedI were a stork and could fly away. Or a flamingo. Or a penguin. Except Ididn’t think they flew.“Marlee,” Sally said. “There’s a bunch of people behind us.”I hated holding them up, so I took a step toward the edge of theplatform . . . 13, 17, 19, 23 . . . but then I got dizzy and fell to my knees.“Come on,” cried the boy on the ladder behind Sally. “Hurry up and jump.”I shook my head and clutched the board . . . 29, 31, 37, 41. It didn’t work. Iwasn’t ever letting go.Sally laughed. “She said she was really going to do it this time.”I squeezed my eyes tighter and kept counting . . . 43, 47, 53 . . . “Isn’t thatJudy Nisbett’s little sister?” someone said.It must have only have been a minute or two, but I got all the way to 97before I felt Judy’s hand on my shoulder. “Marlee,” she said quietly, “comeon down. I already bought a Coke and a PayDay. We can share them on theway home.”I nodded but didn’t move.“Open your eyes,” Judy commanded.I did. Not that I always do what my sister says, but—well, I guess I usuallydo. In any case, when I saw my sister’s clear brown eyes looking at me, I feltmuch better. She was sixteen and going into the eleventh grade. I could talk tomy sister. She was smart and calm and reasonable.“Do you want me to hold your hand on the way down the ladder?” Judyasked.I nodded again. It was embarrassing, but I didn’t think I could do it on myown. Once I felt her palm on mine, it only took a minute for us to make ourway down together.“What a baby!” said the boy who had been behind me as he brushed past usto climb up again. Sally laughed, and I knew they were right. I was a baby.“Come on,” said Judy. She picked up her book and her bag from the loungechair where she’d been reading.

“See you at school tomorrow,” said her friend Margaret.“See you,” Judy replied, waving good-bye.Judy hadn’t even gotten her hair wet. She’d recently cut it into a short boband wore it pulled back with a ribbon. My hair was the same brown color asmy sister’s, but it was long and wavy, and sometimes I still wore it in braids.Sally said I looked like Heidi, but I didn’t care. I liked Heidi. She had thatnice grandpa and her friend with all those goats.Goats are okay, but what I really love are wild animals, like the ones youfind at the zoo. The Little Rock Zoo was right across the street from theswimming pool. In the gate and down the hill, I knew the lions were pacing intheir cages. At night, Judy and I listened to them roar, but during the day theywere quiet like me. Judy and I sat on the wall by the zoo entrance as weshared a candy bar and a Coke.“Sorry,” I said. I’d ruined our last day at the pool before school startedagain.Judy sighed. “Why are you even friends with Sally McDaniels?”I shrugged. Sally and I have been friends ever since we were five and shepushed me off the slide at the park.“She likes to boss you around,” Judy said.That was true. But she was also familiar. I like familiar.“You need to find a friend you have something in common with,” saidJudy. “Someone who likes to do the same things you do. That’s what . . .”I stopped listening. I knew all her advice by heart. I needed to findsomeone who was honest and friendly and nice. I knew all the ways I wassupposed to meet this imaginary friend too. Just say hello. Ask someone aquestion. Give a compliment. Maybe it would work, if I could ever figure outthe right words.I know it sounds odd, but I much prefer numbers to words. In math, youalways get the same answer, no matter how you do the problem. But withwords, blue can be a thousand different shades! Two is always two. I like that.Judy finally finished lecturing, and I said, “It’s easier to put up with Sally.Sometimes she’s really nice.”“Yeah,” Judy said. “Sometimes.”

2COFFEE, TEA OR SODAThat evening after dinner, we all sat down in the living room to watch TV. By“we” I mean my family: Mother, Daddy, Judy and me. I have an older brothertoo, David, but he’d just moved out the week before to start college. My sisterand brother and Daddy are the only ones I feel really comfortable talking to,so I missed David something terrible. In fact, when Mother made a freshbatch of iced tea for dinner, I almost started crying.You see, to me, people are like things you drink. Some are like a pot ofblack coffee, no cream, no sugar. They make me so nervous I start to tremble.Others calm me down enough that I can sort through the words in my headand find something to say.My brother, David, is a glass of sweet iced tea on a hot summer day, whenyou’ve put your feet up in a hammock and haven’t got a care in the world.Judy is an ice-cold Coca-Cola from the fridge. Sally is cough syrup; she tastesbad, but my mother insists she’s good for me. Daddy’s a glass of milk, usuallycold and delicious, but every once in a while, he goes sour. If I have to askone of my parents a question, I’ll pick him, because Mother is hot black tea,so strong, she’s almost coffee.Mother and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, or even elbow to elbow. She’salways trying to get me to do stuff: invite that girl over, volunteer at church,read to that poor blind lady down the street. I know she loves me, butsometimes I think she wishes I were more like Judy. Mother and Judy like toread fashion magazines and go shopping. They get their hair done once aweek and read long, romantic novels like Gone With the Wind. Despite ourdifferences, Judy and I get along, but Mother expects me to be thrilled whenshe brings me home a new skirt or a sweater set, when what I’d really like is anew slide rule.Ever since the Soviets sent up that Sputnik satellite last year, I’ve beenstudying really hard. Maybe someday I’ll study mathematics at college andbecome a rocket scientist. Only thing is, when our teacher told us last yearthat our country needs more of us to study math, I think she meant more boys.