Isaiah Dunn Saves the Day - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Kelly J. Baptist is the inaugural winner of the We Need Diverse Books short-story contest. Her story is featured in the WNDB anthology Flying Lessons & Other Stories and inspired her first full-length novel, Isaiah Dunn Is My Hero. Kelly is also the author of the picture book The Electric Slide and Kai and The Swag Is in the Socks, which was inspired by her love of unique socks, as well as her older sister’s hero work as a speech-language pathologist. When she’s not writing, Kelly is usually thinking about writing . . . and dreaming of palm trees while living in southwest Michigan. She keeps beyond busy with her five amazing children, who always give her plenty of story ideas and background noise to write to. Find Kelly at kellyiswrite.com.

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August 18

“?’Saiah? ’Saiah, are you awake?”

I’m thinking maybe if I keep my eyes shut and breathe nice and slow, Charlie will get the hint and stop whisper-screaming in my ear.

Nope! Doesn’t work! This is one of those times when I wonder why I ever asked for a little sister.

“?’Saiah!”

I groan and pull my blanket over my head.

“Char-lieee! I’m sleeping!”

“No, you’re not; I see your eyes!” Charlie giggles, her little hands yanking my blanket back down. “Isaiah, guess what!”

“What?” I finally say with a sigh.

“There’s only five days till my birthday! Five days till I’m five!”

Mama always says that Charlie’s too smart for her own good, and now that Charlie’s obsessed with the number five, I see what Mama means.

“Wow, Charlie, real nice,” I say, turning over.

“?’Saiah, you have to help me plan the party!” Charlie continues, tapping me on the back. “I want princesses and mermaids and Elmo.”

Really, Charlie?

“Mama will help you plan,” I tell her.

“But I want YOU!”

“I’ll do it later,” I mumble.

“Promise?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah.”

“When you wake up?”

“YEAH!”

“Okay. But I thought Sneaky said to meet him at nine o’clock,” Charlie says in this know-it-all voice. She’s got this annoying habit of spying on me and my best friend, Sneaky.

I sit up quick and check my watch. 8:51.

“See, you’re up! Now we can--”

“Later, Charlie!” I say, gently pushing her toward the door. She pouts, but she’ll be okay.

I make my bed up fast and throw on shorts and a T?shirt.

“See ya later, Inka,” I say to the mannequin in the room. For the past few months, me, Mama, and Charlie have been living with Miz Rita, who’s like a grandma to us. The room I’m staying in is Miz Rita’s sewing room. I was scared of the sewing mannequin at first, but once I named her Inka, she stopped bothering me. I even wrote a few stories about her, like Inka, The Secret Keeper. To stop Charlie from being scared of the mannequin, I told her that Inka would keep any secret she has. Now Charlie’s always busting in my room to whisper to Inka.

“Morning, Miz Rita,” I say, popping into the kitchen. One good thing about Miz Rita is that she always makes breakfast--really good breakfast. Today it’s biscuits, so I grab one to go.

“Morning, Isaiah. Where you off to so early?” Miz Rita asks.

“Gotta meet Sneaky at the playground,” I say, smearing grape jelly on my biscuit.

“You and Sneaky, huh?” Miz Rita chuckles. “Y’all make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“Miz Rita, we don’t get in trouble,” I say. It’s kinda true, I guess. You never know with Sneaky. He has a new business idea he wants to start today, and Sneaky don’t play when it comes to his businesses and his money.

“Is Mama here?” I ask.

“She had some errands to run,” Miz Rita says.

Mama’s been running a lot of errands lately, but I know it’s probably because she’s getting back on her feet. Pretty soon, we’re gonna have our own place again and things will be much better.

“Oh snap, I gotta go!” I say, looking at my watch. I grab a second biscuit and rush to the front door.

“I wanna come, too!” Charlie calls, trying to follow me.

“Not now, Charlie,” I say over my shoulder. As I close the door behind me, I hear Miz Rita saying some nice stuff to keep Charlie from crying. I kinda feel bad, but I’ll just read her a poem later.

“You late, bro,” Sneaky says when I get to the playground.

“My bad,” I say, even though it’s only a few minutes after nine. Like I said, Sneaky don’t play. He’s standing by a bench and has a couple of small coolers sitting on it. He launches right into his idea.

“Yo, so it’s too hot for candy, right? Check it out!”

Sneaky opens one of the coolers and there’s a rainbow of colors inside. Freeze pops.

“The other one has water bottles. Perfect for a hot day, right?”

“I guess,” I say. “But won’t they melt?”

“Yeah, eventually,” Sneaky says. “I put some ice in here, but we gotta sell them fast.”

Sneaky’s plan is to hit up all the playgrounds and parks that we can walk to--all the basketball courts, too.

“People be hot and thirsty and don’t feel like going all the way home, so that’s where we come in,” he explains.

“Nice,” I say. I grab one of the coolers and Sneaky grabs the other. We start at the playground by our building and sell eleven freeze pops in only a few minutes!

Sneaky pockets the dollars with a grin as we head to the basketball court around the block. At school, Sneaky’s the candy man; since they took out all the vending machines, kids got real desperate for Snickers, gummy worms, and everything else. I guess for the last few weeks of summer, he’s gonna be known as the freeze-pop man.

I don’t mind being Sneaky’s sidekick, but I got my own hustle, too. I’m a writer like my dad was, only he wrote stories and I do poems. Me and my friend Angel have a poetry business called @Dunn Poems. I come up with the poems, and she writes them real nice and pretty. Our business is on hold right now, though, cuz Angel’s in Georgia for the whole summer! No offense to Sneaky, but she needs to hurry up and come home so my business can be back in business.

August 19

Miz Rita’s apartment is aight, but my favorite place to be is the library. I used to sit in the same spot in the children’s section, right by a window. That’s where I would read Daddy’s gold notebook and do my homework while I waited for Mama to pick me up. Now I head straight for my brand-new spot, the Gary Dunn Writing Room.

The room is named after my dad, and it was my idea to create it in this storage room that used to be full of junk. Mr. Shephard, the coolest librarian ever, helped me get permission from all the important library people, and then lots of companies donated furniture and computers for the room. It’s nice and cozy, and my dad’s words are on the walls. I always come up with good poems whenever I’m in the GD room.

“Isaiah, what’s up, my man?” Mr. Shephard holds out a fist and I bump it with mine.

“Nothin’ much, Mr. S,” I say. “How’s the room?”

“Perfect as always,” Mr. Shephard says. “Pretty sure your spot’s open.”

“Cool,” I say. “See you around.”

“Hey, don’t forget the summer reading program,” Mr. Shephard reminds me. “Haven’t stamped your board in a while.”

“I gotcha, Mr. S,” I say. I tell him he can get that stamp ready cuz I’m almost done with The Crossover.

Mr. Shephard salutes me and continues shelving books.

Two other people are in the GD room when I walk in, but Mr. Shephard was right; my spot’s open. I always sit in a green beanbag in the corner. Daddy’s words are in a picture frame right above the beanbag: “A head held high means you see everything you’re supposed to!”

I drop my book bag on the floor...