Table of Contents
Title Page
Acknowledgements
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER 1 - DEVON’S CHEST
CHAPTER 2 - LOOK AT THE PERSON
CHAPTER 3 - LET’S TALK ABOUT IT
CHAPTER 4 - LIFE
CHAPTER 5 - PERSONAL SPACE
CHAPTER 6 - THE HEART
CHAPTER 7 - GROUPS
CHAPTER 8 - BAMBI
CHAPTER 9 - NO RUNNING. WALKING.
CHAPTER 10 - MICHAEL AND MANNERS
CHAPTER 11 - THE DAY OUR LIFE FELL APART
CHAPTER 12 - CLOSURE
CHAPTER 13 - TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD
CHAPTER 14 - MY SKILLS
CHAPTER 15 - FINESSE
CHAPTER 16 - THE LIST
CHAPTER 17 - KEEP YOUR PANTS ON
CHAPTER 18 - A PLAN FOR HEALING
CHAPTER 19 - SHOES
CHAPTER 20 - EMPATHY
CHAPTER 21 - NO MRS. BROOK
CHAPTER 22 - DRAWINGS
CHAPTER 23 - LOST
CHAPTER 24 - FOUND
CHAPTER 25 - HINGES
CHAPTER 26 - EAGLE SCOUT
CHAPTER 27 - MISSION
CHAPTER 28 - GOOD AND STRONG AND BEAUTIFUL
CHAPTER 29 - PUTTING OUR LIFE BACK TOGETHER
CHAPTER 30 - FRIENDS
CHAPTER 31 - IT’S A GIRL THING
CHAPTER 32 - DAD-OH
CHAPTER 33 - GROUP PROJECT INCLUDING OTHER PEOPLE
CHAPTER 34 - MICHAEL’S PLAY
CHAPTER 35 - MONKEY BARS
CHAPTER 36 - MORE DRAWING
CHAPTER 37 - NO MORE VIRGINIA DARE
CHAPTER 38 - I GET IT
CHAPTER 39 - COLORS
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I am indebted to the people who helped make this book happen: editors Patricia Lee Gauch and Tamra Tuller; agents Kendra Marcus and Minju Chang; my many writer friends, including Moira Donohue, Maureen Lewis, Susan Barry Fulop, Kathy May, Anne Marie Pace, Fran Slayton, and Julie Swanson; and, of course, my always supportive and wonderful husband, Bill, and awesome children, Gavin and Fiona, who all deserve special tribute, as does my sister, Jan, my biggest cheerleader. Thanks to all of you.
PATRICIA LEE GAUCH, EDITOR
PHILOMEL BOOKS A 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 Penguin Canada 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 Group Pty Ltd). Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India. Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 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.
Copyright © 2010 by Kathryn Erskine. All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Philomel Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. Philomel Books, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Erskine, Kathryn. Mockingbird / Kathryn Erskine. p. cm. Summary: Ten-year-old
Caitlin, who has Asperger’s syndrome, struggles to understand emotions, show empathy,
and make friends at school, while at home she seeks closure by working on a project with
her father. [1. Asperger’s syndrome—Fiction. 2. Empathy—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.
4. Death—Fiction. 5. School shootings—Fiction. 6. Family life—Virginia—Fiction.
7. Virginia—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.E7388Moc 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009006741
eISBN : 978-1-101-14931-7
http://us.penguingroup.com
In hopes that we may all understand each other better
CHAPTER 1
DEVON’S CHEST
IT LOOKS LIKE A ONE-WINGED bird crouching in the corner of our living room. Hurt. Trying to fly every time the heat pump turns on with a click and a groan and blows cold air onto the sheet and lifts it up and it flutters for just a moment and then falls down again. Still. Dead.
Dad covered it with the gray sheet so I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. And I can still draw it. I take my charcoal pencil and copy what I see. A grayish square-ish thing that’s almost as tall as me. With only one wing.
Underneath the sheet is Devon’s Eagle Scout project. It’s the chest Dad and Devon are making so he’ll be ready to teach other Boy Scouts how to build a chest. I feel all around the sheet just to be sure his chest is underneath. It’s cold and hard and stiff on the outside and cavernous on the inside. My Dictionary says CAVernous means filled with cavities or hollow areas. That’s what’s on the inside of Devon’s chest. Hollow areas. On the outside is the part that looks like the bird’s broken wing because the sheet hangs off of it loosely. Under the sheet is a piece of wood that’s going to be the door once Dad and Devon finish the chest. Except now I don’t know how they can. Now that Devon is gone. The bird will be trying to fly but never getting anywhere. Just floating and falling. Floating and falling.
The gray of outside is inside. Inside the living room. Inside the chest. Inside me. It’s so gray that turning on a lamp is too sharp and it hurts. So the lamps are off. But it’s still too bright. It should be black inside and that’s what I want so I put my head under the sofa cushion where the green plaid fabric smells like Dad’s sweat and Devon’s socks and my popcorn and the cushion feels soft and heavy on my head and I push deeper so my shoulders and chest can get under it too and there’s a weight on me that holds me down and keeps me from floating and falling and floating and falling like the bird.
CHAPTER 2
LOOK AT THE PERSON
CAITLIN, DAD SAYS. THE WHOLE town is upset by what happened. They want to help.
How?
They want to be with you. Talk to you. Take you places.
I don’t want to be with them or talk to them or go places with them.
He sighs. They want to help you deal with life, Caitlin . . . without Devon.
I don’t know what this means but the people come to our house. I wish I could hide in Devon’s room but I’m not allowed in there now. Not since The Day Our Life Fell Apart and Dad slammed Devon’s door shut and put his head against it and cried and said, No no no no no. So I can’t go to my hidey-hole in Devon’s room anymore and I miss it.
I try to hide in my room and draw but Dad comes and gets me.
There are so many voices in our house. Voices from Devon’s Boy Scout troop. I recognize their green pants. And the nice things they say about Devon.
Voices of relatives. Dad introduces me to them. He says, You remember . . . and then he says a name.
I say, No, because I don’t remember.
Dad says to Look At The Person so I look quickly at a nose or a mouth or an ear but I still don’t
remember.
One voice says, I’m your second cousin.
Another says, Wasn’t it a beautiful memorial service?
Another says, I love your drawings. You’re a very talented artist. Will you draw something for me?
One even says, Aren’t you lucky to have so many relatives?
I don’t feel lucky but they keep coming.
Relatives we hardly saw when Devon was here so how can they help?
Neighbors like the man who yelled at Devon to get off his lawn. How can he help?
People from school. Mrs. Brook my counselor. Miss Harper the principal. All my teachers since kindergarten except my real fifth-grade teacher because she left after what happened at Devon’s school. I don’t Get It because nothing bad happened at James Madison Elementary School so why did she have to leave? Now Mrs. Johnson is my teacher. She didn’t even know Devon except she watched him play basketball, she says. Twice. I’ve watched the LA Lakers play more than twice. I don’t try to help them.
Caitlin. If you ever want to talk about what happened you just let me know, Mrs. Johnson says.
That’s what Mrs. Brook is for, I tell her.
Maybe we could all sit down together.
Why?
So we know where you’re coming from.
I look around the living room and stare at the sheet-covered chest. I come from here.
I’m sorry. I meant so we all know how you’re feeling.
Oh. Mrs. Brook knows how I’m feeling so you can find out from her. I would be superfluous. My Dictionary says suPERFLUOUS means exceeding what is sufficient or necessary.
I just thought it would be nice to take some time to sit and chat.
I shake my head. SuPERfluous also means marked by wastefulness.
Well . . . okay then, she says. I suppose I can talk with Mrs. Brook.
Mrs. Brook says you can talk with her anytime because her door is always open, I tell Mrs. Johnson. Actually it’s almost always closed. But if you knock then she remembers to open it.
Thank you Caitlin.
She doesn’t move. This means she is waiting for me to say something. I hate that. It makes my underarms prickle and get wet. I almost start sucking my sleeve like I do at recess but then I remember. You’re welcome, I say.
She moves away.
I got it right! I go to the refrigerator and put a smiley face sticker on my chart under YOUR MANNERS. Seven more and I get to watch a video.
When I turn away from the fridge I see a puffy blue marshmallow wall in front of me. It smells of apple cinnamon Pop-Tarts and breathes noisily. It’s another neighbor or relative. I don’t know which. Her hands are shaking. One hand has a tissue and the other hand she holds out to me. There is a white circle in it. Would you like this candy?
I don’t know. I have never had her candy before so I don’t know if I’ll like it. But I like just about every candy in the galaxy. I don’t like being trapped by the puffy blue wall like this though.
Take it, she says, and pushes it into my hand.
So I take it just to get her hand off of mine because her hand is squishy and flabby and makes me feel sick.
Have another, she says.
I take it quickly so I won’t have to feel her hand again.
She tries to pat my head with the candy hand but I duck.
I run and hide behind Dad. And eat the candy. They are mints. I wish they were gummy worms because that’s my favorite but I Deal With It. The good thing is I can’t talk when my mouth is full because that’s rude so if I keep my mouth full I can be in my own Caitlin world.
When I finish the candy I still don’t want to talk so I push my head under Dad’s sweater and feel the warmth of his chest as he breathes up and down and I smell his Gil lette Cool Wave Antiperspirant and Deodorant. He doesn’t even say, No Caitlin, and pull me out. He lets me stay there and pats my head through the sweater. If it’s through the sweater I don’t mind. Otherwise I don’t like anyone to touch me. Dad talks to the world outside the sweater and his voice makes a low hummy-vibratey feel. I close my eyes and wish I could stay here forever.
CHAPTER 3
LET’S TALK ABOUT IT
DAD SAYS IT’S TIME TO GO BACK to school so here I am.
Back in Mrs. Brook’s room.
Sitting at the little round table.
I look at the walls and not much has changed except that the mad face on the Facial Expressions Chart now has a mustache. I know because I have looked at that chart about a million times to try to figure out which emotion goes with each face. I’m not very good at it. I have to use the chart because when I look at real faces I don’t Get It. Mrs. Brook says people have a hard time understanding me because I have Asperger’s so I have to try extra hard to understand them and that means working on emotions.
I’d rather work on drawing.
Hi Caitlin, Mrs. Brook says softly. She still smells like Dial Body Wash.
I look at the chart and nod. This means I’m listening even if there’s no eye contact.
So how are you?
I suck on my sleeve and stare at the chart.
How are you feeling?
I stare at the chart some more and hear myself sigh. My stomach feels all yucky like it’s at recess which is my worst subject but I take a deep breath and try to Deal With It. Finally I say, I feel like TiVo.
She leans across the table toward me. Not too close to my Personal Space because I’ll use my words to tell her to back off if she gets too close. Say again?
TEE-VO.
What do you mean?
I fast-forward through the bad parts and all of a sudden I’m watching something and I’m not sure how I got there.
She scratches the part in her hair with her forefinger. The rest of her fingers stick up in the air and move like they’re waving. Then she stops. I see, she says.
I look around the room. What do you see? I ask.
I think you’d like to forget about the painful events you’ve been through.
I want to tell her that I prefer TiVo on mute and I wish she’d cooperate. But if I do it’ll start a whole Let’s Talk About It discussion so I say nothing.
The funeral must have been very difficult, she says.
I wonder what she means. We sat in church. It was not very difficult. It was like TiVo on mute. Everyone spoke so quietly I could barely hear them and almost no one talked to me. They looked at me which I did not like and some of them even touched me which I hate but no one tried to Start a Conversation with me and no one laughed like crashing glass and there was no lightning movement and no one appeared out of nowhere and nothing happened suddenly.
Let’s Talk About It, she says.
I turn around in my chair so I can’t see her anymore.
I know it’s difficult but you can’t keep it all inside. She stops talking but not for long. Did you cry at the funeral?
I shake my head. At the funeral a lot of grown-ups cried but I don’t know why. Most of them had never even met Devon. I think about how much Dad has been crying and the words jump out of my mouth. Dad cried.
Did that upset you?
I grip the back of my chair. I didn’t like it.
Why not?
I don’t know.
Were you sad for him?
I don’t know.
Were you afraid?
I don’t know.
Did it make you uncomfortable?
I try to think of a different answer than I don’t know because Devon says people don’t like I don’t know all that much. I don’t know why. So I try hard to focus on her question. Did it make you uncomfortable? I think about what is comfortable. Being completely covered by my purple fleece blanket under my bed or putting my head under the sofa cushion or reading my Dictionary. I did not have any of those things at the funeral. Yes. I was uncomfortable.
Why?
I don’t know. Please stop asking me questions.
Caitlin. Your father is sad.
I turn back toward the Fa
cial Expressions Chart. I wonder how Mrs. Brook knows what he’s feeling right now. And I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. Why?
Her head pokes forward like a turtle before she pulls it back in and says in her Nice Voice, He misses Devon.
Oh. MISS is a strange word, I tell her. Have you ever looked it up in the Dictionary? There is MISS like MISS Harper the principal. There is MISS like you will MISS your bus if you don’t hurry because you have to step on every crack. And there is MISS like dead.
Do you miss Devon?
I don’t know.
She does the turtle head jerk again—just barely but I see it.
He’s not completely gone anyway, I tell her. I think about his bedroom even though the door is shut and his bike leaning against the back of the house and his chest in the corner of the living room.
Her face squishes up like she’s trying to Get It. That’s true, she says slowly. A part of Devon will always be with you.
Which part, I wonder. No parts of his body are left because he was cremated. That means burned up into ashes.
Can you feel him?
I look around the air. I look down at my hands. Are parts of Devon scraping me? Is that what I’m supposed to feel? The heat is blowing from the vent in the ceiling and I feel that. But that’s only air from the furnace. Or does it have Devon in it? Where do you go when you get burned up and turn into smoke in the air? Maybe you get sucked into furnace systems and blown out through the vents. I shrug.
Can’t you still feel Devon? Mrs. Brook asks again.
Maybe. I’m not sure it’s really him though. It could be anyone. What would he feel like?
I mean the things he did for you. The things you did together. You’ll miss him but he’ll always be with you. Just in a different way.
I don’t want him around in a different way. I want him around in the same way. The way he was before. When he makes me popcorn and hot chocolate. And he tells me what to say and what clothes to wear and how not to be weird so kids won’t laugh at me. And he plays basketball with me. He always gives me a chance to win by tripping or moving slowly or going the wrong way when I do a fake. I can tell when he’s doing something on purpose by looking at his mouth. His lips move a certain way when he’s thinking. When he’s being sneaky his lips move a different way. But when he’s being sneaky he’s doing it to be nice to me.