Crossovers, sample chapter

 

Chapter 1

Okay, I was scared.  I admit it.  You would be, too, if you knew how guys talk in the locker room at hockey practice.  If anyone found out what I was doing at Rum River Ice Arena that early in the morning in the middle of summer vacation, I’d be dead meat.    

“See you tomorrow, Ben.”  Shannon held the door so I could get my bike through.  The heat of the sauna that is Minnesota summer hit me. It was just getting fired up at this hour.

 “Yeah.”  I scanned the parking lot to be sure no one was looking. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking I was like Norman B. Skagway, the Third, a.k.a. Skag the—well, you know what I mean.  I’m not.  But if one of the guys saw me coming out of the skating rink at this hour, he might ask questions.  I could hit harder than anybody else on the hockey team—they don’t call me ‘Copperhead’ just because of the color of my hair—but that’s not what I was doing there at that hour.

“Excuse me.”  Madeleine pushed past, dragging a pink suitcase on wheels with a goofy picture of a Barbie doll in figure skates on it.  

Her case ran over my toes.  “Ouch!”  

“Well, get out of the way!  Why do you bring your bike in here anyways?”  Maddie was only eight, but I guess hanging out with ‘big kids’ like Shannon made her think she was one of us.  “It’s not like anyone’s going to steal it.”  She flicked her yellow ponytail off her shoulder.

Shannon cleared her throat, and I tried not to look at her.  Nobody was on the tennis courts.  Only a couple old people in sweats jogged around the football field. 

“Bike thieves, huh?”  Shannon let the door swing shut. It caught my shoulder and squashed me between my bike and the doorframe.  She gave me a disgusted look.  “I may be new to Rum River, but I’m not stupid.  In a town this small someone would recognize your bike if it were stolen.”  I couldn’t exactly tell her that being recognized was what I was afraid of.

Skag reached from behind me and pushed the door open again.  “I’ll help you, Ben.”  He knew what kind of talk would go on in the locker room if anyone found out I was here.

The only other person in sight was Shannon’s mom, waiting in the SUV for Shannon to describe every minute of her practice.  She would be inside supervising if Shannon let her. 

 “Hey, Shannon,” Skag said as we stepped outside. “Wanna come over later and play computer games?  I got this really cool one.”

“Maybe.”  

Skag might have a name that made you want to puke, but his father got him all the latest electronic gizmos. I guess it wasn’t his fault he got stuck with that name, after all, he was ‘the Third.” But I couldn’t believe he had the guts to ask a drop-dead-gorgeous girl like Shannon over.  I chewed the inside of my cheek.  Why didn’t I ask her?

“See ya, Norman,” Shannon said. Skag was smiling when he started up the road.

“Bye, Ben,” Maddie called.  She heaved her pink case into the back of the SUV.  She wasn’t Shannon’s sister, just a neighbor, but she always rode with them.  Maddie had a crush on me.  I wished it were Shannon.  

On Writing Crossovers

How long does it take to write a novel? A month? A year? 

Sometime in the mid1990s an image of a boy with an infectious grin, standing victorious on the podium of a skating competition, started me writing.  I had to know who he was and how he got there.  I thought about him; I scratched notes; and eventually I borrowed a book about how to write and publish fiction, writing  practice exercises that were scenes from Ben’s life.  But that’s what it was—practice writing.  The 200-page manuscript sat in a drawer while I wrote The Wooden Ox and Between Two Worlds  As I was finishing Glastonbury Tor, I began to realize what was the real story within those pages of fantasy skating scenes. I sent GT to my agent and sat down and wrote Crossovers in a month, but it had already been ten years in the making.

Talk About Crossovers

A book group is a great way to help you to dig deeper into a story. Here are some questions to help you get started talking about Crossovers.

1.  What was Ben afraid of? Do you think his fears were justified? Why or why not?

2.  Why was it so hard for Ben to tell his parents what he was doing?

3.  The Bradleys had a system where the kids paid half of their sports expenses.  Mom said it was “so you will learn to spend money responsibly.”  Do you think that is a good system?  Why or why not?

4.  Ben says, “At school they were always telling us about how we could be anything.  What they meant was girls.  Girls could be anything.  But there were still things boys weren’t supposed to do.”  Do you think that is true of people you know? 

5.  In your school, what are boys “expected” to do?
What are they expected not to do?
What about girls?
What would your friends think of a girl who plays hockey or a boy who figure skates?

6.  “God is the Creator,” Mr. Bradley tells Ben.  “He thought up the whole idea of beauty—and God is not a sissy.”  How might that help Ben to think about his own artistic side?

7.  What kept Ben from being friendly to Skag in the first place?  Why was he able to change his mind at the end?

Crossovers

At school they’re always telling us about how we can be anything.  What they mean is girls.  Girls can be anything.  But there are still things boys aren’t supposed to do. Boys play drums or trumpet.  They don’t play flute or violin. Boys are doctors, not nurses; principals, not kindergarten teachers.  If that old movie Kindergarten Cop couldn’t change that, it’s going to take a lot more than Elvis What’s-his-name playing hockey to make it okay for me to figure skate.  Just ask Jason.

Talk about Between Two Worlds

1. What are some of the things that made Cristina feel like she didn’t belong in Minnesota?

2. How did the two sisters respond differently to the challenge of moving back and forth between worlds?

3. Why do you think Jason was so uninterested in anything Korean in the beginning?

4. Rob was openly hostile to Jason. In what ways was Lisa just as racist?

5. Have you ever felt like you didn’t belong? In what ways did you feel different? How did you handle your situation? With which character do you most identify—Cristina, Bete, Jason, Lisa or Rob?

6. Cristina’s parents made decisions for the family that weren’t necessarily what she would have chosen. How much should parents involve children in decisions that affect their lives such as where to live?

7. Growing up is an important change. Anthropologists talk about ‘rites of passage’—ceremonies that mark significant changes in life, such as Cristina’s fifteenth birthday party. How do young people in your community mark the transition from child to young adult?

Between Two Worlds, sample chapter

 

Chapter 1   

“VARIG flight 27 for Miami with a stop in São Paulo now departing from Gate 2.” The breathy intercom voice might as well have been a hideous cackle, the way Cristina Larson’s stomach clutched. She did not want to get on that plane.

“Não!” Márcia drew out the Portuguese word in a long moan. She embraced Cristina, and soon both girls were sobbing. “A year is so long! You’ve got to write to me. All the time. Promise?”

Cristina nodded and groped for a tissue in her pocket.

“Tell me all about your birthday,” Márcia continued. “It’ll be wonderful having your quinze anos in America!” 

Cristina wasn’t at all sure that was true. Her Brazilian friend probably imagined that Rum River, Minnesota, was right next door to Disney World Why did their year in the States have to be now? Why couldn’t it be last year or next year—any time but the year of her fifteenth birthday?

“Come on, Cristina. I want to hug Márcia, too, and we have to go.” Cristina’s older sister, Bete, stood by her side. 

Márcia gave Cristina another squeeze and kissed her on both cheeks, then kissed Cristina’s right cheek one more time. “For luck,” she whispered. They both knew what kind of luck she had in mind.

Everyone hugged and talked at once. There were so many last minute things to be said and not enough time to take turns. How Cristina wished she could stay! She hated good-byes, hated pulling up roots and going to America. It might be “home” for her parents, but western Brazil was the only home Cristina wanted.

Márcia’s mother dabbed her eyes with a tissue. She gave Cristina an extra kiss for romantic luck as well. Cristina giggled despite her tears. She was sure Tia Dalva had no idea that the “luck” Cristina hoped for was the tall handsome son at her side.

Vicente’s dark eyes met Cristina’s, and his strong arms wrapped around her. Then he took her shoulders firmly and kissed her on both cheeks. Her skin tingled, and for a brief moment Cristina wondered how long she could get away with not washing her face. Tio Zé and Cristina’s father hugged and slapped each other soundly on the back as they said their own farewells. 

The voice on the intercom repeated the boarding call. Cristina picked up her carry-on bag. It was heavy with all the treasures she couldn’t force into her suitcase, but couldn’t bear to leave behind. Her feet shuffled reluctantly through the gate after Bete. The black tarmac reflected the heat of the Brazilian sun. She stopped half way to the plane and looked back at the terminal. It seemed like she had done this a hundred times before. It never got any easier. Vicente had his arm around Márcia who rested her dark, curly head on her brother’s shoulder and waved a last farewell.

“I hate good-byes.” Cristina clenched her teeth and started up the steps to the plane.

* * * 

The corridor of Rum River High School was noisy and crowded with strangers. 

“What are you looking at?” The girl at the next locker glared at Cristina. Cristina snapped her mouth shut to keep from answering back and jerked her eyes away from the girl’s tight neon outfit. Her cheeks felt hot, and she knew they were as bright as the other girl’s top. The girl slammed her locker and swept away.

“If she doesn’t want to be looked at, she shouldn’t dress like that!” Cristina muttered. She rubbed her nose and shook her head at the stale smell of tobacco the girl had left behind. A horrible thought scratched at Cristina’s mind. She glanced down at her outfit and looked anxiously around the corridor.

Most of her fellow students were dressed in T-shirts and jeans. Some were wrinkled; some merely limp. Cristina wondered if Americans had ever heard of the electric iron. Here and there were one or two others in loud, tight outfits.

Evidently it was some American idea of bacana--‘cool’ or whatever the ‘in’ word here was. But Cristina wasn’t impressed. She and Bete had stayed up late last night carefully ironing their jeans so they would look good for their first day. It was nice not to have to wear uniforms for a change. 

Christina shook her blond hair back from her face and tilted her chin. She closed her locker, but the door didn’t fit right. So she slammed it. She wished Bete were with her now, but the seniors’ lockers were all at the far end of the school. She wondered how long it would take people to learn to call her sister “Bechee” instead of “Betty.” She sighed and arranged her face in what she hoped was a confident smile and stepped into the flow of students.

"Christina!" At the squeal of her name, Cristina turned and was smothered by Lisa Connor's enthusiastic welcome. "I just knew it was you! I've been dying for you to get here. I’m so sorry I was gone for the weekend. I couldn’t help it. My parents made me go to this stupid old family reunion. It was so bo-oring!" 

Cristina blinked twice. Lisa had been her best friend in fourth grade—the last time the Larsons had spent a year in the States on home assignment. Their families had been friends since before the girls were born. Lisa wrote occasionally, and their parents exchanged Christmas cards. Their annual photographs showed how much the girls had grown. Lisa's letters sometimes made Cristina feel like she was a trophy that Lisa liked to pull out when it suited her. "I have a good friend who lives in Brazil," she could boast if someone's Grandmother made a trip to Europe or something.

Lisa’s gush of words came to a pause, and Cristina realized she was supposed to respond. "That’s okay. I was busy unpacking and getting settled," she offered.

"Oh, never mind. You're here. I can't wait to introduce you to everyone. You remember Ann."

Lisa turned to a tall girl at her side with meticulously applied makeup. Her long, softly curling hair, a shade darker than Lisa’s gold, was brushed in a style that looked a little odd to Cristina, but she wore it with a kind of confidence that said it must be “in.”

"Oh, yes, I remember Ann," Cristina replied. How could I forget? The month before they returned to Brazil Lisa went off with Ann and told her all Cristina’s secrets. "You aren't going to be here any more; I have to have other friends," Lisa had explained as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ann’s lips pulled back to show her upper teeth. Cristina thought it was supposed to be a smile. 

"Is that the kind of earrings they’re wearing in Brazil these days?" Ann asked. Cristina had studied the picture that had come from the Connors last Christmas and made sure she wore a pair of large clunky earrings like Lisa had on in the picture. Now she noticed that both Lisa and Ann wore long, dangling earrings that swayed gently when they turned their heads.

"Why, yes," she replied. She hoped her face wasn't giving her away by turning red. 

“Oh, how cute!” Lisa crooned. “I used to have some almost like those.”

“Come on, Lisa. We have to get to English.” Ann sounded impatient.

“What do you have now, Cris?” 

Cristina consulted the schedule she had been given in the office. “Uh ... I have English, too.” 

“That’s great!” Lisa squeezed Cristina’s arm and pulled her toward the English room. Ann joined them. Her face was unreadable behind her makeup.

More Books about TCKs

 Third culture kids (TCKs) are those who spend a significant part of their growing up years in a culture different from their parents’ home culture. Like Cristina Larson in Between Two Worlds, they often find that they belong to neither one culture nor the other. They make up a ‘third culture’ of those who move among different worlds. These books will help you to understand more about that third culture.

Fiction:
When Africa Was Home by Karen Lynn Williams, illustrated by Floyd Cooper (1991). New York, Orchard.
 My own daughter’s strongly identified with this picture book about a family missing Africa when they have returned to the United States.

Homesick; My Own Story by Jean Fritz (1982). New York, Putnam.
 Popular children’s author Jean Fritz was born in China in the 1920s. In this fictionalized version of her life she describes how she thought she was American until she got there and realized she didn’t fit in.

Bloomability by Sharon Creech (1998). New York, Harper Trophy.
 Thirteen-year-old Dinnie has no intention of enjoying boarding school in Switzerland, but she discovers the richness of cross-cultural living.

Jakarta Missing by Jane Kurtz (2001). New York, Greenwillow.
 Dakar isn’t the only one in her family to long for Africa during the year they spend in Cottonwood, North Dakota. Although I found the ending unsettling, the struggles are all too real.

The Real Plato Jones by Nina Bawden (1994). London, Hamish Hamilton.
With a Welsh father and a Greek mother, Plato Jones feels “all mixed up... When I’m there, I want to be here, and when I’m here I want to be there! It’s as if I were split in two. And I don’t know which half is me.” (p.93) It takes helping his Greek grandfather’s village in a major emergency to make Plato feel at home with the two sides of his heritage.

Non-fiction for adults:
Third Culture Kids; the Experience of Growing up Among Worlds, 2nd ed. rev. by David Pollock and Ruth van Reken (2001) Nicholas Brealey 
 Pollock and van Reken take a balanced look at the challenges and rewards of living cross culturally. This book is a must for anyone raising children between worlds or trying to fit in as an adult TCK. 

Letters Never Sent; One Woman’s Journey from Hurt to Wholeness by Ruth Van Reken (1995). Indianapolis, IN, Letters.
 Van Reken examines significant struggles in her own TCK experience in fictional letters to her family. They are enlightening, but painful to read. 

On Writing Between Two Worlds

My two daughters were born in Brazil, South America. When they were small, our neighbor celebrated her fifteenth birthday. In Brazil, as in the rest of Latin America, a girl’s fifteenth birthday is a special occasion to mark her change from a little girl to a young lady. I couldn’t help asking, “What if my daughter grew up in Brazil, anticipating her quinze anos, as it is called, and was stuck in the States the year she turned fifteen?” As it turned out, my daughters grew up in Africa. But the year my youngest turned fifteen, I told myself, “If you are ever going to write that story, it must be now, before you forget what fifteen is like.” Lots of my own feelings about not fitting in back in America after living overseas came into the story as well as experiences of my daughters.

Between Two Worlds

 The voice on the intercom repeated the boarding call. Cristina picked up her carry-on bag. It was heavy with all the treasures she couldn’t force into her suitcase, but couldn’t bear to leave behind. Her feet shuffled reluctantly through the gate after Bete. The black tarmac reflected the heat of the Brazilian sun. She stopped half way to the plane and looked back at the terminal. It seemed like she had done this a hundred times before. It never got any easier. Vicente had his arm around Márcia who rested her dark, curly head on her brother’s shoulder and waved a last farewell.

"I hate good-byes." Cristina clenched her teeth and started up the steps to the plane.