flipped

Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen

More praise for FLIPPED:

“We flipped over this fantastic book, its gutsy girl Juli and its wise, wonderful ending.”

—The Chicago Tribune

“Delightful! Delicious! And totally teen.”

—BookPage

* “With a charismatic leading lady kids will flip over, a compelling dynamic between the two narrators and a resonant ending, this novel is a great

deal larger than the sum of its parts.”

—Publishers Weekly, Starred

“A wonderful, light-hearted novel.”

—Library Talk

“This is a wry character study, a romance with substance and subtlety.”

—Booklist

“A highly agreeable romantic comedy.”

—Kirkus Reviews

Dedicated with infinite love to Colton and Connor, who make me feel like so much more than the sum of my parts.

Special thanks to… my husband, Mark Parsons, who helps me feel the magic,

and my excellent editor, Nancy Siscoe, for her care and insight (and for making me stick to a reduced-filler diet).

Also, eternal gratitude to Tad Callahan and Patricia Gabel, who were on the ball when we needed it most.

Finally, thanks to Jeanne Madrid and the staff at Casa De Vida—may you keep the spirit. CONTENTS

Diving Under

Flipped

Buddy, Beware!

The Sycamore Tree

Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

The Eggs

Get a Grip, Man

The Yard

Looming Large and Smelly

The Visit

The Serious Willies

The Dinner

Flipped

The Basket Boys

Diving Under

All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off — you know, just give me some space.

It all started the summer before second grade when our moving van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we're now about done with the

eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort.

She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start

climbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like only Juli Baker can.

My dad tried to stop her. “Hey!” he says as she's catapulting herself on board. “What are you doing? You're getting mud everywhere!” So true,

too. Her shoes were, like, caked with the stuff.

She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear end on the floor and started pushing a big box with her feet. “Don't you want some help?”

She glanced my way. “It sure looks like you need it.”

I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of look all week, I could tell — he didn't like this girl

either. “Hey! Don't do that,” he warned her. “There are some really valuable things in that box.”

“Oh. Well, how about this one?” She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way again. “We should push it together!”

“No, no, no!” my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm. “Why don't you run along home? Your mother's probably wondering where you are.”

This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness that the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zip on home like a kid

should when they've been invited to leave? No. She says, “Oh, my mom knows where I am. She said it was fine.” Then she points across the street

and says, “We just live right over there.”

My father looks to where she's pointing and mutters, “Oh boy.” Then he looks at me and winks as he says, “Bryce, isn't it time for you to go inside

and help your mother?”

I knew right off that this was a ditch play. And I didn't think about it until later, but ditch wasn't

a play I'd run with my dad before. Face it, pulling a

ditch is not something discussed with dads. It's like, against parental law to tell your kid it's okay to ditch someone, no matter how annoying or

muddy they might be.

But there he was, putting the play in motion, and man, he didn't have to wink twice. I smiled and said, “Sure thing!” then jumped off the liftgate and

headed for my new front door.

I heard her coming after me but I couldn't believe it. Maybe it just sounded like she was chasing me; maybe she was really going the other way.

But before I got up the nerve to look, she blasted right past me, grabbing my arm and yanking me along.

This was too much. I planted myself and was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I was making this big windmill motion

to break away from her, but somehow on the downswing my hand wound up tangling into hers. I couldn't believe it. There I was, holding the mud

monkey's hand!

I tried to shake her off, but she just clamped on tight and yanked me along, saying, “C'mon!” My mom came out of the house and immediately got the world's sappiest look on her face. “Well, hello,” she says to Juli.

“Hi!”

I'm still trying to pull free, but the girl's got me in a death grip. My mom's grinning, looking at our hands and my fiery red face. “And what's your

name, honey?”

“Julianna Baker. I live right over there,” she says, pointing with her unoccupied hand. “Well, I see you've met my son,” she says, still grinning away.

“Uh-huh!”

Finally I break free and do the only manly thing available when you're seven years old — I dive behind my mother.

Mom puts her arm around me and says, “Bryce, honey, why don't you show Julianna around the house?”

I flash her help and warning signals with every part of my body, but she's not receiving. Then she shakes me off and says, “Go on.”

Juli would've tramped right in if my mother hadn't noticed her shoes and told her to take them off. And after those were off, my mom told her that

her dirty socks had to go, too. Juli wasn't embarrassed. Not a bit. She just peeled them off and left them in a crusty heap on our porch.

I didn't exactly give her a tour. I locked myself in the bathroom instead. And after about ten minutes of yelling back at her that no, I wasn't coming

out anytime soon, things got quiet out in the hall. Another ten minutes went by before I got the nerve to peek out the door.

No Juli.

I snuck out and looked around, and yes! She was gone.

Not a very sophisticated ditch, but hey, I was only seven.

My troubles were far from over, though. Every day she came back, over and over again. “Can Bryce play?” I could hear her asking from my hiding

place behind the couch. “Is he ready yet?” One time she even cut across the yard and looked through my window. I spotted her in the nick of time

and dove under my bed, but man, that right there tells you something about Juli Baker. She's got no concept of personal space. No respect for

privacy. The world is her playground, and watch out below — Juli's on the slide!

Lucky for me, my dad was willing to run block. And he did it over and over again. He told her I was busy or sleeping or just plain gone. He was a

lifesaver.

My sister, on the other hand, tried to sabotage me any chance she got. Lynetta's like that. She's four years older than me, and buddy, I've learned

from watching her how not to run your life. She's got ANTAGONIZE written all over her. Just look at her — not cross-eyed or with your tongue sticking

out or anything — just look at her and you've started an argument.

I used to knock-down-drag-out with her, but it's just not worth it. Girls don't fight fair. They pull your hair and gouge you and pinch you; then they run

off gasping to mommy when you try and defend yourself with a fist. Then you get locked into time-out, and for what? No, my friend, the secret is,

don't snap at the bait. Let it dangle. Swim around it. Laugh it off. After a while they'll give up and try to lure someone else.

At least that's the way it is with Lynetta. And the bonus of having her as a pain-in-the-rear sister was figuring out that this method works on

everyone. Teachers, jerks at school, even Mom and Dad. Seriously. There's no winning arguments with your parents, so why get all pumped up over

them? It is way better to dive down and get out of the way than it is to get clobbered by some parental tidal wave.

The funny thing is, Lynetta's still clueless when it comes to dealing with Mom and Dad. She goes straight into thrash mode and is too busy

drowning in the argument to take a deep breath and dive for calmer water.

And she thinks I'm stupid.

Anyway, true to form, Lynetta tried to bait me with Juli those first few days. She even snuck her past Dad once and marched her all around the

house, hunting me down. I wedged myself up on the top shelf of my closet, and lucky for me, neither of them looked up. A few minutes later I heard

Dad yell at Juli to get off the antique furniture, and once again, she got booted.

I don't think I went outside that whole first week. I helped unpack stuff and watched TV and just kind of hung around while my mom and dad

arranged and rearranged the furniture, debating whether Empire settees and French Rococo tables should even be put in the same room.

So believe me, I was dying to go outside. But every time I checked through the window, I could see Juli showing off in her yard. She'd be heading

a soccer ball or doing high kicks with it or dribbling it up and down their driveway. And when she wasn't busy showing off, she'd just sit on the curb

with the ball between her feet, staring at our house.

My mom didn't understand why it was so awful that “that cute little girl” had held my hand. She thought I should make friends with her. “I thought

you liked soccer, honey. Why don't you go out there and kick the ball around?”

Because I didn't want to be kicked around, that's why. And although I couldn't say it like that at the time, I still had enough sense at age seven and

a half to know that Juli Baker was dangerous.

Unavoidably dangerous, as it turns out. The minute I walked into Mrs. Yelson's second-grade classroom, I was dead meat. “Bryce!” Juli squeals.

“You're here.” Then she charges across the room and tackles me.

Mrs. Yelson tried to explain this attack away as a “welcome hug,” but man, that was no hug. That was a front-line, take-'em-down tackle. And even

though I shook her off, it was too late. I was branded for life. Everyone jeered, “Where's your girl friend, Bryce?” “Are you married yet, Bryce?” And

then when she chased me around at recess and tried to lay kisses on me, the whole school started singing, “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree, K-I-S-SI-

N-G…”

My first year in town was a disaster.

Third grade wasn't much better. She was still hot on my trail every time I turned around. Same with fourth. But then in fifth grade I took action.

It started out slow — one of those Nah-that's-not-right ideas you get and forget. But the more I played with the idea, the more I thought, What

better way to ward Juli off? What better way to say to her, “Juli, you are not my type”?

And so, my friend, I hatched the plan.

I asked Shelly Stalls out.

To fully appreciate the brilliance of this, you have to understand that Juli hates Shelly Stalls. She always has, though it beats me why. Shelly's nice

and she's friendly and she's got a lot of hair. What's not to like? But Juli hated her, and I was going to make this little gem of knowledge the solution

to my problem.

What I was thinking was that Shelly would eat lunch at our table and maybe walk around a little with me. That way, anytime Juli was around, all I'd

have to do was hang a little closer to Shelly and things would just naturally take care of themselves. What happened, though, is that Shelly took

things way too seriously. She went around telling everybody — including Juli — that we were in love.

In no time Juli and Shelly got into some kind of catfight, and while Shelly was recovering from that, my supposed friend Garrett — who had been

totally behind this plan — told her what I was up to. He's always denied it, but I've since learned that his code of honor is easily corrupted by weepy

females.

That afternoon the principal tried cross-examining me, but I wouldn't cop to anything. I just kept telling her that I was sorry and that I really didn't

understand what had happened. Finally she let me go.

Shelly cried for days and followed me around school sniffling and making me feel like a real jerk, which was even worse than having Juli as a

shadow.

Everything blew over at the one-week mark, though, when Shelly officially dumped me and started going out with Kyle Larsen. Then Juli started

up with the goo-goo eyes again, and I was back to square one.

Now, in sixth grade things changed, though whether they improved is hard to say. I don't remember Juli actually chasing me in the sixth grade. But

I do remember her sniffing me.

Yes, my friend, I said sniffing.

And you can blame that on our teacher, Mr. Mertins. He stuck Juli to me like glue. Mr. Mertins has got some kind of doctorate in seating

arrangements or something, because he analyzed and scrutinized and practically baptized the seats we had to sit in. And of course he decided to

seat Juli right next to me.

Juli Baker is the kind of annoying person who makes a point of letting you know she's smart. Her hand is the first one up; her answers are usually

complete dissertations; her projects are always turned in early and used as weapons against the rest of the class. Teachers always have to hold

her project up and say, “This is what I'm looking for, class. This is an example of A-plus work.” Add all the extra credit she does to an already

perfect score, and I swear she's never gotten less than 120 percent in any subject.

But after Mr. Mertins stuck Juli right next to me, her annoying knowledge of all subjects far and wide came in handy. See, suddenly Juli's perfect

answers, written in perfect cursive, were right across the aisle, just an eye-shot away. You wouldn't believe the number of answers I snagged from

her. I started getting A's and B's on everything! It was great!

But then Mr. Mertins pulled the shift. He had some new idea for “optimizing positional latitude and longitude,” and when the dust finally settled, I

was sitting right in front of Juli Baker.

This is where the sniffing comes in. That maniac started leaning forward and sniffing my hair. She'd edge her nose practically up to my scalp and

sniff-sniff-sniff.

I tried elbowing and back-kicking. I tried scooting my chair way forward or putting my backpack between me and the seat. Nothing helped. She'd

just scoot up, too, or lean over a little farther and sniff-sniff-sniff.

I finally asked Mr. Mertins to move me, but he wouldn't do it. Something about not wanting to disturb the delicate balance of educational energies.

Whatever. I was stuck with her sniffing. And since I couldn't see her perfectly penned answers anymore, my grades took a dive. Especially in

spelling.

Then one time, during a test, Juli's in the middle of sniffing my hair when she notices that I've blown a spelling word. A lot of words. Suddenly the

sniffing stops and the whispering starts. At first I couldn't believe it. Juli Baker cheating? But sure enough, she was spelling words for me, right in my

ear.

Juli'd always been sly about sniffing, which really bugged me because no one ever noticed her doing it, but she was just as sly about giving me

answers, which was okay by me. The bad thing about it was that I started counting on her spelling in my ear. I mean, why study when you don't have

to, right? But after a while, taking all those answers made me feel sort of indebted to her. How can you tell someone to bug off or quit sniffing you

when you owe them? It's, you know, wrong.

So I spent the sixth grade somewhere between uncomfortable and unhappy, but I kept thinking that next year, next year, things would be different.

We'd be in junior high — a big school — in different classes. It would be a world with too many people to worry about ever seeing Juli Baker again.

It was finally, finally going to be over.

Flipped

The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. Honestly, one look at him and I became a lunatic.

It's his eyes. Something in his eyes. They're blue, and

framed in the blackness of his lashes, they're dazzling. Absolutely breathtaking.

It's been over six years now, and I learned long ago to hide my feelings, but oh, those first days. Those first years! I thought I would die for wanting

to be with him.

Two days before the second grade is when it started, although the anticipation began weeks before—ever since my mother had told me that

there was a family with a boy my age moving into the new house right across the street. Soccer camp had ended, and I'd been so bored because there was nobody, absolutely nobody, in the neighborhood to play with. Oh, there were

kids, but every one of them was older. That was dandy for my brothers, but what it left me was home alone.

My mother was there, but she had better things to do than kick a soccer ball around. So she said, anyway. At the time I didn't think there was

anything better than kicking a soccer ball around, especially not the likes of laundry or dishes or vacuuming, but my mother didn't agree. And the

danger of being home alone with her was that she'd recruit me to help her wash or dust or vacuum, and she wouldn't tolerate the dribbling of a

soccer ball around the house as I moved from chore to chore.

To play it safe, I waited outside for weeks, just in case the new neighbors moved in early. Literally, it was weeks. I entertained myself by playing

soccer with our dog, Champ. Mostly he'd just block because a dog can't exactly kick and score, but once in a while he'd dribble with his nose. The

scent of a ball must overwhelm a dog, though, because Champ would eventually try to chomp it, then lose the ball to me.

When the Loskis' moving van finally arrived, everyone in my family was happy. “Little Julianna” was finally going to have a playmate.

My mother, being the truly sensible adult that she is, made me wait more than an hour before going over to meet him. “Give them a chance to

stretch their legs, Julianna,” she said. “They'll want some time to adjust.” She wouldn't even let me watch from the yard. “I know you, sweetheart.

Somehow that ball will wind up in their yard and you'll just have to go retrieve it.”

So I watched from the window, and every few minutes I'd ask, “Now?” and she'd say, “Give them a little while longer, would you?”

Then the phone rang. And the minute I was sure she was good and preoccupied, I tugged on her sleeve and asked, “Now?”

She nodded and whispered, “Okay, but take it easy! I'll be over there in a minute.”

I was too excited not to charge across the street, but I did try very hard to be civilized once I got to the moving van. I stood outside looking in for a

record-breaking length of time, which was hard because there he was! About halfway back! My new sure-to-be best friend, Bryce Loski.

Bryce wasn't really doing much of anything. He was more hanging back, watching his father move boxes onto the lift-gate. I remember feeling

sorry for Mr. Loski because he looked worn out, moving boxes all by himself. I also remember that he and Bryce were wearing matching turquoise

polo shirts, which I thought was really cute. Really nice.

When I couldn't stand it any longer, I called, “Hi!” into the van, which made Bryce jump, and then quick as a cricket, he started pushing a box like

he'd been working all along.

I could tell from the way Bryce was acting so guilty that he was supposed to be moving boxes, but he was sick of it. He'd probably been moving

things for days! It was easy to see that he needed a rest. He needed some juice! Something. It was also easy to see that Mr. Loski wasn't about to let him quit. He was going to keep on moving boxes around until he collapsed, and by then

Bryce might be dead. Dead before he'd had the chance to move in!

The tragedy of it catapulted me into the moving van. I had to help! I had to save him!

When I got to his side to help him shove a box forward, the poor boy was so exhausted that he just moved aside and let me take over. Mr. Loski

didn't want me to help, but at least I saved Bryce. I'd been in the moving van all of three minutes when his dad sent him off to help his mother unpack

things inside the house.

I chased Bryce up the walkway, and that's when everything changed. You see, I caught up to him and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him so

maybe we could play a little before he got trapped inside, and the next thing I know he's holding my hand, looking right into my eyes.

My heart stopped. It just stopped beating. And for the first time in my life, I had that feeling. You know, like the world is moving all around you, all

beneath you, all inside you, and you're floating. Floating in midair. And the only thing keeping you from drifting away is the other person's eyes.

They're connected to yours by some invisible physical force, and they hold you fast while the rest of the world swirls and twirls and falls completely

away.

I almost got my first kiss that day. I'm sure of it. But then his mother came out the front door and he was so embarrassed that his cheeks turned

completely red, and the next thing you know he's hiding in the bathroom.

I was waiting for him to come out when his sister, Lynetta, saw me in the hallway. She seemed big and mature to me, and since she wanted to

know what was going on, I told her a little bit about it. I shouldn't have, though, because she wiggled the bathroom doorknob and started teasing

Bryce something fierce. “Hey, baby brother!” she called through the door. “There's a hot chick out here waiting for you! Whatsa matter? Afraid she's

got cooties?”

It was so embarrassing! I yanked on her arm and told her to stop it, but she wouldn't, so finally I just left.

I found my mother outside talking to Mrs. Loski. Mom had given her the beautiful lemon Bundt cake that was supposed to be our dessert that

night. The powdered sugar looked soft and white, and the cake was still warm, sending sweet lemon smells into the air.

My mouth was watering just looking at it! But it was in Mrs. Loski's hands, and I knew there was no getting it back. All I could do was try to eat up

the smells while I listened to the two of them discuss grocery stores and the weather forecast. After that Mom and I went home. It was very strange. I hadn't gotten to play with Bryce at all. All I knew was that his eyes were a dizzying blue, that

he had a sister who was not to be trusted, and that he'd almost kissed me.

I fell asleep that night thinking about the kiss that might have been. What did a kiss feel like, anyway? Somehow I knew it wouldn't be like the one I

got from Mom or Dad at bedtime. The same species, maybe, but a radically different beast,

to be sure. Like a wolf and a whippet—only science

would put them on the same tree.

Looking back on the second grade, I like to think it was at least partly scientific curiosity that made me chase after that kiss, but to be honest, it

was probably more those blue eyes. All through the second and third grades I couldn't seem to stop myself from following him, from sitting by him,

from just wanting to be near him.

By the fourth grade I'd learned to control myself. The sight of him—the thought of him—still sent my heart humming, but my legs didn't actually

chase after him anymore. I just watched and thought and dreamed.

Then in the fifth grade Shelly Stalls came into the picture. Shelly Stalls is a ninny. A whiny, gossipy, backstabbing ninny who says one thing to one

person and the opposite to another. Now that we're in junior high, she's the undisputed diva of drama, but even back in elementary school she knew

how to put on a performance. Especially when it came to P.E. I never once saw her run laps or do calisthenics. Instead, she would go into her

“delicate” act, claiming her body would absolutely collapse from the strain if she ran or jumped or stretched.

It worked. Every year. She'd bring in some note and be sure to swoon a little for the teacher the first few days of the year, after which she'd be

excused from anything that required muscles. She never even put up her own chair at the end of the day. The only muscles she exercised regularly

were the ones around her mouth, and those she worked out nonstop. If there was an Olympic contest for talking, Shelly Stalls would sweep the

event. Well, she'd at least win the gold and silver— one medal for each side of her mouth. What bugged me about it was not the fact that she got out of P.E.—who'd want her on their team, anyway? What bugged me about it was that

anyone who bothered to look would know that it wasn't asthma or weak ankles or her being “delicate” that was stopping her. It was her hair. She

had mountains of it, twisted this way or that, clipped or beaded, braided or swirled. Her ponytails rivaled the ones on carousel horses. And on the

days she let it all hang down, she'd sort of shimmy and cuddle inside it like it was a blanket, so that practically all you saw of her face was her nose.

Good luck playing four-square with a blanket over your head.

My solution to Shelly Stalls was to ignore her, which worked just dandy until about halfway through the fifth grade when I saw her holding hands

with Bryce.

My Bryce. The one who was still embarrassed over holding my hand two days before the second grade. The one who was still too shy to say

much more than hello to me.

The one who was still walking around with my first kiss.

How could Shelly have wormed her hand into his? That pushy little princess had no business hanging on to him like that!

Bryce looked over his shoulder from time to time as they walked along, and he was looking

at me. My first thought was that he was telling me he

was sorry. Then it dawned on me— he needed my help. Absolutely, that's what it had to be! Shelly Stalls was too delicate to shake off, too swirly to

be pushed away. She'd unravel and start sniffling and oh, how embarrassing that would be for him! No, this wasn't a job a boy could do gracefully.

This was a job for a girl.

I didn't even bother checking around for other candidates—I had her off of him in two seconds flat. Bryce ran away the minute he was free, but not

Shelly. Oh, no-no-no! She came at me, scratching and pulling and twisting anything she could get her hands on, telling me that Bryce was hers and

there was no way she was letting him go.

How delicate.

I was hoping for herds of teachers to appear so they could see the real Shelly Stalls in action, but it was too late by the time anyone arrived on the

scene. I had Fluffy in a headlock and her arm twisted back in a hammerlock, and no amount of her squawking or scratching was going to get me to

un lock her until a teacher arrived.

In the end, Shelly went home early with a bad case of mussed-up hair, while I told my side of things to the principal. Mrs. Shultz is a sturdy lady

who probably secretly appreciates the value of a swift kick well placed, and although she told me that it would be better if I let other people work out

their own dilemmas, she definitely understood about Shelly Stalls and her hair and told me she was glad I'd had the self-control to do nothing more

than restrain her.

Shelly was back the next day with a head full of braids. And of course she got everybody whispering about me, but I just ignored them. The facts

spoke for themselves. Bryce didn't go anywhere near her for the rest of the year.

That's not to say that Bryce held my hand after that, but he did start being a little friendlier to me. Especially in the sixth grade, after Mr. Mertins

sat us right next to each other in the third row back.

Sitting next to Bryce was nice. He was nice. He'd say Hi, Juli to me every morning, and once in a while I'd catch him looking my way. He'd always

blush and go back to his own work, and I couldn't help but smile. He was so shy. And so cute! We talked to each other more, too. Especially after Mr. Mertins moved me behind him. Mr. Mertins had a detention policy about spelling, where if

you missed more than seven out of twenty-five words, you had to spend lunch inside with him, writing your words over and over and over again.

The pressure of detention made Bryce panic. And even though it bothered my conscience,

I'd lean in and whisper answers to him, hoping that

maybe I could spend lunch with him instead. His hair smelled like watermelon, and his ear-lobes had fuzz. Soft, blond fuzz. And I wondered about

that. How does a boy with such black hair wind up with blond ear fuzz? What's it doing there, anyway? I checked my own ear-lobes in the mirror but

couldn't find much of anything on them, and I didn't spot any on other people's either.

I thought about asking Mr. Mertins about earlobe fuzz when we were discussing evolution in science, but I didn't. Instead, I spent the year

whispering spelling words, sniffing watermelon, and wondering if I was ever going to get my kiss.

Buddy, Beware!

Seventh grade brought changes, all right, but the biggest one didn't happen at school — it happened at home. Granddad Duncan came to live with

us.

At first it was kind of weird because none of us really knew him. Except for Mom, of course. And even though she's spent the past year and a half

trying to convince us he's a great guy, from what I can tell, the thing he likes to do best is stare out the front-room window. There's not much to see

out there except the Bakers' front yard, but you can find him there day or night, sitting in the big easy chair they moved in with him, staring out the

window.

Okay, so he also reads Tom Clancy novels and the newspapers and does crossword puzzles and tracks his stocks, but those things are all

distractions. Given no one to justify it to, the man would stare out the window until he fell asleep. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It just

seems so … boring.

Mom says he stares like that because he misses Grandma, but that's not something Granddad had ever discussed with me. As a matter of fact,

he never discussed much of anything with me until a few months ago when he read about Juli in the newspaper.

Now, Juli Baker did not wind up on the front page of the Mayfield Times for being an eighth-grade Einstein, like you might suspect. No, my

friend, she got front-page coverage because she refused to climb out of a sycamore tree.

Not that I could tell a sycamore from a maple or a birch for that matter, but Juli, of course, knew what kind of tree it was and passed that

knowledge along to every creature in her wake.

So this tree, this sycamore tree, was up the hill on a vacant lot on Collier Street, and it was massive. Massive and ugly. It was twisted and gnarled

and bent, and I kept expecting the thing to blow over in the wind.

One day last year I'd finally had enough of her yakking about that stupid tree. I came right out and told her that it was not a magnificent sycamore,

it was, in reality, the ugliest tree known to man. And you know what she said? She said I was visually challenged. Visually challenged! This from the

girl who lives in a house that's the scourge of the neighborhood. They've got bushes growing over windows, weeds sticking out all over the place,

and a barnyard's worth of animals running wild. I'm talking dogs, cats, chickens, even snakes.

I swear to God, her brothers have a boa constrictor in

their room. They dragged me in there when I was about ten and made me watch it eat a rat.

A live, beady-eyed rat. They held that rodent up by its

tail and gulp, the boa swallowed it whole. That snake gave me nightmares for a month. Anyway, normally I wouldn't care about someone's yard, but the Bakers' mess bugged my dad big-time, and he channeled his frustration into our

yard. He said it was our neighborly duty to show them what a yard's supposed to look like.

So while Mike and Matt are busy plumping up their boa,

I'm having to mow and edge our yard, then sweep the walkways and gutter, which is going a little overboard, if you ask me.

And you'd think Juli's dad—who's a big, strong, bricklaying dude — would fix the place up, but no. According to my mom, he spends all his free

time painting. His landscapes don't seem like anything special to me, but judging by his price tags, he thinks quite a lot of them. We see them every

year at the Mayfield County Fair, and my parents always say the same thing: “The world would have more beauty in it if he'd fix up the yard instead.”

Mom and Juli's mom do talk some. I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs. Baker — she says

she married a dreamer, and because of that, one of the

two of them will always be unhappy.

Whatever. Maybe Juli's aesthetic sensibilities have been permanently screwed up by her father and none of this is her fault, but Juli has always

thought that that sycamore tree was God's gift to our little corner of the universe.

Back in the third and fourth grades she used to clown around with her brothers in the branches or peel big chunks of bark off so they could slide

down the crook in its trunk. It seemed like they were playing in it whenever my mom took us somewhere in the car. Juli'd be swinging from the

branches, ready to fall and break every bone in her body, while we were waiting at the stoplight, and my mom would shake her head and say, “Don't

you ever climb that tree like that, do you hear me, Bryce? I never want to see you doing that! You either, Lynetta. That is much too dangerous.”

My sister would roll her eyes and say, “As if,” while I'd slump beneath the window and pray for the light to change before Juli squealed my name

for the world to hear.

I did try to climb it once in the fifth grade. It was the day after Juli had rescued my kite from

its mutant toy-eating foliage. She climbed miles up to

get my kite, and when she came down, she was actually very cool about it. She didn't hold my kite hostage and stick her lips out like I was afraid

she might. She just handed it over and then backed away.

I was relieved, but I also felt like a weenie. When I'd seen where my kite was trapped, I was sure it was a goner. Not Juli. She scrambled up and

got it down in no time. Man, it was embarrassing.

So I made a mental picture of how high she'd climbed, and the next day I set off to outdo her by at least two branches. I made it past the crook, up

a few limbs, and then — just to see how I was doing — I looked down.

Mis-take! It felt like I was on top of the Empire State Building without a bungee. I tried looking up to where my kite had been, but it was hopeless. I

was indeed a tree-climbing weenie.

Then junior high started and my dream of a Juli-free existence shattered. I had to take the bus, and you-know-who did, too. There were about

eight kids altogether at our bus stop, which created a buffer zone, but it was no comfort zone. Juli always tried to stand beside me, or talk to me, or

in some other way mortify me.

And then she started climbing. The girl is in the seventh grade, and she's climbing a tree — way, way up in a tree. And why does she do it? So

she can yell down at us that the bus is five! four! three blocks away! Blow-by-blow traffic watch from a tree — what every kid in junior high feels like

hearing first thing in the morning.

She tried to get me to come up there with her, too. “Bryce, come on! You won't believe the colors! It's absolutely magnificent! Bryce, you've got to

come up here!”

Yeah, I could just hear it: “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree…” Was I ever going to leave the second grade behind?

One morning I was specifically not looking up when out of nowhere she swings down from a branch and practically knocks me over. Heart attack!

I dropped my backpack and wrenched my neck, and that did it. I refused to wait under that tree with that maniac monkey on the loose

anymore. I started leaving the house at the very last minute. I made up my own waiting spot, and when I'd see the bus pull up, I'd truck up the hill and

get on board.

No Juli, no problem.

And that, my friend, took care of the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth, too, until one day a few months ago. That's when I heard a

commotion up the hill and could see some big trucks parked up on Collier Street where the bus pulls in. There were some men shouting stuff up at

Juli, who was, of course, five stories up in the tree.

All the other kids started to gather under the tree, too, and I could hear them telling her she had to come down. She was fine — that was obvious

to anyone with a pair of ears — but I couldn't figure out what they were all arguing about.

I trucked up the hill, and as I got closer and saw what the men were holding, I figured out in a hurry what was making Juli refuse to come out of the

tree.

Chain saws.

Don't get me wrong here, okay? The tree was an ugly mutant tangle of gnarly branches. The girl arguing with those men was Juli — the world's

peskiest, bossiest, most know-it-all female. But all of a sudden my stomach completely bailed on me. Juli loved that tree. Stupid as it was, she

loved that tree, and cutting it down would be like cutting out her heart.

Everyone tried to talk her down. Even me. But she said she wasn't coming down, not ever, and then she tried to talk us up. “Bryce, please! Come

up here with me. They won't cut it down if we're all up here!”

For a second I considered it. But then the bus arrived and I talked myself out of it. It wasn't my tree, and even though she acted like it was, it

wasn't Juli's, either.

We boarded the bus and left her behind, but school was pretty much a waste. I couldn't seem to stop thinking about Juli. Was she still up in the

tree? Were they going to arrest her?

When the bus dropped us off that afternoon, Juli was gone and so was half the tree. The top branches, the place my kite had been stuck, her

favorite perch — they were all gone.

We watched them work for a little while, the chain saws gunning at full throttle, smoking as they chewed through wood. The tree looked lopsided

and naked, and after a few minutes I had to get out of there. It was like watching someone dismember a body, and for the first time in ages, I felt like

crying. Crying. Over a stupid tree that I hated.

I went home and tried to shake it off, but I kept wondering, Should I have gone up the tree with her? Would it have done any good?

I thought about calling Juli to tell her I was sorry they'd cut it down, but I didn't. It would've been too, I don't know, weird.

She didn't show at the bus stop the next morning and didn't ride the bus home that afternoon, either.

Then that night, right before dinner, my grandfather summoned me into the front room. He didn't call to me as I was walking by — that would have

bordered on friendliness. What he did was talk to my mother, who talked to me. “I don't know what it's about, honey,” she said. “Maybe he's just

ready to get to know you a little better.”

Great. The man's had a year and a half to get acquainted, and he chooses now to get to know me. But I couldn't exactly blow him off.

My grandfather's a big man with a meaty nose and greased-back salt-and-pepper hair. He lives in house slippers and a sports coat, and I've

never seen a whisker on him. They grow, but he shaves them off like three times a day. It's a real recreational activity for him.

Besides his meaty nose, he's also got big meaty hands. I suppose you'd notice his hands regardless, but what makes you realize just how beefy

they are is his wedding ring. That thing's never going to come off, and even though my mother says that's how it should be, I think he ought to get it

cut off. Another few pounds and that ring's going to amputate his finger.

When I went in to see him, those big hands of his were woven together, resting on the newspaper in his lap. I said, “Granddad? You wanted to

see me?”

“Have a seat, son.”

Son? Half the time he didn't seem to know who I was, and now suddenly I was “son”? I sat in the chair opposite him and waited.

“Tell me about your friend Juli Baker.”

“Juli? She's not exactly my friend … !”

“Why is that?” he asked. Calmly. Like he had prior knowledge.

I started to justify it, then stopped myself and asked, “Why do you want to know?”

He opened the paper and pressed down the crease, and that's when I realized that Juli Baker had made the front page of the Mayfield Times.

There was a huge picture of her in the tree, surrounded by a fire brigade and policemen, and then some smaller photos I couldn't make out very

well. “Can I see that?”

He folded it up but didn't hand it over. “Why isn't she your friend, Bryce?”

“Because she's …” I shook my head and said, “You'd have to know Juli.”

“I'd like to.”

“What? Why?”

“Because the girl's got an iron backbone. Why don't you invite her over sometime?”

“An iron backbone? Granddad, you don't understand! That girl is a royal pain. She's a show-off, she's a know-it-all, and she is pushy beyond

belief!”

“Is that so.”

“Yes! That's absolutely so! And she's been stalking me since the second grade!”

He frowned, then looked out the window and asked, “They've lived there that long?”

“I think they were all born there!”

He frowned some more before he looked back at me and said, “A girl like that doesn't live next door to everyone, you know.”

“Lucky them!”

He studied me, long and hard. I said, “What?” but he didn't flinch. He just kept staring at me, and I couldn't take it — I had to look away.

Keep in mind that this was the first real conversation I'd had with my grandfather. This was the first time he'd made the effort to talk to me about

something besides passing the salt. And does he want to get to know me? No! He wants to know about Juli!

I couldn't just stand up and leave, even though that's what I felt like doing. Somehow I knew if I left like that, he'd quit talking to me at all. Even

about salt. So I sat there feeling sort of tortured. Was he mad at me? How could he be mad

at me? I hadn't done anything wrong!

When I looked up, he was sitting there holding out the newspaper to me. “Read this,” he said. “Without prejudice.”

I took it, and when he went back to looking out the window, I knew — I'd been dismissed.

By the time I got down to my room, I was mad. I slammed my bedroom door and flopped down on the bed, and after fuming about my sorry

excuse for a grandfather for a while, I shoved the newspaper in the bottom drawer of my desk. Like I needed to know any more about Juli Baker.

At dinner my mother asked me why I was so sulky, and she kept looking from me to my grandfather. Granddad didn't seem to need any salt,

which was a good thing because I might have thrown the shaker at him.

My sister and dad were all business as usual, though. Lynetta ate about two raisins out of

her carrot salad, then peeled the skin and meat off her

chicken wing and nibbled gristle off the bone, while my father filled up airspace talking about office politics and the need for a shakedown in upper

management.

No one was listening to him — no one ever does when he gets on one of his if-I-ran-the-circus jags — but for once Mom wasn't even pretending.

And for once she wasn't trying to convince Lynetta that dinner was delicious either. She just kept eyeing me and Granddad, trying to pick up on why

we were miffed at each other.

Not that he had anything to be miffed at me about. What had I done to him, anyway? Nothing. Nada. But he was, I could tell. And I completely

avoided looking at him until about halfway through dinner, when I sneaked a peek.

He was studying me, all right. And even though it wasn't a mean stare, or a hard stare, it was, you know, firm. Steady. And it weirded me out.

What was his deal?

I didn't look at him again. Or at my mother. I just went back to eating and pretended to listen to my dad. And the first chance I got, I excused myself

and holed up in my room.

I was planning to call my friend Garrett like I usually do when I'm bent about something. I even punched in his number, but I don't know. I just hung

up.And later when my mom came in, I faked like I was sleeping. I haven't done that in years. The whole night was weird like that. I just wanted to be

left alone.

Juli wasn't at the bus stop the next morning. Or Friday morning. She was at school, but you'd never know it if you didn't actually look. She didn't whip

her hand through the air trying to get the teacher to call on her or charge through the halls getting to class. She didn't make unsolicited comments for

the teacher's edification or challenge the kids who took cuts in the milk line. She just sat. Quiet.

I told myself I should be glad about it — it was like she wasn't even there, and isn't that what I'd always wanted? But still, I felt bad. About her tree,

about how she hurried off to eat by herself in the library at lunch, about how her eyes were red around the edges. I wanted to tell her, Man, I'm sorry

about your sycamore tree, but the words never seemed to come out.

By the middle of the next week, they'd finished taking down the tree. They cleared the lot and even tried to pull up the stump, but that sucker would

not budge, so they wound up grinding it down into the dirt.

Juli still didn't show at the bus stop, and by the end of the week I learned from Garrett that she was riding a bike. He said he'd seen her on the

side of the road twice that week, putting the chain back on the derailleur of a rusty old ten-speed.

I figured she'd be back. It was a long ride out to Mayfield Junior High, and once she got over the tree, she'd start riding the bus again. I even

caught myself looking for her. Not on the lookout, just looking.

Then one day it rained and I thought for sure she'd be up at the bus stop, but no. Garrett said he saw her trucking along on her bike in a bright

yellow poncho, and in math I noticed that her pants were still soaked from the knees down. When math let out, I started to chase after her to tell her that she ought to try riding the bus again, but I stopped myself in the nick of time. What

was I thinking? That Juli wouldn't take a little friendly concern and completely misinterpret it? Whoa now, buddy, beware! Better to just leave well

enough alone.

After all, the last thing I needed was for Juli Baker to think I missed her.

The Sycamore Tree

I love to watch my father paint. Or really, I love to hear him talk while he paints. The words always come out soft and somehow heavy when he's

brushing on the layers of a landscape. Not sad. Weary, maybe, but peaceful.

My father doesn't have a studio or anything, and since the garage is stuffed with things that everyone thinks they need but no one ever uses, he

paints outside.

Outside is where the best landscapes are, only they're nowhere near our house. So what he does is keep a camera in his truck. His job as a

mason takes him to lots of different locations, and he's always on the lookout for a great sunrise or sunset, or even just a nice field with sheep or

cows. Then he picks out one of the snapshots, clips it to his easel, and paints.

The paintings come out fine, but I've always felt a little sorry for him, having to paint beautiful scenes in our backyard, which is not exactly

picturesque. It never was much of a yard, but after I started raising chickens, things didn't exactly improve.

Dad doesn't seem to see the backyard or the chickens when he's painting, though. It's not just the snapshot or the canvas he sees either. It's

something much bigger. He gets this look in his eye like he's transcended the yard, the neighborhood, the world. And as his big, callused hands

sweep a tiny brush against the canvas, it's almost like his body has been possessed by some graceful spiritual being.

When I was little, my dad would let me sit beside him on the porch while he painted, as long as I'd be quiet. I don't do quiet easily, but I discovered

that after five or ten minutes without a peep, he'd start talking.

I've learned a lot about my dad that way. He told me all sorts of stories about what he'd done when he was my age, and other things, too—like

how he got his first job delivering hay, and how he wished he'd finished college.

When I got a little older, he still talked about himself and his childhood, but he also started asking questions about me. What were we learning at

school? What book was I currently reading? What did I think about this or that.

Then one time he surprised me and asked me about Bryce. Why was I so crazy about Bryce?

I told him about his eyes and his hair and the way his cheeks blush, but I don't think I explained it very well because when I was done Dad shook

his head and told me in soft, heavy words that I needed to start looking at the whole landscape.

I didn't really know what he meant by that, but it made me want to argue with him. How could he possibly understand about Bryce? He didn't know

him!

But this was not an arguing spot. Those were scattered throughout the house, but not out here.

We were both quiet for a record-breaking amount of time before he kissed me on the forehead and said, “Proper lighting is everything, Julianna.”

Proper lighting? What was that supposed to mean? I sat there wondering, but I was afraid

that by asking I'd be admitting that I wasn't mature

enough to understand, and for some reason it felt obvious. Like I should understand.

After that he didn't talk so much about events as he did about ideas. And the older I got, the more philosophical he seemed to get. I don't know if

he really got more philosophical or if he just thought I could handle it now that I was in the double digits.

Mostly the things he talked about floated around me, but once in a while something would happen and I would understand exactly what he had

meant. “A painting is more than the sum of its parts,” he would tell me, and then go on to explain how the cow by itself is just a cow, and the meadow

by itself is just grass and flowers, and the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light, but put them all together and you've got magic.

I understood what he was saying, but I never felt what he was saying until one day when I was up in the sycamore tree.

The sycamore tree had been at the top of the hill forever. It was on a big vacant lot, giving shade in the summer and a place for birds to nest in the

spring. It had a built-in slide for us, too. Its trunk bent up and around in almost a complete spiral, and it was so much fun to ride down. My mom told

me she thought the tree must have been damaged as a sapling but survived, and now, maybe a hundred years later, it was still there, the biggest

tree she'd ever seen. “A testimony to endurance” is what she called it.

I had always played in the tree, but I didn't become a serious climber until the fifth grade, when I went up to rescue a kite that was stuck in its

branches. I'd first spotted the kite floating free through the air and then saw it dive-bomb somewhere up the hill by the sycamore tree.

I've flown kites before and I know—sometimes they're gone forever, and sometimes they're just waiting in the middle of the road for you to rescue

them. Kites can be lucky or they can be ornery. I've had both kinds, and a lucky kite is definitely worth chasing after.

This kite looked lucky to me. It wasn't anything fancy, just an old-fashioned diamond with

blue and yellow stripes. But it stuttered along in a friendly

way, and when it dive-bombed, it seemed to do so from exhaustion as opposed to spite. Ornery kites dive-bomb out of spite. They never get

exhausted because they won't stay up long enough to poop out. Thirty feet up they just sort

of smirk at you and crash for the fun of it.

So Champ and I ran up to Collier Street, and after scouting out the road, Champ started barking at the sycamore tree. I looked up and spotted it,

too, flashing blue and yellow through the branches.

It was a long ways up, but I thought I'd give it a shot. I shinnied up the trunk, took a shortcut across the slide, and started climbing. Champ kept a

good eye on me, barking me along, and soon I was higher than I'd ever been. But still the kite seemed forever away.

Then below me I noticed Bryce coming around the corner and through the vacant lot. And I could tell from the way he was looking up that this was

his kite.

What a lucky, lucky kite this was turning out to be!

“Can you climb that high?” he called up to me.

“Sure!” I called back. And up, up, up I went!

The branches were strong, with just the right amount of intersections to make climbing easy. And the higher I got, the more amazed I was by the

view. I'd never seen a view like that! It was like being in an airplane above all the rooftops, above the other trees. Above the world!

Then I looked down. Down at Bryce. And suddenly I got dizzy and weak in the knees. I was miles off the ground! Bryce shouted, “Can you reach

it?”

I caught my breath and managed to call down, “No problem!” then forced myself to concentrate on those blue and yellow stripes, to focus on them

and only them as I shinnied up, up, up. Finally I touched it; I grasped it; I had the kite in my hand!

But the string was tangled in the branches above and I couldn't seem to pull it free. Bryce called, “Break the string!” and somehow I managed to

do just that.

When I had the kite free, I needed a minute to rest. To recover before starting down. So instead of looking at the ground below me, I held on tight

and looked out. Out across the rooftops.

That's when the fear of being up so high began to lift, and in its place came the most amazing feeling that I was flying. Just soaring above the

earth, sailing among the clouds.

Then I began to notice how wonderful the breeze smelled. It smelled like … sunshine. Like sunshine and wild grass and pomegranates and rain! I

couldn't stop breathing it in, filling my lungs again and again with the sweetest smell I'd ever known.

Bryce called up, “Are you stuck?” which brought me down to earth. Carefully I backed up, prized stripes in hand, and as I worked my way down, I

could see Bryce circling the tree, watching me to make sure I was okay.

By the time I hit the slide, the heady feeling I'd had in the tree was changing into the heady realization that Bryce and I were alone.

Alone!

My heart was positively racing as I held the kite out to him. But before he could take it, Champ nudged me from behind and I could feel his cold,

wet nose against my skin.

Against my skin?!

I grabbed my jeans in back, and that's when I realized the seat of my pants was ripped wide open.

Bryce laughed a little nervous laugh, so I could tell he knew, and for once mine were the cheeks that were beet red. He took his kite and ran off,

leaving me to inspect the damage.

I did eventually get over the embarrassment of my jeans, but I never got over the view. I kept thinking of what it felt like to be up so high in that tree.

I wanted to see it, to feel it, again. And again.

It wasn't long before I wasn't afraid of being up so high and found the spot that became my spot. I could sit there for hours, just looking out at the

world. Sunsets were amazing. Some days they'd be purple and pink, some days they'd be a blazing orange, setting fire to clouds across the

horizon.

It was on a day like that when my father's notion of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts moved from my head to my heart. The view

from my sycamore was more than rooftops and clouds and wind and colors combined.

It was magic.

And I started marveling at how I was feeling both humble and majestic. How was that possible? How could I be so full of peace and full of

wonder? How could this simple tree make me feel so complex? So alive.

I went up the tree every chance I got. And in junior high that became almost every day because the bus to our school picks up on Collier Street,

right in front of the sycamore tree.

At first I just wanted to see how high I could get before the bus pulled up, but before long I was leaving the house early so I could get clear up to

my spot to see the sun rise, or the birds flutter about, or just the other kids converge on the curb.

I tried to convince the kids at the bus stop to climb up with me, even a little ways, but all of them said they didn't want to get dirty. Turn down a

chance to feel magic for fear of a little dirt? I couldn't believe it.

I'd never told my mother about climbing the tree. Being the truly sensible adult that she is, she would have told me it was too dangerous. My

brothers, being brothers, wouldn't have cared.

That left my father. The one person I knew would understand. Still, I was afraid to tell him. He'd tell my mother and pretty soon they'd insist that I

stop. So I kept quiet, kept climbing, and felt a somewhat lonely joy as I looked out over the world.

Then a few months ago I found myself talking to the tree. An entire conversation, just me and a tree. And on the climb down I felt like crying. Why

didn't I have someone real to talk to? Why didn't I have a best friend like everyone else seemed to? Sure, there were kids I knew at school, but none

of them were close friends. They'd have no interest in climbing the tree. In smelling the sunshine.

That night after dinner my father went outside to paint. In the cold of the night, under the glare of the porch light, he went out to put the finishing

touches on a sunrise he'd been working on.

I got my jacket and went out to sit beside him, quiet as a mouse.

After a few minutes he said, “What's on your mind, sweetheart?”

In all the times I'd sat out there with him, he'd never asked me that. I looked at him but couldn't seem to speak.

He mixed two hues of orange together, and very softly he said, “Talk to me.”

I sighed so heavily it surprised even me. “I understand why you come out here, Dad.”

He tried kidding me. “Would you mind explaining it to your mother?”

“Really, Dad. I understand now about the whole being greater than the sum of the parts.”

He stopped mixing. “You do? What happened? Tell me about it!”

So I told him about the sycamore tree. About the view and the sounds and the colors and the wind, and how being up so high felt like flying. Felt

like magic.

He didn't interrupt me once, and when my confession was through, I looked at him and whispered, “Would you climb up there with me?”

He thought about this a long time, then smiled and said, “I'm not much of a climber anymore, Julianna, but I'll give it a shot, sure. How about this

weekend, when we've got lots of daylight to work with?”

“Great!”

I went to bed so excited that I don't think I slept more than five minutes the whole night. Saturday was right around the corner. I couldn't wait!

The next morning I raced to the bus stop extra early and climbed the tree. I caught the sun rising through the clouds, sending streaks of fire from

one end of the world to the other. And I was in the middle of making a mental list of all the things I was going to show my father when I heard a noise

below.

I looked down, and parked right beneath me were two trucks. Big trucks. One of them was towing a long, empty trailer, and the other had a cherry

picker on it—the kind they use to work on overhead power lines and telephone poles.

There were four men standing around talking, drinking from thermoses, and I almost called down to them, “I'm sorry, but you can't park there….

That's a bus stop!” But before I could, one of the men reached into the back of a truck and started unloading tools. Gloves. Ropes. A chain.

Earmuffs. And then chain saws. Three chain saws.

And still I didn't get it. I kept looking around for what it was they could possibly be there to cut down. Then one of the kids who rides the bus

showed up and started talking to them, and pretty soon he was pointing up at me.

One of the men called, “Hey! You better come down from there. We gotta take this thing down.”

I held on to the branch tight, because suddenly it felt as though I might fall. I managed to choke out, “The tree?”

“Yeah, now come on down.”

“But who told you to cut it down?”

“The owner!” he called back.

“But why?”

Even from forty feet up I could see him scowl. “Because he's gonna build himself a house, and he can't very well do that with this tree in the way.

Now come on, girl, we've got work to do!”

By that time most of the kids had gathered for the bus. They weren't saying anything to me, just looking up at me and turning from time to time to

talk to each other. Then Bryce appeared, so I knew the bus was about to arrive. I searched across the rooftops and sure enough, there it was, less

than four blocks away.

My heart was crazy with panic. I didn't know what to do! I couldn't leave and let them cut down the tree! I cried, “You can't cut it down! You just

can't!”

One of the men shook his head and said, “I am this close to calling the police. You are trespassing and obstructing progress on a contracted job.

Now are you going to come down or are we going to cut you down?”

The bus was three blocks away. I'd never missed school for any reason other than legitimate illness, but I knew in my heart that I was going to

miss my ride. “You're going to have to cut me down!” I yelled. Then I had an idea. They'd never cut it down if all of us were in the tree. They'd have to

listen! “Hey, guys!” I called to my classmates. “Get up here with me! They can't cut it down if we're all up here! Marcia! Tony! Bryce! C'mon, you

guys, don't let them do this!”

They just stood there, staring up at me.

I could see the bus, one block away. “Come on, you guys! You don't have to come up this high. Just a little ways. Please!”

The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks, and when the doors folded open, one by one my classmates climbed on board.

What happened after that is a bit of a blur. I remember the neighbors gathering, and the police with megaphones. I remember the fire brigade,

and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I'd darn well better get out of it.

Somebody tracked down my mother, who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a sensible mother should, but I was not coming down. I

was not coming down.

Then my father came racing up. He jumped out of his pickup truck, and after talking with my mother for a few minutes, he got the guy in the cherry

picker to give him a lift up to where I was. After that it was all over. I started crying and tried

to get him to look out over the rooftops, but he wouldn't.

He said that no view was worth his little girl's safety.

He got me down and he took me home, only I couldn't stay there. I couldn't stand the sound of chain saws in the distance.

So Dad took me with him to work, and while he put up a block wall, I sat in his truck and cried.

I must've cried for two weeks straight. Oh, sure, I went to school and I functioned the best I could, but I didn't go there on the bus. I started riding

my bike instead, taking the long way so I wouldn't have to go up to Collier Street. Up to a pile of sawdust that used to be the earth's most

magnificent sycamore tree.

Then one evening when I was locked up in my room, my father came in with something under a towel. I could tell it was a painting because that's

how he transports the important ones when he shows them in the park. He sat down, resting the painting on the floor in front of him. “I always liked

that tree of yours,” he said. “Even before you told me about it.”

“Oh, Dad, it's okay. I'll get over it.”

“No, Julianna. No, you won't.”

I started crying. “It was just a tree….”

“I never want you to convince yourself of that. You and I both know it isn't true.”

“But Dad…”

“Bear with me a minute, would you?” He took a deep breath. “I want the spirit of that tree to be with you always. I want you to remember how you

felt when you were up there.” He hesitated a moment, then handed me the painting. “So I made this for you.”

I pulled off the towel, and there was my tree. My beautiful, majestic sycamore tree. Through the branches he'd painted the fire of sunrise, and it

seemed to me I could feel the wind. And way up in the tree was a tiny girl looking off into the distance, her cheeks flushed with wind. With joy. With

magic.

“Don't cry, Julianna. I want it to help you, not hurt you.” I wiped the tears from my cheeks and gave a mighty sniff. “Thank you, Daddy,” I choked out.

“Thank you.”

I hung the painting across the room from my bed. It's the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see every night. And now that I can look

at it without crying, I see more than the tree and what being up in its branches meant to me.

I see the day that my view of things around me started changing.

Brawk-Brawk-Brawk!

Eggs scare me. Chickens, too. And buddy, you can laugh at that all you want, but I'm being dead serious here.

It started in the sixth grade with eggs.

And a snake.

And the Baker brothers.

The Baker brothers' names are Matt and Mike, but even now I can't tell you which one's which. You never see one without the other. And even

though they're not twins, they do look and sound pretty much the same, and they're both in Lynetta's class, so maybe one of them got held back.

Flipped怦然心动电影台词英文整理版

SCENE 1 people. better. But finally, in the sixth grade, I in Sherry himself. BRYCE: All I ever wanted was for Juli JULI: I don't mind. took action. I hatched the plan. SHERRY: I was thinking of showing how Baker to leave me alone. It all began in the BRYCE: Of any kind. BRYCE: Sherry. Sherry, wait up. split ends react with different hair summer of 1957, before the start of second JULI: You wanna push this one together? SHERRY: Hi, Bryce. Heh. conditioners. grade. STEVEN: Bryce, isn't it time for you to go BRYCE: I asked out Sherry Stalls. GARRETT: That's fascinating. STEVEN: Here we are. help your mother? BRYCE: I was wondering if you wanted BRYCE: Loyalty gave way to desire and PATSY: Ha, ha. What do you guys think? BRYCE: Huh? Oh, yeah. to go... Garrett, the turncoat... told Sherry what I LYNETTA: I like this place. BRYCE: I mean, nothing would stop her. I BRYCE: To full appreciate the brilliance was up to. BRYCE: It's cool. was about to tell her to get lost when the of this plan, you have to understand that SHERRY: Jerk. LYNETTA: Uh, what color is my room? weirdest thing happened. I couldn't believe Juli hated Sherry Stalls, though I never BRYCE: She didn't take it well. Word got PATSY: Just you wait. it. There I was holding hands with this understood why. Sherry was nice, friendly back to Juli, and pretty soon she started up BRYCE: Let's see what's inside. strange girl. How did I get into this mess? and she had a lot of hair. with the goo-goo eyes again. Only this STEVEN: Hey, come on, buddy Bryce.

英文小说flipped(怦然心动)中英文对照1

英文小说flipped（怦然心动）原文1 All I've ever wanted is for Juli Baker to leave me alone. For her to back off —you know, just give me some spac e. It all started the summer before second grade when our movi ng van pulled into her neighborhood. And since we're now ab out done with the eighth grade, that, my friend, makes more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social disco mfort. She didn't just barge into my life. She barged and shoved and wedged her way into my life. Did we invite her to get into our moving van and start cl imbing all over boxes? No! But that's exactly what she did, taking over and showing off like only Juli Baker can. My dad tried to stop her. “Hey!”he says as she's catapu lting herself on board. “What are you doing? You're getting mud eve rywhere!”So true, too. Her shoes were, like, cake d with the stuff. She didn't hop out, though. Instead, she planted her rear e nd on the floor and started pushing a big box with her fe et. “Don't you want some help?”She glanced my way. “It s ure looks like you need it.” I didn't like the implication. And even though my dad had been tossing me the same sort of look all week, I could t ell —he didn't like this girl either. “Hey!Don't do th at,”he warned her. “There are some really valuable things in that box.” “Oh.Well, how about this one?”She scoots over to a box labeled LENOX and looks my way again. “We should push it together!” “No,no, no!”my dad says, then pulls her up by the arm . “Why don't you run along home? Your mother's probably wo ndering where you are.” This was the beginning of my soon-to-become-acute awareness t hat the girl cannot take a hint. Of any kind. Does she zi

Flipped(怦然心动)

Flipped This is a film which is a love story about the love at first sight . · Main characters are Juli Baker and Bryce Losik. · The movie tells us a story about a girl –Juli, who has adored a boy ever since he moved into the neighborhood in the second grade. ?When Juli first saw Bryce, she was in love with him. ?Juli says she loves his blue eyes ,and his eyes are beautiful. ?But Bryce thought she was a strange girl and wanted be far away from her.?Then they are neighbors. ?JULI:The first day I met Bryce Loski, I flipped. It was those eyes, something in those dazzling eyes.The next thing I know, he's holding my hand and looking right into my eyes. My heart stopped. Was this it? Would this be my first kiss? ?At first ，Juli always played with Bryce.And everybody thought that Juli and Bryce were couple.But in fact ，that was not true. ?Young Bryce did everything he can do to get rid of Juli , but it seemed uneasy way to do this, Because they went to the same school and lived across the street from each other. ?Bryce pretended that he had fallen in love with another girl .Juli was very sad ,but in her mind,she thought Bryce belongs to her.And they would break up very quickly.And it was finally exposed by his "best friend" Garrett. ?Juli was glad to see this and also loved smelling Bryce since then .And it made Bryce feel embarrassed. ?BRYCE: Word got back to Juli, and pretty soon she started up with the goo-goo eyes again. Only this time it was worse. She started sniffing（闻）me. That's right, sniffing me. What was that all about? My only consolation was that next year would be different. Junior high, bigger school. Maybe we'd be in different classes and it would finally, finally be over. ?Juli Baker devoutly believed in three things: the sanctity of trees (especially her beloved sycamore)，the wholesomeness of the eggs she collects from her backyard flock of chickens, and that someday she will kiss Bryce Loski.?Juli enjoyed watching the sunrise sitting on a sycamore tree ,but one day many workers wanted to cut it down . Juli tried to protect it ,and also wanted Bryce to help her ,but Bryce refused . Juli failed and was sad,she didn't talk to anybody for a long time.Bryce's grandfather heard about it and was interested in this girl.But Bryce still thought Juli as an annoyed girl ,because on the science exhibition Juli's show of incubation gained more praise than his show.Bryce rejected to know Juli more. ?Juli sent eggs of her own hens to Bryce every morning.But Bryce was afraid of salmonella which may probobly in the eggs ,so he threw these eggs away everytime. ?And Juli found the truth accidentally,she was truly angry with Bryce . Juli

《flipped(怦然心动)》英文影评

《flipped（怦然心动）》英文影评/观后感 提供者:戴雪君Because of a friend’s strong recommendation,《flipped》is a movie I wanted to watch a long time ago.Then till the vacation,I finally had the chance to enjoy it. It’s a story showed from the perspective of two people watching the same issue.A little girl and a little boy met at their second grade.The girl fell in love with her newly moved neighbour because of his dazzling eyes.But the boy was always mad at the girl because of her bored broadcast about every morning’s school bus,her family’s yard was always in a mess and her ugly sycamore tree. Then the girl realized that the boy wasn’t the kind of person who is more than the sum of his parts.However,the boy gradually began to find the merits of the girl,such as kindness,self-awareness,pureness. Little Julie has many virtues which impress me.First,she adhered to herself.She loved the sycamore tree in their block.Because she could sit at the braches for hours and amazed by the view.When someone wanted to cut the sycamore tree down,she sat there bravely to protect it.She didn’t care about others’incomprehension and ridicule.Second,she showed sympathy for the weak.She loved her uncle,although he had a severe handicap.And she bid for the Basketboy number 8 at Mayfield Boosters Club Action because no one bid for the https://www.sodocs.net/doc/5517132170.html,st but not least,she had a

Flipped 怦然心动

Flipped All I ever wanted was for Juli Baker to leave me alone. It all began in the summer of , before the start of second grade. Here we are. What do you guys think? I like this place. It's cool. Uh, what color is my room? Just you wait. Let's see what's inside. Hey, come on, buddy Bryce. Why don't, uh, you and I go help unload the van and the womenfolk here can get in the kitchen and start setting up. Okay, Dad. For me, it was the beginning of what would be more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort. Hi, I'm Juli Baker. Hey, hey, what are you doing? Don't you want some help? No. There's some valuable things in there. How about this one? No, no, no. Run home. Your mother's probably wondering where you are. Oh, no, my mom knows where I am. She said it's fine. It didn't take long to realize this girl could not take a hint. It's crowded in here with three people. I don't mind. Of any kind. You wanna push this one together? Bryce, isn't it time for you to go help your mother? Oh, yeah. I mean, nothing would stop her. I was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I couldn't believe it. There I was holding hands with this strange girl. How did I get into this mess? Well, hello. I see you've met my son Finally, I did the only manly thing available when you're years old. However, my troubles were far from over. The minute I walked into Miss Yelson's classroom Bryce? You're here. it was clear: School would not be a sanctuary. Hey, Bryce, where's your girlfriend? I was branded for life. Hey, Bryce, why don't you ask her to marry you? Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree K-l-S-S-l-N-G My first year in town was a disaster. Look at them.

Flipped_怦然心动 全部台词

Bryce Loski All ever I wanted was for Juli Baker to leave me alone. It all began in the summer of 1957,before the start of second grade. -Here we are. –haha –What do you guys think? –I like this place. –It’s cool. –Uh,what color is my room? -Just you wait. -Let’s see what’s inside. –Hey, come on, buddy Bryce. Why don’t, uh, you and I go help unload the van…and the womenfolk here can get in the kitchen and start setting up. –Okay. Dad. For me, it was the beginning of what would be more than half a decade of strategic avoidance and social discomfort. -Hi, I’m Juli Baker. –Hey, hey, what are you doing? –Don’t you want some help? –No. there’s some valuable things in there. –How about this one? –No, no, no. Run home, your mother’s probably wondering where you are. –Oh, no,my mom knows where I am. She said it’s fine. It didn’t take long to realize this girl could not take a hint. –It’s crowded in here with three people. –I don’t mind. Of any kind. –You wanna push this one together? –Bryce, isn’t it time for you to go help your mother? –Huh? Oh, yeah. I mean, nothing would stop her. I was about to tell her to get lost when the weirdest thing happened. I couldn’t believe it. There I was holding hands with this strange girl. How did I get into this mess? –Well, hello. I see you’ve met my son. –Uh-huh.

《Flipped》怦然心动读后感

“I had flipped.” 《Flipped》is so classic that I used to appreciate the movie a long time ago. But, under our teachers’ recommendation, I have read the book 《Flipped》, which bring me deeper feeling and leave me a more profound impression. This book tells the stories between Bryce Loski and Juli Baker. In Juli’s second grade, she met Bryce and totally flipped at the first sight for Bryce’s bule, dazzling eyes and even his whole person. Juli had heartfelt faith of three things that the large, old sycamore tree is holy; the eggs she laid by the chickens she reared in the backyard are the most hygienic; and she will kiss with Bryce one day. However, Bryce didn’t like Juli at all and set boundaries with her as much as possible. When the tree was about to be cut down because of the construction, Juli hoped Bryce would help her, but he didn’t. Having prejudice against that her eggs were unhygienic, so Bryce secretly dropped them. To learn that truth, Juli was very sad and began to reconsider the relationship with Bryce. After all, what could be more desperate than the things Juli considers a treasure to be guarded by life, but is regarded as dung by her loved one? What is fortunate is that Bryce’s grandfather had a good impression on Juli. Following his grandfather's words, Bryce slowly knew the real Juli, and started pursuing her. In this book, Juli is a brave, naive and independent girl. I really like what Julie did when she realized that she

Flipped 怦然心动剧本(英文原版)

F l i p p e d h t t p://w w w.y e e k n o w.c o m/?/a r t i c l e/19 A l l I e v e r w a n t e d w a s f o r J u l i B a k e r t o l e a v e m e a l o n e. I t a l l b e g a n i n t h e s u m m e r o f1957,b e f o r e t h e s t a r t o f s e c o n d g r a d e. -H e r e w e a r e.-H a,h a. -W h a t d o y o u g u y s t h i n k?-I l i k e t h i s p l a c e. -I t's c o o l.-U h,w h a t c o l o r i s m y r o o m? J u s t y o u w a i t. -L e t's s e e w h a t's i n s i d e.-H e y,c o m e o n,b u d d y B r y c e. W h y d o n't,u h,y o u a n d I g o h e l p u n l o a d t h e v a n... ...a n d t h e w o m e n f o l k h e r e c a n g e t i n t h e k i t c h e n a n d s t a r t s e t t i n g u p. O k a y,D a d. F o r m e,i t w a s t h e b e g i n n i n g o f w h a t w o u l d b e... ...m o r e t h a n h a l f a d e c a d e o f s t r a t e g i c a v o i d a n c e a n d s o c i a l d i s c o m f o r t. -H i,I'm J u l i B a k e r.-H e y,h e y,w h a t a r e y o u d o i n g? D o n't y o u w a n t s o m e h e l p? N o.T h e r e's s o m e v a l u a b l e t h i n g s i n t h e r e. -H o w a b o u t t h i s o n e?-N o,n o,n o. R u n h o m e.Y o u r m o t h e r's p r o b a b l y w o n d e r i n g w h e r e y o u a r e. O h,n o,m y m o m k n o w s w h e r e I a m.S h e s a i d i t's f i n e. I t d i d n't t a k e l o n g t o r e a l i z e t h i s g i r l c o u l d n o t t a k e a h i n t. -I t's c r o w d e d i n h e r e w i t h t h r e e p e o p l e.-I d o n't m i n d. -O f a n y k i n d.-Y o u w a n n a p u s h t h i s o n e t o g e t h e r? B r y c e,i s n't i t t i m e f o r y o u t o g o h e l p y o u r m o t h e r? H u h? O h,y e a h. I m e a n,n o t h i n g w o u l d s t o p h e r. I w a s a b o u t t o t e l l h e r t o g e t l o s t w h e n t h e w e i r d e s t t h i n g h a p p e n e d. I c o u l d n't b e l i e v e i t. 第 1页

flipped_电影《怦然心动》台词

他和我聊各式各样的事情 He told me all sorts of things. 比如他怎么找到一份运输干草的工作,比如他后悔自己没有完成大学学业 like how he got his first job delivering hay and how he'd wished he'd finished college. 有天，他出人意料地问 Then one day he surprised me. 你和对门那个布莱斯是怎么回事啊？ What's going on with you and, uh, Bryce Loski? 朱莉：啊？什么怎么回事啊？没什么啊 What do you mean? Nothing. 父：哦，那就好，是我想多了 Oh, okay .My mistake. 朱莉：你为什么这么想？ Why would you even think that? 父：没什么，只是你成天把他挂在嘴边 No reason .Just that you...talk about him all the time. 朱莉：我有吗？I do? 父：是啊 Mm-hm. 朱莉：我不知道I don't know. 我想是因为他那双眼睛，或者是他的微笑 I guess it's something about his eyes .Or maybe his smile. 父：那他这个人如何？ But what about him? 朱莉：什么？ What? 父：你必须看到整体 You have to look at the whole landscape. 朱莉：什么意思？ What does that mean? 父：一幅画可不仅仅是它各个部分的简单组合 A painting is more than the sum of its parts. 一头牛只是一头牛 A cow by itself is just a cow. 草地只是一片长满青草和花朵的土地 A meadow by itself is just grass, 透过树枝的阳光，也不过是一束光线而已 And the sun peeking through the trees is just a beam of light. 但是你将它们组合在一起 But you put them all together... 却美的不可思议 and it can be magic. 爸爸的话，我一知半解 I didn't really understand what he was saying 直到有一天下午，我在那棵梧桐树上