Heartbeat

  Remember Max?

  Grandpa studies him a moment

  and then nods

  and releases the baby

  to my open arms.

  As I offer the baby to Max

  he takes one step backward

  but I nudge the baby into Max’s arms.

  To my surprise

  Max takes the baby gently

  and cradles him in his arms

  as if he has been holding babies

  all his life.

  He strokes baby Joey’s cheek

  and then glances round the room.

  He spies the photograph of Grandpa

  with his trophy.

  It is the photograph which Grandpa

  had asked me to take away

  but which, I see, he has retrieved.

  Max asks Grandpa about the photograph

  and they talk of races and running

  and I leave them alone

  while I shower and change

  and when I return

  Grandpa has baby Joey again

  and Max is holding a box

  and thanking my grandpa.

  Outside, Max says that Grandpa

  gave him a gift

  and told him a secret about running.

  He opens the box and shows me the gift:

  Grandpa’s running shoes

  sixty years old.

  Lucky shoes! Max says.

  They are worn and stained

  and they look nothing like

  the new shoes that Max bought.

  I feel a little jealous that Grandpa

  has given these shoes to Max

  and not to me.

  I ask Max what the secret was

  and Max says

  I can’t tell you, can I?

  It’s a secret.

  But he smiles and his black mood is gone

  and he waves as he trots off down the road

  cradling his lucky shoes

  and his secret.

  Upstairs, I take baby Joey from Grandpa

  and press the warm bundle to me

  and Grandpa says

  You’re wondering why I gave him the shoes,

  aren’t you?

  Yes.

  Honey, you like to run barefoot

  he says

  and you don’t need those old smelly shoes.

  I ask him about the secret he told Max.

  Honey, he says, you already know the secret.

  Baby Joey wakes, squirms, cries

  and Grandpa whispers to him:

  Run for the pleasure of running.

  It’s a secret, baby.

  THE PACKAGE

  Tied to my locker is a plastic bag

  and taped to the bag is a yellow card

  with my name scrawled in awkward letters

  like a child’s printing.

  Inside the bag:

  a dozen colored pencils

  and

  smooth, thick, white paper.

  A gift!

  An anonymous gift!

  But I know who it’s from.

  After school, I run run run—

  Hey, Annie!

  Hey, Max!

  And on we go

  as we always do

  up and down the hills

  o-v-e-r the creek

  and at the bench I mention25

  the extraordinary gift

  the anonymous gift

  and I turn to Max

  who turns to me

  and

  we do not blink

  until he says

  Ready to run back?

  And I say

  Ready.

  And off we go

  breathing in

  breathing out

  thump-thump, thump-thump

  and I think it odd

  but right

  that this is the way we talk

  run run run

  thump-thump, thump-thump.

  YUM BOY

  On the last day of school

  as Kaylee and I are cleaning out our lockers

  we overhear two older girls

  talking about Max:

  He’s so, I don’t know, like,26 mysterious!

  Yeah,27 and so cute, so yum!

  I laugh, not sure why.

  Kaylee asks me if I like Max.

  Sure, I say.

  But, like, ya know28

  Kaylee persists

  like,29 do you really like him?

  I shrug

  just like Max does

  and I think about moody Max

  and running Max

  and the Max who removes a leaf

  from my hair

  and the Max who pesters me

  and the Max who holds Joey

  and the Max who wants secrets

  and lucky shoes

  and who has big dreams

  and I don’t know how to answer Kaylee

  because I do like Max

  all of Max

  even the moods and the pestering

  but I am not ready

  yet

  to think of him

  the way the other girls

  are thinking of him

  and I want him to stay Max

  my same moody Max

  and I want him to run with me

  for a little longer.

  ONE HUNDRED APPLES

  Grandpa and baby Joey and I

  are looking through my apple folder.

  Grandpa points out his favorites

  as Joey gazes wisely

  as if he understands

  what he is seeing.

  Grandpa reaches the ninety-ninth apple:

  a slim core

  eaten away

  a narrow indented column

  with a dignified but bent stem

  and pale flesh

  browning at the edges.

  As Grandpa turns the page

  to the one hundredth apple

  I hear a small intake of breath.

  He takes the baby’s finger

  and together they trace

  the drawing:

  a small shiny brown seed

  tear shaped

  elegant

  both old and new

  silent

  and

  full

  of

  secrets.

  Heartbeat

  * * *

  Sharon’s Story in Her Own Words

  * * *

  Just How Alike Are Sharon and Annie?

  * * *

  Hear from Sharon About Heartbeat and More

  * * *

  Try Out Heartbeat Reader’s Theatre

  * * *

  Read an Excerpt from Sharon Creech’s Novel The Great Unexpected

  * * *

  Sharon’s Story in Her Own Words

  Lyle Rigg

  I was born in South Euclid, Ohio, a suburb of Cleveland, and grew up there with my noisy and rowdy family: my parents (Ann and Arvel), my sister (Sandy), and my three brothers (Dennis, Doug, and Tom).

  When I was young, I wanted to be many things when I grew up: a painter, an ice skater, a singer, a teacher, and a reporter. It soon became apparent that I had little drawing talent, very limited tolerance for falling on ice, and absolutely no ability to stay on key while singing. I also soon learned that I would make a terrible reporter because when I didn’t like the facts, I changed them. It was in college, when I took literature and writing courses, that I became intrigued by storytelling. Later, I was a teacher (high school English and writing) in England and in Switzerland. While teaching great literature, I learned so much about writing: about what makes a story interesting and about techniques of plot and characterization and point of view. I started out writing novels for adults: The Recital and Nickel Malley were both written and published while I was living in England (these books were published in England only and are now out of print). But the next book was Absolutely Normal Chaos, and ever since that book I have written mainly
about young people. Walk Two Moons was the first of my books to be published in America. When it received the Newbery Medal, no one was more surprised than I was. I’m still a little bit in shock.

  After Walk Two Moons came Chasing Redbird, Pleasing the Ghost, Bloomability, The Wanderer, Fishing in the Air, Love That Dog, Ruby Holler, Granny Torrelli Makes Soup, Heartbeat, and now Replay. I hope to be writing stories for a long, long time.

  I am married to Lyle Rigg, who is the headmaster of the Pennington School in Pennington, New Jersey, and have two grown children, Rob and Karin. Being with my family is what I enjoy most. The next-best thing is writing stories.

  Just How Alike Are Sharon and Annie?

  As I was writing this book, I felt as if I were taking the pulse of this young girl, Annie, who is trying to place herself on this spectrum of life. Where does she fit in? She wonders what it would be like to be old, and what it would be like to be an infant, and how she became who she is, and who exactly is she, and why is she here.

  These are questions I had when I was Annie’s age, when my grandparents were aging, and when my mother was expecting my youngest brother. I felt as if I were balancing on the cusp of some important life thread, and it was essential to try to understand where I was, in the larger scheme of things.

  I had the image in my mind of Annie. I could see her running down a hill. And immediately the rhythm of her running dictated, I think, the rhythm of her speech. That was a much more lyrical thing than prose. And so it arranged itself on the page and I thought, Okay, well we have another novel in verse, let’s see how this works. There’s the running, there’s the thump-thump, thump-thump. But there’s also that repetition of three words that happens in this book quite a lot. She says “running running running” … and “I’ll fly fly fly” … la la la.

  Like Annie, I used to run for the pure pleasure of running. It made me feel free, and it calmed my mind. I no longer run very much, but I take long walks, and it is often during these walks that an idea for a scene or a whole book will arise.

  And lastly, you know how Annie’s art teacher gives an assignment to draw one apple a hundred times? My daughter was given this assignment in school. She said she learned more about drawing from that one assignment than from anything else!

  Hear from Sharon About Heartbeat and More

  Heartbeat is another story of relationships: between Annie and her grandfather, between Annie and her friend Max, and between Annie and her about-to-be-born sibling. Why do you find these kinds of relationships so important to write about?

  Relationships with parents, grandparents, friends, and siblings were important to me when I was young and have remained so throughout my life. Our relationships with other people both shape and reflect who we are. These relationships are infinitely fascinating to explore!

  Now that you are a grandmother, what life lessons do you hope to pass on to your own granddaughter?

  Perhaps I am hoping to emulate Annie’s grandfather (in Heartbeat): to be able to listen, to commiserate, and to laugh with my granddaughter. Maybe the lessons I can pass on are similar: appreciate one’s friends, take time for family and simple pleasures, be able to laugh at oneself, and be able to step outside oneself to see the larger world. I also hope to pass on my love of reading to her! I’ve been reading to Pearl since she was born, and she has become a little bookworm. When we walked into a bookstore last week, she said, “Books, books, books! Let’s read books!”

  In Heartbeat, Annie asks, “Why are we here on this earth?” What would you tell your granddaughter if she asked you the same question?

  I hope it’s many years before I’m asked that question so that I have time to come up with a good answer! If I had to answer now, I’d probably say this: Each child brings so much joy and hope into the world, and that is reason enough for being here. As you grow older, you will contribute something else to this world, and only you can discover what that is.

  What were some of your favorite books when you were growing up?

  At home, we five siblings were usually urged to “go outside and play!” This was fine with me. The only books I remember being in our house were a set of the Great Books. These included the works of Sophocles, Plato, etc.—not exactly light reading. I remember pulling one of the volumes out one day, determined to read Plato, and as I did so, a centipede scurried across the cover and onto my leg. I didn’t go anywhere near those Great Books for a long, long time. The only book I have a distinct fond memory of is The Timbertoes, probably my first chapter book, which I read at school. I was hypnotized by it and by the colorful illustrations that accompanied it. I think this was my first sense of being immersed in a story that I could read by myself.

  What’s your recipe for success as a writer?

  Read a lot, live your life, and listen and watch, so that your mind fills up with millions of images. Shake it. See what floats to the top. Transfer floating images to page, word by word. Repeat. When it is all done, remove clunky bits. Sounds simple, yes? And it is, if you stay loose and open, and if you have the patience to transfer those images, word by word, from your mind to the paper.

  Why do you write for children?

  I don’t think of myself writing so much for children as about children. But in any case I can’t think of a better audience. They’re so enthusiastic, so receptive to the stories, and they seem in some ways molded by the stories. I feel honored to have a part in that.

  But primarily I write because I’m really, really interested in young people. And particularly I’m interested in those pivotal ages between nine and fourteen, where a child is no longer a child and not yet an adult, just beginning to question, “Who am I?”; “What will I be?”; “What will I do?”

  Try Out Heartbeat Reader’s Theatre

  When I go on tour and give presentations, I often ask readers to help me act out scenes that I’ve adapted from my books. Following are two scenes from Heartbeat that I’ve adapted. (And you can act them out if you’d like!)

  Shoeless

  ANNIE: (narrating) After school I see Max at the track being scolded by his coach …. Max stands with his arms crossed, defiant, scowling, and I am thinking he should not be so proud, when I see the girls’ coach coming toward me.

  COACH: I saw you run yesterday, Annie, up near the stone church—that was you, wasn’t it?

  ANNIE: Maybe.

  COACH: You have a fine stride—

  ANNIE: (to audience) I cross my arms like Max.

  COACH: What is it you’re afraid of?

  ANNIE: (to audience) I do so want to punch her (very, very, very much) because there is something about her, some poking, prying, pushy thing that engulfs me, but I do not punch her. Instead I say:

  (to coach) I am not afraid. I love to run, but I love to run by myself.

  (to audience) She studies me, disbelieving, a little scornful, as if I am hiding something or lying to her, and then she smiles a thin little smile and says:

  COACH: You might enjoy being part of a team.

  ANNIE: (to audience) And now I really want to slug her (I want to slug her very, very much) because I have heard this before from other coaches who think that if you don’t want to be part of a team, there is something wrong with you—perhaps you are a future ax murderer … and so I know I have to find some little thing to let her win, and so I say:

  (to coach) Yes, ma’am, maybe I would enjoy being part of a team—some day.

  (to audience) And maybe I wouldn’t.

  COACH: Well, you think about it and let me know when you’re ready.

  ANNIE: Yes, ma’am, I will.

  COACH: Because, ya know, you shouldn’t waste a gift.

  ANNIE: Yes, ma’am.

  (to audience) And when I get home, I fling off my shoes and flee for the path, and I run run run run run, hard and fast, on the soft spring ground.

  The Stranger

  GRANDPA: (frightened) Annie! Annie!

  ANNIE: What is it, Grandpa? What’s wrong?

&nb
sp; GRANDPA: (pointing to photo on the wall) Who is that boy? He’s staring at me!

  ANNIE: Grandpa, that’s you.

  GRANDPA: Well, he’s bothering me!

  ANNIE: Do you want me to take him away?

  GRANDPA: Yes.

  (Annie removes photo and sets it aside.)

  ANNIE: Is that better?

  GRANDPA: Yes. He was bothering me so much.

  ANNIE: Why? What was he doing?

  GRANDPA: He wouldn’t stop staring at me! Ask him why he was staring at me.

  ANNIE: (to photo) Why were you staring at my grandpa?

  (Annie pretends to listen to photo’s response.)

  ANNIE: (to Grandpa) He was staring at you because he likes you.

  GRANDPA: Pff!

  ANNIE: Do you want me to put him back on the wall?

  GRANDPA: No. Not right now. Maybe tomorrow.

  PROLOGUE

  My name is Naomi Deane and I grew up in Blackbird Tree, in the home of my guardians, Joe and Nula. Among the tales that Joe often told was that of a poor man who, while gambling, lost his house but won a donkey.

  “A donkey?” the poor man wailed. “What do I want with a donkey? I cannot even feed a donkey.”

  “No matter,” replied the donkey. “Reach into my left ear.”

  The poor man, though shocked that the donkey could talk, nonetheless reached into the donkey’s ear and pulled out a sack of feed.

  “Well, now,” the poor man said. “That’s a mighty handy ear. I wish it had food for me as well.”