Read Hope Is a Ferris Wheel Online
Authors: Robin Herrera
Hope Is a Ferris Wheel
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Herrera, Robin.
Hope is a ferris wheel/Robin Herrera.
pages cm
Summary: After moving from Oregon to a trailer park in California, ten-year-old Star participates in a poetry club, where she learns some important lessons about herself and her own hopes and dreams for the future.
ISBN 978-1-4197-1039-1 (alk. paper)
[1. Trailer campsâFiction.
2. PoetryâFiction.
3. ClubsâFiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H432136Ho 2014
[Fic]âdc23
2013026392
Text copyright © 2014 Robin Herrera Book design by Maria T. Middleton
“Dreams” from The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes by Langston Hughes, edited by Arnold Rampersad with David Roessel, Associate Editor, copyright © 1994 by the Estate of Langston Hughes. Used by permission of Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House LLC for permission.
Published in 2014 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS.
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TO MY SISTER, JESSICA: OLDER, WISER, INFINITELY COOLER
âR. H.
CONTENTS
E
veryone at Pepperwood Elementary knows that I live in Treasure Trailers, in the pink-tinted trailer with the flamingo hot-glued to the roof. The problem is, I only told four girls, the ones who were standing by me the first time we lined up for recess.
“Isn't that next to the dump?” one of them asked.
“Well, there's a fence,” I told them.
The third one behind me scowled and said, “My mom says only drug addicts live there.”
“There're no drug addicts,” I said. “Well, maybe there're drug addicts. I haven't met everyone yet.”
“Hey,” said the girl in front of me. She must have overheard. “What's the deal with your hair?”
“Oh, Gloria did it,” I said, holding out a strand so she could see the midnight blue streaks. “She went to beauty school. I use anti-frizz. I could get you some,” I offered. Gloria gets a good discount from Style Cuts, where she works, and she gets the expired stuff for free. We have tons of anti-frizz in the bathroom and practically every kind of conditioner.
“No thanks,” the girl said. “I don't want a mullet.”
I heard three distinct giggles behind me. Those three girls were laughing
at
me. I couldn't believe it.
But then I could, the next day, when everyone in class was asking me for anti-frizz. The thing was, they didn't mean it. I mean, boys were asking me for it, and they couldn't even get through the whole question without breaking into giggles. I had to go look up the word
mullet
when everyone started saying that, too.
“It's not a mullet,” I told Winter, the day I found out what one was. “Mullets are flat and ugly.”
Winter sat me down at our built-in table and combed her fingers through my hair. My hair's so thick, though, that I could hardly even feel it. “It's because of all the different lengths,” Winter said. “It's all short here and long here, soâ”
“It's a
layered cut
. That's what Gloria called it. Why does everyone think it's a mullet?”
Shrugging, Winter headed to the fridge. “I mean, it's not like you told them you live in a trailer park,” she said, passing me a couple of oranges to peel.
“Of course I did.”
“Star!” Winter said as she slammed the fridge door shut. “You did not say that.”
“Butâbutâwhat about in Oregon?” I asked. “No one said I had a mullet there! And no one cared that I lived in a trailer park.”
“Yeah, because half the kids at school were from the trailer park! Haven't you noticed anything different about California, Star?”
Yes, I had. There were no other kids at Treasure Trailers. There were a couple of babies and a million cats, but there was nobody even close to my age.
“You're probably the only kid at school who lives in a trailer park,” Winter went on. “And everyone thinks trailer parks are full of gross people.”
I sighed, remembering what that girl's mom had said. Was that what everyone thought? I started peeling the first orange. Winter peels them off in one long piece, but I haven't been able to do that yet. I can only do it with mandarins. “So is that why they call me Star Trashy? Because we're next to the dump?”
“It's because we're trailer trash, Star,” Winter said, taking
the elastic out of her hair. “And
Trashy
kind of rhymes with
Mackie
.” She shook her head, and all her lovely black curls tumbled down past her shoulders.
It's too bad my hair isn't curly like hersâno one would think I had a mullet then. But I got Mom's thick, straight hair that never needs volumizer. The only good thing about it is that it's naturally black. Winter has to use dye.
“Do they call you Winter Trashy at Sarah Borne?”
“No. You know why? Because no one knows I live in a trailer park.” She plucked the orange out of my hand and had it peeled in ten seconds flat. “Anyway, even if they did, I doubt they'd make fun of me that much. There're plenty of other delinquents to pick on. The pregnant girls get teased the most.”
“You're not a delinquent,” I said.
“Yes, but I still go to delinquent school,” she said, and she started working on the second orange. I asked if they were going to let her take a creative writing class this semester, but she just scoffed, shaking her head. “They had to cancel the class. They were three students short of the minimum.”
That was too bad. I knew how much Winter wanted to take that class. It was the only thing she'd been looking forward to once Mom told her she couldn't go back to public school yet. The worst thing was, they wouldn't even
let her start a new club, considering how the last one had turned out.
“Hey,” I said. “Maybe I could start a club.”
“Hey!” Winter repeated. “Just don't do a writing club, or Mom will burst a blood vessel.”
“I won't. I'll think of something else.” I split the oranges into segments and divided them between us. They were a little old and a little dry, and Mom had accidentally picked up the seeded kind, so we had to spit our seeds out onto the table.
“I guess it'd be a good way to make friends,” Winter said. “I mean, I don't talk to anyone from my old writing club anymore, but ⦔ Frowning, she flicked an orange seed onto the linoleum. “I'm sure
you
won't get yourself expelled.”
I told her I wouldn't. “I have to think of something good, though. A club everyone will want to join. Then they'd have to be my friends, or I won't let them in!” I pictured everyone's faces and their clasped hands as they pleaded with me. As long as they were really sincere, I'd think about letting them join. “What do you thinkâ” I started to ask Winter, but I was interrupted by the slam of a car door outside.