August or Forever, page 1
Contents
Praise for August or Forever
August Or Forever
Copyright © 2023 Ona Gritz. All rights reserved.
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
Acknowledgments
Book Club Questions
Praise for August or Forever
“What a beautiful novel about sisterhood, about art, about hearts broken and hearts mended. August or Forever will forever chime inside my own heart.”
—Gayle Brandeis, author of My Life with the Lincolns
“In August or Forever, Ona Gritz has penned a beautiful novel about sisters. This spare, elegant story will resonate deeply with middle grade readers in its excavation of Molly’s hopes, disappointments, and inevitable growth as she reimagines her relationships in new ways. Exploring themes of friendship, family, and art, Gritz deftly captures the voice of her protagonist as this tender story unfolds, defying our notions about what it means to be a family.”
—Carol Dines, author of This Distance We Call Love and The Queen’s Soprano
“August or Forever tenderly conveys the dynamics of a “different” kind of sibling relationship, one between half siblings raised thousands of miles apart. We cheer for its endearing ten-year-old protagonist, Molly, as she navigates through uncertainties and misunderstandings to discover that family love has a patient, enduring force.”
—Pamela Erens, author of Matasha
“Author Ona Gritz writes evocatively about sisters, families, belonging and loss in this touching middle-grade novel. Readers will enjoy following ten-year-old Molly as she witnesses the power of art and navigates the challenges of shifting families and friendships during an August she’ll remember forever. A story that begs to be discussed and celebrated.”
—Kimberly Kenna, author of Artemis Sparke and the Sound Seekers Brigade
“August or Forever is a tender, graceful novel about sisterhood, friendship, and love. Ten-year-old Molly is a narrator in whom young readers will surely see themselves, with her longings, foibles, and authentic voice. Sweet rather than sentimental, spare but fully drawn, this book is sure to be treasured and read again.”
—Caren Lissner, author of Carrie Pilby
“August or Forever explores the complexity of sibling relationships. Ten-year-old Molly is a believable narrator whose longing to be closer to her older half-sister, Alison, rings true. As she learns to share her parents—and her bedroom—during an extended summer visit with Alison, Molly’s voice remains charming despite her flaws. Filled with a cast of well-drawn characters and settings, Gritz’s novel is an insightful read.”
—Laura Shovan, author of Takedown and, with Saadia Faruqi, A Place at the Table
“In August or Forever, Ona Gritz introduces the relatable and artistic Molly, an “almost only lonely,” who has long idolized her older half-sister Alison from afar. She is thrilled to learn that they will get to spend an entire month together when Alison flies over from England, and has the perfect plan to get her to stay forever, but reality can hardly live up to Molly’s exceedingly high expectations. Misbehavior and misunderstandings threaten to ruin her summer, but the bonds of sisterhood are not so easily broken. Through characters that readers will quickly grow to love, Gritz delivers a warm and tender celebration of friendship and family.”
—Suzanne Kamata, author of Indigo Girl and Pop Flies,
Robo-pets and Other Disasters
August Or Forever
Ona Gritz
Fitzroy Books
Copyright © 2023 Ona Gritz. All rights reserved.
Published by Fitzroy Books
An imprint of
Regal House Publishing, LLC
Raleigh, NC 27605
All rights reserved
https://fitzroybooks.com
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN -13 (paperback): 9781646033072
ISBN -13 (epub): 9781646033089
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022935690
All efforts were made to determine the copyright holders and obtain their permissions in any circumstance where copyrighted material was used. The publisher apologizes if any errors were made during this process, or if any omissions occurred. If noted, please contact the publisher and all efforts will be made to incorporate permissions in future editions.
Interior by Lafayette & Greene
Cover images and design © by C. B. Royal
Regal House Publishing, LLC
https://regalhousepublishing.com
The following is a work of fiction created by the author. All names, individuals, characters, places, items, brands, events, etc. were either the product of the author or were used fictitiously. Any name, place, event, person, brand, or item, current or past, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Regal House Publishing.
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To every sister who is missing a sister.
1
Some people think that if you live in a small town like mine in Upstate New York, everyone around knows everything there is to know about you.
I’m a good example that this isn’t actually true.
A lot of my neighbors, and even some of my classmates, assume I’m an only child. But I have a sister, Alison. Unfortunately, she lives really far away. Across the pond, she’d say.
Alison is my dad’s daughter from a long time ago, when he was married to a woman named Patricia. My parents and I stay in touch with Alison through video chats, emails, and letters. Of course the video chats are the closest thing to being together. I get to see Alison up close, hear her voice, and steal little peeks at the rooms in her house. But, since there’s a five-hour time difference, and Alison’s been busy at university, we don’t get to do this as often as I’d like. The next best is writing—snail mail style—notes and cards that arrive at our doors like surprise gifts.
We like to see each other’s handwriting, and send one another drawings. Alison’s are much better than mine. That’s not surprising since she just spent three years studying to be an artist. Still, according to Alison, I draw better than she did when she was ten, so who knows? Maybe I’ll be an artist someday too.
I have every one of my sister’s notes and drawings hidden away in the chest where I keep my winter clothes. Not that Alison’s a secret. I sometimes wish I could wear a T-shirt around town that says, Actually I Do Have a Sister. Soon, though, everyone who knows me will also know Alison. I’m not supposed to have heard this yet, but she’s coming to live with us and be a regular part of our family.
Sometimes when I write to my sister, I tuck a clover or a helicopter seed in the envelope. She says she loves when I send pieces of nature. Late in May, before our lilacs turned brown and left for the year, I picked a bunch and hung them upside down on the clothesline so they’d dry and keep their color. It took two weeks for them to get papery and perfect. Then I sent them to Alison as a graduation present.
“They’re brilliant,” she tells me now, shifting her laptop so I get a good view of the purple bouquet in a vase on her desk.
“I’m glad you like them,” I say, and I am, but I sent them nearly a month ago, and they’re not exactly what I want to talk about right now. I want her to tell me the big surprise so I can stop pretending I didn’t overhear my parents’ conversation and figure it out.
Say it! I want to shout. Tell me you’re moving here and we’ll finally get to live together like every other pair of sisters in the world.
“What else did you get for graduation?” I ask instead.
“You already know I got to spend a fortnight at the beach in Camber Sands with my mates. That’s why I didn’t thank you sooner for the gorgeous lilacs.”
Enough with the lilacs! I’m ready to burst. “Anything else?”
“Actually, yes.” Alison pauses to grin at me. I grin back at her, aware that our smiles look really similar. Mom says it’s those matching smiles that make it obvious we’re sisters. Dad claims it’s the eyes. Of course we don’t look exactly alike. Alison is prettier. But I see something in her that feels like a part of me. It’s there in her eyes, like Dad says, but it’s not the eyes themselves. It’s behind them, somewhere under the skin.
“Well?” I say. “What did you get?”
Alison’s smile grows wider. This is it. She’s about to fill me in on the best possible news.
“Dad and your mum sent me a gift that’s really for both of us.”
She holds up a computer printout filled with words too small for me to read, but I can make out a picture of an airplane in the corner.
Even though I’ve known for days, my heart starts to bang in my chest. As close as we are, Alison and I have only been together once in person, half my life ago, when I was five and she was fifteen. My parents and I visited her in London for what turned out to be the happiest week of my whole life. I had a big sister to follow around and talk to whenever I wanted. Now I’ll always be that happy.
“Is that…?” I say, trying to sound like I’m just putting it together now. “Are you…?”
Once again Alison gives me a grin that mirrors my own. “That’s right, sis. I’m coming to see you for the whole month of August.”
“August,” I echo, feeling stunned.
The screen goes blurry and, for a moment, I think there’s something wrong with the Internet connection. But then Alison says, “Oh, sis. I knew you’d be surprised, but I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“August,” I repeat, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. A month-long visit. I know it’s a lot, four times longer than my stay in London all those years ago. And August is soon, just days away.
Still, it’s all wrong. Alison was supposed to stay forever.
2
At dinner, Mom and Dad want to know all about my talk with Alison.
“How did she tell you?” Mom asks.
“You must have been so surprised,” Dad adds.
“I was,” I say, which is definitely true. It surprised me to learn Alison would be leaving us after only four weeks.
I pick up my burger and bite into it. When I glance at my parents, their faces are flushed, and they’re both aiming smiles right at me, which just makes me feel guilty. They’re so pleased with their gift to Alison and me, and I know I should be happy. A month-long visit with my sister is a wonderful surprise. I’d be thrilled if I hadn’t gotten it into my stupid head that she was coming to stay.
Mom and Dad start planning out the details. Where Alison will sleep. What extra foods we should have in the house while she’s here. I tune them out and try to remember what made me so sure Alison was finally going to live with us. My best friend Diane was over that day, the two of us stretched out on lawn chairs in my backyard, chatting about our summer plans. I was thinking of going to sleep-away camp for the last two weeks in August. My dad and I had even started filling out the online application, but I kept changing my mind. Part of me really wanted the experience. The Camp Skylark website has pictures of kids eating together, floating in row boats, talking to each other from their bunk beds. I thought being there would be a little like having a bunch of sisters, brothers, and cousins for two weeks. At the same time, I felt nervous about it. Except for the nights I’ve spent at Diane’s house, I’ve never really been away from home. What if all the other kids were friends already, and nobody liked me?
Diane and I can talk about anything, and we almost always agree, but she didn’t get why I wanted to go to Camp Skylark. It’s understandable. She has three older brothers and a younger sister, so her house is already like a summer camp. Meanwhile, my parents, who are both librarians, sit around every evening and read. I like books, too, but our house can be really boring with me being the only kid. The funny thing is, Diane thinks it’s the best place in the world because of all the peace and quiet.
“Just do what you always do,” she said that afternoon. “Come to my house when you need to be around a bunch of noise and craziness.”
At some point, I went inside to get glasses of lemonade for us. That’s when I heard my parents talking behind the partly closed door of the study. Mom mentioned Alison’s name, which caught my attention.
“I think Alison is going to love it here,” she said.
Alison here? I stepped closer so I wouldn’t miss a single word.
“Yup,” Dad answered. “When I suggested it, she practically hugged me through the computer screen.”
“Molly will be thrilled,” Mom added. Then she paused. “Oh, what about Camp Skylark? Can you get your money back?”
“I haven’t paid. As of yesterday, she still wasn’t sure she wanted to go.”
“Meant to be,” Mom said, and they both laughed. It’s always been a playful argument between them. Mom really believes things happen because they’re meant to, like God or nature planned it all along. Dad says that life is just full of coincidences, and it doesn’t mean anything. Mostly I agree with Mom. One thing I know for certain is that sisters are meant to live together.
Still, looking back, nothing about that conversation promised anything of the kind. Then I remember something else Mom said.
“Molly has lived like an only child for so long. She’s going to be so happy.”
Yeah, happy for a month, I think now. After that, it’s back to being a lonely only child. No, what I am is worse than being an only child. Only children don’t have someone in particular to miss.
“So, Noodle,” Dad says. Noodle was the first word I said as a baby. Unfortunately, it’s been Dad’s nickname for me ever since. “I’ve got some news about Mrs. Lamb.”
Dad is the librarian at my school, so he always finds things out before any of us kids.
“What?”
“You’re not going to like it,” he says, and my stomach clenches up. Did something bad happen to my art teacher? She has a limp and walks pretty slowly. I hope she didn’t get hit by a car or anything. Dad sighs and picks up the water pitcher to refill his cup. “She decided at the last minute to take a job in another school district.”
Mom’s brow crinkles up. “She’s only been there a year. The kids love her. Right, Molly?”
“I know I do.”
Until we had Mrs. Lamb, I didn’t even realize how much I liked art. She showed us collages by an artist named Matisse, and then had us make our own. When we finished those, she brought in a slideshow of self-portraits by painters like Frida Kahlo and Vincent Van Gogh. Our assignment was to draw pictures of ourselves that didn’t just show what we looked like, but revealed something about our personalities.
By then, thanks to her, art was my favorite subject. So, for my self-portrait, I drew a girl in front of an easel, drawing a portrait of herself. You see her from behind, which worked out well since I haven’t gotten the hang of faces yet. Mrs. Lamb really liked it. She also promised that, this coming year, we’d work more on faces.
“It would have been so much easier if she’d said something before summer vacation,” Dad gripes. “Now we have to rush to fill the position.”
“We?” Mom and I both ask.
“I’m heading the search committee,” Dad says, which shouldn’t surprise us. Technically, he has summers off like I do, but he’s always involved in some committee or another, so he’s at school all the time.
I think back to when I told Mrs. Lamb that my sister was studying art in college.
“Talent must run in the family,” she’d said.
“I’m going to miss her,” I tell Dad. “You better find someone good.”
Then it hits me. During our video chat, before she started gushing about the lilacs, Alison mentioned that she’ll have to start looking for a job now that she’s finished school.
What could possibly be a better job for an artist than art teacher? My art teacher!
Alison can live with us after all. It’s just like Mom says. Meant to be.
3
After dinner, Mom and Dad curl up on opposite ends of the couch, like they do every night, and read their books. I’m tempted to tell them my idea, but Alison should be the first to hear it. She’ll be so excited.
I clear the table and wash the dishes, my one official chore. Finally, I head into the study, turn on the webcam, and scroll to my sister’s number.
“Come on, come on,” I say to the screen, but Alison doesn’t appear. I try to remember if she said she was going out when we spoke earlier. Then I realize that it’s really late in London now, after midnight.
