The Space You Left Behind, page 1
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Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Gritz, Ona.
Title: The space you left behind / Ona Gritz.
Description: New York : West 44, 2024. | Series: West 44 YA verse
Identifiers: ISBN 9781978597068 (pbk.) | ISBN 9781978597051 (library bound) | ISBN 9781978597075 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Dating (Social customs)--Juvenile fiction. | Cerebral palsy--Juvenile fiction. | Interpersonal relations--Juvenile fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.G758 Sp 2024 | DDC [F]--dc23
First Edition
Published in 2024 by
Enslow Publishing
LLC 2544 Clinton Street
Buffalo, New York 14224
Copyright © 2024 Enslow Publishing LLC
Editor: Caitie McAneney
Designer: Tanya Dellaccio Keeney
Photo Credits: Cover (red hair) Inna photographer/Shutterstock.com; cover (beach) Zephyr_p/Shutterstock.com.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer.
Printed in the United States of America
CPSIA compliance information: Batch #CW24W44: For further information contact Enslow Publishing LLC at 1-800-398-2504.
Find us on
For Hope, my first and best friend
with a body like mine.
And for everyone living with a disability.
May you find your people too.
Meet C.C.
Paige says to the guys
who’ve joined us
on our beach blanket.
Mike and Josh
are on my team,
she tells me.
The cute one
grins at me.
He’s Josh.
Paige and Mike
start talking
volleyball.
Josh asks what
C.C. stands for.
Cara Carrot, I admit.
My cheeks red.
Even more than my hair.
Josh and I chat about
favorite bands.
Boardwalk movie night.
And—Oh my God,
you love it, too?—
the Everyday
Mysteries podcast.
Scoops?
Mike cuts in to ask.
That’s the best
ice cream stand
on the Jersey Shore.
Josh grins.
Paige gets up
and brushes
sand from her legs.
I gaze at
the ocean waves.
Want to say
I’m feeling too lazy.
Though really,
I’m just not ready
to let Josh see
that when I walk,
I limp.
That always
breaks the spell.
The Friend Zone
That’s where guys
move me
once they know
I have
cerebral palsy.
Mom says
that’s a good thing.
Then I won’t
wind up
with someone
too shallow
to like me
for the right reasons.
Whatever that means.
There’s Another Zone
An empty one.
It lives inside me.
It’s like hunger
only more
lonely.
A space maybe
only
a boyfriend
could fill.
Step on a Shell?
Josh asks
as we head
to the boardwalk.
If I thought
I’d never
see him again,
I might just
say yes.
Instead my face
heats up.
Paige
jumps in with,
She just walks that way.
Which is fine,
I guess.
No matter
how often
I get questions
like that,
I never know
what to say.
While We Eat
our cones
on a bench
facing the ocean,
Josh only
talks to Mike.
Of course.
The secret is out.
C.C. could
just as easily
stand for
Cara the Crip.
That Your Dad?
Mike asks.
Thinking
I’ll see Paige’s father,
I look
to where he’s pointing.
At the shoreline,
a black lab
catches a stick.
And the man
he brings it back to
has curls
the color of carrots.
C.C. Never Met Her Dad
Paige says.
At the same time,
I answer,
I don’t have a father.
My mom
used a donor, I say.
Then I look away.
These guys
I only just met
must get
that I’m talking
about sperm.
So it could be him,
Josh says.
I shrug.
It could be
anyone.
The Posse
That’s what Mom calls
our little family of three.
Grandma with
thin, white hair
dyed purple, blue,
or cotton candy pink.
Mom with cropped
brown hair
now salted with gray.
And me, the only one
with wild red curls.
A red that’s really
very orange.
That’s why
Paige named me
Cara Carrot.
Back in
kindergarten.
Why the name
became mine
for good.
Anything New, Cookie?
Grandma asks
like she always does.
She, Mom, and I
wander the boardwalk.
Like we always do
after dinner
in summer.
I want to say,
I met a guy I like.
Only what’s the point?
He stopped
liking me back
after seeing me walk.
And that’s not
new at all.
Mom Leads Us
into the shop
with the blue leather,
cross-body bag
she’s in love with.
It has a leafy pattern
and 200-dollar tag.
You should get it, I say.
I just like to visit it,
she answers, as always.
Which is perfect.
She’s turning 50.
And she gets cranky
whenever we bring up
her birthday.
So, I’m saving my money.
Plan to buy her a bag
that makes her glad
to turn 50.
At Home
Mom reads a novel
for her Books and Beer
Book Group.
Grandma moves plants
to new pots she made
in pottery class.
I listen with
earbuds to
Everyday Mysteries.
Mysteries are everywhere,
it begins, as always.
Today’s guest
got a letter
in the mail,
written years before
she was even born.
Did you do your
stretches, C.C.?
Grandma asks.
My answer,
of course, is Shhhh.
My Work Day
at the library is easy.
Tape stickers on books.
Put them away.
Then DVDs
and magazines.
The best part?
First dibs on
the mystery novels
that have just come in.
Also, I like
having somewhere
I need to be
while Paige
plays volleyball.
A sport that,
like all sports,
I’m way too clumsy
to play.
At First I Liked
when Alice would
come into the library.
This pretty woman
in flowing skirts.
She seems confident.
And easy in her body.
Even though she
uses a wheelchair.
And, under those skirts,
she has no legs.
But that was before
I saw how Alice
climbs off her chair.
Then scoots
on her stumps
to reach books
on the lowest shelves.
Whenever I’ve offered
to help, she’s snapped:
If I need anything,
I’ll let you know.
I Know
Alice is not me.
And I’m not Alice.
But then I see people
see Alice
legless
on the floor.
And I feel like
they’re seeing
a secret,
icky,
naked
part of me.
So I’m Glad
when Adela,
the librarian, says
I can leave early.
You got everything done. Go!
I choose a new mystery.
Then I head to
the boardwalk to read.
Above me, gulls screech.
Below, on the beach,
the volleyball team practices.
I watch Josh,
and will him to want me
as a girlfriend.
That way I’ll know
I’m more normal
than not.
Finally, I Lose Myself
in a world where a girl
is missing.
She’s 16 like me.
No one knows
where she’s gone.
Or how, or why.
Maybe her creepy
stepdad has something
to do with it.
Or her boyfriend
who seems a little
too perfect.
Unless it’s that
popular girl
on her block.
I turn the page,
looking for clues.
But then the book
gets snatched
from my hand.
Would You Rather
read a mystery
or solve one
in real life?
Josh (yes, Josh!) asks.
He sits next to me
and my heart revs.
He smells like
oranges and sweat.
What mystery? I ask.
He nods
toward the shoreline.
Toward the red-haired man
playing tug-of-war
with his dog.
The mystery, C.C.,
of your bio-dad.
And if that guy is him.
Sure
I want to say
because it’s Josh who asked.
Josh with the golden tan.
And the messy hair
that falls in his eyes.
Josh who
leans toward me
to say, Mysteries
are everywhere.
Just like on the podcast.
Instead
I say,
I’ll think about it.
Because finding
my donor
is not something
I’ve ever
thought about
before.
I’ve Blown It with Josh
I’m sure of it
as soon as the words
leave my mouth.
Except
he doesn’t leave
our bench.
And he doesn’t
seem mad.
You do that,
C.C., he says.
Then he touches
my carrot-colored hair.
Josh Goes
back to volleyball practice.
And I go back to my book.
But I can’t remember
anything about the story.
Even when I start again
from the first page,
the words
mean nothing at all.
I Float Home
Well, really, I limp.
As usual.
But I feel light
and happy.
Tomorrow,
I’ll tell Josh
yes.
After all, he’s
into mysteries.
And I guess
I am a mystery.
Not that
it means
he’s into me.
But it’s a start.
But Then
when I get home,
I see Grandma
working in her garden.
Straw hat over
her purple hair.
And Mom reading
her book-group book,
tan legs propped
on the porch rail.
When they see me,
they both give me
wide smiles.
And I remember
what they taught me.
We three are the posse.
Meaning we three
are enough.
There’s a Picture Book
Grandma read to me
every night
when I was little.
The Very Wanted Child.
In it, a woman visits
a doctor.
She wants a baby.
Very badly.
The doctor tells her
a nice man left
seeds for her.
The seeds she needs.
Soon a baby grows
in her belly.
The woman is so happy.
And once it’s born,
the baby is happy, too.
They’re a family.
A whole family of two.
But There Are Three of Us
I’d say every time
we finished the book.
That makes us very lucky,
Grandma always said back.
That’s how I felt.
Lucky. And very wanted.
Like the baby in the story.
As for the man
who left the seeds?
He was just that.
One sentence.
No name. No picture.
No wonder
I never gave him any thought.
Why Are You Reading That?
Mom asks,
coming in from the porch.
I put the picture book back
on the shelf.
Just remembering, I say.
She drops onto the couch
and I join her.
You and Grandma
read that so often,
it fell apart.
We had to buy
another copy.
Really?
What would she say
if I asked what I never
asked then?
That she knows
nothing
about him,
of course.
And that it’s best
that way.
A Woman Needs a Man
Like a Fish Needs a Bicycle.
That’s what one of
Grandma’s T-shirts says.
She was married once.
To my grandfather.
He left her
for someone younger.
And just a few years later,
he died.
He’s another
man we don’t
talk about.
Another man
I never knew.
And never missed.
I Get the Joke
A fish has no use
for a bike.
A woman no use
for a man.
Funny.
And true
for Grandma
who’s perfectly
happy
without Grandpa.
And for Mom
who dates women
when she dates at all.
And it’s true
that I’ve always
been fine
without a father.
But that doesn’t mean
I’m fine
without a guy
of my own.
One More Thing
about that T-shirt.
There’s a faded picture.
A big fish
on a little bike.
The one eye you see,
round and scared.
It has fins, not hands.
So it can’t hold on.
And it can’t peddle
using its tail.
Funny.
Except, my right
leg is shorter
than the other.
So I can’t
peddle either.
And my palsied
hand can hold on,
but can’t steer.
So that fish
reminds me of me.
Wishing I was
someone I’m not.
That’s What First Drew Me
to mysteries.
Whenever my friends
decide to ride bikes?
Or skate on the boardwalk?
Or do anything
that makes me feel
like the fish
on that shirt?
I pull out a book
or a pair of earbuds.
I’ve got to find out
what happens, I tell them.
Like that’s my only reason
