Before the Ever After Read online

  Also by Jacqueline Woodson

  After Tupac and D Foster

  Behind You

  Beneath a Meth Moon

  Between Madison and Palmetto

  Brown Girl Dreaming

  The Dear One

  Feathers

  From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun

  Harbor Me

  The House You Pass on the Way

  Hush

  If You Come Softly

  I Hadn’t Meant to Tell You This

  Last Summer with Maizon

  Lena

  Locomotion

  Maizon at Blue Hill

  Miracle’s Boys

  Peace, Locomotion

  NANCY PAULSEN BOOKS

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, New York

  Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline Woodson

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  “TURN THE WORLD AROUND” by Harry Belafonte and Robert Freedman

  Published by Clara Music Publishing Corp. (ASCAP)

  Administered by Next Decade Entertainment, Inc.

  All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

  Nancy Paulsen Books is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Visit us online at penguinrandomhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Woodson, Jacqueline, author.

  Title: Before the ever after / Jacqueline Woodson.

  Description: New York: Nancy Paulsen Books, [2020] | Summary: ZJ’s friends Ollie, Darry and Daniel help him cope when his father, a beloved professional football player, suffers severe headaches and memory loss that spell the end of his career.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020018310 | ISBN 9780399545436 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780399545450 (ebook)

  Subjects: CYAC: Novels in verse. | Brain—Diseases—Fiction. | Best friends—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Fathers and sons—Fiction. | Memory—Fiction. | Football—Fiction. | African Americans—Fiction.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.5.W67 Bc 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020018310

  Ebook ISBN 9780399545450

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  AUTHOR PHOTO BY TIFFANY A. BLOOMFIELD

  ILLUSTRATION BY STEPHANIE SINGLETON

  DESIGN BY THERESA EVANGELISTA

  pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0

  for Toshi Reagon and everyone else

  who ever once loved

  the game

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Also by Jacqueline Woodson

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Part 1: 1999

  Memory like a Movie

  Everybody’s Looking for a Hero

  Day after the Game

  Before the Ever After

  Daniel

  ZJ

  You Love a Thing?

  Who We Are & What We Love

  Ollie

  Rap Song

  Unbelievable

  On My Daddy’s Shoulders

  The First Time, Again

  Tears

  Real Fiction

  Race Day

  Tackle

  Maplewood, 2000

  January 1, 2000

  Like We Used to Do on Fridays

  Deep Water

  Thanks, Bruh

  Two-Hand Touch

  From Outside

  Migraine

  Repetition

  Tests

  The Trees

  Daydreams

  Middle of the Night

  And Then There’s the Morning

  Prayer

  Driving

  Call Me Little Man

  The Whole Truth

  A Different Kind of Sunday

  Waterboy

  Wishes

  Too Many of Them

  Over Breakfast

  Playing Something Pretty

  E String

  How to Write a Song for My Daddy

  Used to Be

  Bird

  When It Feels like the Whole World Is Screaming

  Part 2: The Ever After

  Visit

  Friends

  Pigskin Dreams

  Some Days

  Back Then

  The Broken Thing

  Haiku for Daddy

  Before Tupac and Biggie

  Our Songs

  Skate Park

  New Normal

  Memory like a Song

  Darry Dancing

  The Trail

  Snow Day

  Dream

  Down the Hall from My Room

  A Future with Me in It

  Audition

  Good Days

  Apple from the Tree

  Birthday

  Invite List

  The Party

  After Midnight

  Football

  Everett

  Waiting

  Jazz

  Maplewood Blues Song

  Pigskin Dreams 2

  The Partridge Family

  It’s All Gonna Be Right in the Morning

  Ways to Disappear

  Company

  Music

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Part 1

  1999

  Memory like a Movie

  The memory goes like this:

  Ollie’s got the ball and he’s running across my yard when

  Dad comes out of nowhere,

  soft tackles him to the ground.

  Then everyone is cheering and laughing because

  we didn’t even know my dad was home.

  I thought you had a game, I say, grabbing him.

  It’s a half hug, half tackle, but

  the other guys—Darry and Daniel—hop on too

  and Ollie’s escaped, so he jumps

  on top of all of us jumping on my dad.

  Yeah, Mr. J., Darry says. I thought we’d be watching you on TV tonight.

  Coach giving me a break, my daddy says. He climbs out from under,

  shaking us off like we’re feathers, not boys.

  Ah man! Darry says.

  Yeah, we all say. Ah man!

  Sometimes a player needs to rest, Daddy says.

  He looks at each of us for a long time.

  A strange look. Like he’s just now seeing us.

  Then he tosses the ball so far, we can’t even see it anymore.

  And my boys say Ah man, you threw it too far!

  while I go back behind the garage where

  we have a whole bunch of footballs

  waiting and ready

  for when my daddy sends one into the
abyss.

  Everybody’s Looking for a Hero

  Once, when I was a little kid,

  this newscaster guy asked me if

  my dad was my biggest hero.

  No, I said. My dad’s just my dad.

  There was a crowd of newscasters circling around me,

  all of them with their microphones aimed

  at my face. Maybe I was nervous, I don’t remember now.

  Maybe it was after his first Super Bowl win, his ring

  new and shining on his finger. Me just a little kid,

  so the ring was this whole glittering world,

  gold and black and diamonds against

  my daddy’s brown hand.

  I remember hearing the reporter say

  Listen to those fans! Looks like everybody’s

  found their next great hero.

  And now I’m thinking back to those times

  when the cold wind whipped around me and Mom

  as we sat wrapped in blankets, yelling Dad’s name,

  so close to the game, we could see the angry spit

  spraying from the other team’s coach’s lips.

  So close, we could see the sweat on my daddy’s neck.

  And all the people around us cheering,

  all the people going around calling out his number,

  calling out his name.

  Zachariah 44! Zachariah 44!

  Is your daddy your hero? the newscaster had asked me.

  And all these years later, just like that day, I know

  he’s not my hero,

  he’s my dad, which means

  he’s my every single thing.

  Day after the Game

  Day after the game

  and Daddy gets out of bed slow.

  His whole body, he says,

  is 223 pounds of pain

  from toes to knees, from knees to ribs,

  every single hit he took yesterday

  remembered in the morning.

  Before the Ever After

  Before the ever after, there was Daddy driving

  to Village Ice Cream

  on a Saturday night in July before preseason training.

  Before the ever after, there was Mom in the back seat

  letting me ride up front, me and Daddy

  having Man Time together

  waving to everyone

  who pointed at our car and said That’s him!

  Before the ever after, the way people said

  That’s him! sounded like a cheer.

  Before the ever after, the people pointing

  were always smiling.

  Before the ever after, Daddy’s hands didn’t always tremble

  and his voice didn’t shake

  and his head didn’t hurt all the time.

  Before the ever after, there were picnics

  on Sunday afternoons in Central Park

  driving through the tunnel to get to the city

  me and Daddy making up songs.

  Before the ever after, there were sandwiches

  on the grass near Strawberry Fields

  chicken salad and barbecue beef

  and ham with apples and Brie

  there were dark chocolates with almonds and

  milk chocolates with coconut

  and fruit and us just laughing and laughing.

  Before the ever after, there was the three of us

  and we lived happily

  before the ever after.

  Daniel

  In second grade, Daniel walked over to me, Ollie and Darry,

  said You guys want to race from here to the tree?

  When he lost, he laughed and didn’t even care,

  just high-fived Darry, who always wins

  every race every time and said

  You got feet like wings, bruh.

  Then he got on his bike and we knew

  he wasn’t regular. He was fearless.

  Even back then, he could already

  do things on a bike that a bike wasn’t made for doing—

  popping wheelies and spinning and standing up on the seat

  while holding on to the handlebars and speeding

  down the steepest hills in town.

  Me, Darry and Ollie used to call ourselves Tripod

  cuz the three us came together like that.

  But when we met Daniel, we became the Fantastic Four.

  And even after he broke his arm

  when he jumped a skate park ramp right into a wall,

  he didn’t stop riding.

  He said My cast is like a second helmet,

  held it high in the air

  with the unbroken arm holding the handlebars

  and then not holding them and Daniel flying

  around the park like some kid

  gravity couldn’t mess with.

  While me and Darry and Ollie watched him amazed.

  And terrified.

  ZJ

  I used to wonder who I’d be if “Zachariah 44” Johnson wasn’t my daddy.

  First time people who know

  even a little bit about football meet me,

  it’s like they know him, not me. To them,

  I’m Zachariah’s son.

  The tight end guy’s kid.

  I’m Zachariah Johnson Jr. ZJ. I’m the one

  whose daddy plays pro ball. I’m the tall kid

  with my daddy’s same broad shoulders. I’m the one

  who doesn’t dream of going pro.

  Music maybe.

  But not football.

  Still, even at school, feels like my dad’s in two places

  at once—dropping me off out front, saying

  Learn lots, little man, then

  walking into the classroom ahead of me.

  I mean, not him but

  his shadow. And me almost invisible

  inside it.

  Except to my boys

  who see me walking into the classroom and say

  What’s up, ZJ?

  Your mom throw any cookies in your lunch?

  Then all three of them open their hands

  beneath their desks so that when

  the teacher’s back is turned

  I can sneak them one.

  You Love a Thing?

  Ever since I was a little kid,

  I’ve loved football, my daddy told me.

  Through every broken toe and cracked rib

  and jammed finger

  and slam to the shoulder

  and slam to the head, I still

  loved it.

  You got something you love, little man?

  Then you good.

  You love food? You cook.

  You love clothes? You design.

  You love the wind and water? You sail.

  Me, my daddy said,

  I love everything about the game.

  Even the smell of the ball.

  Then he laughed, said

  Imagine loving something so much, you love

  the smell of it?

  It smells like leather and dirt and sweat and new snow.

  I love football with all

  of my senses. Love the taste and feel

  of the air in my mouth

  running with the ball on a cold day. Love the smell

  of the ball when I press it to my face

  and the smell of the field right after it rains.

  I love the way the sky looks as we stare up at it

  while some celebrity sings “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

  Love the sound of the crowd cheering us on.

 
When you love a thing, little man, my dad said,

  you gotta love it with everything you got.

  Till you can’t even tell where that thing you love begins

  and where you end.

  Who We Are & What We Love

  Ollie divides fractions in his head,

  can multiply them too—gives you the answer while

  you’re still trying to write down the problem, knows

  so much about so much but doesn’t show off

  about knowing.

  Darry—besides running fast, he can dance. Get the music

  going and my boy moves like water flowing.

  All smooth like that.

  Daniel’s super chill, says stuff like

  You okay, my man? You need to talk?

  And really means it. And really listens.

  Calls his bike a Magic Broom, spins it in so many circles

  we all get dizzy, but not Daniel,

  who bounces the front tire back to earth

  without even blinking,

  says That was for all of y’all who are stuck on the ground.

  Me, I play the guitar. Mostly songs

  that come into my head. Music

  is always circling my brain. Hard to explain

  how songs do that.

  But when I play them, everything

  makes some kind of strange sense like

  my guitar has all the answers.

  When I sing, the songs feel

  as magic as Daniel’s bike

  as brilliant as Ollie’s numbers

  as smooth as Darry’s moves

  as good as the four of us hanging out

  on a bright cold Saturday afternoon.

  It feels right

  and clear

  and always.

  Ollie

  Ollie says he doesn’t really remember the beginning

  of his story.

  Says he’s glad about that.

  It was a tragedy, he says.

  And when things like that happen, your mind blanks out.

  It’s like your mind knows, he says, how to take care of itself.

  Before he was one of my best friends, he was a baby

  with green eyes and a bright red Afro

  left outside a Texas church in a basket

  with a note pinned to his blanket

  Please take care of this baby. And love him like crazy too.

  He used to take the note out of his pocket all the time.