Kaleidoscope

By Tiffany Dickinson

Being a seventh-grader in Portland, Oregon in 1980 doesn't sound special. But being bi-racial and feeling pressure to choose one racial identity is anything but typical. Tabby Dixon navigates regular middle-grade life, juggling family issues, complicated friends, and a couple of school projects that will either save her or ruin her. All this with a mountain in the neighboring state threatening to blow. What could go wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grumblepug Press
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985675504

Book preview

Kaleidoscope

Tiffany Dickinson

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Grumblepug Press

Copyright © 2022 by Tiffany Dickinson.

Book cover design by ebooklaunch.com.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced or published online except small excerpts to be used for reviews and reports, without the express permission of Grumblepug Press, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

To all the kids in the middle

who don’t yet know where to stand.

You are loved.

Table of Contents

1. Ten Things that Make Me Me

2. Straight Shooter

3. The Big Idea

4. Mixed to Perfection

5. Truth or Fact?

6. Fakes, Phonies, and Facets

7. Starving Artists and Other Sports

8. A Field Trip to the Light Fantastic

9. Seeing is Not Always Believing

10. Growing Pains

11. The Good, the Bad, and the Growing Up

12. I Can See Clearly Now

13. Friendship in Shadow

14. Cloudy Visions

15. Finding My Way in the Dark

16. It Takes Rain Plus Sun to Make a Rainbow

17. Boy Troubles - Sort Of

18. Rotating the Angle

19. What is Truth?

20. Choosing Sides

21. The Light Changes

22. Taking a Stand in the Middle

23. The Kaleidoscope Rotates

24. A Fresh Coat of Paint Does Wonders

25. In the Spotlight

26. The Tabithascope

27. Kindness for the Win

28. The Real Tabby Dixon

Backmatter and More Information

Acknowledgments

To My Readers

Chapter 1

Ten Things that Make Me Me

Iswiped my hand back from poking my friend Daniel in the arm just as the teacher turned away from the chalkboard.

Sister Linda, the teacher, grinned ear to ear with too many teeth, which was a sure sign we would hate the assignment. Her bold all-caps print said, TEN THINGS THAT MAKE ME ME.

I sighed, already hating it.

Cool, Daniel said, finally stopping his humming of Blinded by the Light. The song had been on the radio almost continuously for the three years since it topped the charts in 1977. He ticked his fingers. Basketball, baseball, football, hockey…

Mentally, I ran through my own list. Tabby – not a cat: black, or white, or mixed, depending on who you asked, student, sister, daughter, friend. That was all I had. Boring and not very definite. My first-grade self-portrait project rushed into my mind.

Paint a picture of yourselves, children. the teacher had commanded six years ago.

I had painted a picture of me, with wings, flying over the ocean because I love the beach.

The teacher had said, Now, Tabby, you’ve painted an angel. You know you don’t have wings. That was my last self-portrait.

Sometimes, the wingless me looked at the flying picture. It wasn’t half-bad – for a first grader.

Sister Linda jabbered on. You’ll present your 10 things in class.

Group groan.

How was I supposed to present the real me when no one seemed to agree on what that was?

She wrote, Due April 10.

Someone yelled, 1980, right?

"Yes, the assignment is due this April 10th. Seventh grade is a time of self-discovery. I expect you’ll each learn something about yourself and some things about your classmates. You may find you have more in common with each other than you think."

The bell rang. As we scrambled to gather our things, Candace Collins asked, "It’s a paper, right? I mean, this is Language Arts." Her neon blue earrings dangled against her dark brown skin. Candace always knew how to dress up her uniform without breaking the rules. I hadn’t figured it out yet, so I stuck to boring blue and white.

Yes. I do expect a complete paragraph on each of the 10 Things that make you you.

Ten paragraphs? said Daniel.

"So, you can do math." I grinned at him.

Very funny. He headed for the cloakroom.

The teacher, still talking to Candace, said, Feel free to embellish your project with visual aids – artifacts, drawings, songs, poems, whatever you feel would be the best representation of you. We’ll discuss it more tomorrow.

Candace beamed. Of course, Candace, the perfect girl with the perfect life will present The 10 Things That Make Me Perfect.

I grabbed my bookbag and met Daniel at the door.

We zig-zagged down the crowded hallway toward the primary grades, kids streaming from rooms on both sides. Stopping at the second-grade classroom, we waited as the line of parents left with their kids.

My little sister Jolie sat at her desk, her silver and pink unicorn backpack in her lap.

I waved her over as Daniel helped his little brother Reece tie his shoe. While I waited by the door, I glanced around the room. A Noah’s ark mural covered the entire back wall.

Noah and Mrs. Noah stood on the ark, watching the animals in two-by-two’s strewn across the pastureland. No way did it look like that in reality – all beautiful and serene and organized. It probably looked more like all the kids spilling onto the playground as fast as they could after lunch. With more eating each other and smells, of course.

But I thought about rainbows, and how all the colors fit together and blended perfectly with each other. Where did Jolie and I fit in that picture – and our baby brother Max? There were other mixed kids, but they always seemed to identify as one race or the other. I didn’t identify myself as black or white, and mixed was not a race.

When I was younger, we were in the doctor’s office and Mom was filling out paperwork. After she gave it to the receptionist, the lady looked it over. When she got to the race part where Mom had marked Black and Caucasian, the woman looked at me and crossed off Caucasian. Mom didn’t say anything, because I needed to see the doctor, but we never went back to that doctor again.

The noise of the boys coming across the room crashed into my thoughts.

Reece’s shirt hung halfway out of his waistband and his other shoe was untied.

Jolie, with her still-perfect braids, acted as if he wasn’t there.

Do you need to use the bathroom? I asked her.

No, we had restroom time right at the end.

We had this same conversation every school day, but the one time I didn’t ask, Jolie would tell me she had to go when we were too far from school to turn around and too far from home for her to make it. It had happened once. I didn’t know if Jolie remembered, but I sure did. Because of course, Mom blamed me.

As we headed out, Stephanie, Daniel’s sister, came from her fourth-grade classroom. She grinned at Jolie, reaching out to hold her hand.

Jolie pulled her hand away.

For some reason, Stephanie thought of Jolie as a little kid, even though they were only two years apart. As the only girl in a family with three brothers, she was a bit of a little mother. She straightened her headband and smoothed her blond hair, saying, Reece, tuck your shirt in.

You’re not the boss of me. He stuck his tongue out at her.

I’m telling.

So? he retorted.

Outside, over the noise of traffic, I said to Daniel, I have to do my homework before I can play. What do you want to do?

Maybe we can get a neighborhood kickball game going.

You know how good I am at kickball.

You’re not bad. That was Daniel’s version of a lie. Maybe Seth will play.

My heart did a little leap at Seth’s name. How many girls were lucky enough to have the boy they liked living right around the block from them? But I thought, what if Seth Morrison did play? It’s not like he’d notice me in a million years. The cutest boy in the whole school, and an eighth-grader, Seth had all the girls after him. Not that he seemed to pay attention. He was all sports all the time. When he wasn’t in his school uniform, Seth wore Portland Trail Blazer shirts, Portland Timbers shirts, and even an occasional Seattle Seahawks or Mariners shirt. You could say he was an all-Pacific Northwest fan.

I said, Okay, I’ll play. But you get what you get.

You don’t have to be on my team, Daniel offered.

Gee, thanks.

I held Jolie’s hand as we crossed the busy street, then asked Daniel, Have you figured out what you’re doing your science project on?

No. Physical Science is so lame. I wish we could dissect something.

Dissect something? My voiced dripped with sarcasm. What, like a rainbow?

No, like an animal. Blood and guts stuff. See how stuff works.

Physical science tells us how stuff works. Chemicals and stuff.

Unless it’s TNT, I don’t care about it.

What’s TNT? said Stephanie.

Dynamite, Daniel and I said at the same time.

Ooh, said Stephanie.

How about you? Daniel said. Do you have any ideas?

No. But I think there’s a lot of cool things we could do. I’m gonna look in our old encyclopedia set and see if there’s anything.

What’s an encyclopedia? said Stephanie.

It’s a book that tells you everything, I said.

Wow, she said. Like the Bible?

No. It’s not a story book. It tells facts.

The Bible tells facts, Stephanie said.

I mean encyclopedias tell you about science and history and stuff.

Daniel said. But who even has encyclopedias in their house when you can use them at the library?

My Daddy. He loves old books, and he can buy them without my mom getting mad.

Well, maybe I can come over and look in your ancient books for a project.

Sure. I grinned at him.

As we reached our block, I looked hopefully toward Seth Morrison’s house. His Dad’s truck was in the driveway, but no sign of Seth.

At our house, Stephanie hugged Jolie, who stood stiff-armed, waiting for it to be over. Then she and Reece ran, disappearing around the corner.

Jolie started up our cracked cement path to the porch.

Daniel kept walking. I’ll come over when we’ve got the game set up.

Okay.

He took off running, and I followed Jolie, scuffing more of the cracked grey paint off the steps. I slid my hand under the dusty cushion of one of the sagging brown floral armchairs flanking the door where we hid the key. Of course, any criminal could have figured it out, but what would anyone want from this house in this neighborhood?

Hurry, Jolie said. I have to pee.

"Hold on."

We stepped inside and listened as Jolie dumped her bag on the table and ran to the bathroom. The house was silent. This was Max’s naptime, but Daddy didn’t always get Max down when he should, which made evenings at our house hit or miss, depending on Max’s level of exhaustion. I listened for music from the basement, but the silence told me they were both asleep, which meant we had to be quiet for now.

Jolie came out, rubbing her hands on her plaid uniform skirt. I’m hungry.

We’ll change first, I almost whispered. Upstairs, I quickly put on jeans and my t-shirt with the picture of King Tut on it that said, I love my Mummy.

Jolie put on shorts and a t-shirt.

Jolie, it’s cool outside.

I’m warm. End of conversation. There was no point in arguing with her.

As I got us a snack, I stuck my head into the dining room. Do you have homework today?

I have to read a story and answer some questions.

Okay. Get it out.

Daddy worked nights doing maintenance for a machine shop. He didn’t want a day job because then they didn’t have to pay a babysitter for Max while Mom was at work, and he could spend more time working on his music. He made great music. He wrote, played guitar, and sang. It was bluesy and folksy. Sometimes, he played gigs around town. But he hadn’t been noticed by a producer or agent yet.

I don’t know how someone got noticed, especially if they were playing small bars and coffee shops in Portland. At least, that’s what Mom said.

Avoiding thinking about the dreaded 10 Things assignment – that wasn’t due for a month anyway – I considered the science project. I’d been fascinated by a lesson on light and composition in art class last fall, but my drawings of rooms and perspectives didn’t impress anyone. They were stuffed in a box in my closet. For some reason, although they weren’t any good, I kept them.

Jolie read out loud, Amelia Bedelia…

Jolie, could you—

She looked at me, and I stopped talking. Of course, she couldn’t read silently. Never mind. I sighed, looking out the front window. A prism sat on the windowsill making a small rainbow on the light wood floor. Prisms? Too simple. Rainbows? Too babyish.

Footsteps sounded above us. Good, now Daddy could watch Jolie when Daniel came over.

I doodled a list of science ideas – some Mr. Brownley, our science teacher, had mentioned: the composition of precious and semi-precious stones, something about telescopes and how they work, how light bulbs work, how eyes see light and color. Now, that was interesting to me. I always wondered why Daddy and I wore glasses and Mom and Jolie didn’t. We took bets on whether Max would need them or not. Mom said from a scientific and genetic point of view the odds were for him needing them since three out of four of my grandparents wore glasses.

After I sketched each of my ideas: a gem, telescope, lightbulb, and an eye, the stairs creaked.

Crumbs spattered on the floor as Jolie jumped up. Daddy!

He put his finger to his lips, sweeping Jolie up with his other arm, kissing her cheek. She hugged him, then wiggled down, knocking his wire-rimmed glasses askew.

How you doin’, Sweet pea?

Good. I’m doing my homework. She sat back on her crumb-covered chair.

He tousled my hair, further messing up my loose ponytail. It started out smooth and tight, but as the day progressed my curls snuck out, and I just let them. Then he went into the kitchen and turned on the small radio to the jazz station.

We kept working at the dining table while he fiddled around for food until a yelp came from Max.

Daddy ambled up the stairs with Jolie following. Max always gave the first person he saw the biggest smile. He got his big easy smile from Daddy.

Mom wasn’t really smiley. She laughed at some jokes, movies, and TV shows, but she wasn’t like Daddy and Max, who would have had smiley on their 10 Things list.

I didn’t know if I was smiley or not. I thought probably not. I worried a lot – like Mom. And I took things pretty seriously, although I did like funny programs like Happy Days and The Carol Burnett Show.

Suddenly, I thought about the made-up shows that sometimes pretended they were serious. What if I just made up 10 things about myself that might or might not be true – like the TV shows?

Chapter 2

Straight Shooter

Iwarmed to the idea. No one would doubt my 10 Things because I’m known as a straight-shooter – that’s what Daniel’s mom called me when I told him his new haircut made him look like a little kid. She was smiling when she said it, so I guess she wasn’t offended since she was the one who cut it.

Margie was not his biological mom. His mom died when he was little, leaving him, his big brother Samuel, and their dad, Ben, alone. After Ben married Margie, they had Stephanie and Reece. Margie was kind of tough, spoiling Stephanie and Reece a lot more than Samuel and Daniel, which I thought was terrible, but Daniel didn’t seem to mind. He said it was because they were the oldest and they should be more responsible. It was that way in my house too but I didn’t feel like Jolie got away with murder. She was a pretty good kid overall though.

So, what would I put on my fake me list? Happy to be me? Independent? Confident? Artistic? I sighed, tapping the pencil on my chin thinking about the fake me and how could you say a bunch of nice things about yourself without sounding like a jerk, when someone knocked on the screen door.

You done? Breathless, Daniel must have run all the way from his house. A sheen of sweat covered his pale forehead.

Well. Done enough. Give me a minute. As I stacked up my stuff, and nonchalantly said, Who else is playing?

The Kruegers. Tony. That’s it.

I wanted to say, Did you even try to get Seth? but instead I said, Let me tell my dad.

Upstairs, Jolie was helping Daddy change Max’s diaper. She cooed at Max while he gripped her finger.

Hi Max, I kissed his forehead. I’m going to play kickball at the corner.

Oh, you are? Daddy had a tiny smile – I guess because I’m not the world’s greatest kickball player – but he wasn’t the type to point stuff like that out. Okay. Enjoy.

The game went fast, and since our team was losing we quit when the streetlights came on.

Heading home, Daniel stopped in front of my house, holding the ball still with his foot.

Tell Samuel I think it’s sorry–

Daniel interrupted me. It’s not his first ‘D’. He’s been warned. He’s not doing his schoolwork. The thing is, when he gets in trouble, he’s stuck at home making trouble for everyone else. Anyway, it’s good to get out of the house.

Yeah, I patted him on the shoulder and stepped toward the house. Thanks for the game.

Yeah, see ya in the morning.

I turned back. We should talk about the physics assignment.

Physics, shmizzics, Daniel said.

Right. I waved and opened the screen door.

The house was dim inside. The fake Tiffany lamp in the living room leaned as usual, as if it was bowing to whomever entered the front door. From the kitchen something like a hammer on metal banged. That stopped me from heading to the lamp to straighten it.

Mom scolded, Well, if you hadn’t-- She stopped as I walked into the kitchen.

Daddy held Max while Jolie leaned against the refrigerator, and Mom knelt in front of the open dishwasher, banging on the rotating center thing inside. The turny thing was bent and a fork stuck out from the bottom of it. Using a screwdriver, Mom tried bending the circle thing up to get the fork out. She glanced at me. Well, it’s about time. She pushed a long brown strand of hair behind her ear and focused back on the dishwasher’s innards.

Donnie, she gasped, trying to wrench the fork free. What did you do? How is it -- She leaned back on her heels and sat on the floor. --stuck so deep in there?

Daddy raised his eyebrows, making his glasses slip. He looked like a teenager being berated for denting the car. He flexed his arm, boosting Max a little higher while Max drooled on Daddy’s shoulder. It was almost comical – this big muscular black Superman (with a little belly from eating too much ice cream and sitting around playing guitar) holding this baby that looked like one of those floaty cherubs you always see on ceilings in art museum books, except with honey-colored skin and dark eyes.

I don’t know, Babe.

Oh, never mind. We can’t afford a repairperson right now. Not until you get a second job. Mom glared at him. I don’t see why you can’t fix this.

I messed with it a bit, but big machinery is more my gig. He shrugged.

She gave it a good yank, making the whole center thing pop right off.

The fork sprung out and bounced against Jolie’s knee. Ow!

Max’s hair whooshed up as Daddy dropped down to look at the injury.

It’s fine, Jolie. There’s barely a mark. He kissed it and stood.

Jolie rubbed her knee, but she didn’t complain anymore.

Well, that does it, said Mom. We’ll be handwashing for a while. This thing is busted. She held out the broken piece for us to see.

We won’t be handwashing. We will be, meaning Daddy and me. Mom basically did not do housework. She cooked on the weekends and did what she called deep cleaning sometimes because she said Daddy did spit and polish. But because she worked fulltime as a lab tech at the hospital and Daddy worked part time nights, he got most of the chores – the ones he didn’t turf to me.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me there was no dinner cooking.

Mom’s lab coat was draped over the kitchen chair. She hadn’t even made it upstairs to change.

So, what’s for dinner?

Really, Tabby? Is this the first thing you ask? said Mom.

Well… I thought that was obvious.

I’m hungry, whined Jolie.

Great, huffed Mom. We’re all hungry, and no one’s cooked anything, and the dishwasher is broken, and—

Lorraine, Daddy stopped her. go upstairs and get changed. I’ll make some sandwiches.

Mom sighed, grabbing her lab coat. Then she pinched Max’s cheek. Okay. I’ll be down in a few. Don’t start without me.

Daddy looked at me. You want to watch Max or make sandwiches?

Watch Max, I said instantly.

I’ll help you, Daddy, said Jolie.

I carried Max to the living room, trying to straighten the leaning lamp one-handed. It stood for a second, then slumped over slightly. Sighing, I turned on the table lamp, closed the curtains, and set Max on the floor. As we pulled out squishy toys and his light-up stuffed caterpillar, I considered the physical science assignment. What not-dumb project could I do with light and color that didn’t cost a bunch of money or need adult help? Explaining why the rainbow is different colors sounded too babyish.

Max started crawling toward the dining room.

Max, stop. We need to stay in here. My stomach growled again.

Then Daddy flipped the dining room light on, and Jolie followed, carrying a platter.

While we ate our turkey sandwiches and apples, we discussed our day.

I told them about the Physical Science assignment, but not the 10 Things assignment.

Well, that’ll be fun, said Mom. But it’s not really a hard science, is it? I mean biology and chemistry are the building blocks of life, aren’t they?

I shrugged. Physics was so much more interesting.

Mom continued, "Physics is helpful for stuff like building bridges and flying airplanes, but not for