It's All or Nothing, Vale

A poignant novel in verse where, after a life-changing accident, one girl finds her way back to her life&rsquo;s passion. From the Newbery Honor Award-winning author of <Iveliz Explains It All<.

<All these months of staring at the wall?<
<All these months of feeling weak?<
<It&rsquo;s ending&mdash;<
<I&rsquo;m going back to fencing.<
<And then it&rsquo;ll be<
<like nothing ever happened.<

No one knows hard work and dedication like Valentina Camacho. And Vale&rsquo;s <thing< is&nbsp;fencing. She&rsquo;s the top athlete at her fencing gym. Or she was . . . until the accident.

After months away, Vale is finally cleared to fence again, but it&rsquo;s much harder than before. Her body doesn&rsquo;t move the way it used to, and worst of all is the new number one: Myrka. When she sweeps Vale aside with her perfect form and easy smile, Vale just can&rsquo;t accept that. But the harder Vale fights to catch up, the more she realizes her injury isn&rsquo;t the only thing holding her back. If she can&rsquo;t leave her accident in the past, then what does she have to look forward to?

In this moving novel from the Newbery Honor-winning author of <Iveliz Explains It All<, one girl finds her way back to her life&rsquo;s passion and discovers that the sum of a person''s achievements doesn&rsquo;t amount to the whole of them.

Auteur

Andrea Beatriz Arango

Échantillon de lecture
Back to School

I wake up to my pink cane

propped up against the dresser--

a spot where I know

I didn’t leave it

before going to bed.

Mami put it there while I slept,

I’m positive,

as if waking up and seeing it

would logically make me grab it,

as if its nearness to my

carefully picked out

first-day-of-school outfit

would make it the natural accessory

for my first day back.

It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her

that I don’t want it,

she doesn’t listen--

always going on and on

with her metaphors

and cutesy phrases

insisting my cane is inspirational

and lecturing me on how using it

is just like someone using glasses

and so I shouldn’t be ashamed.

But it’s not that I’m ashamed--

it’s that I’m confused.

Nervous of what everyone at school will say

if I come to class with a cane some days

but not others,

like I must be hiding a secret,

like I did virtual school

just for fun,

like whatever they heard about me,

about my accident,

about my surgeries,

has to be a lie

because the Valentina in front of them

doesn’t look injured,

is rejoining her fencing gym this week,

because

the seventh-grade Valentina in front of them?

With her Dutch braids,

frowning face,

calendar counting down the days?

She looks exactly like the

tough

champion

athlete

she’s always been.

Background Noise

“No me voy a llevar el baston,”

I inform Mami

as I come down the stairs,

ignoring my stiff ankle and

cutting her off before she can open her mouth

to ask why I don’t have my cane.

Luis Manuel is already at the kitchen table

scarfing down chocolate Pop-Tarts

with a glass of milk,

and I see him make a face under his curls and

concentrate on his breakfast

because we both know those are fighting words

in the Camacho Gutierrez

morning routine.

I grab a can of guava juice from the fridge as

Papi instantly defends me,

saying there’s no point in giving people

the wrong idea

when I’ll be starting up my training again so soon.

Which then immediately prompts

one of Mami’s speeches,

her most common one,

the one about how I’m not the same Vale

who competed in Summer Nationals last year,

that me and Papi can’t pretend everything is fine

just ’cause we want it to be

and that

if we’re all being honest,

I probably shouldn’t fence again at all.

I practically have this argument memorized by now,

can mumble along with both of them

as I take each sip of my juice.

Papi all: She doesn’t need a cane. She just needs to strengthen her left leg.

Then Mami: If she didn’t need a cane, the PT wouldn’t have suggested one.

Then Papi: Look at her! She’s fine. Aren’t you fine, Vale? Tell your mother.

And Mami: She’s not fine! Didn’t you see her limping? Vale, show your dad.

I don’t bother answering either of them

because as long as I keep quiet,

my parents will argue alone

for twenty minutes easy,

even if everything they say

is just a repeat

of something they’ve said before.

Halfway through my juice, though,

my brother swallows the last of his food

and points at the garage door with his lips.

And even though I was supposed to ride the bus today,

even though Luis Manuel threw a fit last week

telling us all how driving me to Jefferson Middle

would make him late to Jefferson High,

his tall, lanky self

quietly leads me through the garage door,

leaving our parents still arguing,

and then drives me to school

without a single complaint.

I Know Me Best

I wish I could say Mami just got up

on the wrong side of the bed this morning,

but she says stuff like this all the time now,

buys me all sorts of random natural medicines

that don’t work,

the closer we get

to me being allowed to fence again.

It’s like she thinks giving up what makes me me

shouldn’t be a big deal at all,

that my energy could be better used trying out

whatever “new solutions” for my pain

she’s found online that day.

And I don’t understand how she can’t see that

fencing again,

the promise of it,

is the only thing that’s kept me going

through the surgeries

and the doctors

and the complete rearranging

of my life.

That fencing isn’t just a hobby

I can pick up and put down--

it’s who I am.

It’s what keeps me me.

And anyone who can’t see that

is clearly not Team Valentina,

even if it’s my own mother,

even if she insists

everything she says

is out of love.

Because We Love You

Before my accident

porque te queremos

meant my parents were tough on me

when I didn’t win.

It meant Papi would film me

so we could go over all my mistakes,

and I’d always get in trouble with Mami

if I didn’t eat enough carbs

the night before a match

or didn’t get enough sleep

due to nerves.

It meant I wasn’t allowed to say I was tired

after practice

or say I wanted to take a week off

and if I ever complained

Mami would remind me

that she never got the chance

to ever compete

to ever take lessons in anything

and I’m lucky to have parents who work so hard.

And, yeah, Papi is still the same, I think

but it’s like Mami went to bed

the night of my accident

and woke up as someone brand-new.

And as bad as it sometimes felt

to be pushed and pushed all the time

this?

now?

is a million times worse.

Because if love used to mean

never letting me give up

what does it mean now--

now that Mami has forgotten

who I used to be?

Parallel Universe

Even though I’ve been counting down the days,

ready to restart regular life,

Jefferson Middle School still feels weird, …