Ellen Outside the Lines
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Andrew Sass
Cover art © 2022 by Ana Hinojosa
Cover design by Angelie Yap
Cover copyright © 2022 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Sass, A. J., author.
Title: Ellen outside the lines / A. J. Sass.
Description: First edition. | New York ; Boston : Little, Brown and Company, 2022. | Includes author’s note. | Audience: Ages 8–12. |
Summary: “Ellen, an autistic thirteen-year-old, navigates a new city, shifting friendships, a growing crush, and her queer and Jewish identities while on a class trip to Barcelona, Spain”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021039588 | ISBN 9780759556270 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780759556300 (ebook)
Subjects: CYAC: Autism—Fiction. | Foreign study—Fiction. | Treasure hunt (Game)—Fiction. | Gender identity—Fiction. | Sexual orientation—Fiction. | Friendship—Fiction. | Jews—Fiction. | Barcelona (Spain)—Fiction. | Spain—Fiction. | LCGFT: Novels.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.S26476 El 2022 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021039588
ISBNs: 978-0-7595-5627-0 (hardcover), 978-0-7595-5630-0 (ebook)
E3-20220203-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five: Day 1
Chapter Six: Day 2
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Primera Pista
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen: Day 3
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Segunda Pista
Chapter Sixteen: Day 4
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen: Day 5
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty: Day 6
Chapter Twenty-One: Day 7
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four: Day 8
Tercera Pista
Chapter Twenty-Five: Day 9
Chapter Twenty-Six: Day 10
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Day 11
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Day 12
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One: Day 13
Chapter Thirty-Two: Day 14
Chapter Thirty-Three: Beautiful Tomorrow
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To Deven & every dear friend who has entered my life at a time most needed & least expected
Chapter One
I’m ahead of schedule and this is a problem.
I know there are bigger issues. Climate change is making the oceans rise. People are cutting down trees, endangering entire forests, along with thousands of animal species. But Dr. Talia says problems like those are “out of scope.” I’m supposed to think of my life as an entire world of its own, to focus on the stuff within my control.
Stuff like:
My breath
My attitude
The words I use
A short list, but manageable, according to Dr. Talia.
It’s totally manageable. Except right now, my world’s tipped on its axis because I packed too fast but not fast enough to do anything else before my best-and-only friend, Laurel, is supposed to call.
I grab a piece of paper off my desk and head over to the suitcase lying open on my bed. I’ve already double- and triple-checked this packing list—I even left suitcase space for souvenirs, plus changed into clothes for tonight’s Shabbat service—but it’s still only 4:45.
What am I going to do for the next ten minutes?
Dropping onto my bed, I pull out my phone.
El(len) Katz
I finished packing early. You can call now.
Laurel usually responds fast. But today, my phone doesn’t ring. Downstairs, Mom’s voice drifts up to me. It rises then falls with each musical scale. Upstairs, it’s just me and my tense shoulders, a silent phone, and the whoosh-rattle of the rickety ceiling fan.
My eyes drift closed, fingers curling over the edge of my mattress.
I rock in time with the fan.
Forward on the whoosh.
Back on the rattle.
Over and over.
I tell myself it’s a good thing I’m ahead of schedule. It means I can do more than I thought in the time I planned out. I imagine Dr. Talia nodding, her silvery hair swaying as she takes notes on a pad of paper:
Ellen’s progress—Positive attitude: Check
I look at my phone again.
4:50 p.m.
More rocking. Another silent pep talk. Everything’s fine. I’ve got it all under control.
Eventually my shoulders relax. I feel calm again as I head over to my desk. The surface is bare except for my dot diary, a notebook filled with schedules and lists that keep my life completely organized. It’s the total opposite of Abba’s messy desk, with stacks of doodles and half-finished graphic novel sketches.
I stare at the sticky note on my dot diary’s cover that lists my flight confirmation number, then flip to the page with today’s schedule.
Laurel’s entry is under my Events column, but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to call who, just that our check-in is at 4:55 p.m., twenty-four hours before our flight departs.
It’s exactly 4:55 p.m. now. I’m already feeling anxious as I unlock my phone and call Laurel.
Four rings, and then…
“Hi and hello!” her voice chirps. “You’ve reached Laurel’s voice mail, so…”
Stomach churning, I hang up. Laurel was supposed to get home from her visit with her older sister this morning, but maybe her phone’s dead after the long drive. I’ve never understood how Laurel can go to bed without plugging it in to charge.
I switch to her home number.
“McKinley residence.”
Laurel’s mom has a voice that sounds like sugar, all syrupy syllables and molasses vowels.
“Hi, Mrs. McKinley.”
“Ellen! How’re you doing, darlin’?”
“Good.” This is a lie—the truth is I’m starting to feel sick. But according to Dr. Talia, people don’t know what to say if you go off-script, and I’m the same way with schedules, so I guess I get it. “Is Laurel back from Florida?”
“Yes, indeed. She and Dahlia got in a little before lunch. It was perfect timing, really, since I’d just finished making a fresh peach cobbler and…”
As Mrs. McKinley describes each course of their meal, I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time.
5:01.
What if everyone already checked in and Laurel and I don’t get seats together because peaches delayed us?
The floorboards outside my room creak with the weight of approaching feet.
“Incoming, Ellen!” Abba calls from the hall.
He swings my door open and enters my room, while Mrs. McKinley keeps talking. “It’s a lovely farm, just south of Atlanta. We should take you and Laurel on a day trip.” A knot forms in my stomach and travels up into my chest, making its way toward my throat. “… been in their family for at least—”
“Can I talk to Laurel?” My voice rises over hers.
Abba crosses his arms. I’m not the greatest at reading body language, but this one’s easy.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Mrs. McKinley, swallowing hard. “It’s just, we were supposed to check in for our flight seven minutes ago.”
Maybe eight now.
“Well.” She pauses like she’s puzzled. “I’m afraid Laurel’s not here right this moment, dear. She headed over to the Taylors’ after lunch. Have you tried her cell phone?”
Yes, but I can’t tell her that, because my throat has closed up. I also can’t tell her how things were supposed to return to normal once Laurel got back from Florida. No more messed-up schedules or canceled sleepovers. No miss
ed calls or unanswered texts, either. Just two weeks in Spain with our Spanish class, the two of us doing everything together. She promised.
Suddenly, there’s too much to focus on.
Whoosh-rattle
the fan’s too loud
Scritch-scritch-scritch
cypress branches scrape against my window
Lekhah dodi
Mom sings downstairs
Hebrew words swirl in my head
Too much, too much. My temples throb.
“All my girls have been such little social butterflies,” Mrs. McKinley continues, totally oblivious. “First Lily on student council, then Dahlia with all those honor societies, and now Laurel and her gymnastics…”
I meet Abba’s gaze for a split second. He steps forward and holds his hand out.
“Hi, Susannah? It’s Natan. Seems the girls had a miscommunication.”
I don’t remember handing Abba my phone. He walks a slow circle around my room, his messy bun of curly brown hair bobbing. It’s longer than my red-brown hair when it’s loose.
He pauses at my desk, eyes drifting to the sticky note on my dot diary. “If you have Laurel’s confirmation number, I can check us all in together.”
I thrum my fingers against my leg, focusing on Mom’s song downstairs.
Lekhah dodi, liqrat kallah, p’ne Shabbat—short tap, tap, tap with my index finger.
Neqabelah—finger fan. First index finger, then middle, ring, and pinkie against my leg.
The rhythm helps me focus and keeps me calm.
“All right, Elle-bell. You and Laurel officially have seats together tomorrow,” Abba says as he hands my phone back to me. “Hakol beseder?”
I breathe in. Abba’s words are clearer. Even though I was ahead of schedule and Laurel forgot about our call, things still worked out. The fan is still rattling and the tree branches still scritch, but they’re just background sounds now. I breathe out.
“Beseder gamur.” Totally fine. I tell myself it is, even if things didn’t go exactly as planned.
Still, I can’t help checking my notifications to see if Laurel’s texted me back.
She hasn’t.
“Metzuyan. I’m glad.” The corners of Abba’s mouth lift and the stubble on his cheeks rise with it. His voice is a mix between Mrs. McKinley’s warm Southern accent and Mom’s New York–brisk that never quite went away after we moved to Georgia. Israeli airy: That’s what Mom calls it. “I see you’re already packed for our trip. Any chance you could help me organize my suitcase before we head to temple?”
The knot in my throat finally dissolves now that I have something else to focus on. I get up to consult my dot diary. Sunset isn’t until 9:01 p.m. tonight, according to my notes, but Shabbat services start earlier. I do some quick math. “We have to leave in thirty-three minutes.”
“That’s doable, right?”
“Yes.” I grab a pen from my desk drawer and add an entry to my Tasks list. “All right, let’s go.”
I weave us around the creakiest hallway floorboards. “Barcelona’s humid in June, just like Georgia, so you’ll mostly need T-shirts and shorts. You should have lots of space left over for souvenirs.”
“And my art supplies?”
I glance back at him. “You are very predictable.”
“True.” Abba grins. “But I bet you’re already coming up with a packing plan, nachon?”
“Yes.” I smile a little.
He’s right. Predictable might be a bad thing for some people—too boring—but not for me. And since we’ll be flying halfway around the world by this time tomorrow, it’s best to focus on what I can control now—like helping Abba pack his art supplies before my family leaves for temple.
Chapter Two
The next afternoon, we roll to a stop in front of the McKinleys’ house, where Laurel waits for us on her wraparound porch. She hugs her family goodbye as Abba carries her luggage to the trunk.
“The two Els, reunited at last,” Abba says as he and Laurel get into the car. “How was Florida, Miss Laurel?”
“I adored it.” Laurel adores a lot of things, since it was her favorite word for all of seventh grade. “We drove to the Gulf last weekend. It was so pretty.”
She rubs her small cross-shaped charm between her index finger and thumb.
Some people believe you have to look into a person’s eyes to know what they’re feeling, but I think you can tell more from what they do with their hands. Like, I know Abba is stressed when his knuckles turn white around his tablet pen. Mom waves her hands around as she talks when she’s excited, and I do my finger thrum whenever the world gets too bright, loud, or both.
When Laurel gets nervous, she fiddles with her necklace.
She turns toward me. “It was like the beach in Savannah. Remember?”
She waits for me to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat. I nod instead, a quick, jerky movement that matches the beat of a pop song playing from our car’s radio.
I remember. Last summer, between sixth and seventh grade, I spent a week with the McKinleys at their vacation home on the Georgia coast. Laurel and I swam in the ocean every morning and ate lunch on the beach each afternoon. We’d make up stories about the other tourists as we ate. Things like where they were visiting from and what might happen in their lives when they went back home.
“Sounds like you had a nice trip,” Mom says.
“Yes, ma’am.” Laurel’s strawberry-blond hair bobs on her newly tanned shoulder. “I sure did.”
We merge onto the freeway, and Abba’s arms appear above his seat, stretching as far as they’ll reach. “I hope no one minds if I take a nap. I lost myself in some sketches last night and stayed up past my bedtime.”
“That’s fine.” Mom turns down the music’s volume. “We’ll keep quiet for you, right, girls?”
“Yes.” I find my voice at the same time that Laurel says the same thing.
“Chalamot paz, Abba,” I add. Sweet dreams.
My phone buzzes. A new text from Laurel.
I skim our last few messages.
El(len) Katz
Friday
I finished packing early. You can call now.
(Laur)el McKinley
Friday
Sorry I forgot to call
I was shopping with Dahlia all morning, then SA needed a packing intervention and I totally spaced
Saturday
Forgive me??
SA stands for Sophie-Anne Taylor. We’re all students at Lynnwood Preparatory School, but Sophie-Anne has her own group of friends and I don’t get how Laurel fits in with them. Ever since we met in third grade, it’s always been just Laurel and me: an inseparable pair of Els. I hunch my shoulders and lean forward in my seat.
El(len) Katz
I called your house yesterday when you didn’t answer your cell phone. Your mom talks a lot.
Laurel giggles. My phone buzzes again.
(Laur)el McKinley
LOLOLOL I know, I live with her
The sides of my mouth twitch up, and I relax in my seat. Up front, Mom hums a Shabbat song she sang in front of our temple this morning. I try to imagine what it’ll be like to spend two Shabbats halfway across the world. Except for the trip to Savannah, I’ve always gone to temple with Mom and Abba every week. While Mom leads our temple in song, I sit with Abba, humming along.
Abba’s breaths become deep and slow. Laurel and I keep texting to make sure we don’t wake him.
(Laur)el McKinley
So how much homework do you think Señor L will make us do on this trip?
El(len) Katz
The syllabus from last year was on the school website. It’s lectures in the morning, then a siesta and afternoon field trips before dinner. I didn’t see times listed for homework.
(Laur)el McKinley
Let me guess… you made daily schedules for the whole trip
El(len) Katz
… maybe.
(Laur)el McKinley
I glance over at Laurel, right as Abba snorts in his sleep. The corners of our mouths rise at the same time.
Mom glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “Grins must be contagious,” she tells us in a loud whisper. “Now I can’t stop smiling, either.”
The car rolls to a stop in front of the Atlanta airport’s international departures terminal. We grab our suitcases and say goodbye to Mom. My stomach swirls with nerves as she coasts away.