Funny How Things Changeby Melissa Wyatt
Remy Walker has it all: he found the love of his life at home in crumbling little Dwyer, West Virginia, deep in his beloved Appalachian Mountains where his family settled more than one hundred and sixty years ago. But at seventeen, you're not supposed to already be where you want to be, right? You've got a whole world to make your way through, and you start by… See more details below
Remy Walker has it all: he found the love of his life at home in crumbling little Dwyer, West Virginia, deep in his beloved Appalachian Mountains where his family settled more than one hundred and sixty years ago. But at seventeen, you're not supposed to already be where you want to be, right? You've got a whole world to make your way through, and you start by leaving your dead-end town. Like his girlfriend, Lisa. Lisa's going away to college. If Remy goes with her, it would be the start of everything they ever dreamed of. So when a fascinating young artist from out of state shows Remy his home through new eyes, why is he suddenly questioning his future?
The author vividly depicts a rich and beautiful place in this powerful novel about a young man who, over the course of a summer, learns how much he has to give up for a girl, and how much he needs to give up for a mountain.
Gr 9 Up
Following high school graduation, Remy Walker is working at a gas station in Dwyer, WV, a town that is limping along in the wake of its coal-mining past. Strong feelings for Lisa, his girlfriend who is going away to college, lead Remy to decide to leave Dwyer and the mountain that has been his family's home for more than 150 years, and go with her. Her parents don't support this plan, but his father, who is self-employed and without other resources, offers him the proceeds of selling Walker Mountain to the mining company, to allow access to other peaks where they are practicing mountaintop mining removal. To complicate matters, the earnest youthful passion that he feels for Lisa is shaken not only by his ties to the land and his dad, but also by Dana, an intriguing artist painting murals on water towers during her summer break from college. Good writing drives stellar characterization of this strong but introspective protagonist struggling with his own version of the universal questions of who he is and what matters most. Wyatt creates a vivid sense of place where nobody has much, but the land is an organic and awesome presence in the lives of people with ties to it. Kinship with Remy will come easily to readers facing similar decisions about growing up and leaving home, especially when it comes to leaving a small town or a place suffering a downward economic spiral.-Suzanne Gordon, Peachtree Ridge High School, Suwanee, GA
“Wyatt's prose is tautly evocative throughout; her plot is a welcome departure from the stale conventions of the hero's journey.” Starred, Kirkus Reviews
“Good writing drives stellar characterization of this strong but introspective protagonist struggling with his own version of the universal questions of who he is and what matters most . . . . Kinship with Remy will come easily to readers facing similar decisions about growing up and leaving home.” School Library Journal
“Beautifully spare language portrays the quiet story of a good guy.” VOYA
“Readers will identify with Remy and his feeling of being torn between a comfortable past and uncertain future.” Booklist
“This timeless drama of a teen trying to make the right decision about his future is credibly set against timely issues about bad local economies based on unsustainable mining practices, making for a memorable and truly compelling coming-of-age-story.” Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books
“Thoughtfully written.” Teensreadtoo.com
“An intimate look into a young man's life and the decisions he must make.” Towerofbooks.wordpress.com
“A beautifully written male character.” Apatchworkofbooks.blogspot.com
“A great look at reasons to leave home versus reasons to stay (without involving any abuse, death or depression) and also has an environmental angle involving mountain top removal . . . . Very well done.” ChasingRay.com
- Farrar, Straus and Giroux
- Publication date:
- Sold by:
- NOOK Book
- File size:
- 207 KB
- Age Range:
- 14 - 18 Years
Read an Excerpt
Funny How Things Change
By Melissa Wyatt
Farrar, Straus and GirouxCopyright © 2009 Melissa Wyatt
All rights reserved.
On his arm — just above his left hand — were three black letters. He'd put them there himself when he was twelve, him and Jimmy, done with coal dust pounded in with a nail drove through a stick. They never thought it would be permanent. But there it was, nearly five years on, his initials, R.A.W.
Lately, that's how Remy Walker felt. Raw on the inside, raw on the outside. Lying beside Lisa in the deep shade of the woods, her long limbs tangled with his, he wondered if she could feel it too, feel it burning through her own skin. It had been coming on for some time, coming with the end of their last year of high school, changing everything. Remy wished things could just go on the way they always had done, but something seemed to be pulling at him, like a persistent nudge to wake when you wanted to stay asleep. But waking up meant facing reality, that Lisa was leaving, going away, and he would be left behind.
All around them, the late June air hung so sultry, Remy couldn't tell it from his own hot, damp skin. No breeze moved the leaves and the only sound was the drone of insects, and somewhere not far enough away, the shuddering impact of blasting. Remy flinched, turning his head instinctively. The top of another mountain — another lush green haven like this one — was going down to fast and dirty mining methods.
Lisa inched along the blanket she'd spread on the ground and put her lips to his ear.
"Come with me," she whispered.
"Where to?" he asked, her warm breath raising gooseflesh down his left side.
"To Pennsylvania, when I go to college." She kissed his ear. "You could come along."
He laughed and reached to break off a twig of spicebush. She was daydreaming, that's all. It was an easy place for it, out here in the woods, this place nobody else knew but them, all wrapped in green and each other. He wasn't going to college, but she was. Something that had been a blurry speck in the distance and was now just months away. He waved the spicebush twig under her nose. But she brushed it away and pushed herself up, looming between him and the canopy of trees that covered them, her pale hair so long it trailed across his chest.
"Seriously, come with me," she said.
They'd talked about it before, lots of times. Sometimes joking, what it'd be like, what kind of apartment they'd get, how they'd stay up all night if they wanted and there'd be nobody to tell them what to do. Even when it was serious, it'd seemed a million years away, and for Remy, it had always had the safety of that distance, only now here it was, their last summer, and Lisa wanted to make the daydreams real.
"Oh yeah. I'll major in front end alignments." He drew her hair across his face, smooth against his lips, sweeter than the spicebush.
"I don't mean go to college." She stiffened against him. "Though you could. You know you could."
She'd bought completely into the higher education salvation preached at school. Get up, get out. That was their answer to being poor in West Virginia. Don't stay in West Virginia. At least don't stay in the mountains.
"Honey, I don't want to."
"Okay, but you could get a job." She wrapped her arms tight around his chest, like he might fly away. "There are gas stations in Pennsylvania, same as here. We'll get an apartment near the college. Remy, think! It's everything we always talked about! We could do it. We really could."
She was right. It was what they'd fantasized about. Get up, get out. Leave. She was every reason to say yes, he'd known it since that day back in tenth grade when she'd sat next to him in history class, crossed her silky legs, and smiled. He'd been saying yes ever since, rewarded with the head-spinning awesomeness of knowing she'd chosen him. And if he loved her, he shouldn't even have to think. The chance to be with her was the only thing that mattered.
She brushed his hair off his forehead with her fingers and held his eyes with hers.
"Remy, I can't imagine not being with you," she said. "Leaving Daddy and Momma and even this place is one thing, but not you. Not when we can do something about it."
Another muffled blast and Remy thought he felt the earth shake under them.
"Come with me," she said again, and everything around them was still, silent, waiting.
Because he had to be with her. He knew that much.
"Really?" She pushed up again, staring at him.
"Yeah, really. Let's do it."
His decision washed over him, leaving him feeling slightly drunk or like he'd just stepped off a cliff. And the joy that spread across her face reached out and caught him, held him up. He felt a laugh rise in his throat, a kid's laugh, and he didn't feel raw at all anymore. He felt like he could crack the whole mountain himself, if he wanted to.
That was all it needed. He grabbed Lisa and pulled her down again, his face in her neck, her hair everywhere. Her lips met his and her fingers slid into his hair. He felt the soft warmth of her spread across him, like she could melt into him, pushing away that gasping feeling of having made such a big decision.
"It's getting late," Lisa breathed in his ear. "Aren't you working today?"
He swore, sat up, his head swimming with burning and kisses and plans. There were a lot of plans to be made, people they'd have to tell. Like his dad. His dad was going to hate this. But Remy pushed everything down with an almost physical effort and grabbed his shirt and skinned it over his shoulders.
"Remy?" Lisa's voice rose with uncertainty. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." He hunted around for his boots. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's just ..."
"Don't worry!" She smiled. "It's going to be great! Perfect."
She understood him, knew how he felt without him having to say. He held her, his hand behind her head, feeling the surprising strength of the slim tendons of her neck against his fingers. His heart still picked up speed when he looked at her. That day in tenth grade might have been the moment she decided he was worth noticing, but it wasn't the first time he'd noticed her. Long before that, every time he passed her in the halls at school or saw her on the streets in Dwyer, he felt like he was looking at a prize that was way out of his reach. So that day in history class, they both knew. It wasn't even a question.
He kissed her again. She soothed him in ways she didn't even know. She'd like that. He ought to tell her, but he didn't want to risk breaking whatever spell she cast without knowing it. His lips still touching hers, he fumbled with his shirt, buttoning it blind.
"I gotta go," he told her. "I'm covering Jimmy's —" Kiss. "— shift tonight and then I'm —" Kiss. "— on again in the morning. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, maybe."
"You staying in the bottom tonight?"
"Yeah," Remy grunted as he jerked on the laces of his scuffed boots. "If Duff'll let me sleep in the garage."
He didn't have a car and it was nearly an hour's hike from Duff's Gas and Go down in the creek bottom at the north end of town all the way up Walker Hollow to where he lived with his dad on the mountain south of town. Not worth the effort when he was pulling a double shift.
"Let me drive you to work," Lisa said, brushing off bits of leaves and pine needles from her tank top.
"No time." He grabbed her wrist and tapped the face of her watch. "You gotta go get Scott."
Scott was her little brother, waiting to be picked up from swimming lessons at the park pool, the opposite direction from where Remy was headed.
"Oh damn, that's right." She jumped up and they hiked down the mountain to her mother's car, where she bundled the blanket into the trunk. "Well, it won't be long and we'll be together all the time, just us, in our own place."
Looking at her, Remy thought how cute she was with her hair tousled and her makeup all kissed off. How lucky he was, how lucky he'd be to get to see her like this every day.
"You're beautiful," he said.
"Oh, go to work!" She put her hands flat on his chest, gave him a little shove, and climbed into the car.
"See you tomorrow." He kissed her again through the rolled-down window and stood back to watch her drive off before he started on his own way.
Sweat was rolling down Remy's back by the time he hauled himself over the guardrail onto Route 25. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have minded. He liked the walk along the highway, with the mountain rising on one side and the valley and the town spread out on the other, liked the sense of walking halfway between the two. But now his mind buzzed with thoughts he couldn't smack down. Mostly about telling his dad he'd just decided to up and leave. It would cut them both, his dad more than him because his dad would be alone. But it was no good thinking about that. Better to think about Lisa, the smell of her still clinging to his skin, like she was part of him even when she wasn't there.
The highway had been cut through the mountain more than fifty years ago and the rock was still bleeding water. Mostly, it only oozed steadily, covering the rock in a shiny glaze in summer and freezing into geologic formations in winter. But in some places, it made little waterfalls. If the outfall was low enough, people put in pipes and bottled the water for drinking. To Remy, it only proved that the mountains were alive — great living things with cool, clear water in their veins.
He stopped where a decent spring fell from an outcropping maybe fifteen feet over the road and stuck his head under the cascade of water. Even in mid-June, the water was cold enough to make him shout at the shock of it on his neck. He threw back his head and let it splash over his face, steaming from the climb, felt it run down his chest and back, soaking his shirt.
"That looks great!"
Remy straightened, the water flattening his hair down over his forehead and running into his eyes, so that he had to step out of the fall, pushing dark hair and water out of his face, to see who had spoken.
It was a girl. On the other side of the road, she sat on a small scaffolding built around the front of the Dwyer municipal water tower, surrounded by cans of paint. How had he not noticed her? Or at least her car, a red Mustang convertible parked in the pullover that overlooked the town. He didn't recognize either the girl or the car. He felt stupid, like he'd been caught dancing in his underwear.
"Is it safe?" the girl asked. "Can you drink it?"
He looked at the steady stream of water, as if he could analyze it by squinting, and shrugged.
"I guess," he said.
She hopped down from the scaffolding and crossed the road. "I ran out of tea an hour ago and didn't want to go into town for something to drink. It takes so long to get anywhere down here!"
He could tell by the way she talked that she wasn't from anyplace nearby. And that "down here" crack confirmed it. An outsider. She held cupped hands under the water and bent over to drink. Remy could see that she wasn't as old as he first thought. A little older than him but not by much, maybe nineteen. Small and compact, like her car.
She smiled at him, water dripping off her chin.
"That's so good! Better than Evian. You ought to bottle this stuff and sell it."
She yanked off the bandanna that was holding back her short brown hair, held it under the water, and then wiped her face and neck, damp little curls clinging to her temples and the nape of her neck. When she raised her arms to tie the wet bandanna back over her hair, Remy caught himself staring.
What was wrong with him? He'd been with Lisa forever, it seemed. They'd known each other since they were kids, had both been virgins that night two years ago when they'd gone to the dugout behind the high school while most of the county was inside watching the annual reenactment of the Rope River Mine War. He hadn't felt drawn to look at another girl like this. Why should he when he had everything he wanted?
The girl stared back at him, and he felt brown eyes flecked with green move over his face and follow the droplets of water that trickled down his body, running over the flat muscles between the two halves of his open shirt. He was made by the mountains, tall, thin, and wiry, his body shaped by years of climbing trees and rocks and the kind of physical work most people didn't think anyone had to do anymore, not in this country, anyway.
For a second, he had this crazy mental picture of kissing her, just taking hold of her and kissing her. Then a car swept by, close on their side, the draft kicking up hot air and dust, scaring the girl so that she took a bad step and slid into the rainwater gully.
Swearing, she scrabbled up, and Remy reached a hand to pull her back onto the road.
"Yeah, thanks." She smacked dust off her bottom. "Serves me right for admiring the scenery when I should be working." She looked at him, squinting a little. "You live around here?"
"Close enough," he said.
She pointed at the black letters on his arm. "What's that stand for?"
He looked at his arm, like he forgot what was there. "Just my initials. Remington Alvin Walker, that's me."
"Remington?" Her eyes widened.
"It's a family name."
That's what his dad said, laughing and following it up with "Yep, that shotgun is like a brother to me." Part of his hillbilly put-on, like the stoneware jug he kept in the kitchen of their small trailer, telling visiting distant cousins it was full of moonshine when Remy knew it was only filled with Jack Daniel's, bought special for the occasion from the liquor store. Still, it wasn't always easy carrying around a joke as a first name. A lot of people took it seriously, thinking you were named after a gun. And outsiders — like the girl — either thought it was quaint or scary, neither of which felt especially good.
"Remington." She rolled his name over her tongue like she'd done with the water. "That is such a cool name. Very unique."
Nobody had ever thought it was cool. He gave the girl another look.
"I'm Dana Shaeffer," she said. "For no particular reason."
He nodded acknowledgment. "Where are you from?"
"I'm from Maryland, originally, near Washington, D.C. We moved to West Virginia, to the eastern panhandle, a couple of years ago because it was cheaper."
Yeah, he'd heard about that. It was supposed to be good for the state, to have these commuters move in. But all they did was drive up the prices so the local people couldn't afford to live there anymore.
"So what are you doing away down here?"
"I'm painting the water tower," she said.
He looked at her to see if she was kidding, but she seemed serious. "What for?" he asked. "Just been painted a year ago."
"Not that kind of painting," she said. "I'm painting a mural on it. Come and see."
He followed her across the road where she unfolded a big piece of paper with a picture drawn on it in pencil. It took a couple of minutes of hard staring to figure out it was a jumble of important points in McGuire County history. There was the old county courthouse bigger and more impressive than it had ever looked, a train heaped with coal, the writer Rosella Banks, U.S. Senator John T. McGonaugle, the obligatory coal miner, and some mountains in the background.
"Did you draw this?"
"Mm-hm." She nodded.
He had to keep looking at her, his ideas about her shifting so quickly in such a short time.
"Thanks," Dana said.
"What's it for?"
"What do you mean, 'What's it for?'" she asked. "It's art. It's supposed to make you think. I'm doing four of these down here this summer. I've already done two up in Blair County. I won a grant."
"The state government." She rolled the picture back up.
"The state is paying you?" Remy asked. "To paint pictures on water towers?"
"Uh-huh. Not much, though. I was hoping to have enough so I could live off-campus when I go back to college in the fall. I hated living in the dorm. Not that my parents wouldn't help me out, but you know. I thought it would be cool if I could say I paid for some of it myself. My dad thinks majoring in art is a total waste of time. It'd be nice if I could show him I can make some money from it."
His ideas about her shifted again. A transplanted running-at-the-mouth Maryland rich girl, painting scenes of civic pride on the water towers of dying towns and getting paid by the state to do it.
"Yeah, well, see ya," he said and started back across the highway.
"You don't have to go!" she shouted after him. "Why don't you stay and talk to me?"
Excerpted from Funny How Things Change by Melissa Wyatt. Copyright © 2009 Melissa Wyatt. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Meet the Author
MELISSA WYATT fell in love with the landscape of Appalachia on trips "home" with her husband, whose family is from West Virginia. She lives in York, Pennsylvania.
I have had the most boring life of any young adult author, and I’ve read a lot of young adult author bios, so I know. I have never sailed to Australia or trekked through Tibet. I have never been a race-car driver, danced on Broadway, or run with the bulls.
I grew up in Weiglestown, Pennsylvania, a little town a few miles north of York, Pennsylvania, which of course is famous for the Peppermint Pattie. I was an accomplished liar as a child, though I didn’t lie to be mean or to weasel out of things. I just made up things to make myself seem more interesting to friends, teachers, and total strangers. Even then, I had an amazingly boring life. But being a good liar is a great background for a writer. I started making up stories about people other than myself and writing them down in eighth grade. But when I graduated from high school in 1981, I’d had about enough of school and took the first of a series of secretarial jobs for the State of Pennsylvania, jobs where the primary directive was to “look busy.” So I sat at the typewriter and wrote. Reams and reams of stuff. It was a great opportunity to stretch my writing wings and learn the craft.
I left the state after eight years, and for a little while I made a living as a doll artist, sometimes making dolls for famous people like Demi Moore and Anne Rice, and that was about as exciting as my life ever got. The doll market crashed after 9/11 and I decided it was time to get serious about publishing a book. My first novel, Raising the Griffin, was published by Random House in 2004. Writing for teenagers appeals to me because being a teenager is all about change and choice and figuring out how you fit in the world, and those are great building blocks for stories.
When I’m not writing, I’m hanging out with my two boys and my husband or indulging in embarrassingly old-lady-like hobbies like gardening, bird-watching, and old movies. (I haven’t yet taken up knitting, but there’s time.)
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