Step

Bentley is timid, and he, like Connor, isn’t happy at being out in the early morning. As Bentley does his business, Connor thinks about how much he hates that expression: “Do your business. Like the dog was a banker or something.” (p. 15) And Connor hates the expression today, as much he did yesterday and the day before, and . . . well, it’s more of the same. He hoped that turning 11 would open the door to something new. Finished with his toileting, Bentley suddenly lies on his back, wriggling and wriggling, a new behaviour that surprises Connor. Emboldened, the two wander into an undeveloped area that is scattered with debris. They find a pile of broken white pottery pieces, and, on one fragment, Connor sees some writing. The fragments all bear sad, negative expressions. Using a marker, someone had printed the expressions on the plate and then smashed it. Connor gathers some pieces, and once he and Bentley are home, he wonders what compelled someone to write on the plate and then smash it to bits? Bentley surprises everyone by suddenly getting up, leaving his designated corner and plopping down beside Connor. Bentley never leaves his corner. “We don’t know what goes on in anybody’s head” and that includes the dog. But at age 11, Connor decides to “try to step into someone else’s shoes” and find out. (p. 23)

That first story, “Smash”, sets the tone for the nine stories that follow. In “Alone,” the 10-year-old narrator (unnamed, and, therefore, I am using the non-binary “they”) decides that what they want most for their birthday is to be alone. It’s the second week of school, and the class is preparing for an outdoor education trip to the Lipton Country Nature Reserve, but they figure out a way to ditch the trip. Mom and Dad are off “at some lodge where they can drink wine and be kid-free for a few days (p. 32) and besides, the field trip site is off the cell phone grid. The narrator has worked out a plan, and, although some parts of the adventure are a bit scary (like using an outhouse undoubtedly full of spiders and possibly, zombies that might bite their bottom), they persevere. Sure, they are breaking all kinds of rules, but they overnight successfully and the next day climb a hill, pull out a pair of Dora the Explorer binoculars and check out what’s happening at the field trip site. It’s an observation exercise, one that prompts reflection, and, after one more night, they realize that, on their own, they have experienced independence. It’s empowering, and, at the end, they know that they can do even more. And when they need to, they know that they “can always step away.” (p. 42)

While “Alone” is a realistic tale of a solitary camping experience, “Rock” is mildly surreal. When Dom opens his birthday present from his older brother, Keith, he finds a rock, a rose crystal. The clerk at the hippie store where Keith bought it “said if you hold a rose crystal it will give you confidence. You could take it to school . . . (p. 43) Dom needs confidence; Keith is going on to high school and won’t be around to protect his quiet younger brother from the kids who pick on him. Their mom is skeptical about the rock’s magical powers, but, after Dom has crawled into bed, he takes the crystal, holds it tight, and, then, magic really does happen. A boy named Gregoire Rakotobe appears and tells Dom that he is the owner of the crystal. Dom is ready to give it back to Gregoire, but the latter wants only two things “a full bag of rice. And . . . a new dress for [his] mother. Not too fancy. If it’s too fancy, she won’t wear it. But I want her to feel beautiful when she goes to church.” (p. 47) As Dom had received a gift card for his birthday, they set off on a shopping trip. As they walk to a store, Dom and the reader learn about Madagascar’s trade in crystals. The children who dig for them are cruelly exploited, become ill from inhaling mineral dust, and are hurt or killed in mining accidents. After Dom pays for the dress, he realizes that they still haven’t got the rice. But Gregoire has disappeared, leaving behind the clothes that Dom lent him as well as the bag with the dress. Once back home, after Googling the name of Gregoire’s village, Dom learns a great deal about his mysterious companion. He goes back to the store where the crystals are sold and, with new-found confidence, steps forward to challenge the store owner and the value and ethics of selling magic crystals.

There’s no magic in the story called “Rubber”. As the story begins, Oma “has been eleven years old for seventeen minutes.” (p. 56) Along with the rest of her family, she boards a rubber raft, bound for a shore somewhere in Europe. This is not a cruise; packed into a rubber dinghy, the desperate passengers are pushed out to sea, enduring sea-sickness, piracy, personal indignity, and, for some, death by drowning. A disaster occurs every two hours of the grueling journey. Oma feels as if she has been “eleven years old for one million years” (p. 70), but it ends when the rubber raft washes up on shore and she steps into a new world. Where does she land?

In “Shoes”, 11-year-old Lazlo’s is on a birthday outing with his father, and he’s hoping that they are headed for one of Budapest’s historic sites. Unlike most 11-year-olds, Lazlo loves history, especially Hungarian history. To him, history is alive, and he values its most important lesson “human beings have always been the same, with the same bunch of feelings they have today – feeling mad, amazed, jealous, sad, happy.” (p. 74) He’s super-thrilled when they arrive at one of the city’s famous bridges, but he presents himself as a cool guy. Suddenly, the trip takes an unexpected direction, when his father diverts to a path that borders the Danube. Walking with purpose, his father is stopped by no one; pedestrians swerve or step aside. Father and son arrive at a spot where a group of burly, tough-looking leather-clad men have gathered. After Lazlo endures some macho teasing, Oden, an old friend of his father, asks Lazlo how he plans to celebrate his birthday. Lazlo hopes to go to the catacombs, but Oden brushes off the idea: “You don’t want to go there. . . . Full of foreigners. Tourists. You want to spend your birthday with your fellow Hungarians.” (p. 78) After that remark, Oden yells, “Hail Hungary” and pulls out a swastika-emblazoned arm band. They are standing at the site of a memorial to Jews who were shot by the Arrow Cross Party, a nationalist Hungarian far-right group who modeled much of their ideology on the Nazi Party. The memorial is an art installation, a line of shoes, which the victims were made to remove before being shot. As Lazlo watches in disbelief, his father’s comrades unfurl neo-Fascist banners, offer the Nazi salute, and shout anti-migrant slogans. Oden tells Lazlo to pick up a rose, sticking out of an iron replica of a child’s boot, and then commands him to drop the flower into the river. It is to be a symbolic act, repudiating the truth of history, a show of nationalistic strength. But, Lazlo thinks hard, drops a Nazi armband into the water, and then, steps away from his father and the gang of right-wing extremists.

Birthdays often involve a treat: a party, cake, or an excursion to a special event. In “Ride”, Aislyn’s eleventh birthday falls on the same day as the opening of the county fair. Surprisingly, her older sister, Laura, offers to take her, even though she hadn’t wanted to spend time with Aislyn for years. Now that she’s tall enough, Aislyn wants to go on the bumper cars, and she wants to eat fair food and to play games of chance. Aislyn rattles on excitedly until Laura tells her to shut up and reveals the real reason why she’s going to the fair: “the Boyfriend” (p. 87). Not wanting Aislyn to hang around, Laura hands the birthday girl $20.00, tells her not to do anything stupid, and to meet her at the giant slide in three hours. At first, Aislyn is uncomfortable with being at the fair on her own, but, soon, she is exploring by herself, free to see what she wants, eat what she wants, and board the rides that she likes. But, at every turn, someone or something reminds her to watch out for her sister. It’s weird, and, when she gets to the animal barn, the goats have plenty to say; the goats know that the Boyfriend is basically a good guy, but he’s playing at being too cool. They tell Aislyn that it’s her mission to help Laura, even though she’s mad at being dumped by her. Meanwhile, the Boyfriend is trying to get Laura to ride on the Zipper, one of the scariest rides at the fair. Laura is scared stiff, but Aislyn, by playing the “little sister” card and “setting her voice to full whine and resurrecting the pout from her long-ago past”, (p. 98) Aislyn saves Laura from the Zipper (and the jerk Boyfriend) and then the two of them step into the world of the fair, enjoying it together.

The setting of “Laundry” is far removed from the dazzling sound and light show of a county fair. Masud and his fellow inmates are in a Libyan detention centre for migrants rescued from the sea. The men are from all over – Niger, Afghanistan, Jordan – and, like all refugees, they represent a cross section of society. A man named Yamut emerges as their leader; one day, he “stood up and said that from now on, they we’re going to be warriors in the battle against death. He put everyone on a schedule, and everyone got a job. ‘You are all officers,’ he said. Floor officers. Morale officers. Latrine officers. Medical officers. All of the jobs are essential. All of the jobs are of equal value and worthy of equal respect.’” (p. 101) He says what he means and means what he says, and they all listen to him. Young Masud is the laundry officer. He doesn’t like the job, but . . . it’s an essential service. On his birthday, Saleem, a 17-year-old Jordanian math whiz, gives Masud the best possible present: help with the laundry. Suddenly, there’s an aerial bombardment, their world blows apart, and Masud is injured. Saleem is dead. But after the attack, the officers get back to work immediately, restoring order as best they can, helping each other. Masud matures a bit that day, and, encouraged by the example of the other men, “he takes a painful step forward. And does the laundry.” (p. 107)

Imagine what it’s like to celebrate your eleventh birthday by carefully selecting the items to fill your backpack as you join your mother and little sister on the trek to the Mexican-American border. After witnessing her husband’s murder by local gangs, the narrator’s mother, a former union organizer in a sock factory, decides that she will leave, taking her two children, joining the “long long line of people walking to the land of the free, the place that buys the cheap socks my mother used to make.” (p. 112) “Yellow” is a story in which that colour delineates this 11-year-old’s journey. Yellow is the colour of his sister’s baby blanket, the colour of the flames of their campfires at night, the colour of the food offered by a stranger on the road, of lightning in the sky. At the border, yellow is the colour of the guard’s badge, the line in the hallway of the holding centre, of the ceiling light that shines relentlessly, of the plastic chair in the playroom, and of the door that opens when they are reunited with their mother, and “they step through the gate. And into the land of the free.” (p. 123)

Some 11-year-olds live comfortable and privileged lives, and getting your nails done on your birthday is definitely a privilege. The trio of girls in “Nails” have birthdays a few months apart and have celebrated them together since infancy. Marmalay (a combination of her given name, “May” and her fondness for marmalade) is now eleven. Because “nail parties were all the rage in Blackpool”, (p. 126) the girls didn’t end up at their first choice of nail salon, Party on Nails . Instead, they go to the Fancy Bright Vietnamese Nail bar, the only place that could take all three girls at a time. Although it is Marmalay’s birthday, her pushy and obnoxious companions, Lally and Bettina (aka the Two Junes), get their nails started first. Marmalay asks the manager if there is another manicurist. A third, Mani, is summoned, but it’s clear that Mani has been crying, and, although her manager tells her to smile, she doesn’t. Marmalay tries to engage her, but Mani just sticks to the work and doesn’t talk. Meanwhile, the mothers of these girls are reading magazines which profile the lives and clothes of the Royals and are gushing about the same. Then, Marmalay’s mother, mentions a news article about a trial in which a truck driver pleads guilty to the death of 39 Vietnamese migrants who suffocated in the back of his vehicle. One victim was planning to come to work in a nail salon. The other women offer the usual racist rants about immigrants taking jobs from citizens, but Marmalay’s mother is sympathetic, noting that two of the victims were only a few years older than “Marmy”, a diminutive which her daughter hates. Lally and Bettina seize on this, taunting her with “Barmy Marmy”, and a glaring and swearing match ensues. Suddenly, Marmalay realizes just how shallow her companions – and their mothers – really are. The Two Junes and their moms take off for a tea shop while Marmalay’s nails are finished. In a moment of empathy, Marmalay tells Mani, “I’m glad you’re here”, (p. 134) and Mani responds by wishing her a happy birthday. Then, she and her mom step away from their companions’ invitation to join them at the tea shop and take another direction.

The final story, “Supper”, takes place at a church charity supper for the needy. Len has been working the supper for some time and knows the set-up drill: cutlery, napkins, margarine, salt and pepper shakers. He hates the ridiculous hairnet he has to wear, but volunteering at this community mission is part of his family’s life and faith. At these events, there are plenty of regulars, and, on a cold, wet November evening, they eat more and stay longer. On this night, an elderly woman arrives, escorted by someone wearing a hoodie. It’s Cee, Len’s tormentor since the second grade. Whatever form the bullying took, “it always happened away from teachers and was never bad enough that Len told his parents. He doubted they could do anything about it. And now Cee was here. And Len was wearing a hairnet. It was bad. It was very, very bad.” (p. 140) There’s no escaping the encounter, and when Cee (real name, Cecil) appears for his serving, Len tries to explain why he’s wearing a hairnet. At the end of the supper, a special dessert is announced: it’s a birthday cake, celebrating Len’s eleventh. The old woman who accompanied Cee asks for two pieces, and Len takes it to her table, serving the second piece to Cee. At age eleven, Len feels that change must happen, and it does. He realizes that Cee is ashamed to be at the charity supper. A deal is struck: neither will blab at school about the other, and at Len’s subtle suggestion, Cee helps to stack chairs. The story ends as Len steps toward his enemy because there are lots of chairs to stack.

Like Sit, (www.cmreviews.ca/cm/vol24/no26/sit.html) Deborah Ellis’ previous collection of short stories, Step is a short book, only 145 pages long, simply written, but powerful in its message. Birthdays are markers in one’s life, and, in each of these stories, the protagonist’s birthday marks a significant change. All of the 11-year-olds in the book’s 10 stories are standing on the cusp of the teen years, and all choose or are forced to step in a different direction. The characters are diverse, coming from a range of social, ethnic, and religious backgrounds, and each story offers an authentic, unflinching portrait of the diversity of their circumstances. But they all share in a common experience: they notice the need for personal change and know what they must do to make that change. Some face wartime displacement, bullying, economic hardship. Some acknowledge painful truths about their parents’ or siblings’ shortcomings. In telling their stories, Deborah Ellis also highlights the social, economic and political issues faced by children throughout the world today: the effects of war, the impact of being bullied, the terror and exhaustion that comes with being a refugee. Although the intended audience is the middle-school reader, Step can just as easily be read and enjoyed by high school students and adults. That the stories are short and accessible makes Step an excellent choice for less-than able and reluctant readers in both middle and high school.

While I recommend Step as a top choice for school library fiction collections, I think that many of the stories have a place in a few content-area subjects: World Issues, Family Studies, and obviously, English/Language Arts. It’s hard not to find at least one story with which students can find a personal connection with the protagonist, step into their world, and walk a kilometer or two in the protagonist’s shoes.