House Arrest by K.A. Holt

House Arrest by K.A. Holt Timothy is on probation. It’s a strange word—something that happens to other kids, to delinquents, not to kids like him. And yet, he is under house arrest for the next year. He must check in weekly with a probation officer and a therapist, and keep a journal for an entire year. And mostly, he has to stay out of trouble. But when he must take drastic measures to help his struggling family, staying out of trouble proves more difficult than Timothy ever thought it would be. By turns touching and funny, and always original, House Arrest is a middlegrade novel in verse about one boy’s path to redemption as he navigates life with a sick brother, a grieving mother, and one tough probation officer. (kaholt.com)

We were laughing so hard, so hard that no sound was coming out. Me and Mom laughing and laughing because the birthday candle wouldn’t stand up in the pile of vanilla yogurt in the blue bowl on Levi’s tray. It would pitch one way and then the other and Mom would scream and laugh as she tried to get it upright and not burn her fingers. I thought Levi was laughing, too, at first, maybe trying to blow out the candle with puffs of air from his nec. But he wasn’t laughing or puffing, he was choking. We were laughing, not noticing until he turned blue and Mom swore yanking him from his high chair throwing him on the couch ripping the emergency trach from where we leave it taped to the wall. I held him down, she swapped out the trachs, suctioned and suctioned and suctioned gave him oxygen puffs from the big tank until his eyes cleared his smile woke up his little hands signed more more more. And that is the story of Levi’s first birthday. I think, actually, it is kind of perfect.

We need more help. The words slip out between my teeth like mud dripping from fingers. Slow. Uncontrolled. drip plop splat Mrs. B looks up. She’s trying not to look surprised but her forehead gives her away. One line between her eyes for each word out of my mouth. She puts down her pen. Her eyes hold my eyes like two tractor beams. What kind of help? Her voice is very quiet like maybe I’m a squirrel and she’s trying to feed me an acorn from the palm of her hand. Come closer, little squirrel. Closer. We need a nurse every day, I say. Every day and every night. Mrs. B nods. She writes something down. She looks up. Good job, little squirrel. Good job. Mrs. B puts her other hand on my hand. I don’t pull it away. (Page 112-114)

Extension In what line do you see a shift in the mood of the poem? When the author uses the words, “drip plop splat,” what is she referring to? Why does the author compare the narrator to a squirrel? What is a strong action verb that contributes to the poem’s imagery?