Sitting on Top of the World
by Cheryl King
Genre: Teen Historical Fiction
Fourteen-year-old
June Baker never in a million years thought she’d be dressing like
a boy, sneaking into a hobo camp, and jumping onto a moving freight
train to travel across the state of Tennessee. But that’s what she
has to do to find work so her family’s farm can survive.
It’s
1933, and the Great Depression is spreading misery throughout
America. Where once June was sitting on top of the world, now she’s
carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Once she was
picking fruit from the pawpaw trees, and now she’s picking up the
pieces of a family torn apart. Once she was climbing and falling from
trees, and now she’s jumping from moving trains.
June
knows the risks. What she doesn’t know is that the railroad bull
she’s falling for has a devastating secret that will change the
course of her life.
Journey
with June in Sitting
on Top of the World, a
historical fiction tale about family, friendship, love, loss, and
hope.
Sitting
on Top of the World bridges
the gap between middle grade and young adult and is a book that
middle school and high school teachers can be proud to include in
their classroom library or in reading instruction.
Content
warning: Some instances of physical violence, death, mention of
suicide, mention of miscarriage, and characters encounter racial
bigotry.
Excerpt from Sitting on Top of the
World
This excerpt from
Chapter 2, “The Crash Heard All the Way in Maynardville,” gives the reader a
look at the setting and a little taste of June’s personality.
This part of the
Tennessee Valley blesses us with woodlands and mountains on both sides, creeks
and farmland in between. I can smell the sweet breath of fish and crawdads from
Norris Lake and hear the musical ruckus of mallards flittin’ from stream to pond
to lake to creek. Here, you walk anywhere long enough and quiet enough, you’re
bound to come across somethin’ of interest. I cain’t remember a time I didn’t
come upon a turtle, a rabbit, or a family of foxes on my walk to Margaret
Ann’s. And that twenty-five minute walk turns into thirty-five easy, ’cause I
cain’t help but sit and watch ’em for a spell.
So, like I said, I
notice four strange things on this Friday in June. The first thing is the blue
summer skies of Tennessee done clouded over like nobody’s business, and there’s
a chill to the air that just ain’t natural on a June day, even if it is mornin’
time.
June’s my favorite
month, by the way, and not just ’cause of the warmth of summer, but ’cause it’s
my name, too. Mama says she named me June ’cause when I was born I was a right
breath of sunshine. I’m glad of that, ’cause she said I coulda been named
September since that’s the month I was born, and I don’t know why she was dead
set on namin’ me after a month to begin with. If Josy’d been named after the
month he was born, he’da been named December. Mama too, and Daddy’s name would
be February, which is hard enough to say, but to spell, forget it. Margaret Ann
would have the most beautiful name of April. These are the silly things I think
about on my long walk to Margaret Ann’s house, ’cept when I’m distracted by a
toad or a bluejay or a spiny lizard.
I spot Mr.
Tomlinson’s big ol’ car bumpin’ down the road, kickin’ up dust. He toots his
horn at me and slows down and waves out the window. “Where ya goin’, li’l Miss
June?”
“Hiya, Mr. Tomlinson.
I’m headed to town to go to Macafee’s and the Piggly Wiggly, but first I’m
stoppin’ by to see Margaret Ann Murphy,” I tell him.
Mr. Tomlinson’s got
to be the nicest old man I ever did know, other than my own daddy and
granddaddy and anyone else related to me. He’s on the town council and lives up
toward the lake. He drives down this way from time to time “to wave hello to
the townspeople,” he says. He also has a beard that hangs clear to his belly,
which makes me laugh.
“Well, you do be
careful, dear; it looks like a storm’s comin’,” he says, lookin’ up to the sky
as if he can see things written in the clouds.
“I will, Mr.
Tomlinson.” I wave and he waves and off he goes and off I go.
The second strange
thing I notice is when I get to Margaret Ann’s, ain’t nobody home. I cain’t
remember a time that I come here and at least one person ain’t been around. She
got a big family, Margaret Ann does. Five brothers and sisters, and o’course
her mama and daddy.
Now, Margaret Ann’s
mama, she’s a piece of work, no offense. She likes to think that since they
live close to town, they’re smarter than us farm folk. But I’ll tell you
somethin’ that don’t make a lick of sense: That woman got six children, and
every one of them got two first names. There’s Margaret Ann, then Jenny May,
then Sally Lynn (which ties up a tongue so bad that her own kin cain’t say it
right, so everyone calls her Say-Lynn), then there’s Michael Ray, Johnny Joe,
and Richie Lee, who’s still in diapers. And that ain’t even the worst of it.
They all got two middle names, too. They all got Reynolds as one middle name
’cause that’s their mama’s before-she-was-married name, plus another one. So
Margaret Ann’s whole name is Margaret Ann Flora Reynolds Murphy. And Jenny May
is altogether Jenny May Caroline Reynolds Murphy. And I cain’t remember all the
rest, but don’t you know that when any one of them gets in trouble, Mrs. Murphy
says their whole darned name. I’ve heard it happen a time or two, and my own
jaws get tired just hearin’ her say those long names.
And here’s the funny thing: You know what Margaret Ann Flora Reynolds Murphy’s mama’s name is? Bee. That’s it. Bee. May as well be just one letter.
Cheryl King is a born-and-raised Texan, Harry Potter fanatic, chocolate lover, and word nerd. By day she is a dyslexia therapist, but at night – look out: She enjoys writing flash- and micro-fiction for writing contests like NYCMidnight and has two of her short writing pieces accepted for publication. This is her first published novel.
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