Read an Excerpt from WHENEVER YOU ARE by Celebrated and Renowned YA Author Martine Leavitt

A crucial mistake is the driving force behind Martine Leavitt's new YA novel, Whenever You Are (Groundwood Books), in which the possibility of a second chance takes a strange and increasingly unsettling turn. Inside a juvenile detention centre, two teenagers begin to wonder whether escape might mean more than simply getting beyond the walls.

Clem is an aspiring poet haunted by the accident that landed him in custody. Finn carries an even more troublesome history, and the two form an unlikely friendship before being placed in solitary confinement. There, Finn starts talking about a portal hidden inside his cell, one that can reach across past, present, and future. Then he disappears. As Clem is questioned about what happened, the mystery deepens, and Leavitt turns his search for answers into a story about guilt, punishment, friendship, and the complicated promise of starting over.

Blending a tense mystery with an uncanny speculative premise, the novel takes seriously the lives of young people who have already been defined by their worst moments. In the excerpt below, readers enter Leavitt's gripping world, where changing the past might actually be possible, but deciding what deserves to be changed is another matter entirely. Check it out now!

An Excerpt from Whenever You Are by Martine Leavitt:

“Clemence,” says Warden Johnson, “soon we will be joined by a social worker, Mrs. Allish, one Dr. Williams and an appointee from the Department of Correctional Services, whose name I don’t know. I trust you will show them the respect they are due.”

“Sir yes sir,” I say.

I hold the notebook tight. I think, do you swear on this notebook of poems that you will tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth?

“I swear,” I say to Warden.

“You see, Clemence, I have a missing child here. Seventeen years old, but still a child. A lot of people are unhappy about that, and they’re blaming me. That’s not a good thing, you understand.”

“Sir yes sir,” I say.

“And you know, we could avoid this whole unpleasant meeting altogether if you could just tell me where Finn is. Now.”

“Sir, I told the CO —”

“Yes, but —” He leans forward. “This is just between you and me, Clemence. Just you and me. I’ll have your back. Nobody even needs to know it was you who tipped me off.”

“Sir yes sir, but …”

I stop. I look down at my notebook. I feel like even though I wrote it, it’s got secrets from me.

“Look, kid, I don’t want to go out this way. Fine, if you won’t tell me, tell them. We just need Finn — dead or preferably alive.”

He stands, goes to the door, and three people come in.

They all sit on one side of the table, me on the other.

It’s eight eyes to two.

I have to share my two eyes with their eight eyes.

Eyes are creepy, I decide. Round and slimy and jumpy.

Warden is wearing his uniform and a stab vest. He is saying something to the others about the in-depth investigation into the events of the previous week, and how he expects they have read the document, and how my account is the last piece in the investigation.

The other two introduce themselves. I remember their jobs but I don’t remember their names. One is some kind of doctor, with dreadlocks in a man bun and a man purse, and under the table I can see he’s wearing sandals. Social Worker is wearing pearls and a sparkly watch and a pink sweater, and her hair is gray and coily. Her lipstick is perfect, like she put it on with a pink laser pen, and she has very pointy shoes.

She smiles at me, but when she looks at Warden she turns off her smile like a light switch.

Me, on. Warden, off. Me, smile. Warden, frown. Me, nice. Warden, mad.

The man wearing a dark suit and shiny tie doesn’t introduce himself. He sits in the chair like it’s just for him, like his name is on it. He doesn’t look at the other adults, but he looks at me as if he’s been curious about me for a long time, as if he’s trying to decide if my real-life self matches up with his idea of me.

Warden and Social Worker and Doctor are talking into their recording devices, saying the date and other stuff I don’t understand except my name: Clemence Todd.

“So, young man, you’re due to be discharged day after tomorrow,” says Doctor.

I nod.

“But he understands,” says Warden, “that his discharge is in no way guaranteed. If he misleads us or in any way hinders the investigation into the … riot … and into the disappearance of Finnegan Kelly, his stay with us may necessarily be … extended. Yes, Clemence?”

I nod. I look at the notebook in my lap. I’m gripping it with two hands — my Good Hand and my Bad Hand.

Poems don’t lie. That is the whole point of poems — to not lie.

Social Worker smiles at me, clears her throat, speaks like she loves consonants, lands on every one with pointy toes.

“We want to hear your story, Clem,” she says. “We want you to know that the things you say may influence changes we make to correctional administration, policies and facilities. And, of course, we are mostly concerned with Finn’s well-being. We just want to hear your story from you and not some secondhand report. Take your time, Clem. The smallest thing could be helpful. Start at the beginning.”

They think I know something. Maybe I do, but if I know something, I don’t know I know it. You know? I know it’s bad for them. They’ve got an escapee. Or maybe a dead kid somewhere.

They don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t think I know. I’m not sure I know …

“Full disclosure,” says Warden. “You are being recorded.”

“Full disclosure,” I say. “I’m a poet. Anything and everything you say could be used in a poem.”

Warden and Doctor look at each other as if to say, so this is how it’s going to be?

Social Worker smiles a watery smile, like her mouth might cry.

Suit Dude looks only at me, like he doesn’t mind one bit being a poem.

Finn is my only friend I ever had,
I say.

“Is?” says Warden. “Are you saying he’s still around? Still your only friend?”

Social Worker scowls at him. “Are you going to jump on every word he says?”

Warden taps his pen on his paper.

“Carry on, Clem, please,” says Social Worker.

Finn is my only friend I ever had.
Thee and them, they respect me,
but that’s not the same as a friend.
Finn and me, we’re friends
because of what we went through together.
Not at first.
I didn’t think much of him at first.
He was sick, tired all the time,
dragging himself out of his unit,
walking like he weighed a ton,
falling asleep in class,
his face all puffy,
his hair falling out for no good reason.
Just falling out.
But also he’s smart —

“He keeps saying ‘is,’” Warden says.

“Are we grading him on his verb tenses now?” Social Worker says.

“Do you know how much a cloud weighs?” I ask.

Warden and Doctor look like, oh boy, this is gonna be a long day.

Social Worker has a patient face.

Suit Dude is the only one who looks like he’d like to know how much a cloud weighs.

Doctor says, “You say he was sick, but there’s no mention of illness in the file. Did Finn fill out a medical requisition?”

“That’s where this whole thing starts,” I say.

“Let him tell it,” says Social Worker.

I meet him on his day one
because I’m Finn’s mentor.
I’m almost outa here.
Just two weeks to go before discharge —
they’re just trying to find someone to take me —
and he’s just coming in
so they match us.
Mentors show the greenie what’s what.
Help them, maybe.
Looks good on your resume, they say —
if you care to say where you mentored.

It’s sort of like having a dog
you have to be responsible for.
I always wanted a dog.
Mom always said no.
But she says I’m not coming home after this.
I have to get my own place,
my own job,
so I’m gonna get a dog…
a for-real dog
that I can love
and will not speak English
and so will never know
what I did.
You have to take care of a dog.
I had to take care of Finn.

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Martine Leavitt is the author of the beloved Buffalo Flats, as well as award-winning books including Calvin (winner, Governor General’s Award), My Book of Life by Angel (finalist, LA Times Book Prize and winner of the Canadian Library Association Young Adult Book of the Year) and Keturah and Lord Death (finalist, National Book Award). She is faculty emerita in the MFA program in Writing for Children and Young Adults at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Martine lives in High River, Alberta.