by Kaela Noel
“Trespassing is illegal. And you have children with you; that makes it double illegal in my book. Get going.”
Tully mumbled apologies and scurried up the alley past the van, dragging Coo and Aggie behind her.
“Wait,” Stan barked. “Let me see your ID.”
Tully skidded to a stop. Her hand tightened around Coo’s. Aggie sprinted ahead to the bend in the alley and looked back, jumping up and down in place.
“Of course,” Tully said very calmly. She let go of Coo’s hand, pulled out her wallet, and handed Stan a small card. “I don’t drive.”
Stan’s eyes grew very tiny as he studied the card, then handed it back to her. His nose twitched. “How much did you and those kids hear, Ms. Bettina Tully?”
“Excuse me?” Tully froze just like pigeons sometimes did when they knew there was no way out of a hawk’s talons.
“I asked, how long were you back there eavesdropping?”
Coo looked at the hut and was startled to see Roohoo perched there, observing them. None of the other pigeons had returned.
“You lost your voices or something?” said Stan.
“We love pigeons.” Coo blurted out the words without thinking.
Tully sucked in her breath.
“I love pigeons, too, sweetheart.” Stan’s suspicious sneer morphed into a sickly sweet smile. “So does Mayor Doherty. We’re here to help the city and the pigeons, too. See that bread? We’re also feeding them. We’re working on a plan to make things better for everyone. Cleaner.”
Coo studied Stan. There was something about him she didn’t like.
“Don’t bother these people, Stan,” said Frank. “They’re harmless. Let’s keep moving. We can come back here to finish up with the real stuff later. We don’t need a perfect count.”
Before Stan had a chance to ask any more questions, Tully turned and pushed Coo ahead of her up the alley, toward Aggie.
“Stay off city property, Grandma!” Stan shouted after them. “Next time I’m getting the cops!”
Chapter Seventeen
No One Counts Pigeons
They went straight home. Tully sat in her blue chair and started knitting furiously, her face lined and crumpled like a piece of balled-up newspaper. Coo and Aggie sat together on the loveseat half watching cartoons but mostly glancing over at Tully. She had been nearly silent on the walk back to the apartment and had barely spoken since opening a tin of almond cookies for them.
“Those were definitely bad guys,” Aggie whispered to Coo. “And no matter what that short one said, I do not think they like pigeons.”
“Tully?” Coo asked finally, her mouth full of cookie. Queenie sat in her lap, and Burr on her shoulder. “Who were they?”
“Don’t talk while you’re chewing, please, Coo,” said Tully. “The men were city workers counting the flock.”
“Why?” asked Coo.
“It seems they think pigeons are a problem.” Tully focused on her knitting, squinting to pick up a dropped stitch. “Some people think there should be fewer.”
“Fewer pigeons?” Coo laughed. “No way.”
“It’s happened before.” Tully sighed. “Years ago some friends of mine fought with the city to make them stop killing pigeons. I thought that was behind us.”
“Killing pigeons!” Coo was shocked. Was it possible Roohoo was right about humans?
“Some people think pigeons are pests,” said Tully.
“Pests?” asked Coo. She didn’t know that word.
“Bad animals,” said Tully. “Things that make trouble for humans.”
“Pigeons do not make trouble for humans!” Coo said. If anything, it was the other way around, she thought.
“Of course we don’t think so, Coo,” said Tully. “I love pigeons. They’re intelligent, gentle, and charming. They don’t bite, and they’re compassionate and resourceful. And lots of people agree with us that pigeons are wonderful.”
“I think pigeons are wonderful,” said Aggie. “I don’t think they’re pests, or rats with wings. Even though my sister calls them that sometimes.”
“Rats?” Coo blinked. “Pigeons? No!”
Rats were tiny-eyed, sooty creatures that rooted around the trash bins outside Tully’s building. The first time she saw one, Coo screeched. They had long teeth and were ugly in a way that scared her. Tully had told her how rats stole garbage, broke into human homes, and sometimes even bit people.
Pigeons were kind. Pigeons kept to themselves. Pigeons were beautiful. They ate trash, true, but they were cleaner about it. They were not like rats. How could humans think that?
“Some people disagree with us about pigeons. Quite strongly, too.” Tully shook her head. “Usually they don’t go so far as to want to get rid of them, though.”
“Tully, are they going to hurt my flock?”
“Let’s hope not, sweetie.”
“We have to stop them!” cried Aggie.
“You’re right. I should call up some of my friends from the pigeon-rescuing world to get on their case,” said Tully. “I’ve been out of touch for a while, though.”
“We should tell the city that they need to stop hurting pigeons,” said Aggie. “Maybe that would help. We can go to City Hall and tell them.”
A tiny smile flickered across Tully’s face, followed by a deep frown. “If only it worked like that,” she said. “Mayor Doherty doesn’t listen to little people like us.”
“Who is Mayor Doherty?” asked Coo.
“I always forget how new you are,” said Aggie. “He’s the mayor!”
“Mayor?”
“He runs the city,” said Tully. “He ran on a campaign about making everything ‘clean,’ as he always puts it. What he really means is bland, expensive, and good for very rich people.”
“Lots of people hate him,” said Aggie. She shifted to sit on her knees. “My grandma always said he is greedy. He only cares about getting richer. And he is obsessed with making the city look spotless!” Aggie spread her arms wide. “He got rid of a bunch of gardens people had made in empty places, because he thought they looked too messy. My dad wrote about the protesters.”
“Well, he also wanted the land the gardens were on to make into new apartment buildings,” said Tully.
“For rich people,” said Aggie.
“They were very fancy buildings when they were finally built, that’s true,” said Tully. She put down her knitting, and Burr quickly shuffled off Coo and onto Tully’s shoulder. “And it’s true he did say the community gardens were too wild looking and unkempt. Of course Doherty wants to bother pigeons. I should have guessed.”
“But what is a mayor?” asked Coo.
“Like a king,” said Aggie, which didn’t help much. “The king of the city!”
“Not exactly, Aggie, though goodness knows he’d like to be,” said Tully. “He was elected. People voted for him, and he won.” Tully paused. “Barely.”
“Not my mom and dad,” said Aggie. “They would never vote for him.”
Tully and Aggie tried to explain to Coo about elections, and voting, and terms, and how—unlike a king—Doherty couldn’t be mayor forever, not in the United States, at least.
“Tell him people love pigeons. Doesn’t know, maybe,” said Coo. “Where is he?”
“City Hall,” said Aggie.
“Where’s that?”
“Across the river,” said Aggie. “That’s where all the mayor stuff happens.”
“Let’s go see him! Right now,” said Coo. “We will tell him we love pigeons.”
“Coo,” sighed Tully. “There are eight million people living in the city. We can’t all just go get a meeting with the mayor.”
“Eight million?” asked Coo. “How much is that?”
“Well, it’s eight million,” said Tully. “It’s a lot.”
“How much is a lot?”
Plopping her knitting down on the chair, Tully stood up and went over to the table. She reached into the sugar bowl and scattered a
spoonful of crystals into her palm. “How many bits of sugar are in my hand?”
“A hundred?” guessed Aggie.
“At least! Now imagine that every grain of sugar is a person, and this whole room is full of sugar. That’s how many people there are in the city. Maybe more.”
Coo blinked. Even Aggie looked impressed.
“More humans than pigeons, Tully? Here?”
Both Aggie and Tully laughed. Coo’s cheeks burned.
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Yes. There are many more people. In our city and in the whole world. There are eight million people here in this city, but seven billion humans on Earth.” Tully dumped the sugar from her hand into the sink and started putting the clean dishes away. “A billion is much bigger than a million.”
“How many pigeons, Tully?” asked Coo.
“To be honest I’m not sure,” said Tully. “No one counts them, really. I mean, those guys were counting them today, but pigeons aren’t usually counted, at least not for good reasons.”
This wasn’t how Coo imagined Earth, not at all. Somehow she thought, in spite of everything she’d learned about the world, that there had to be more pigeons than people on the planet.
“Humans should count pigeons for good reasons,” Coo said. “Now!”
“Definitely,” said Aggie.
“Of course, girls. But alas, pigeons don’t vote. And nothing happens unless people demand it.”
“We should demand it, then,” Aggie shouted. “People for pigeons!”
“People for pigeons!” Coo cried.
But inside, she wasn’t sure. Could pigeons really trust humans? She wondered what Burr would think if he could understand what she was saying. He would think it was right. He always saw the good in humans, unlike some of the others in the flock.
“We can have a protest,” said Aggie. “With signs and stuff.”
“It takes a lot of work to organize some-thing like that,” said Tully. “But it’s a good idea, Aggie.”
“Need to see the pigeons right now,” Coo said. She felt sick with worry.
Tully shook her head firmly. “Absolutely not. Did you see how the man named Stan looked at my ID? I could get in huge trouble if we go back,” she said.
“What if they hurt the flock tonight?” asked Coo. Suddenly anxious, she scooped up Burr and cuddled him.
“I am quite sure they won’t,” said Tully. She put away the last dish, then sat back down in the blue chair. “Not right now. They were just counting them. And we don’t really know if they are planning anything bad; I’m just guessing. Anyway, you shouldn’t worry. The city always takes forever to actually do anything, good or bad.”
“They were pretty rude,” Aggie said, scowling. “I don’t trust them.”
“Nobody is saying we should trust them,” said Tully. “It’s almost dinnertime, now, Aggie. Take the rest of these cookies up to your family and say good night to Coo and Milton, okay?”
Chapter Eighteen
Pigeon Roof
After Christmas came New Year’s Eve, with shiny paper hats from the dollar store and little noisy things called kazoos that made Burr jump. Outside, the dark streets rang with bangs and shouts and laughter. It snowed lightly. Coo stayed up later than she ever had before but still fell asleep before the clock reached midnight and the next year began.
Tully bought a brand-new calendar at the drugstore. It was full of different birds: parrots, penguins, finches, ravens. Coo flipped through the months again and again, looking at them. These birds lived all over the world, in all kinds of wild green places. There were no pictures that looked like Coo’s neighborhood and no pigeons. Coo thought about what Tully had said about people and pigeons—that no one counted them for good reasons, and not everyone thought they were wonderful. Humans celebrated so many kinds of birds, but not pigeons, it seemed. It made Coo feel angry and sad.
Aggie went back to school, and the apartment was very quiet. She had too much homework to come over in the evenings.
Coo spent a lot of time trying to knit a tiny red scarf for Queenie. Knitting was every bit as hard as it looked, and the scarf was turning out very lumpy, but Queenie didn’t seem to mind.
“Please visit the flock!” Coo begged over and over, but Tully was firm.
“That man from the city saw my ID. He knows my name. Do you understand how serious trespassing is?” Tully sighed. “No, you probably don’t. Birds don’t believe in those sorts of rules.”
Even Burr took Tully’s side.
“Safer here, us,” he told Coo. “Flock take cares of flock. Don’t worry, you.”
But Coo couldn’t help it.
One morning a few days after Aggie started school again, on the calendar square that read Saturday, the doorbell rang. Coo was so excited she had to jump up and down while Tully peered through the peephole.
“I’m back!” Aggie shrieked when Tully finally opened the door. “Did you miss me?”
Coo had missed her so much, all her human words failed her, and she could only nod.
It was a warm day, for winter. “January thaw,” Tully called it, so they decided to go to a place Coo had never been: the park.
She’d glimpsed the park a few times on walks with Tully. It was a square block of tangled-looking metal bars and planks and rubber flaps on chains, surrounded by benches and some trees. A big metal fence marched all the way around it. Coo wasn’t sure she wanted to go to the park.
Aggie said the park was fun. “We can maybe use some of the swings in our dance, if it’s not too busy.” They were still working on Pigeon Roof. “But first let’s just swing like normal.”
The park was breezy and sun-bright when they arrived. Some tiny kids were playing on the jungle gym with their mothers, but Aggie and Coo had the things Aggie called swings all to themselves. Tully sat on a bench knitting a peach-pink sweater vest for Coo. She said she would make a matching one for Aggie, too, and a sling for Burr from the same yarn.
Coo had never been on a swing before. Aggie leaped on one and started pumping her legs, but Coo only stood next to hers, touching the seat with one mitten. It wobbled, and she took a step back.
Aggie slowed, dragging her feet against the bouncy rubber padding on the ground, until she came to a stop. She frowned.
“Don’t like it? Does it make you feel queasy?”
Coo didn’t know what queasy meant. Taking a deep breath, she plopped down on the swing, grabbed the chains in both hands, and began shuffling her feet back and forth, then kicking. Nothing happened.
“Wait.” A look of astonishment passed over Aggie’s face. “You don’t know how. They don’t have swings in—that place you’re from? Here. Let me show you.”
Aggie showed Coo how to lean back and kick at the same time, and within minutes all of Coo’s fears dissolved into bliss. She swung up high, high, high enough to see the tops of the small baby trees that ringed the park. The sky was suddenly close. Wind whipped the bangs on her forehead under her hat. She forgot her worries about the flock. Swinging was like flying!
Finally Aggie slowed down and stopped, and so did Coo. She felt a little dizzy.
“See, it’s fun,” Aggie said, smiling. “I wish we could swing every day, all day. And read books. No school. Did you start at your new school yet?”
Coo’s fizzy joyful feeling turned flat. “No,” she said, shaking her head.
“Are you starting soon?”
“No.”
“But everyone goes to school. Is Tully going to homeschool you or something?”
“Yes,” Coo said, even though she didn’t quite understand Aggie’s question. She didn’t want to talk about school anyway.
“Huh. Well, if she changes her mind, you can come to my school and be in my class.” Aggie looked thoughtful. “I wonder if you get to pick your teacher when you start at a new school. Anyway, you should pick mine, Ms. Krug. She’s nice. You know, she likes birds, too! We have two class parakeets, Francine and Floyd.” Aggie paused and tilted he
r head. “Parakeets are tiny tropical birds. They’re cute. They come in, like, neon colors. Like highlighter pens? Francine is yellow and Floyd is blue.”
Birds. Suddenly Coo thought of the flock. What if Frank and Stan were in the alley right now, hurting them? Tully wouldn’t let her check on them. Coo’s eyes filled with tears that were very hot in the cold air.
“Are you crying?” Aggie’s face fell. “Wait, what’s wrong? Are you upset about school? Did you have a bad experience with parakeets?”
“Tully won’t let me see them,” Coo managed to whisper.
“See who?”
“My flock. The pigeons.”
“Oh!” said Aggie. “Because Tully is scared to go back there? Yeah, those guys were really weird and bad.”
“Maybe they hurt my flock.”
“I wouldn’t worry. Why would the flock be hurt?” Aggie shrugged. “I was thinking about this more. They’re birds. They have wings. If someone tries to hurt them, they can just fly away!”
Coo dragged her toe on the ground under the swing and studied the line her shoe made on the rubbery black surface.
“Sometimes Sugarplum goes out on the fire escape, and I worry something will happen to him,” Aggie said more softly. “Like he’ll go down to the street and get hit by a car, or someone will kidnap him. But he’s always okay. Animals are good at taking care of themselves. Popo always told me that.”
Coo began to cry harder. She didn’t want to think about cats on fire escapes, even fluffy sweet ones like Sugarplum, but she also knew Aggie was just trying to be kind.
“Hey, we could ask my brother Henry or someone to check the alley and the pigeons! Would that make you feel better?” asked Aggie. “He wouldn’t be scared of those guys.”
“Maybe,” whispered Coo. She felt shy thinking about Aggie’s brother and sister.
A small cream-and-purple pigeon was pecking its way around the swing sets, part of a flock that was scattered around the playground. Staring at her, Coo suddenly got an idea.
Coo rubbed her eyes against the sleeve of her coat and then kneeled as close as she could to the bird.