The Lost Boy's Gift

by Kimberly Willis Holt

  The brothers scampered off when they saw Tilda coming their way. But they left with full bellies.

  Outside, the children of While-a-Way Lane were headed toward school. Tilda stopped and watched. They walked in groups of two, three, or four.

  Except for one.

  Daniel tagged way behind as if he wanted no part of them. Her heart broke, not just at the sight of him walking all alone, but also because she remembered her own first day at Falling Star Valley School. Everyone had been very nice, but it didn’t matter. She felt alone. And when school ended that first day, she felt different, too, as she watched the other children leave the school and run into the arms of their mothers.

  Then she had seen someone watching her from across the schoolyard. A woman with two long gray braids hanging beneath her wide straw hat. She wore a soiled apron over her ankle-length skirt and muddy, chunky work boots. Aunt Sippy looked as if she’d stepped away from a hard day in the garden. When she stretched out her arms in little Tilda’s direction, Tilda ran to her. Their arms circled each other, and they’d stayed that way for a nice while.

  “What a shame,” said the grass near her feet.

  Tilda gasped but then realized it was Isadora. She wished her friend wouldn’t sneak up on her.

  “He’sss sssuch a sssad little fellow when he isssn’t annoying.”

  “Yes, he is,” Tilda said. Then she glanced down at the bird feeder. “I’m afraid I can’t chat this morning. I have a task to do.”

  “Ssso do I,” Isadora said. “I’m ssstarved, and I need to get sssome breakfassst.”

  Tilda almost asked Isadora if she happened to eat squirrels, but changed her mind. Before she took off for the Fine Feathered Friends Shop, she examined her front porch to make sure Spider had not returned. She was relieved to see no trace of him. Then she took three steps off the porch and heard, “Yoo-hoo, Miss Butter!”

  Tilda swung around and looked at the porch once more. She still didn’t find him. “Where are you?”

  “Over here!” hollered Spider. His voice was coming from the mailbox.

  She walked over and opened it.

  “Not in there. Underneath!”

  Tilda bent low and discovered a sheer veil of web attached to the frame and the bottom of the mailbox.

  “Doesn’t it make the finest roof?” He sounded so pleased with himself. “No more rainy days for me.”

  Tilda almost protested, but then she remembered that not-so-long-ago rainy day when she had to share her tea and buttermilk biscuit with him. Maybe he would no longer need to find refuge inside her house.

  “How very practical,” she said. “Welcome!”

  “Thank you, Miss Butter,” Spider said. “And now we can get acquainted more often.”

  “At this moment I must be on my way.” With Tilda’s parting words, she left for Fine Feathered Friends.

  The shop was located on This ’n’ That Street, two streets over from While-a-Way Lane. It was between Fly Me to the Moon Kite Shop and Penny’s Pogo Stick Store. Even if you had never been there, you couldn’t miss it. Fine Feathered Friends had a sign in the shape of a birdcage with a yellow canary painted over each F. The peacock-blue front door had a little bell on it that didn’t ring, but made a tweet-tweet sound when you entered.

  The owner, Mr. Oliver, had a long mustache that curled up at each end like the tail of a comma. He wore a straw hat and a red and white striped shirt because he was in a barbershop quartet and he wanted to be prepared in case they had a last-minute call for a fill-in performance. Seemed that was the only time the barbershop quartet ever got booked.

  When Tilda stepped inside the store, she was in a very sour mood. She held out the bird feeder to Mr. Oliver. “This is not a bird feeder. It is a squirrel feeder!”

  Mr. Oliver didn’t bat an eye, which disappointed Tilda. She was so angry about the situation she’d hoped to scare him a little.

  But Mr. Oliver smiled and twisted one end of his mustache. “Hmmm,” he sang out like he was warming up for a song. “I have just the thing for you.”

  “I don’t want it for me,” Tilda said. “I want it for the chickadees. They are due to arrive this time of year, and they will find other places to nest and eat if squirrels continue to gobble up the seed.”

  Mr. Oliver presented her with an oblong feeder. It had a little wire grid surrounding it. “This, madam, is a squirrel-proof bird feeder.”

  He demonstrated it, trying to push his index finger through an opening. “See?” he said. “They can’t reach through the grid. But the openings are big enough for tiny beaks.”

  Tilda raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain about that?” He’d seemed so sure about the last feeder.

  “Guaranteed squirrel-proof.”

  “Or?”

  Mr. Oliver looked confused. “Or?”

  “Or?” Tilda repeated.

  “Oh.” Mr. Oliver understood now. “Or your money back.”

  “Every penny?”

  “Every penny.”

  Tilda tried to wiggle her pinkie finger into the grid, but it was too thick to go through. She wondered about Zip’s and Zap’s reach. She studied the feeder in silence.

  “Tell you what,” Mr. Oliver said. “I’ll throw in this birdhouse for your trouble.”

  It was a beautiful birdhouse, white with a little steeple. It looked like the church on the edge of her neighborhood.

  “Very well,” Tilda said, “I’ll give it a try.” She really did want to see those chickadees.

  When she opened the shop door to leave, Mr. Oliver said once more, “One hundred percent squirrel-proof.”

  “Or?” Tilda wanted to be reassured.

  “Or your money back,” Mr. Oliver sang out in a deep baritone voice.

  Tilda walked home with the birdhouse in one hand and the 100 percent squirrel-proof feeder in the other. She could just imagine the chickadees nesting there. It reminded her of the days so long ago when Pip-Tweet would show up and lay her eggs in the holly.

  It would be entertaining to watch the mother feed her young and later teach them to fly from the perch. She pictured the little family. The sight of them would make her happy, not like seeing Spider every day. She got so caught up thinking about it, she forgot to stop at Green Things for oranges.

  At home, she got the dreaded ladder and hammered a post into the ground and attached the birdhouse. The whole while, she tried not to think about falling by whistling a tune she learned from Aunt Sippy.

  Then she filled the feeder and arranged it in the exact spot where she’d hung the last one.

  When she finished, she stepped back and admired her work. “There, you pesky squirrels, try that!”

  Tilda went back into the house to do some chores, but she had trouble staying focused. She stared out the window at the bird feeder as she washed the dishes, forgetting to dry them before she put them away. Afterward she accidentally ran the vacuum hose over Fred’s back instead of the rug. She apologized, but a moment later, she dusted the coffee table with his tail.

  Poor Fred! He hid under the bed in fear of what she might do next.

  When Tilda finished with her chores, she pushed her chair by the window and plopped down. Waiting.

  No one came.

  Not the chickadees.

  Not the house finches

  Not even Zip and Zap.

  She grew tired and began to wonder about Daniel’s first day at school. Would his mother be waiting for him when school let out?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LOST BOY

  ON THE WAY TO SCHOOL, Daniel hung way back so that he stayed behind all the other kids. He didn’t feel like being the new boy. If they didn’t see him, he wouldn’t have to be. And it had worked. He was almost at school, and not one person had noticed him.

  As soon as he turned the corner onto Wit’s End, he froze. The Ferris wheel was working, and there were people in the seats. Not kids, but old people, really old people. Some were laughing, swinging their legs high abo
ve his head. A few were reading books, not seeming to notice that they were circling up into the air. One gray-haired man waved down at him. Why were all these old people riding the Ferris wheel?

  “It’s Senior Day at the library.”

  He spun around.

  A girl with black curly hair smiled at him. It was as if she’d read his mind.

  “Aren’t you the new boy?” she asked.

  “Yep, I guess.”

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He didn’t say the same thing he’d said to Tilda Butter when she'd asked. Instead the words spilled out of his mouth. “The New Boy.”

  She laughed. “New Boy? I guess that makes me the Lemonade Girl. You better hurry up, New Boy, or you’re going to be late for school.” She took off sprinting ahead of him.

  The Lemonade Girl was right. By the time he reached the front door, the last bell was ringing. His first day at his new school, and he was already tardy. The sign pinned to the bulletin board in the main hall was the reason he hadn’t made it to homeroom. He read it again.

  WANTED

  ONE LOST BOY

  For the end of the school year’s production of

  PETER PAN.

  Needed immediately

  See Mrs. Garcia

  Daniel could hardly breathe. He’d never been in a play, but he’d read the book Peter Pan many times. He could be a lost boy. He could be Curly. Curly was his favorite lost boy. He was always getting into trouble. Maybe Daniel could even use his slingshot in the play. To think, he hadn’t wanted to come to school today.

  He hurried to his homeroom, where his new teacher was taking roll.

  The other students were already seated, but Daniel went straight to the teacher and told her, “I have to see Mrs. Garcia immediately. She needs me.”

  “Oh?” the homeroom teacher said, peering over her glasses. “Aren’t you the new boy?”

  “I’m the lost boy now,” Daniel said. “What class is Mrs. Garcia in?”

  “Room two twenty-six, but—”

  Daniel did not wait until she finished. He took off down the long empty hall, reading the classroom numbers. Two twenty, two twenty-two, two twenty-four. Finally, two twenty-six.

  Daniel was so excited, his heart pounded fast in his chest. He swung the door open, stepped inside, and announced, “I’m here! I came immediately!”

  The students burst into laughter. Mrs. Garcia’s eyebrows touched, and she said the exact thing that his homeroom teacher had said a moment before: “Oh?”

  “I’m your lost boy,” Daniel said. “But now you found me. Or I guess I found you.”

  “Ah!” She nodded. “I see.”

  He spoke fast. “Is the lost boy Curly? I’d be the perfect Curly.”

  Daniel waited for her to say, Thank goodness. Or, Do you have a slingshot?

  Instead Mrs. Garcia asked, “Can you come back to my class at recess? That’s when I’m doing auditions.”

  Now Daniel softly said, “Oh.”

  It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone else might get the part. The poster seemed to be talking directly to him.

  Mrs. Garcia walked him to the door. “Right now you need to return to your homeroom.”

  That’s exactly what Daniel did, but he watched the clock all morning. He watched it as he ate his peanut-butter-and-honey sandwich, not even bothering to read the note his mom wrote on a napkin. He thought about how he’d invite his dad to come see him in the play. And how his dad would think he was the best lost boy. The best Curly.

  At recess he went back to Mrs. Garcia’s class. She wasn’t there, but there were two other boys waiting. They wore matching blue shirts, plaid bow ties, and jeans.

  “What are you doing here?” Daniel asked them. Then he realized they looked exactly alike. “Hey, are you twins?”

  “Yes,” they both said.

  “Why do you think we look exactly alike?” asked one of the boys.

  “Except for our belly buttons.” They said the words together like they’d recited them a zillion times.

  “I have an outie,” said one.

  “And I have an innie,” said the other.

  Daniel almost asked if they were auditioning, but that couldn’t be the reason they were there. There was only one role open for one lost boy, and that part belonged to him.

  Before they could tell him why they were there, Mrs. Garcia walked in. She stared at the two other boys, her head turning from side to side. “Oh my goodness! You’re identical twins!”

  “Except for their belly buttons,” Daniel added.

  “This is great,” Mrs. Garcia said. “I needed another lost boy to replace the lost boy who got strep throat and had to drop out. He was playing the other twin. And now I have real twins! You boys can play the twins.”

  Daniel straightened his shoulders and stepped forward. He wanted to make sure Mrs. Garcia hadn’t forgotten about him. She was so busy smiling at the twins, looking back and forth at them like they’d invented ice cream.

  Daniel cleared his throat. “What does the other kid look like? Maybe we could be twins. We might even have matching belly buttons.”

  Mrs. Garcia turned toward Daniel. “Don’t worry. You can be a lost boy, too.”

  “Curly?” he asked.

  She shook her head, but she was still studying the twins. “No, we have a Curly. You will be Lost Boy #8.”

  “There are only six lost boys,” Daniel told her. He was an expert on Peter Pan.

  “Well, we will have eight,” Mrs. Garcia said.

  “What happened to #7?” Daniel asked.

  She focused on him now. “That will be the boy that was going to play the other twin. See? It all works out.”

  Daniel didn’t see it that way. There were six lost boys in Peter Pan. His mother had read it to him when he was too little to read, and now he read it all the time. Well, at least he reread all his favorite parts, the ones with the lost boys, and Captain Hook, and the pirates. Yes, he knew the story well enough to know there were only six lost boys. And none of them were named Lost Boy #8. On top of all that, she didn’t let them audition.

  Mrs. Garcia handed the twins and Daniel their scripts and the school rehearsal schedule. “The other kids have rehearsed for over a month,” she said. “So don’t miss any rehearsals. Make sure to tell your parents, too.”

  When Daniel’s mom got off early to pick him up from his first day of school, he didn’t give her the schedule. He didn’t tell her about getting the role, a made-up role. Maybe he wouldn’t tell his dad either.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE ARRIVAL

  THE NEXT MORNING, Tilda got up extra early, opened the drapes, stared at the bird feeder, and waited.

  She realized she was waiting for Zip and Zap as much as she was waiting for chickadees. Then she saw something. It didn’t look like a bird. It didn’t look like a squirrel.

  Tilda leaned closer to the window. It was a MOUSE!

  His long, skinny nose fit through the grid and reached the birdseed.

  Tilda raised the window and yelled, “This is not a mouse feeder! This is a bird feeder!”

  The mouse, being a mouse, was scared. He took a nosedive into the ferns below … or did he faint into the ferns? Tilda wasn’t so sure. All she knew for certain was that she was taking this feeder back to the Fine Feathered Friends Shop. But just as she was about to move away from the window, she heard a chicka-dee-dee-dee. Two chickadees had found the bird feeder and were enjoying a meal so much that some of the seed dropped to the ground, where the little mouse and his two friends began having a feast of their own. Not a bit of seed was going to waste.

  “Welcome back, chickadees!” she called out to them.

  “Thank you, Tilda Butter,” the chickadees tweeted.

  “Yes, thank you,” squeaked the mice.

  “Now, that’s as it should be,” Tilda said. Then her gaze traveled to the birdhouse, where she now saw Zip, or maybe it was Zap, sticking his head out of the bird
house’s hole. The brothers had found a new home.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  FIRST REHEARSAL

  THE THIRD DAY OF SCHOOL, Daniel had to stay later for his first rehearsal. When Mrs. Garcia told Daniel to call his mom, he walked down the hall and then turned back to the auditorium. He didn’t need to call his mom. She was at work. He’d be home before she would. Besides, he still didn’t want her to know about the play.

  The entire cast wasn’t there because they were rehearsing a scene with the other lost boys and Peter Pan. Mrs. Garcia gave him a cast list.

  Daniel looked at the names. A boy named Leonard was playing Curly. He bet Leonard didn’t even own a slingshot. Then he looked at the other cast members’ names. Two girls were playing Nana. Mrs. Garcia was terrible at casting. She’d divided the poor dog in half. One girl was playing the front half, and the other was playing the back half.

  Nana should be played by a real dog. A big dog. And Daniel knew just where to find one.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ATTIC

  ZIP AND ZAP had been Tilda’s neighbors for years. Before moving into Tilda’s new birdhouse, they lived in the giant oak tree in the back of her yard. (The one that shaded her beloved hosta.) But last night’s hailstorm had made such a ding-ding racket on the birdhouse’s tiny wood roof that when the storm was over, they set out to find better digs.

  The storm had dropped one grapefruit-sized hailstone on Tilda’s roof, making a very nice opening into the attic. How convenient for the squirrel brothers! To them, that hole was saying, Welcome, Zip! Welcome, Zap! Come on in and make yourselves at home!

  That is exactly what they did.

  Tilda had no idea about the hole because the hailstone had landed on a hideous overstuffed chair that once belonged to Tilda’s aunt Phoebe. Aunt Phoebe was not Aunt Sippy. Her tight bun reminded Tilda of a burnt cinnamon roll, and her face resembled leather pulled over a drum. If anyone had wanted, they could have bounced pennies off her cheeks. Then at night when she unpinned her hair, every wrinkle returned like a linen shirt pulled straight out of the washer.