by Eric Smith
Leila shook her head, as Landon nervously kept talking.
“Well. The main character, Hiccup, he has to help this dragon learn to fly again with a prosthetic wing.” Landon reached down and scratched Milford under the chin. The unconscious owl moved its head back slowly, as if in a trance. “I knew the moment I found him that I was going to try to do that, and that name stuck with me for a little bit. But, you know, when it comes to naming owls—”
“They should have old man names.” Leila finished for him.
Landon nodded and turned away from Milford.
“Toothless. You should have told me,” Leila said.
“I didn’t figure it out until later,” Landon said, shaking his head. “I had my suspicions, after the bicycle and all, but thought it was a coincidence. Lots of people ride bikes around the park. But when you posted on the message board about the protest, that’s when it all hit me. And I bailed because I didn’t want you to, like, hate me. I haven’t been the nicest on there, and we’d only recently started actually talking. On the board, that is.”
“I forgive you,” Leila said, grabbing his hand.
They stood there quietly for a beat.
“Oooh-kay,” Dr. Saft said, grinning. “Clearly something is going on here, but I need you two to get out of here before my cover is blown and I get fired or something. I like your owl, but I also like my job.”
Leila and Landon hurried out of the E.R., hand in hand. Sarika sat in the waiting room, staring at her phone, and looked up to glower at the two of them.
“So he told you the deal?” Sarika asked, standing up and shoving her phone in her pocket angrily. “Imagine, our troll, here in real life.”
“How did you figure it all out?” Leila asked.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve watched How to Train Your Dragon and cried my eyes out?” Sarika said angrily. “I know the book is different, but that movie. That is my movie, Leila. Hell, it is like, our movie. Our people’s movie. Lonely dragon gets hurt, gets saved, last of his kind, never gets to know his fucking family.”
Sarika’s eyes started welling up and Leila reached out to hug her. Sarika pushed back.
“No. No, no, no,” Sarika muttered, waving her hand about. “Don’t do that thing parents do. I’m not that dragon. You’re not the dragon. Or the owl. Or the, the . . .”
Leila pulled Sarika in for a hug.
“Nooooooo,” Sarika groaned as she squirmed about.
“You know, it was really shitty seeing something that means so much to me used the way you used it, tough guy,” Sarika mumbled into Leila’s shoulder before looking up at Landon. “Seeing your snippy comments and having you talk down to us under that username? It made it even worse.”
“I’m sorry,” Landon said, shaking his head. “It’s not easy being stuck at home with a family who hates what I care about. And lying about what I’m majoring in. And hiding my schedules. And books. And grades. And clearing my browser history every single time I use the computer.”
He shook his head again.
“I just lash out sometimes.” He sighed. “I don’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m just, I dunno. There’s no excuse for it.”
Sarika sniffled.
“Well then.” She pushed away from Leila and brushed at her jacket. “Let’s channel all this rage and all these,” she gritted her teeth and shook her head, “ugh, all these emotions into something a bit more practical, shall we?”
“Like what?” Leila asked.
“What else?” Sarika asked, grinning with a shrug. “Coffee.”
“I fail to see how coffee is going to solve any of our problems,” Leila said, crossing her arms.
“Um, I’m just going to go ahead and ignore that,” Sarika said. “I believe it was Aristotle who said, ‘Coffee solves all problems.’”
Leila stared at Sarika.
“Whatever, I’m tired, okay?” Sarika said. “And hungry. Let’s go to Adam’s for some caffeine and food before I waste away into nothingness and become useless on your mission. And that,” she pointed at the plastic bin containing all the mouse bits, “that can stay in your car, Toothy.”
JON: You two okay? Haven’t heard from you all day, it’s getting late.
JON: I might have logged onto your message board. I saw you gathering facts. Proud of you.
LEILA: We’re okay! Landon the park ranger is with us. Heading to Adam’s to plan next steps.
LEILA: And the message board, Jon? Again? Didn’t we talk about this?
JON: Just be careful. Those unmaintained bits of park can be a little rough.
LEILA: We have proof of the endangered mouse, but it’s dead. Is that okay?
JON: Uh, sure, but try not to kill the endangered animals. What happened? That’s a crime, you know. It was an accident, right?
LEILA: Yes! We found it dead. In an owl. It threw it up at the hospital. It’s in some Tupperware.
JON: . . .
JON: I mean, I feel like I should be concerned at this point.
JON: I’m seeing a lot of red flags here.
JON: Leila? Anything? Feel free to start with the owl, maybe build up to the hospital.
LEILA: It’s a long story. I’ll explain more at home.
ECO-ACTIVISTS MESSAGE BOARD: PERSONAL MESSAGES [USER: WITHOUTTHEY]
FROM
SUBJECT
DATE
TOOTHLESS
STARTING OVER
Can we maybe give that a shot? Hit reset?
8/27
WITHOUTTHEY
RE: STARTING OVER
Are you seriously sending me this while we are at a red light?
Also yes.
8/27
TOOTHLESS
RE: STARTING OVER
Alright, good.
8/27
WITHOUTTHEY
RE: STARTING OVER
I feel like we discussed emoticons and what-not, and how they sometimes can mean a little too much. Careful there, Toothy . . .
;-)
8/27
TOOTHLESS
RE: STARTING OVER
;-) Indeed.
8/27
A DASH OF PAPRIKA
STOP IT BEFORE I THROW MYSELF OUT THE CAR See the above subject.
8/27
XXII
“What. The. Hell. Is. This.” Sarika ripped a flier off the wall in Adam’s Café and stormed over towards a table. Leila and Landon trailed behind her. She slammed the paper down on the table, her hand slapping the wood with a loud bang. Leila looked around the room. The café was mostly empty, save for a few kids working at the coffee tables, largely undisturbed by the small ruckus.
“Uh, I’ll get some coffee and muffins or something,” Landon started.
“No, no. This concerns you, too, Toothy,” Sarika said, pushing a seat out for him.
“Can you stop—” Landon started.
“Nope. That’s your name,” Sarika said, sitting down angrily. Landon gave Leila a please-help-me-out look, and Leila smiled, shaking her head. He did this to himself. Sarika held up the flier and looked at them, her eyes hard and angry.
“Listen to this nonsense,” she said, and started reading.
Now Accepting Donations
Coming soon to Fairmount Park, a brand-new amphitheater! Construction is soon to be underway, but you can help build this modern marvel in the middle of the largest urban par
k in the country.
For more information, contact Jessica De La Costa, president of the Students for a Progressive Fairmount club. Donations can be dropped off at the principal’s office at Belford High School, or sent via PayPal to Jessica De La Costa at BITCHY McBITCHFACE DOT COM—
“Okay, that is not her email address,” Landon said.
“It might as well be!” Sarika shouted, tossing the flier back on the table. “She knew this was something we cared about, and that is the only reason she is coming after it. Her and her damn friends. And look!”
She peeled a second flier out from under Jessica’s, revealing the faded endangered-mouse sheet from the other day.
“Right over this. Didn’t even care.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have banned her from the message board,” Leila said with a sigh. “She’s probably only doing this to get back at Shawn, right?”
“These are some pretty extreme lengths to go to for something like that.” Sarika scowled.
“I just don’t get it,” Leila said, as Landon picked up the flier. “What does she get out of this?”
“It makes me so angry,” Sarika spat, snatching the flier out of Landon’s hand with a loud smack. She stood up and marched to the register, leaning over on the countertop. “Mr. Hathaway! You in the kitchen? Where are you?”
In a flurry of pots and pans, Mr. Hathaway materialized in the kitchen door.
“Sarika!” he exclaimed. “What is it? It’s a weekday, you’re usually not here on . . . God, please don’t tell me you tweeted you were gonna be here, we’ve got programs lined up for some of the kids, and—”
“No, no.” Sarika shook her head. “Just taking a break from running about. Why did you let her hang these fliers up?” She handed him the sheet, and he looked at it, puzzled.
“What’s wrong with Jessica?” he asked in confusion as he handed the flier back.
“What’s wrong with Jessica?” Sarika looked back at Leila and Landon and threw her arms up in the air. Leila shrugged back in response. “She’s the enemy!”
“No,” Adam said, shaking his head. “If anything, she should be your best friend.”
“What?” Sarika shouted. “Hell, no.”
“Uh, yeah? Her father, Jonathan De La Costa, owns the nonprofit that helps fund us. Hell, he helps fund a bunch of things throughout the city. He works with the park service and some of the thrift stores, I think. He was with her when she dropped off that flier and even asked for you. Guy loves your coffee.”
Sarika grabbed the countertop as though she was steadying herself.
Leila jumped to her feet and darted over, and Sarika leaned against her.
“I’ve been making drinks,” Sarika started.
“Sarika—”
“For that chick’s father?”
“Come on.”
“For how long?” Sarika stormed to a nearby barstool at the countertop. “I could have been spitting in it all this time! Does he get coffee for her, too? Tea? Soda? What? Anything? Let me know so I can make sure whatever she’s getting is contaminated to all hell. I will cough on everything!”
Sarika laid her head down on the countertop, her arms folded in front of her.
“Hey,” Leila ventured, pulling a barstool up next to her. Sarika heaved an ugly sob, her shoulders shaking. “Hey, come on now. It’s okay.”
Sarika looked up at her, her eyes red and face already wet with tears.
“No, it’s not okay,” Sarika said, a sob in the back of her throat. “This is my thing. My one thing. And she’s been a part of it the entire time, and I had no idea. I built my whole . . . my whole persona here. Me. This place is me. And her family owns it.”
“Okay, first of all, I own this place,” Mr. Hathaway said from behind the counter. “They help fund it. Remember, nonprofit? You should be happy. Hell, and . . .” he looked at Leila as though he was thinking. “And Leila’s father,” he paused, as if testing the waters. Clearly he’d been around enough adopted kids that he knew how to tiptoe, and Leila appreciated it no matter how awkward it got. “Leila’s father must know him; doesn’t he work with those people?”
Sarika’s eyes went wide as she looked up at Leila.
“If Jon’s on a board with Jessica’s father,” Sarika started, and then glanced over at Mr. Hathaway. “Thanks for listening, sorry about the meltdown.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” he said, shrugging. He turned and walked back into the little kitchen.
Sarika looked back at Leila, and walked back over to the table where Landon still sat. Leila could practically see the gears turning in Sarika’s head before she spoke.
“Okay. So. If Jon works with Jessica’s dad in some sort of way, he can tell him about this nonsense.” She shook the flier. “About how Jessica doesn’t really care, it’s just to get back at—”
“What will that even do? I doubt her little collection is making any kind of dent.” Leila held up one of the crumpled fliers. “This isn’t for her or for the cause. She made it for us. To make us angry and derail us.”
“Fine!” Sarika said, standing back up. “Then we head over to the horticulture society or the park service offices, present the evidence, get the project shut down, and then we savor the sweet tears of Jessica De La Costa!”
“Hey,” Leila said, angling herself to look Sarika in the eyes. “Let’s not forget what this is about. If we can take her down a peg, awesome. To hell with that girl. But, you know, we have a city to save?”
“I know none of us want to say it, but,” Landon cleared his throat, “someone to save as well.”
Leila felt herself blush, and ran her hand along the pale patch of skin on her face, her expanding birthmark. Sarika exhaled, sighing.
“Okay,” Sarika said, nodding. “Okay, yeah. Save the world, screw the girl.”
Leila made a face.
“Not you, I mean Jessica. Look, I’ll figure out a better tagline for the mission, I swear.”
“So,” Leila said. “Let’s focus for a minute. We came here to plan, right? So let’s plan.”
“We’ve got a few more days until the protest,” she continued. “Between then and now, they could still do more damage to the park. More spray paint, more shrub removal.”
“And in the meantime, this could all affect Leila.” Landon grimaced and shook his head, looking at Leila with an apology in his eyes.
“Well,” Leila sucked air through her teeth, trying to ignore what Landon said. “We’ve got the mouse, or most of it. We can take it to Jon, and he can help us frame this story when we report what’s going on.”
Landon got up and paced, rubbing his hand over his chin. Leila could hear the scuff against his hand.
“I’m still worried,” he said, turning back. “We can’t prove that the mouse came from this specific patch of woods, not after going through Milford’s digestive system. He’s an owl. They fly around, or at least most of them do. Maybe they could examine the dirt on it or something, but I can’t imagine the timing working out right.”
Landon suddenly perked up.
“Shit, just how well sealed is the Tupperware in my car with that mouse in it?” he asked.
“That is not going to smell good when someone opens it,” Sarika said.
“When you open it,” Landon said.
“When you open it,” Sarika said, looking at Leila.
“Okay, enough of that,” Leila said, shaking her head. “When the poor researcher or person at the museum has to open it. How about that?”
“Deal,” Landon said, smiling.
“Now, what do we need?” Leila drummed her fingers against the table. “We probably need photos or video of the mouse in that particular area. Right?”
“Three days,” Landon exhaled, “to get a photo of a rare mouse in a large section of a heavily wooded area of the park
when no one else could before.”
“Maybe chill with the cynicism?” Sarika snapped. “Three days is a lot of time. We’ve all got cameras on our phones and I’m pretty sure my parents have a digital camcorder at home.”
“So, do we camp out in the woods?” Leila asked.
“It’s an option.” Landon shrugged.
“Three days.” Leila nodded, folding her arms. “I say we sleep on it tonight, visit the museum in the morning with the mouse remains, and go to the grove in the afternoon.”
“And if the remains aren’t good enough, trapping a mouse might not be that difficult.”
“Trapping one?” Leila asked. “Landon, we need something that’s alive, you know. That’s the reason we’re stressing over this dead mouse.”
“The one currently baking in the sun in your car,” Sarika grinned.
“We wouldn’t kill the mouse,” Landon said, after glaring at Sarika. “You can totally build a trap that catches them alive. I used to put little wooden ramps on deep, glass aquariums when I was a kid to catch chipmunks and mice in my parents’ old yard. They hop in and can’t get out. We’d keep them for a day or two, feed them and stuff.”
Leila smiled.
“You’re cute. That’s cute,” Leila said, and then blinked, looking over at Sarika. Sarika’s mouth was a thin line and her eyes were tired.
“Gross,” she said. “The two of you. Just gross.”
“Sorry,” Leila said, laughing. “Okay. Mouse trap.”
“Mouse trap.” Landon nodded.
“And what if that doesn’t work?” Sarika asked. “Like, don’t you think the people researching the area already tried this?”
“Well, that’s what we’ve got.” Leila shrugged. “Bring the dead mouse to the expert, try to catch a live one. I don’t have much else here.”
A bloom of anxiety rushed up through Leila, and panic threatened to take over. What else could they do? What else could they possibly do?
“Hey.” Sarika reached out. “We’ll try. Right? That’s all we can do.”