by Bart King
Jason stared at his sister in amazement. “Jenny, you’re a genius!”
“True. But I’m also joking.” Jenny turned to leave. “How are the two of us even related?”
As you can see, I had a lot of distractions. That is about the only excuse I have for the colossal mistake I was making. I mean, even though a whole day had passed, I still hadn’t reported my black swift sighting from the day before. Dumb, right? And because of that, another domino fell.
BEFORE MY FAMILY MOVED THREE YEARS AGO, my final report card in New Mexico looked like this:
School District: Albuquerque
Student: Noah Grow
Grade: Fourth
KEY
B Beyond Excellent
E Excellent
S Soon-to-Be Excellent
MARKS
B+ Math
B+ Science
B+ Music/Art
B+ PE
B+ Social Studies/Language Arts
B+ Web Technology
Notes: Noah is a delight to have in class. His science fair project, “Endangered Species/Endangered Planet,” was the highlight of this year’s event.
Yeah, my old school was big on positive reinforcement.
But I practically had to chase my mom and dad down to even look at that report card. That’s because we’re different from most families. Have you heard of helicopter parents who are always hovering over their children? My mom and dad are the opposite of that. They’re submarine parents.
Anyway, I finally trapped Mom and Dad at the dinner table. “I think you’ll want to see this,” I said, sliding the sheet across the table. “It’s my report card.”
“How’d you do?” Dad asked, pulling his reddish-brown hair back into a short ponytail.
“I got all B’s,” I said.
“Great!” Mom said.
“But remember, at our school, a B is ‘Beyond Excellent,’” I explained. “So a B is actually an A. That means I really got all A’s.”
Mom looked at the sheet. “But these A’s are actually B+’s.”
“So those are actually A+’s,” I explained.
They had no idea what I was talking about.
Dad proudly patted my shoulder anyway, and Mom smiled. “Great job, Noah. But are you happy with it?”
I shrugged. “Sure.”
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“Noah,” Dad said, “would you please pass the quinoa?”
* * *
New Mexico was where I got interested in birding. I was in first grade, and my science class took part in a school-wide bird-watching contest. The idea was for students to identify as many local species as possible.
Watching birds? How hard can that be? That’s what my first-grader self thought.
We had a hummingbird feeder at home. I’d been given a checklist with the names and pictures of common local birds, so that afternoon, I sat at the window facing our bird feeder. Mom was out of town, but I’d enlisted Dad to help.
Before long, there was a flash and a whir—a hummingbird darted over and was sucking away at the feeder. (I learned later that hummingbirds don’t suck. They actually lick really fast.)
“Dad!” I yelled excitedly. “What is it?”
Dad looked at my list. “It looks like a black-chinned hummingbird.” He held up the hummingbird’s photo. I looked at it, and then back at the bird.
It was a match! With great satisfaction, I marked my checklist.
✓ Black-chinned hummingbird (Archilochus alexandri)
That was the first bird I ever identified.
I looked at that little bird, floating in the air. Learning its name made me feel important in a way I never had before. Now I knew something about the world that a lot of other people didn’t.
I was hooked.
So I started reading about birds. I learned some amazing stuff. For instance, many birds barely sleep. Others, like the Alpine swift, might stay up in the air for two hundred days at a time. That means they sleep while flying.
Lots of Asian parrots hang upside down when they sleep, like bats. And as for hummingbirds, they conk out so hard at night that they look dead.
I started stalking our neighborhood, my eyes peeled for finches, sparrows, and hawks. With one of Mom’s old digital cameras, I took shot after shot of bird after bird. Then I compared my photos to the checklist.
More check marks.
Finally, the last day of the contest arrived. With Dad’s help, I printed out my best bird photos and labeled them, starting with the black-chinned hummingbird.
In two weeks, I’d checked off twenty-seven birds on the list.
And I won! My prize was a certificate and a pair of cheap binoculars. I carried those binoculars everywhere. I started watching birds even more carefully. Some birds were flashylooking. Others seemed boring at first, but then behaved in startling ways. And other birds were just weird.
I got new checklists and new bird books. I built birdhouses. I joined the local Audubon Society.
So yeah, I had birds on my brain.
Mom and Dad liked how birding got me outside. And since my parents designed playgrounds for a living, every summer took us to a new spot where they had jobs. That gave me the chance to see lots more birds in different habitats.
I saw whistling ducks and sandhill cranes. I saw a tough little black-masked loggerhead shrike—also called the “butcherbird.” And once at a playground in Florida, I spotted a flying squadron of brown pelicans. Suddenly one of the pelicans dropped from the air as if it’d been shot. It hit a nearby lagoon like a rocket and disappeared. But a moment later, there was the pelican again—with a giant fish hanging from its beak.
Pretty awesome.
At first, knowing a lot about birds made me sort of cool at school. I mean, think about it: ALL little kids love fuzzy, furry, feathery animals. So in first grade, I was instantly “somebody” for winning the bird-watching contest.
But it didn’t last. The more I got into birds, the more things at school changed. Boys got more interested in sports and girls. Girls got more interested in—
Actually, I have no idea what girls are interested in.
But nobody stayed totally interested in fuzzy, feathery animals. Nobody but me. I didn’t mind. Really. Because as my friends migrated away, I had even more time for birding.
You can probably see where this is going. Over time, even my parents noticed how I almost never had other kids over. And they must have got worried. So the day after we moved to Santa Rosa, Mom and Dad drove me to a public swimming pool.
This was annoying, because I wanted to scope out some new Northern Californian species.
“Sorry, Noah,” Dad said. “But you probably won’t see anyone your own age at a bird refuge.”
“And honey,” Mom encouraged, “the Aquatic Center will be a great place for you to meet other kids before school starts.”
Yay, I thought, looking out the car window. Yet amazingly, my parents were right. (Don’t you hate that?) I’d just started swimming around the pool when a boy in bright-red swim trunks ran down the high-dive board. He leaped from the end, flew through the air, and cannonballed into the water right next to me.
I floundered to the shallow end, coughing, while a teenage lifeguard yelled at the jumper. Afterward, the cannonballing kid swam over to me.
“Sorry about that,” he said, brushing water from his face. “I never even saw you!” He glanced poolside. “Man, I’m so lucky my mom didn’t catch that. But how about you? Is one of your parents going to yell at me?”
“Nope,” I said. “My parents just dropped me off.”
“Cool,” the boy said. “I’m Jason, by the way.” He swam backward into the deeper water. “So, your parents trust you here all alone, huh? They must not be very strict.”
“Well,” I said, “they never ask to see my report card.”
Jason was stunned. “Dude, you’re so lucky.” He flagged down a black-haired girl who was walking past. �
�Hey, Jenny, listen—this guy’s parents never ask to see his report card!”
Jenny looked at me with her pale blue eyes. As she did, I realized she looked a lot like Jason—but somehow, that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Yeah, right,” said Jenny skeptically. “So what does your mom say when grades come in?”
I imitated my mom, using her mellow meditation voice: “Great job, son. But the important thing is that you’re happy with it.”
Jenny laughed and sat down at the edge of the pool, kicking her legs in the water. “What about your dad?”
Encouraged, I deepened my voice. “Son, we’re proud. Keep up the good work. But only if you want to.”
“Can you believe it? Your parents sound like the best,” said Jason. “What’s your name, anyway?”
So that’s how I met the twins. From the start, they were fascinated with my mom and dad. My parents were different—and Jenny and Jason thought of my family as an exotic species.
And the twins loved that my parents are professional playground designers. They even have their own company—Free Range Playgrounds. At our new home in Santa Rosa, the backyard quickly sprouted models of play structures that my parents dreamed up. Jenny and Jason never got sick of coming over to play on—or gawk at—these creations.
One of the twins’ favorites is a model that looks like a jungle gym for creatures from another world. It’s the first version of my parents’ most popular invention—the Möbius Fun Climb.
To picture the Möbius Fun Climb, think of a big, wide metal slide that’s been hammered flat and turned on its side. Now cover its flat surface with footholds and handholds for climbing.
Got it? Finally, imagine that long climbing strip is going in a circle. And as the strip goes around, it slowly twists over 180 degrees. That means that as you climb, you start vertical, work to a flat surface, and then go back down again.
If that sounds like it would be hard to play on, take it from me: IT IS. Back in New Mexico, when I was seven, my parents talked me into climbing on one of the first Möbius Fun Climbs.
My parents have a funky way of looking at the kids (like me) who play on their equipment. It’s like they’re judges at a dog show, rating the different entries.
“It’s okay, honey, you can do it,” encouraged Mom, taking a photo. (At this point I was hanging sideways and whimpering.) “We trust you to make good climbing decisions.”
So I tried to reach the next handhold, but it was like trying to climb an optical illusion.
THUMP.
I fell off the Fun Climb and onto the bark dust. Mom rushed to me, while Dad typed on his laptop.
“I’m proud of you for taking that risk,” Mom said. She was brushing bark dust off me, the sleeves of her peasant blouse tickling my nose.
Dad glanced up. “Remember, Noah, it’s by making mistakes that you learn. Are you ready to try again?”
Using me as their guinea pig (or guinea monkey), my parents changed the Fun Climb to something the average kid probably wouldn’t break his neck on.
Probably.
Like I said before, my parents are just not big on safety. Their Web site’s banner says, “When we banish dragons, we banish heroes. THIS is where kids find risks and overcome their fears!”
Under that is a photo of me clinging for dear life to the Möbius Fun Climb. (From the expression on my face, you can tell that I “found risk.”)
But it’s not all bad. I mean, my parents let me go bird-watching almost anytime I want. They’re not paranoid and freaked-out that kidnappers are lurking everywhere. And so I actually have way more freedom than other kids my age.
But that doesn’t mean that I get my own cell phone.
“We don’t need to keep tabs on you,” Mom said. “And neither should anyone else. You’re better off without society’s tethers.”
“Tethers?” I asked. “Like the poles with big yellow balls at the playground?”
Mom smiled. “Yes. And like a big yellow ball, you’re better off with no strings attached.”
“Your childhood is a gift,” added Dad, “and we want you to enjoy your own amazing adventures.”
“But I don’t really WANT to have amazing adventures!” I argued. Plus, no cell phone meant I was missing out on some good bird-watching apps.
And of course, now that I had the mysterious purple-green device, there was no way I was telling my parents about it. But not because I thought they’d take it away. No, it was because they’d just think that puck was the most “amazing adventure” ever.
And how annoying would that be?
JASON SCANNED THE SCHOOL HALLWAY. “Is Mrs. Sanchez ready for you yet?” he whispered.
The bell for the end of school had rung ten minutes ago, but handfuls of kids were still hanging around, waiting for rides home or club meetings to begin.
I took another impatient peek through the window in the science classroom’s door. Inside, a woman in a white lab coat was still talking to an eighth-grade girl with a nose ring.
“It looks like we have to wait a little longer to talk to her,” I said. “Hey, Jason, did you know that nose rings are okay to wear at school?”
“Sure,” said Jason. “That’s why I’m getting one next week. Anyway, if you finally get in, I’m staying out here. That lady scares me.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Mrs. Sanchez is, like, the most inspiring teacher at this school.”
“Yeah,” Jason agreed. “She inspires fear.”
Two laughing sixth-grade girls stopped at a nearby locker, so Jason and I moved away to avoid them. It’s weird being in a school’s hallways after hours. What was noisy and crowded a little while ago was now quiet and deserted.
And yet there were still clutches of kids lurking in odd pockets and classrooms. Over here was the Chess Club, its members huddled silently over their boards, plotting their opponents’ destruction. Over there was the Debate Team, with kids shouting things like “Resolved!” and “Oh, no, you DIDN’T!”
But as we walked around, Jason and I couldn’t find an empty, unlocked classroom. So finally we gave up and went to the bathroom. (That means we walked to the bathroom, okay?)
I pushed through its swinging door, and the two of us stepped into a short tiled hallway. I held up my hand for a moment to listen, but the bathroom was silent.
As the door slowly swung shut, Jason started talking. “Are you going to tell Mrs. Sanchez about it?”
“No!” I whispered. “We have to keep that a secret—”
A familiar voice interrupted me: “You have to keep WHAT a secret, Noah?”5
Footsteps came toward us, and I turned around and looked up. (After all, Coby Cage is pretty tall.)
“No secrets here,” I murmured.
“What’s that?” Coby said, holding a hand to his ear. “Squeak up!”
Jason made a sudden move to the door—but before he could make a run for it, Coby grabbed him and spun him into the bathroom. He went flying and slammed against a tiled wall, then crumpled to the floor.
It was horrible. Jason was lying on the bathroom floor!
“Oops, sorry,” said Coby. “I didn’t mean to throw you that hard.” He sounded sincere, but I’m sure it was sarcasm. Then Coby brushed past me (warning “Don’t go anywhere!”) and went out the bathroom door.
I ran to Jason. His eyes looked slightly crossed. “Jason? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
“Noah,” Jason croaked. “Avenge me.”
“What’s that?”
“I might be dying.” Jason’s eyes slowly uncrossed. “And you know that means you have to punish the person who did this to me.”
“But we’re not even related,” I protested. “Why can’t Jenny do it?”
Jason thought about that for a moment. “She’s tough, but unreliable. No, you have to be the one to do it.”
I glanced at the bathroom door. Where did Coby go? “How about if I just tell Mrs. Sanchez?”
Shaking his head sadl
y, Jason groaned. “You really don’t understand how to avenge someone’s death at all. Forget it—I’ll just go ahead and live.”
Then the bathroom door swung open. Coby was back!
“Good news,” he announced. “This place is totally deserted.” Coby gave Jason a penetrating look. “Hey, both of you were at that car accident two days ago. So I’m guessing the ‘big secret’ is that you know something good about it.” Then he paused and held up a finger. “Just one sec.”
Coby went to the first toilet stall and pushed open its door. (It’s always good to double-check for witnesses before killing other students.)
The stall was empty.
Jason twitched like he was going to make a run for it again. “Don’t even think about it,” Coby warned, going on to the second stall.
Please let there be someone there, please let there be someone there, I prayed.
That one was empty, too. But someone had stuck a wet piece of gum on the stall door, and now it was attached to Coby’s hand. Cursing, he pushed up the sleeves of his long-sleeved T-shirt and went to a bathroom sink.
“Okay, you two goofballs—start talking!” Coby demanded, as the water turned on automatically.
The other goofball stayed quiet, so I did too.
“Fine, have it your way.” Coby sounded almost happy to be given the chance to beat the truth out of us. Whistling cheerfully, he squirted soap on his hands and lathered up. (For a troublemaker, Coby sure had great hygiene.)
Rubbing my scar anxiously, I realized something important. Jason and I didn’t have to take a beating. Remember?
Gently, I eased the purple-green puck from my pants pocket. Holding it at my hip, I pushed its stem. As the screen opened, I tapped the round icon and the menu tumbled down, its gray words disappearing and appearing—
And then, there it was: ICE.
I held my thumb over the word just as Coby spotted what I was doing. “What is that? A phone? Are you gonna call your mommy? I’m afraid she can’t come right now. Mommy’s busy at the playground.”