Copyright
First published in Canada and the United States in 2017
Text copyright © 2017 Michelle Kadarusman
This edition copyright © 2018 Pajama Press Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.
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The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Kadarusman, Michelle, 1969-, author
The theory of hummingbirds / Michelle Kadarusman.
ISBN 978-1-77278-058-1 (eBook).--ISBN 978-1-77278-027-7 (hardcover).--ISBN 978-1-77278-035-2 (softcover)
I. Title.
PS8621.A33T45 2017 jC813’.6 C2017-901874-4
Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S.)
Names: Kadarusman, Michelle, 1969-, author.
Title: The Theory of Hummingbirds : a novel / by Michelle Kadarusman.
Description: Toronto, Ontario, Canada: Pajama Press, 2017. |Summary: “Sixth-grader Alba is strengthening her left leg after a final surgery to correct her congenital clubfoot. Her friendship with intellectual classmate Levi is threatened when he scoffs at Alba’s plans to run in an upcoming cross-country race, and she responds by scorning his theory that the school librarian has discovered a wormhole in her office” — Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: ISBN 978-1-77278-027-7 (hardcover) | 978-1-77278-035-2 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Clubfoot – Juvenile fiction. | Friendship – Juvenile fiction. | Children with disabilities – Juvenile fiction.| BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Social themes / Friendship. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Themes / Special Needs.
Classification: LCC PZ7.K333The |DDC [F] – dc23
Cover design—Rebecca Bender
Interior design—Rebecca Bender, and Martin Gould / martingould.com
Pajama Press Inc.
181 Carlaw Ave. Suite 207, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4M 2S1
Distributed in Canada by UTP Distribution
5201 Dufferin Street Toronto, Ontario Canada, M3H 5T8
Distributed in the U.S. by Ingram Publisher Services
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Dedication
For my mother, Judith Margaret,
with love.
Epigraph
Look deep into nature,
and then you will understand everything better.
—Albert Einstein
Chapter One
Wormholes
Hummingbirds can’t walk. Their feet are too tiny. They perch, but never walk.
“Hummingbirds and angels don’t need two good feet. They have wings,” Mom says.
When I remind her that I don’t have wings or two good feet, she just smiles like I haven’t opened the surprise yet. I don’t have two good feet because my left foot was born wrong. Wrong has a lot of different names. My doctor calls it talipes equinovarus, but I prefer the name Cleo. And it’s not like I suddenly expected to sprout wings and FLY; but on the day of the practice cross-country race, something changed in my head.
Some days it’s like everything is tilted; things shift and move around. My best friend Levi would probably have a scientific name for it, but all I knew was things felt different.
I watched Miranda Gray cross the finish line—her face turned up to the sky and beaming, her brown skin shimmering—and I wanted to run. I wanted to run, even though I knew, like the hummingbirds’ tiny feet, Cleo isn’t built for it.
Being timekeeper, I was standing at the finish line with the stopwatch in my hand, watching the runners stream toward me. It wasn’t that I was tired of timekeeping and handing out the running bibs. I wanted to feel both of my feet spring and bounce off the asphalt in shiny new trainers. I wanted to be out of breath, laughing and bumping shoulders with the other runners. I wanted to be in it, not watching it.
“What’s her time?” Coach Adams called over to me. He was patting Miranda on the back. “Well done, kiddo,” he told her. Miranda was bent over, catching her breath.
My thumb was pressed down on the stopwatch. I read the time: 9:13. I called it out to Coach Adams and he marked it down on his clipboard. “Good work, Alba,” he said.
Once the race idea was in my head, I had to tell Levi. The real race was going to be at the end of the school year—a couple of weeks after Cleo’s final cast was due to come off. Levi would know how I could make it happen. Levi is an above average planner. Levi is an above average thinker in general. I needed Levi’s excellent planning skills and I also needed him to tell me I wasn’t being coo-coo.
You could say Cleo is directionally challenged. I’ve worn casts and braces to untwist my left foot since before I could walk. I’ve had two surgeries, one in kindergarten and the second one four weeks ago. I used crutches for the first three weeks after the last surgery, but now I’m not meant to use them at all. I’m supposed to be building up Cleo’s strength.
Not being sporty types is how Levi and I became pals in the first place. On account of my Cleo and his asthma, we’ve been thrown together a lot. In second grade we got to know each other, bookstacking in the library while the other kids had gym class. He started telling me random facts about hummingbirds. Like how they can see and hear better than humans but have zero sense of smell. And how they weigh the same as a penny but some can fly over 3,000 miles every year when they migrate. We still love hummingbirds, and by now in sixth grade we know pretty much everything there is to know about them.
At lunchtime I knew I would find Levi in the library. I peeked in through the double glass doors toward the IN/OUT bins. This is where Levi usually stations himself. Sure enough, he was there, sitting with his hand on the IN bin. He had on his usual worried expression, and he was staring at our librarian’s—Ms. Sharma’s—office. I slipped inside, feeling the hush of the room as the doors closed behind me.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked him, waving my hands in front of his face. He didn’t move a single red hair on his head; he just motioned for me to shhhh.
“But I’ve got an idea,” I said, stepping on his foot. “Listen to this.”
Levi continued to ignore me. He pointed to Ms. Sharma’s door. I followed his gaze. The office was dark and a Do Not Disturb sign hung from the door handle.
“So what?” I said. “She always puts that sign up when she goes to lunch.”
Levi shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. “She hasn’t gone to lunch. She’s gone gone.”
“What do you mean gone gone?” I said.
“She told me she was going for her lunch break and that I didn’t need to finish the IN box,” Levi said. “Then she went into her office, put the sign on the door, and turned off the light.”
“So?” I said. “She went to lunch.”
“But she didn’t leave the room. And now the room is empty.”
“No. You just didn’t see her leave.”
“No. I watched her go into her office and I didn’t take my eyes away. I wanted to ask her if she knew when my book was going to come in, you know, the one I’ve bee
n waiting for, the new illustrated version of A Brief History of Time. I wasn’t sure if I should wait. But then I thought I would just go ahead and ask her because I really want to start reading it. So I went to the door and knocked. She didn’t answer. So I peeked into the room. It’s empty.”
“But there has to be a rational explanation,” I said. “You always say that.”
Levi was nodding. “Yes,” he said. “And the only rational explanation is…” He finally dragged his eyes away from Ms. Sharma’s office and looked at me. “The only rational explanation is…there is a wormhole in Ms. Sharma’s office.”
Chapter Two
Big Ideas
Good one,” I said to Levi. “A wormhole.”
I tapped my head to help me think. I knew that a wormhole had something to do with Levi’s new and burning interest in A Brief History of Time, but I couldn’t remember what it was exactly. I also remembered Ms. Sharma mentioning wormholes, time travel, and other science stuff when she talked to us about science-fiction books during our last library period.
“So what’s a wormhole again?” I asked him.
“A wormhole is a cosmic tunnel,” said Levi. “At each end of the tunnel is a different location, in space-time.”
“Well of course it is,” I said, rolling my eyes. “So where would she be exactly?”
Levi nodded and a sly smile crept across his face. “Who can say?” he said. “She could be traveling through time and space like Doctor Who.”
I picked up a hardcover book and knocked him on the head with it.
“Get a grip,” I said. “I want to tell you something.” I was about to tell him about my race plans, but I could see that Levi was not going to let the wormhole idea go. Before I had a chance to say anything, he walked over to Ms. Sharma’s office and peered through the glass door into the dark room. “If we wait until the bell,” he said, “we’ll see when she reappears.”
“Exactly,” I said. “We’ll see her walk in from the staff room and go back to her office. Besides,” I said, “I remember Ms. Sharma saying that a wormhole is just a theory. An idea. Science fiction. Not fact.”
Levi turned around and glared at me. “Non-believer,” he said. “Every great discovery starts as an idea or a theory. Albert Einstein had a theory about gravitational waves one hundred years ago. An idea that today’s scientists have only now proved to be true!” Levi sighed. “Do you know what gravitational waves do? They cause ripples in the fabric of space and time. Haven’t you been listening when I’ve explained the basic principles of Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity?” he asked.
I started to drag Cleo behind me, doing my best Neanderthal impression. “Me, simple cave girl,” I said, sounding more like Cookie Monster. “You,” I said, going cross-eyed, “crazy scientist.”
Levi was unmoved.
“Why would she talk about wormholes and time travel all of a sudden?” he said. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Because she was talking about science fiction!” I said. “Because you kept asking her about it. Do you really think she told us because she suddenly discovered a wormhole in her office?”
By the way Levi was slowly nodding his head up and down, I could tell that was exactly what he thought. “And then she suggested I read A Brief History of Time,” he said. “She was giving me a clue.”
“It wasn’t a clue!” I said. “You wouldn’t stop bugging her with questions.”
Levi’s eyes got small, a clear sign his mind was made up.
“Oh, brother,” I said, flopping down into a beanbag. “Fine. Let’s just wait it out and get this over with.”
Levi lifted one eyebrow. “You’ll see,” he said. “Just wait and see.”
He returned to his spot next to the IN/OUT bins and stared ahead at the dark office.
“While we’re waiting, I want to tell you something,” I said, looking at Cleo stretched out in front of me.
“What is it?” Levi asked. For the first time his attention was moved from Ms. Sharma’s office.
“Um,” I said, looking down at the cast that enclosed my left foot. Suddenly the idea of being in the cross-country race felt ridiculous. A stupid, stupid idea.
“Nothing,” I said.
“And I’m the crazy one?” said Levi.
“Just forget it,” I said.
Levi shrugged. “Okay.”
I looked at the clock. There were fifteen minutes left of lunch recess and I hadn’t eaten anything. “I’m going to get my lunch,” I said.
“Hurry,” said Levi. “She could reappear any minute.”
I pulled myself up and out of the beanbag and made my way to the library entrance just as Principal Ibrahim opened the glass doors.
“Alba,” she said, coming into the library. “I was wondering why the lights were on in here. We’re an eco-school; we need to turn off the lights when we are not using them.”
“Levi and I were doing the IN bin for Ms. Sharma.”
Principal Ibrahim glanced at Ms. Sharma’s darkened office.
“I see. Well, it looks like Ms. Sharma is at lunch, so it’s time to clear the library. Time to go outside for lunch.” Principal Ibrahim looked at Levi. “How are you feeling, Levi?” she asked. “Do you think some fresh air will suit you today?”
“I really want to get this IN bin done for Ms. Sharma,” said Levi, not talking his eyes off Ms. Sharma’s office.
“Well, it can wait. We can’t have you two in here without supervision. School rules. Come on now, out we go.”
Levi and I looked at each other. There was no way to stay. Principal Ibrahim held her arm up, ushering us toward the library exit. “Come on now,” she said with a few claps to rally us. “Let’s turn these lights off. We’re an eco-school, don’t forget.”
I motioned for them to walk ahead. When I got to the door, I flicked the switch and the library went dark. I saw Levi’s shoulders sag. Principal Ibrahim walked farther ahead toward the office before she turned around.
“Do you have your equipment, Levi?” Principal Ibrahim asked. She meant Levi’s inhaler for his asthma. Levi patted the bulge where it hung in a homemade pouch under his t-shirt.
“Good,” said Ms. Ibrahim. “It’s a beautiful day out there. Perfect for some fresh air.”
Levi nodded and reluctantly began to walk toward the exit. He stopped and waited for me when he reached the doors to the yard. Levi hates going outside.
“Come on,” I said. “It’s not long until the bell. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” said Levi in a huffy voice. “I just wanted to wait for Ms. Sharma.”
But he was worried. I could tell by the way he held his hand over the pouch and his eyes darted around the schoolyard.
“We’ll sneak back once she goes back to her office,” I said. But there was no chance to sneak back because Principal Ibrahim was right behind us, walking out to the schoolyard as well. She opened her arms to the sky.
“Make the most of this fresh air, kids,” she said.
We nodded glumly and slunk to an empty bench nearby. This is where Levi sits when he is forced outdoors. From the bench he is able to keep the school entrance in sight. This time of year the air is filled with pollen that can set off his asthma.
My stomach grumbled. Between timekeeping and our library stakeout, I hadn’t eaten my lunch. Then the first bell went off and Levi tugged my sleeve.
“Look!” he said.
Ms. Sharma was coming out of the school entrance. She smiled and waved to us before making her way to the class lineups.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I said. “She probably just came from the staff room. She looks like she ate a nice big lunch,” I added, rubbing my empty stomach. “Lucky her.”
Levi nodded. “See how happy she looks,” he said, his eyes following her. “Incredibly, amazin
gly happy.” Levi gazed into space.
“Like she has been in another world. A completely different world.”
Chapter Three
Lying to Strangers
Running is not impossible for me, it’s just…well, I don’t do it right. Not that I’ve had a lot of chance to practice. Most of my life Cleo has been strapped into a brace or a cast.
Back in first grade, I wore a leg brace. In first grade you play a lot of games. My favorite game was the playground treasure hunt. We were given little baskets, and the teachers stuck paper clues on the play equipment and all around the playground. The paper clues had words describing the treasure, words like RED HAT or BLUE TOY.
So the kids ran around collecting as many paper clues and they could. After a few minutes, the teachers blew whistles and we all lined up with our baskets and our paper clues. If we could read what our paper clue said, we got a candy. I loved it. I thought I was in heaven.
I knew I was slower than the other kids, but I didn’t care. I did what I thought was running and found three paper clues. It was a blast. I didn’t understand that what I was doing wasn’t running at all.
Mom videotaped the treasure hunt on her phone, and when I watched the video later, I saw how different I was from the other kids. I saw the awkward way Cleo flung out sideways as I tried to run around. It wasn’t running at all.
Anyway, I haven’t embarrassed myself by joining in with games since then.
But soon it was going to be different. Cleo was finally going to be fixed and I was going to run like a normal girl.
At least after my last surgery I have a cast instead of a brace. Having a cast on Cleo, compared to a brace, is so much better because I can pretend. I can pretend that I’ve just had an accident of some kind. Accidents can happen to anyone. Something sporty and daring, like a ski mishap, a fall from a horse, or maybe an injury mountain biking. It’s not possible to pretend with a leg brace. Wearing a leg brace practically shouts DEFECTIVE. But a cast looks like a temporary thing worn by daredevilish risk-takers.
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