Wild Life

by Keena Roberts

  “Besides,” Dad said, poking the chunk of frozen chicken with a spatula, “I’m going to be fifty-two next year and Mom will be fifty. Who knows how long we’ll even be able to run away from animals? We’re not as fast as we used to be and lions always pick off the weakest in the herd.”

  “That’s true,” I said thoughtfully. The kitchen door creaked open and Lucy came in, carrying a copy of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. She was taking her sweet time reading it and I was desperate for her to finish so I could have my turn. “You really think you and Mom are in more danger than you used to be?”

  “I don’t know,” Dad said. “But I don’t want to find out.”

  He was right, of course. I understood what he said about the researchers who worked in Baboon Camp. After all, it had sometimes been my job to walk around with Dawn and point out animals that she had not yet noticed. I could see how bad it would be if someone got charged or trampled by something. But Mom and Dad? In danger, or killed? I couldn’t picture it. They’d been working in various countries in Africa for more than twenty years, and when they went out with the baboons they had me and Mokupi with them; between the two of us we saw everything. What could possibly go wrong for them? I knew that every time we got on the plane in Maun to go back to the US, Mom buried her head in her hands and said, “Thank God we did it again and no one got hurt,” but I always thought she was just being dramatic to make us laugh when we were sad to leave. I never thought it was serious.

  I took a long, hard look at Dad, who was rubbing the chicken with some spices and dried herbs before grilling it. Still the same glasses and polo shirt he’d worn all his life, but as I looked closer I noticed that the hair on his temples was thinner than it used to be and that his shoulders had lost some of their solidity. Could this person still outrun a lion if he needed to? I had to admit I wasn’t so sure anymore.

  When Mokupi arrived the next morning and we headed out to find the baboons, I felt an uneasiness about the familiar woods that I’d never felt before. And I didn’t like it.

  July 10, 1999

  Keena’s Journal

  Yesterday Lucy was reading in our tent while I was having a shower. According to Lucy, while I was in the shower a pack of wild dogs ran through camp, around the shower, and down the path to the laundry area while she watched. As Mom stepped out of her tent, she was almost run over by an impala barreling down the path pursued by one of the dogs. When I stepped out of the shower one of the dogs was sitting on the path between me and my tent. I didn’t know what to do so I stood there dripping in my towel for a few minutes until he got up and trotted away. I can’t believe how habituated these dogs are, and it would be so cool if they had a den nearby.

  July 12, 1999

  Keena’s Journal

  Out of consideration for the wild dog puppies I have decided live nearby, my running route has been changed to loop out behind camp onto the plain and then back into the woods by the storage hut. It’s a much, much more dangerous route though since we don’t know what could be in the tall grass on either side of the path, or in the woods for that matter. Today Mom stood on one part of the trail with a walkie-talkie and Dad stood out on the road with our air rifle and a walkie-talkie while I ran. I’m not sure why he needed the gun, it would be useless if a lion showed up. Every time I passed one of them they’d radio to the other, “Okay, here she comes,” in a security guard–type voice.

  Dad also thinks I read too fast, since I finished all the books we brought with us weeks ago. He bought me War and Peace in Maun and told me to come back to him when I’ve finished it. I’m on page 250 today, with 1,200 pages to go! It’s really heavy, but at least I can use it to kill mosquitoes while I read.

  Mom and Dad did seem much more anxious this summer than they had in previous years. It wasn’t just that they watched me while I ran. When we were out with the baboons, they insisted that we had our radios on all the time and that I didn’t stray too far from the monkeys when I was by myself. The constant attention was stifling, and a huge departure from how we usually operated in Baboon Camp or how little they watched what I was doing in America. I understood that the animals were more a presence than they had been before; after all, I was standing next to them whenever we saw elephants or lions, and I looked for snakes even more carefully than they did. But aside from the snakes, I couldn’t understand why my parents’ attitude had shifted so much. Animals were predictable, and therefore easy to be safe around. If there was an elephant, we just had to move upwind of him so he didn’t smell us. If we saw lions, we left the area or climbed up a tree. If we saw buffalo, we did the same. If we all followed the rules, no one would get hurt. It made so much more sense than in America, where no one followed the rules and whether I got bullied or teased had nothing to do with my own behavior. So what was there to be afraid of?

  July 31, 1999

  Keena’s Journal

  This morning the baboons moved out onto the plains behind camp pretty early. It was cold, and as Dad and I walked past a sunny spot on a termite mound he yelled, “Jesus Christ, Keena, GET BACK!” I jumped backward and a HUGE snake slithered away from my feet across the sunny spot. Its tail went over my sandals and I could feel it on the top of my foot. Oh my God, I hate snakes. The scariest part was I got that feeling that I almost just died. For a second I honestly thought that could have been it. I don’t usually get that feeling when I am happily looking at baboons in the sun, but it really scared me. With lions, I constantly think, “I could die, I could die,” but I’m never really in any danger. I can get away from lions. With snakes it’s totally different; a small movement in the grass is far deadlier than claws and teeth. Yeah, so enough snakes for me.

  August 2, 1999

  Keena’s Journal

  Today everything was quiet and slow out with the baboons. Mokupi, Mom, and I had just crossed to a small island on the way to Airstrip in the morning when Mokupi said, “Oh! Many buffalo!” A huge herd, maybe one hundred or so, were quietly feeding on the molapo between us and Airstrip. Since we couldn’t pass them to get to the baboons, we left them feeding and mooing and came back to camp. Last night a hyena came through camp and ate all the soap from every sink. So…now we have no soap.

  August 16, 1999

  Keena’s Journal

  Today was our last day. When Mokupi and Press arrived, the whole family decided to go out with the baboons one more time. After a lot of searching we found them eating palm nuts on C5, which they then proceeded to do for six mind-numbingly boring hours. And Dad says it’s dangerous out here. Ha! I don’t know why he’s so worried. Nothing bad is ever going to happen to us.

  CHAPTER 16

  One Unhappy Cat

  A boat ride, a flight in a propeller plane, three flights, and four days later, I was back in America. Back in the stifling heat, sitting in the high school cafeteria in my distressed polo shirt and completely impractical flared khaki pants. Back to American Keena, who was just trying to survive.

  It was a Tuesday, and I was trying to come up with an answer to Sarah’s question. Who did I have a crush on: Dawson or Pacey? My answer seemed very important to the group of girls sitting across from me in the lunchroom, and I knew I couldn’t give them my real opinion, which was that both Dawson and Pacey were ridiculously boring and I didn’t have crushes on boys anyway. I didn’t actually like anyone on Dawson’s Creek, girls included, though I had watched a whole season on video to try and catch up before season two started. Was this supposed to be entertaining? I didn’t get it. Sarah looked at me expectantly.

  “Uh…I guess I like Pacey better,” I said. Sarah poked a finger in Meghan’s direction.

  “See? Even Keena thinks Pacey is hotter than Dawson.” Meghan shrugged and took a sip of her Diet Snapple.

  “Keena doesn’t even like Dawson’s Creek,” Meghan said, and I felt the hairs rise on the back of my neck. Oh no. How did she know? We’re all supposed to like Dawson’s Creek. Did I slip up and say that I didn’t? Or was i
t the “I don’t like boys, I like girls” thing? I’ve only been back from Botswana for a week; how could I have screwed up already? Can she see through my shields like some kind of wizard? I cleared my throat and waved my hand in what I hoped was a casual but dismissive gesture.

  “Yeah, not really,” I said. “ER is more my thing. More action.” At least that was true. Of all the shows on TV that we were expected to care about, I did like ER the best; everything happened very quickly and if you weren’t paying attention, people could die. Just like in Baboon Camp. It made it a lot easier to relate to the characters.

  “I bet you like Abby the best,” Meghan said, twisting an Oreo cookie in half and taking a bite out of the side with the cream. How does she do that? I always end up snapping them in half.

  “I do, yeah,” I said.

  “You look a lot like her,” Meghan said. “Who plays her again? Maura Tierney?”

  “Really?”

  “Totally.” The bell rang and the group of girls surged to their feet, reaching for backpacks and books and Diet Snapple bottles before heading off to their next period. I sat in my seat, stunned. Had Meghan really just told me that I look like an actress on a TV show? And a good-looking one? No one had ever told me I looked like a celebrity before, unless you counted Abu the monkey. Could it be possible that I was finally getting this America thing right?

  Somewhat dazed, I wandered down the hall toward class. The backpack slung over my shoulder was lighter these days since I no longer brought my books to school. Recently I had settled for using my free periods to read ahead in Jane Eyre for English. I felt oddly light as I walked along, like I’d just cracked some kind of code. Thinking about nothing in particular, I smiled, enjoying the sunshine.

  In class, I plopped down in a chair next to Nat as I usually did. I was just beginning to pull out my notebook and pen when I realized Nat was sitting completely still, staring at the desk in front of him with a vacant look on his face. On the other side of him, Brooke sat sideways in her chair, casually spinning a purple gel pen in her hand. I stared at that purple pen, which had fascinated me for weeks; I had been secretly hoping that she’d forget it in class someday so I could take a closer look.

  “So what’s she like?” Brooke hissed. Nat said nothing, and I realized Brooke had been talking to him. I frowned. That was odd. I didn’t think Brooke even knew his name. She poked him in the arm with the gel pen. “Come oooon, you can tell me. I bet she’s wild.”

  “You bet who’s wild?” I asked. Nat didn’t say anything and continued to stare at the desk in front of him. Brooke ignored me.

  “I bet it’s wild and sloppy and she’ll let you do anything. Am I right?” Nat’s neck turned bright red and he clutched his hands in his lap.

  “Hey, leave him alone,” I said. Nat hated being teased, and I knew he had a bad habit of blushing the second someone made him uncomfortable. He was a terrible poker player. Brooke kept ignoring me and leaned across the space to tap Nat on the head with the gel pen. I knew he’d hate that too.

  “What base have you gotten to yet? Second? Third?” Nat’s blush deepened to maroon and he broke his stare to look up at me with an expression of near panic.

  “I said leave him alone.” Brooke moved back into her seat and the classroom door slammed, breaking the tension. Brooke began talking to someone else and Nat smoothed his hands down his khaki pants, erasing imaginary wrinkles. Now that I had a moment to think about the conversation, a wave of nausea hit me and stars danced across my vision.

  “Was that about me?” I whispered, aware that the room was filling up and we could easily be overheard. He cleared his throat.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said thickly. “I keep telling her we’re not dating, we’re just friends. She just doesn’t listen to me.” Dating? Of course we weren’t dating. I didn’t like Nat that way. I didn’t like any boys that way. I thought Nat knew that already.

  I stared at Brooke over Nat’s head and seethed. Why was she even bothering him? Everyone knew we were friends. We’d been friends since we were six years old! Nat had his first sleepover at my house. He wore blue footie pajamas and brought his stuffed bear named Bergie. We read books and kept each other company, and didn’t she know that Nat couldn’t take care of himself and if she wanted to go after anyone she should go after me since I wasn’t afraid of her anyway or her stupid purple gel pen that I never wanted in the first place? Bully.

  I stole another glance at Nat, who was paging to the middle of Jane Eyre along with the rest of the class. He looked calm, but I knew he was hurting. His glasses were smudged and he hadn’t polished them yet, which was a sure sign of trouble. I looked back up at Brooke and felt my shoulders tighten like a lion’s, ready to spring. Who do you think you are, anyway? I thought. If you want to mess with someone, pick someone who can at least fight back. And leave Nat alone. If you want to tease him about me, there’s a pretty easy way to fix that. I’m hurting plenty already. And unlike him, I can take it.

  When the bell signaled the end of class, I didn’t wait for Nat as I usually did. I grabbed my dusty, poop-stained backpack and headed for the door. Don’t follow me, I thought, as I headed to the library. I didn’t sit in our usual study spot either. I found a spot in a distant corner of the library where no one ever visited, sat down in the windowsill, my back propped against the wall, and stared out the window into the gathering darkness. Figures it gets dark in the middle of the afternoon here. What a stupid place. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back. Botswana Keena paced back and forth in the castle in my head, angry, sad, frustrated, and fucking pissed off (a new term I’d learned from watching ER).

  It wasn’t that Brooke thought Nat and I were dating or that she made nasty insinuations about what we did when we were alone. What made me mad was that she went after Nat in order to get to me. And that was low. Baboons did that sometimes—when they couldn’t attack who they wanted to attack because they were higher ranking, they instead went after someone smaller and weaker who couldn’t fight back. At least in that scenario I would be higher ranking than Brooke, I thought with a wry smile. Well, fine. But you can’t tease Nat about us dating anymore if you don’t ever see us together. That just means I can’t hang out with him anymore at school. I’m alone almost all the time anyway; what does it matter if I have one less person to talk to? I sighed again. My legs twitched and I felt a headache building behind my eyes as it did every afternoon in school. Stupid fluorescent lights. At least by now I’d learned how to fix it.

  When the final bell of the day rang, I shoved my backpack into the bottom of my locker and trotted down the hallway, past the seniors’ lounge where Watership Down had been destroyed, and down a steep concrete staircase to the gym underneath the basketball courts. I pushed open the heavy doors to the weight room and bounced up and down on the balls of my feet, breathing in the scent of old sweat and metal. Everyone thought the weight room was gross, but it’s where I had to report every afternoon for my chosen winter sport of “gym.” It’s what the nonathletic kids did if they didn’t want to play basketball or volleyball, but something I discovered was perfect for me. My gym coach had said I was sadistic and crazy for taking gym, but I loved it because it allowed me to use my time to run.

  As she did every afternoon, my coach, Katie, helped get the other students started on their lifting machines before turning to me, still bouncing on the balls of my feet in the doorway.

  “Where to today?” she asked. I grinned.

  “The usual loop. Should take me forty-five minutes, I think.” She raised an eyebrow.

  “You sure? It’s pretty cold out there. It’s supposed to snow.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I said.

  “You could always run up and down the stairs for an hour instead. You did that the last time it snowed.”

  “I only did that because you told me I couldn’t run on the ice. I’m not afraid of the cold.” She gave me a long look.

  “Fine. Have fun. If you’re not ba
ck in an hour I’m sending someone after you.”

  “Okaybye!” I said, already halfway out the door.

  I ran up the concrete steps, across the basketball courts, and out the doors of the gymnasium, the icy winter wind hitting me like a wall as the door slammed behind me, leaving me alone on the tarmac in the darkness and swirling snowflakes. The cold burned the bare skin on my legs as I started running down the road, beginning the loop that would take me through the neighborhood around school and end up back at the gym just as Dad would be pulling up to take me home.

  I ran faster and faster, keeping one eye on the sidewalk looking for ice and the other glued to the road ahead of me, filtering out the lights from the cars that blew past me on the road and giving me the room I needed to think again.

  Brooke sucks, Brooke sucks, Brooke sucks, I chanted to myself as my sneakers pounded the pavement.

  As I made the last turn of the loop and jogged up the school’s driveway to the gym, I saw Katie standing outside with her arms crossed, glowering at me, just as she did every day.

  “It’s been fifty minutes,” she said.

  “Sorry,” I panted, leaning over and rubbing my legs that were bright red from the cold.

  “You getting slower?”

  I coughed out a laugh. “No, the damn traffic lights wouldn’t give me greens today.” She patted me lightly on the shoulder, backlit against the bright lights of the gymnasium and the roar of the crowd watching the boys’ basketball game unfolding inside.