Rosie keeps her back to me. She clears her throat. “My dad’s having to go into the hospital to get treatment every couple of weeks. But the silver lining,” she says, “is that now he calls me all the time. When he’s bored, stuck at the hospital, sometimes at three o’clock in the morning. You take what you can get. Hopefully we get along as well when I’m there in person!”
She turns around, two half quesadillas in her hands, each with a sour cream and guacamole heart. Her eyes are wide and kind of glassy like Birdie’s were earlier. She’s smiling big, though.
“I’d ride a hot-air balloon again in a heartbeat if I had someone to do it with.” Her face is all glowy and I kind of wish I could just stand at the ordering window forever.
But new customers arrive, so we take our quesadillas to Uncle Carl’s apartment and he opens the door before we even knock.
He takes my plate and goes over to the counter and cuts off a piece for himself. “Now, I’m only doing this because it’s what I deserve after what you put me through yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “We didn’t mean to worry you. It just seemed like something we had to do . . . we just . . . we miss . . .”
Uncle Carl waves at us while shaking his head and says, “I know, I know, okay?” He waves his hand again like he just wants to forget about it. He goes to the coffeepot.
Birdie wipes his mouth, which is covered in sour cream, and says, “We probably would have come back to visit. Honest.”
Uncle Carl frowns as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “Well, the old man is doing a great job, isn’t he? Let’s count how many times you ran away when you lived with me. How do you count zero on your fingers?” He plops himself down on the couch, takes a long drink of coffee, and then fans himself with a magazine. “If it hadn’t been for my Rosie, I would have lost my head.”
Suddenly my eyes are burning. Everything has turned out wrong. Again.
“You should have seen Rosie in action,” says Uncle Carl. “She kept me from losing it. She even kept me hydrated as I rode around trying to find you two monkeys. Said I had to keep my electrolytes up.”
Right then, Rosie’s glowy face pops into my head and I suddenly know exactly what we need. What Uncle Carl needs. Maybe what we all need.
Uncle Carl needs Rosie. For real.
“Hey, Uncle Carl. You have a plan for your next proposal to Rosie?”
He squints at me with suspicion. “Not exactly. Why?”
“I just had an idea.”
I tell him about Rosie’s hot-air balloon ride with her dad. I tell him it might show how serious he is about marrying her if he proposed up in the sky in a balloon.
“And I could sew you a bow tie so that you look super fancy,” says Birdie.
Uncle Carl rubs the back of his neck. I can see him imaging the scenario. Maybe this can be my gift to him. An apology gift. And if she says yes, then maybe he could be reliable enough for us to live with him again. We could all be together. It’s perfect.
He gets up and goes back to the coffeepot even though I think his mug is still full. “You ever not have a bunch of crazy ideas in that head of yours?”
“What?” I say. “It could work.”
He sighs. “Jackie-O, that woman could be with anyone.”
“Yeah, but she hangs around you. She parks her truck in front of the Lock and Key! In front of your apartment! She could park it anywhere.”
“Yeah,” says Birdie. “She could park it by the high school and make serious money.”
Uncle Carl rubs the back of his neck again, looking at Birdie. Suddenly, he stands up straight and points. “What the heck are you wearing?”
Birdie frowns and picks up a magazine from the table.
“Oh my God, the goat did this, didn’t he?” Uncle Carl asks.
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Birdie announces. “In fact . . .” He reaches down into his backpack and pulls out his outlawed mad cap. He puts it on and goes back to the women’s magazine, his knee bouncing up and down with agitation.
“I swear that old man is clueless. He doesn’t know anything about people. He spends too much time with that damn dog! You watch—you thought I went crazy after Marlboro passed away, you wait until that dog kicks the bucket and then we’ll see who really goes to pieces.”
“Uncle Carl, really, you shouldn’t give up on Rosie so easily,” I say, steering him back. “Give her a chance to say no at least. Like a real no, not just an eye roll. You have to at least give it a shot.”
He takes a drink of coffee and then sighs. “Well, you two nosy mind readers might as well know that I’ve been saving some money the last few months. And that maybe I’ve been looking into a certain kind of jewelry that many say might symbolize a certain kind of commitment.”
Birdie can’t help himself. His eyes light up like lightbulbs. “Oh my gosh, your top secret mission is to buy an engagement ring?”
Uncle Carl touches his nose and nods. “So perhaps a trip to Paraby Jewelers might work. Just to look. I’m no fool. I know you have to shop around for things like rings.”
He winks at me and I smile at him. He’s never actually proposed with a ring before.
“Yes!” Birdie hops up from the futon. “Can we please please please go to the mall?”
Uncle Carl looks at me as he takes another long drink. I’m expecting him to say something about not having the money just yet, but he says, “I don’t know. I’m not sure if you two knuckleheads can be trusted on a bus anymore.” I see him trying to hide his smile and that’s when I know we’re in.
* * *
• • •
At the mall, we walk into the jeweler’s and it’s like everything is made of light and crystal. The counters shine, the jewelry shines, the clerks shine. Even the one giving us a dirty look seems to sparkle.
Birdie’s eyes are ablaze. “Wow,” he whispers.
Uncle Carl gazes around, scratching under his chin. He keeps a buffer space between him and the glass and doesn’t look at anything too close. I look down and see that some of the jewelry doesn’t even have the prices marked. And the ones that do are way too expensive. There’s no way Uncle Carl can afford anything in this store. I tug on his sleeve.
“You know, Uncle Carl. Maybe diamonds aren’t the way to go. Kids in Africa die getting those diamonds. Even Mama didn’t like to wear diamonds because of those kids.” I glance at Birdie and raise my eyebrows, hoping he’ll get the idea.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s right, Uncle Carl,” says Birdie. “There are better gems. I’ve read about it. Diamond is so, so last year.”
“Really?” Uncle Carl says, looking around. “Man, kids these days know too much. I never knew anything about anything when I was your age.”
“Let’s look over there.” I point to another display with rings of all colors.
Birdie goes over and presses his nose up against the glass, his eyes open wide, probably thinking about all those rings on his own fingers. His breath makes a cloud on the display.
“Please don’t touch the glass,” says the man in the suit behind the counter. Now his arms are folded. He probably thinks we’re going to steal something. “Is there anything at all I can help you with? I’m not sure we have anything . . . in your price range.”
Uncle Carl’s head jerks back in surprise and he folds his own arms like a mirror image of the clerk.
“Excuse me, buddy,” says Uncle Carl, bowing his head in a funny way with a smirk on his face. “Maybe my sister was right. Maybe we don’t want your child slave labor rings.” Then he takes each of our hands and we walk out.
* * *
• • •
We get to the Royal Chinese Buffet, where they have Chinese zodiac placemats.
Uncle Carl’s finger traces the chart. “Jack, you’re a sheep. Gentle, introverted, responsible.”
&nb
sp; “I’m a dog,” says Birdie. “Honest and loyal and a true friend.”
“Rosie is a rabbit, which is noble, lovely, and elegant,” I say.
“Dang, these placemats are good! If that doesn’t describe Rosie, I don’t know what does. And lookie here: Your mama was a dragon! ‘Dragons are eccentric and complicated with a passionate nature.’ Well, that’s her all right.”
My heart buzzes listening to someone else describe Mama. Complicated and passionate. I look at Uncle Carl, but he keeps his face pointed down at the mat as he continues to read. “And I’m a snake: ‘Perceptive and intense with a tendency toward physical beauty.’”
Birdie looks up at Uncle Carl and the three of us laugh. Uncle Carl sticks two not-very-Chinese breadsticks into his upper lip and grins, crossing his eyes. He looks like a walrus. “Physical beauty,” he says.
I laugh again and take a bite of my sweet and sour pork.
“At school tomorrow, I can use the computer to get some more information about the hot-air balloon rides. Like ticket information and stuff.”
“And I will make you a fancy bow tie,” says Birdie. “Something dapper. Maybe even suspenders!”
Uncle Carl picks his teeth with a toothpick and looks over at the buffet like maybe he’s contemplating a fifth plate of food. “Well, I hate to throw a wrench into your plans, but I was actually thinking of proposing in less than two weeks. I need a ring before she leaves.”
“Why? Isn’t she coming back?” I ask, my heart suddenly beating a little faster.
“Well, sure, as far as I know. But she doesn’t know how long she’ll have to stay, with her dad’s health and all.” He sighs and shrugs his shoulders.
“Well then, we better get organized. You are in charge of the ring,” I say. “You can find a ring somewhere else. That clerk was a jerk. Maybe online? And Birdie will work on clothes. I’ll find out about the balloon ride. We can meet again tomorrow after school. It will be the most romantic proposal ever. A top secret mission proposal.”
Uncle Carl smiles at me and nods. He says, “Deal,” and I can see his mind is going a mile a minute. “What about a ruby? Rosie’s birthstone is a ruby.”
As soon as he says it, it totally makes sense. Rosie will love a ring with red.
“And hey, listen guys. No more top secret run-away-on-a-bus kind of plans, okay? I mean, I know I’m not the world’s most perfect uncle . . .”
My eyes burn again and I don’t want to ruin our meal with crying, so I just say that our only top secret plan is his proposal, nothing else.
If we can just help him make the proposal super special, I know Rosie will say yes. Because Birdie’s right. She could totally make more money if she parked her truck by the high school. But she doesn’t.
On our way out of the mall, Birdie eyes the gumball machines and Uncle Carl takes a quarter from his pocket and puts it in and out pops a plastic capsule. Inside is an adjustable ring that has a cupcake on it. Birdie smiles as he puts it on his finger. “A first-class find,” he whispers. Then he holds my hand and swings his arm, which he hasn’t done in a long time. Uncle Carl smiles down at us.
Then the bus comes and it almost feels like a Wolf Day as we ride it back to town.
**Observation #781: Birdie’s New Clothes
Birdie walks around like a rain cloud now.
His face is a storm.
His clothes are black, blue, gray, dark green.
But when he puts the cupcake ring on his finger,
it’s like a rainbow appearing in the sky.
You don’t see the rain clouds anymore.
You look at the rainbow and smile.
CHAPTER 9
SUSPENSION
I’ve been avoiding Krysten ever since the Tuesday bus failure, I don’t know why. But she corners me at my locker the next day after school.
“Hey, Jack. You got a minute to talk about the poetry project?”
I say “Umm . . .” as I grab my books and close my locker door. I really need to get to the school library so I can research the balloon ride. I’m not ready to see Ms. Perkins at the regular library yet.
“We could go to the Quesadilla Ship and get something to eat first. I saw you there yesterday. Maybe my mom can drive us and then drive you home after we’ve made some plans for the project. I’d really like to get started. I love poetry.”
“I have to go to the school library.”
“That’s okay. I’ll walk with you. I have time to kill before my mom comes. So, have you thought about who you want to research for the project?”
“Umm . . .” I hate that I get like this around people at school. I pick up the pace as we weave our way through students heading in the opposite direction, toward the parking lot.
“Do you have a favorite poet?” she continues. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the easy, open smile on her face.
“Elizabeth Bishop?” I don’t know why Mama’s favorite poet pops out of my mouth.
“Nice, a female poet. I don’t know about her. What’s her poetry like? Can you recite something?”
I shake my head. “She was my mama’s favorite, not mine. I don’t know a whole lot about her . . . But I do have one of her books.” As soon as I say this, I realize that it’s not true. That book is gone, just like almost every other book I used to own.
“Oh, good. Maybe bring it with you next time we meet.”
I nod, even though there’s no way I can do that.
Krysten says hi to every teacher we pass, and about ten other students. When we get to the library she asks the librarian how her dog is doing after its hip surgery.
While she’s busy, I go to an open computer and find the website for White Mountain Balloon Rides. I print out all the pages I think Uncle Carl might need, including one about special anniversary or birthday rides.
When I finish, I go to wave bye to Krysten, but she follows me out. “So you’re friends with Rosie, the owner of the Quesadilla Ship?” she asks.
I nod because I’m not sure if friend is the right word. I would love to call her Aunt Rosie, my soon-to-be-aunt Rosie, my very first aunt in the whole world.
“She’s so cool,” says Krysten. “I love her pepperoni quesadilla. It’s genius. It’s like a quesadilla and a pizza had a baby.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That’s exactly how Rosie describes it,” I say.
The ice between us isn’t exactly broken. But Mama used to say that when making new friends, all you needed was one tiny little crack. And then there was enough space for a friendship. Mama was like a professional at making friends. I think she made a new friend every day of her life.
When we get to the school gate, Krysten gives me her phone number. I tell her I don’t have a cell phone, so I can’t text her, but she just shrugs. “Call, text, mail, or send a messenger pigeon. I don’t care.”
We agree to meet at the regular library on Saturday. “I’ll do some research, but I think your idea is going to be great. Find your book if you can. Maybe your mom has more?”
Then she’s waving at me and getting into her mom’s mint-green car.
I wave back and watch them go, wondering how on earth she just did that. How did she get me talking about Mama when I barely know her?
I head to Uncle Carl’s, my hand in my pocket, squeezing Krysten’s phone number tight.
* * *
• • •
When I get to the apartment, Uncle Carl is rushing from his room to the kitchen, and I can smell something burning. Birdie isn’t here yet.
Uncle Carl opens what looks like a toaster oven.
“That’s new,” I say.
“Let me tell you, it says right on the box that this contraption can bake a cake, but this is the third time I’ve tried and look at it.”
The cake is a dark brown blackish color.
&nb
sp; “What’s the cake for?”
“Well, I remember seeing on some show years ago a wedding proposal where the ring was baked into a cake. Rosie loves strawberry cake. I wonder if they allow cakes up in the balloon.”
“I don’t know if you need a cake, Uncle Carl. But here, I brought the info from the website.” I pull out the papers I printed at school and walk over to him. “Maybe it will say somewhere in this.”
He glances at them as he washes cake batter off a giant bowl. “Jeez, I might as well be paying for actual airplane tickets. Isn’t it just a basket, a balloon, and a whole lot of hot air?”
The phone rings and he ignores it because he hates talking on the phone.
He reads from the printout. “‘Sunset balloon ride for two with champagne landing.’ Now that sounds romantic to me.”
“I wish we could go with you,” I say, knowing there isn’t enough money for two more tickets. “But maybe we can have the cake ready for when you land. A landing party.”
The phone keeps ringing and Uncle Carl smiles. “A landing party. I like that. We could have a celebration of sorts right there.”
The call goes to voicemail. Out of the machine comes Patrick’s voice. “Carl. Pick up. I’m trying to find Jack. Rosie said Jack was with you two. Tell her to get home now.” There’s a pause that seems to go on for minutes. Then he says, “Birdie was suspended.” And then a click.
Uncle Carl and I stare at each other.
And then I’m throwing my backpack on and going through the door. Uncle Carl calls out, “Don’t you want to call to let him know you’re on your way?”
But I’m already down the stairs, sprinting along the sidewalk, my feet making slapping sounds with every step.
As I pass the ramshackle deli on the edge of town, I see Janet coming out with her skateboard under her arm.
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