by Beth Hautala
Also by Beth Hautala
Waiting for Unicorns
PHILOMEL BOOKS
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
Copyright © 2018 by Beth Hautala.
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Philomel Books is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Hautala, Beth, author.
Title: The ostrich and other lost things / Beth Hautala.
Description: New York, NY : Philomel Books, [2018] | Summary: Olivia, eleven, has a knack for finding lost things, but when she promises her brother, Jacob, that she will find his ostrich, she hopes its return will cure his autism. | Identifiers: LCCN 2017023461 | ISBN 9780399546068 (hardback) | ISBN 9780399546082 (e-book) | Subjects: | CYAC: Brothers and sisters—Fiction. | Autism—Fiction. | Lost and found possessions—Fiction. | Zoo animals—Fiction. | Family life—Oklahoma—Fiction. | Oklahoma—Fiction. | BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Family / Siblings. | JUVENILE FICTION / Social Issues / Special Needs. | JUVENILE FICTION / Animals / Zoos. |
Classification: LCC PZ7.H2886 Ost 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017023461
Ebook ISBN 9780399546082
Edited by Liza Kaplan.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
Contents
Also by Beth Hautala
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
1: Knowing and Finding
2: No Lions
3: One Hundred Percent Done
4: Not Forgotten
5: Another Visit
6: In Trouble
7: Responsibility Hours
8: Auditions
9: Brave
10: Won’t Stop
11: Escapee
12: The Pink Ones
13: Enough of What We Need
14: Being Peter
15: Decisions
16: Mapping It Out
17: Guessing the Direction of the Wind
18: The Best Kid for the Job
19: Watch and Notice
20: Stranded
21: Broken Glass
22: A Hard Walk
23: Pieces
24: Okay
25: Working on Rhythm
26: A Good Apology
27: Opening Night
28: Ruined
29: Solar Flare Words
30: Speaking Love
31: Lost Boy
32: The Love Anyway
33: Tattoos
34: Through the Window
35: Changes
36: A Plan
37: The Ostrich Bandit
38: All Along
39: Found
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
For my sisters, Amber and Erin, champions of the Love Anyway—my first best friends. Thank you for being the kind of women who are all of their colors.
Prologue
I COULDN’T FIND my brother’s ostrich.
I’d been trying for a long time. And I was extraordinarily good at finding things.
“You are extraordinarily good at finding things, Olivia,” said Mom.
“It’s your superpower,” said Dad.
“Your superpower,” said my brother. And then he said “superpower” for the rest of the day—repeating it over and over until the word no longer had any meaning and was just a bunch of sounds.
But superpower or not, Jacob’s ostrich stayed missing. Despite how hard and long I searched.
“I’ll find it, Jacob,” I promised him. I wasn’t done looking. It was our secret.
“That’s okay, Olivia,” he said.
But it wasn’t.
He wasn’t.
And as long as his ostrich stayed missing, I knew he would never be okay again.
1
Knowing and Finding
THE FIRST LOST thing I ever found was a ring Mom had gotten from Grandma. It was beautiful, all silver and swirls. And there were diamonds, too.
“I set it on this shelf, right here,” Mom said to me, pointing at the narrow shelf that hung on the wall by the hall mirror. “And now it’s gone!” She rubbed the empty place on her finger where the ring should have been, but wasn’t. “I can’t think what I did with it. I’ve looked everywhere.”
Mom’s face told me something about lost things that day: Lost things matter. Sometimes even more because they’re lost.
When you’re searching for lost things, you have to change the way you’re thinking. You can’t just look for the item you’ve lost. You have to look for what things are not where they belong. Mom’s ring had fallen off the shelf and rolled before coming to a stop just out of sight under the hall-closet door. I found it down on my hands and knees with my cheek pressed to the floor, scanning for anything that might be out of place.
So many things go missing. And I’ve always been good at finding them. I guess it’s because I’m pretty observant. Sometimes I even find things before their owners realize they’re missing. Especially things in weird places. Like car keys in the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter instead of in their usual spot in the bowl by the door. Dad’s wallet on the bookshelf in the hall instead of on his nightstand. Mom’s purse hanging on the back of the kitchen chair instead of on the hook by the door. Library books in the bathroom. Earrings in the junk drawer. Jacob’s favorite pencil mixed in with the silverware. But whatever the item, it’s much easier for a thing to get lost than it is to be found. That’s why finding things feels so good.
* * *
• • •
I saw the piece of paper in the window before I even looked at the clock.
“I’m going across the street!” I called down the hall, and went in search of my shoes.
“Good morning to you, too,” Mom laughed. “You want toast or cereal for breakfast?”
“Toast,” I said. “I’ll be back in a minute.” I closed the front door behind me and then opened it again and poked my head back inside. “And good morning.”
Mom shook her head and waved me off.
* * *
• • •
I glanced up at Mrs. Mackenelli’s front window as I skipped up her steps. The paper was my signal. She’d lost her glasses again. It happened so often, we’d decided a signal would be a good idea so she didn’t have to call every time she needed me. If the paper was in the window, I’d pull on my shoes and head across the street. Sometimes even before I’d changed out of my pajamas or eaten breakfast.
“Hello, dear!”
Mrs. Mackene
lli usually called me dear. Or Olivia Dear. She closed the door behind me. Orion was purring in his green wingback chair on the other side of the living room. “Thank you for coming.”
“Sure!” I smiled and looked around the room, searching for clues.
“Have you had breakfast?”
I shook my head. “I’ll eat when I get home.”
“Coffee then?”
I grinned.
“I’ll go put the pot on.” And she winked.
Mrs. Mackenelli let me drink coffee whenever I came over to help her find her glasses. I don’t think Mom knew. She probably would have said I shouldn’t because eleven isn’t old enough. But Mrs. Mackenelli didn’t seem to think that mattered, so we both drank coffee whenever I came over.
“Okay, so what were you doing last night?” I asked. I had a couple of guesses—TV, for one. There was a pillow standing upright against the couch cushion where she’d been sitting. But even though I was good at collecting clues, it couldn’t hurt to ask if there was anything else I should know.
“Well, Orion and I watched the nine o’clock news together, as we usually do. But the weather report bothered him, so I turned it off early. I still had my glasses then.”
I nodded.
“After that we went to the kitchen for our nightcap.” Mrs. Mackenelli called milk her “nightcap,” I think because it helped her fall asleep. There were two drinking glasses in the sink. One for Mrs. Mackenelli and one for Orion. I looked around the kitchen, but there was no sign of the missing glasses.
“Then what did you do?”
“I washed my face and went to bed,” she said. “I was going to read for a little while first, but I couldn’t find my glasses.”
“So, somewhere between your nightcap and washing your face, your glasses disappeared.”
Mrs. Mackenelli nodded, and I closed my eyes, gathering all the clues in my mind. Where would I have taken off my glasses, if I were her? I backtracked through the kitchen and stared at the empty cups in the sink. Then over to the living room, where the couch and TV sat. And then, just like that, I knew where they were. The glasses were pulling at me, like an itch on the inside of my brain. I walked back into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and sure enough, there they were. Right next to the carton of milk. I pulled them out and handed them to Mrs. Mackenelli. She took them, shook her head, and smiled.
“You are a wonder, Olivia,” she said.
I shrugged and stuffed my hands into my pockets. I was hardly a wonder. Mostly it just felt good to be helpful. And I was happy to do something completely normal that had nothing to do with my brother, Jacob.
“You probably would have found your glasses as soon as you went to the fridge for cream,” I said, glancing at the coffeepot. “I was just one step ahead of you.”
“Well, you usually are, my dear.” She set down a cup of coffee in front of me, and I filled it up with cream and sugar until it was the color of Orion’s front paws.
* * *
• • •
I ran back across the street to our house, which stretched out across the lawn like a cat in the morning sunshine. All one level, white with green shutters.
“How’d it go?” Mom called. I let the screen door slam behind me—once, twice, three times before coming to a close.
“Found ’em!” I kicked off my shoes and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
“Of course you did.” Mom smiled and set my breakfast on the table. “You always do.” Her voice was firm and convincing, like it usually was when she talked to me. But she was good at changing her voice—and her face—depending on whom she was talking to. She had a telephone voice, and a voice she used when talking to Dad. She had a friend voice, a work voice, a voice for Jacob, and a voice for me.
Jacob was already at the table with his breakfast—a measuring cup full of cereal, a measuring cup full of milk, two empty bowls, a glass of orange juice, and two spoons. Eating was kind of like a game for Jacob. It all happened in his head before it happened in his mouth, so everything had to be a certain way.
I sat down at the table with my peanut-butter-and-banana toast and watched my brother.
Into the first empty bowl went half a cup of dry cereal and then half a cup of milk. He ate with his right hand. Carefully. Slowly. And then he drank half his orange juice. When he finished, he pushed the bowl and spoon aside, wiped his mouth on his napkin, and then took the second bowl and repeated the process. Only this time he used his left hand. I didn’t interrupt because that just made him upset. Instead I watched. Just like I do every morning. And when he was finished eating, he picked up his dirty dishes and brought them to the sink. Just like usual.
“Good morning, Olivia,” he said finally. And the way he said it made you believe it was. He said my name carefully. Like it was important. Like it mattered.
“Good morning, Jacob,” I said. “Tell me something I’ve never heard before.” This was our routine.
My brother grinned. “Did you know the teeth of the American beaver never stop growing? They must chew wood constantly to keep their teeth from growing out of their mouths and into their lips.”
I ran my tongue across my teeth. “I didn’t know that, Jacob. Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” He nodded and left the table.
Jacob loved telling us new facts, and he did so a lot because he was very good at remembering things. But you could never really be sure what Jacob might tell you. Sometimes it was a pretty normal fact about the weather. Like that it rained thirty-seven inches in Prue last year. Other times he’d say something like, “Did you know elephants poop about three hundred pounds every day?” Or “Did you know that if the earth suddenly stopped spinning, everything on the surface of the earth would suddenly be moving at sixteen hundred kilometers per hour? Even the oceans would slosh sideways that fast.” Jacob knew a lot of things, and I liked learning from him. If I ever needed to know some random fact or bit of interesting information, I could count on Jacob. He was especially good at science, and he even used to help me with homework sometimes. But you never knew what he’d share with people. Which is why we played this game at breakfast and not at dinner. Sometimes we had people over for dinner, and it was hard for some people to appreciate random facts like the growth rate of beaver teeth or the daily weight of elephant poop or the speed of a sideways-sloshing ocean if they weren’t used to hearing about those kinds of things. But we were used to it. We were used to Jacob.
We had to be.
Remembering random facts was Jacob’s superpower. He had been knowing things for as long as I had been finding lost objects. And most of the time we made a pretty good team.
Most of the time.
2
No Lions
A WEEK LATER, I sat down to breakfast, and before I could even pour my cereal, Jacob said, “Did you know today will be the hottest Tuesday of the year so far?”
“No, I didn’t know that, Jacob,” I said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. Like always. And then he went to get ready for school, even though summer vacation had started last week.
Change was hard for him.
Mom said it was okay to let Jacob stick to his old routines because it helped to keep him in the swing of things. So, Jacob got ready for school, even though there was no school to go to, and then we walked to the zoo. It wasn’t the zoo we’d grown up going to in the city, though—just a tiny part of a zoo that Prue got for the summer. Practically in our backyard.
Zoos don’t usually move around, but the state of Oklahoma didn’t want to close the zoo completely during the renovations they were doing. So, the exhibits were broken into sections, assigned to different towns, and moved across the state in giant semi trucks and trailers. Like a deck of cards passed around Oklahoma. I felt bad for the animals being torn away from each other like that, but I was also
curious to see which exhibits had come to Prue.
“The Tulsa Zoo Coming to You!” Their slogan was on billboards and posters, TV, and radio. It was a really catchy jingle, especially with the music. Like one of those tunes that got stuck in your head. What did Dad call it? An earworm. The tune was stuck in my head, and I hummed it while Jacob and I walked.
Prue’s piece of the Tulsa Zoo was moving right to the edge of a corner of state land less than a mile walk from our backyard. It hadn’t officially opened yet, so I wanted to go and watch the animals get unloaded.
“I don’t think anyone will mind if you just stand and watch,” Mom had said. “But I was planning to work out in the garden this morning, so you and Jacob will have to go on your own. Okay?”
Jacob and I didn’t spend that much time out of the house just the two of us. Mom usually came, too, in case he needed help.
But I said okay, and off we went. I was glad that Mom trusted me to handle things, but a little nervous, too.
* * *
• • •
My brother was so excited, he hurried ahead of me all the way to the gate. And Jacob never hurried.
The dusty ground radiated heat through my sneakers, and the high-pitched, singsong rasping of the cicadas filled the morning air with the sounds of summer. It was the end of May, but it was hot. Just like Jacob had said it would be. Even at nine o’clock in the morning.
“Lions and tigers and bears, oh MY! Lions and tigers and bears, oh MY!” Jacob chanted the phrase over and over as we walked. And then he shortened it to just “Lions and tigers! Lions and tigers! Lions and tigers!” until all the words blended together.
His excitement was contagious, and I chanted along with him. I couldn’t wait to see the animals. I hoped there would be zebras and elephants.
But as we got closer, I saw there was a sign on the gate: