by Beth Hautala
After the monkeys came the tortoise in a low-walled enclosure.
Then, the Komodo dragon. Its enclosure was fenced in on all sides, and across the roof, too. On the outside of the fence was also a thick rope separating its cage from the rest of the zoo for safety. I thought about what Jacob had said about the Komodo dragon being a pretty fast runner, overpowering its prey, and the stuff about venom. I wondered if they would put up signs telling zoo visitors about the animals and their natural habitats.
I felt a chill as I walked closer, even though it was still warm out. I rubbed the goose bumps that had sprung up on my arms and unwrapped another Starburst.
In addition to the animal enclosures, there were three buildings: one that had an OFFICE AND MAINTENANCE sign hanging above the door, a tiny one that looked almost like a concession stand with a TICKETS sign, and a bigger building without a sign that stood a little ways off.
That was it. That was Prue’s portion of “The Tulsa Zoo Coming to You!” It wasn’t very exciting.
I continued on past each exhibit, slowly, until finally, I reached the ostrich enclosure.
Ostriches are weird. They’re birds, but they don’t fly. Jacob was fascinated by ostriches and knew all about them. He told me that their wings are more like decorations or accessories, and they flap them at their sides when they run. Running is their specialty. Thanks to Jacob, I also knew that ostriches only have two toes and walk the way dinosaurs did. He made sure I knew that they have skinny, featherless necks, too, and perched high above them are tiny little heads with huge beaks and giant eyes shaded by extralong eyelashes.
As I stood there, the bird approached on the other side of the fence, watching me with those big eyes, bobbing its head this way and that. It looked exactly like Jacob’s toy. Only a million times bigger.
Sweat trickled down my back, and my neck itched where a horsefly had bitten me. I stayed quiet and calm, careful not to make any sudden movements. I didn’t want to frighten her. Or him. Maybe I could even help.
“You okay in there?” I spoke softly, gently. “I’m sorry about before. I hope my brother didn’t scare you with all his crying. Sometimes he just—”
Suddenly I heard the creak of a door swinging open. When I turned toward the noise, I saw a tall figure walk down the steps of the office building and across the parking lot toward me. She was dressed in khaki pants and a crisp white shirt. She put her hands on her hips, and we stared at each other. My heart rocketed around in my chest. There was no point in running.
I’d been caught.
6
In Trouble
“CAN I HELP you?”
Her voice was clipped and clear. She offered to “help,” but I knew she meant something else. Something like, What are you doing here? Didn’t you see the sign?
My stomach churned and my head buzzed a little. All my thoughts felt like bees racing around, trying to figure out what to do. How to get out. But I couldn’t move.
“Um . . . I . . . um . . .” I couldn’t speak, either.
“Do you know you’re trespassing?”
My stomach went from churning to a sudden drop. Like I’d missed the last step on a staircase. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. But I didn’t realize I had committed a crime.
I shook my head, then nodded. Slowly.
The woman sighed and ran a hand through her hair. I’d seen that look on my mom’s face before. It said, What am I going to do with you?
“I think you should come with me,” the woman said. My stomach fell all the way to my feet, and, because my voice had quit working, I followed her without another word.
* * *
• • •
She led me to the small office building that was a million degrees inside. The air conditioner grumbling tiredly in the window wasn’t doing much.
When the woman turned around to face me, I noticed her shiny name tag pinned to a crisply ironed shirt.
Vera Winslow sighed and sat down. “What’s your name?” she asked.
“Olivia Grant.” At least I got my name out.
I sat in the chair across from Vera’s desk, trying not to stare at her arms while she questioned me. But it was hard to look away from the tattoos that ran up her forearms and disappeared into her rolled-up shirtsleeves. They were beautiful in a brave kind of way. They almost made me wish I had some, too.
“How old are you, Olivia?”
“Eleven. I’m so sorry. I never meant to trespass, Ms. Winslow! “I-don’t-actually-know-what-happened-I-just-had-to-see-the-ostrich-because-my-brother-lost-his-and-it-seemed-like-a-good-idea-but-maybe-it-wasn’t-and-now-I’m-in-so-much-trouble . . .” My words were working again, only they were coming out too fast and all jumbled together.
Vera held up her hand.
“Eleven years old is old enough to know better,” she said. “The sign is posted on the gate to keep people safe from the animals, and to keep the animals safe from people. Do you understand? Just because they are in cages doesn’t make it okay to be reckless. People have climbed into zoo cages and been killed.”
“I would never climb into a cage. I was just—”
Vera held up her hand again. “We have every intention of opening the zoo to the public so people can come and visit. Once everything is ready.”
I looked down at my hands.
Vera sighed again and set down her pencil. “I will need to inform your parents of what happened.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes. What were my parents going to think? Mom would get that tired look in her eyes and Dad would be so disappointed. I’d probably be grounded. No way would they let me audition for Peter Pan now.
Tears burned the back of my eyes.
But Vera wasn’t done. “This is a big deal, young lady. I need to think about whether or not I’m going to press charges.”
I felt sick to my stomach. And a little dizzy.
“I’m sorry,” I said again. I didn’t know what else to say.
Then Vera told me to go home. It was late. The sun had started to dip below the tree line, but I couldn’t make myself hurry.
I was a criminal.
* * *
• • •
“Olivia!”
Dad’s voice called out to meet me on the dusty road. It was almost dark, but I could see his shape. I’d said I wouldn’t be long. I’d promised to be back for dinner. Of course they were worried.
“Are you okay? We expected you back—”
“I know—I’m sorry—I—” And then I started crying.
“What’s the matter? Did something happen? Are you all right?”
I nodded, sobbing into Dad’s chest. “I’m okay. I just got into some trouble.”
“What? What kind of trouble?”
“The kind that happens when you sneak into a zoo that isn’t open to the public and get caught.”
Dad held me at arm’s length. His face told me he wasn’t sure he believed it.
“What in the world were you doing inside the zoo grounds? That’s trespassing!”
I sniffed. “I know. That’s why I’m in trouble with Vera Winslow.”
“Who is Vera Winslow?”
“The manager. Or head zookeeper. Or whatever. She’s in charge. She said she would have to talk to you and Mom about what happened. But she wanted to make sure you heard it from me first.”
“Oh.” Dad seemed to consider this for a minute, and then he nodded. “Well. Guess we better get home then. Your mom is very worried.” He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. At least he wasn’t mad. Not too mad, anyway. Stupid zoo. It had already caused more trouble than a cage full of monkeys, and it wasn’t even open yet.
* * *
• • •
Mom was standing in the living room when we walked in. A look of relief ran across her face, but it was rep
laced by questions a split second later.
“Where have you been? I was so worried! What happened? Are you okay?” She was wearing her I-was-worried-and-upset-but-now-I’m-glad-you’re-safe face and using her I-want-an-explanation voice.
I sat down on the couch and slumped into the cushions. Guilt is heavy.
“She’s fine,” Dad said, answering for me. “She just got into some trouble at the zoo.”
“Trouble?” Mom’s eyebrows arched, and I started crying again.
“I didn’t mean to! I really didn’t! The gate just opened a little, and I needed to see the ostrich. I didn’t touch anything, and I promise I’ll never do it again!”
Mom glanced at Dad. She didn’t look happy. But before any of us could say more, the phone rang.
7
Responsibility Hours
VERA CALLED THEM Responsibility Hours. Mom and Dad called them A Good Lesson. Ten hours a week, for eight long weeks, I would be working at the zoo to make up for trespassing.
That’s why on a perfect Wednesday morning in June—the sort of morning you dream about all winter when you’re riding the bus home from school and freezing—instead of riding my bike, or looking for Jacob’s ostrich, or swimming, or doing anything I’d planned, while Mom took Jacob to therapy, Dad and I walked to the zoo.
* * *
• • •
Vera met us at the main gate. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up to her elbows. I could tell Dad noticed her tattoos.
“Good morning, Olivia,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
As if I had a choice.
She reached out her hand to my dad. “Vera Winslow,” she said.
“Keith Grant. Thanks for giving Olivia the, um, opportunity to lend a hand here . . .” He trailed off.
“My pleasure,” Vera said.
Dad gave my shoulder a squeeze as Vera led me through the gate and locked it behind me.
I was trapped.
“I believe you’ve already had an informal look around yourself,” Vera said.
I could feel my face redden. I turned to wave bye to Dad, but he was already on his way. “Still, I think a proper tour is in order, yes?”
I nodded and followed after her, trying to match her long strides.
Vera introduced me to the animals and explained what I’d be doing while I was here. Mostly laying new bedding, helping to distribute food to the animals, and cleaning out pens. It was pretty gross, but it’s not like I was expected, or even allowed, to do any of that stuff alone. I was really just helping out the rest of the staff. And I guess it could have been worse. At least Vera didn’t press charges.
She introduced me to Phil first, a gruff old man who kept talking to himself and was exceptionally crabby. Apparently, he’d lost his spare set of keys to the zoo. Vera seemed pretty concerned and was ready to send everyone on a search, but Phil insisted he’d find them on his own. I wanted to offer to help, but it didn’t seem like the right time, and Phil didn’t seem like the kind of guy who liked help.
Then I met Bridget, who was doing an internship with the zoo, and Maggie, the woman who’d been there the day before when Jacob melted down about his missing ostrich. If Maggie recognized me, she didn’t say anything.
After the tour and introductions, I spent the rest of my time helping Bridget. It was harder to be helpful than I realized. First, I accidentally tripped and knocked over a bucket when I was helping her scrub the monkey cage. A little while later, I spilled a pail of feed for the donkeys. Halfway through my morning of Responsibility Hours, Bridget asked me to quit being so helpful.
Instead, I ran and got things when Bridget needed them, and held open doors and gates when she had her arms full. She let me go into the cages with her, too, as long as I stayed out of the way. But I was scared. Every time a cage opened, all I could think about was one of the animals getting out and trampling me. Or eating me.
The donkeys made me extra nervous.
“Their names are Daisy, Gretchen, and Mo.” Bridget spread out a bale of alfalfa. “Daisy is Gretchen’s mom. Mo isn’t related to the girls, and he’s kind of a crabby old guy, so if you ever walk behind him, make sure he knows you’re there, or he might decide to kick.”
“Oh! Okay.” I nodded, making the sounds at Mo like Bridget showed me, but I still jumped every time he moved around the enclosure.
After we finished with the donkeys, we moved on to the ostrich pen.
“Last, but not least, is Ethel,” Bridget said. The bird was watching us with a curious, disapproving expression.
“Her name is Ethel?”
Bridget nodded. The bird shook her own head up and down as if in reply.
I nodded, too. It suited her perfectly.
* * *
• • •
When I got home later, Mom was sitting on the porch watching Jacob. He was in the front garden digging holes with a shovel.
“Hello, Olivia,” he said. “I am planting.”
“What are you planting?” I asked.
Jacob didn’t answer. It looked like he was just digging holes.
“He said he’s planting breathing room for worms,” Mom said.
“So, like, air? He’s planting air?”
Mom smiled. “Yes, I guess so.”
I sat down next to her, and she squeezed my knee.
“So, how did things go?” she asked.
“It was fine,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. I wasn’t telling the whole truth and she could tell.
“I mean, it wasn’t exactly great. Monkey poop really, really stinks. But I guess it could have been worse . . .”
“Okay. Well, good to hear. Are you hungry?”
I nodded and Mom stood up. “Jacob!” she called. “Time to go inside for lunch.”
Jacob stopped his digging and followed Mom into the house.
I changed into some clean clothes and washed up. By the time I finished, Jacob was on to a new project, sitting at the table with a pair of scissors, cutting up long pieces of string into very short, tiny pieces. Mom said it helped him focus—making things that were big in his head smaller somehow.
She slid a turkey sandwich with cucumbers across the table to me. She’d cut the crusts off Jacob’s sandwich, and she had left the top off, too, so he could put them on himself. He liked making sure they were straight. But Jacob didn’t touch his sandwich.
“Time for lunch, Jacob,” Mom said gently. “What would you like to do with your string while you eat?” She always let him choose, because if she chose for him, Jacob would probably melt down. Jacob didn’t say anything for a minute, and then he started to cry.
“I want to put them back together. Can you put them back together? Put them back together? Back together? Together . . .” He said “together” three more times, hiccupped, and then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly like he was taking charge of his words again.
Mom nodded. “Good job, Jacob.”
“Together.” Jacob finished his thought without letting it run away again. And then he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, put the top on his sandwich, and started eating.
Back together. What would it take to put all those pieces of string back together? And why would you even want to? I stared at the pile on the table. A nest of snipped thread. Jacob was over them now. He wouldn’t touch them again. Once he was done with a “project,” he never went back to it. After lunch, Mom would sweep up the pieces of string and dump them in the trash. So many pieces. Gone forever. Lost.
I thought about all the places I’d already looked for Jacob’s ostrich. Every room in the house. Every closet. The crawl space under the porch. The bookshelf in the living room. I’d even searched some places in town, places Jacob had visited and taken the toy along. But I’d obviously missed something. Maybe I hadn’t looked hard enough. I needed
to double my efforts and do a more thorough search now. And this time, I would find that ostrich.
“Olivia, are you all right?” Mom was watching me. She’d said something and I’d missed it. I nodded and finished the last of my milk.
“I’m fine. I was just thinking. Sorry, what did you say?”
She sat down across the table from me and folded her hands in front of her. “Your dad and I were talking last night.” Her face was serious. “We decided that as long as you handle this first week at the zoo well, we will let you audition for Peter Pan.”
I dropped my cucumber on the floor. “What? For real?!”
“For real!” Mom laughed.
“But I thought I was in trouble!”
“You are in trouble for trespassing at the zoo. And I hope the hours you’re spending there help you understand why it’s important to follow the rules. So, if you have a bad attitude, or spend all your time complaining about it, you won’t be allowed to do the play.” Her serious voice shifted. “But just because you do something you shouldn’t doesn’t mean we will never let you do anything you enjoy ever again.”
“Thank you! Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you! I’ll have the best attitude ever and I won’t complain and I’ll do everything they ask me to do at the zoo! I promise!” I couldn’t stay in my chair a minute longer. I threw my arms around her. She hugged me tight.
“But I thought you said that things—extra things—were too hard . . . with . . . you know.” I glanced at my brother. He opened his sandwich and straightened out the cucumbers again. My stomach was jumping around, full of wings.
“Well, yes. But I think there’s a way we can make this work for all of us.” Mom glanced at Jacob, who looked up and grinned. Happy, like he was part of a secret.
“Olivia, your dad and I think it would be good for your brother to audition, too.”