Soar

by Tracy Edward Wymer

  I reel my emotions in, and my bottom lip goes back to normal. “When did your father tell you that?”

  Gabriela looks down, then at me. “I have lost something too, Eddie.” She fiddles with the orange pen in her hand. “I lost my mother when I was three. She became very sick with an infection, and we did not have good medicines where I am from in Brazil. We lived far away from the city. The doctors could do nothing for her.”

  “Wow,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Eddie.” She sets the pen on the table. “I will help you with your project. I believe you can find this golden eagle.”

  “Thanks. But technically you’re not allowed to help me. I’m supposed to do the project with Mouton, or the judges can disqualify us. It’s in the rules.”

  “Then why did you come to my door?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted to talk. Or maybe I need some luck.”

  Gabriela smiles. “Do you think I am lucky?”

  I say the only thing that comes to mind. “Anyone who attracts that many hummingbirds must be lucky.”

  Gabriela looks down. I’ve made her blush, but it seems like a good blush, like my face after someone says my bird drawing is awesome, or my faded Black Crowes T-shirt is cool, which doesn’t happen very often.

  “You are definitely sweet,” she says.

  I look up at Gabriela. Behind her, on the wall, hangs the green-and-yellow Brazilian flag. I wonder about the words on the white band streaming across the blue circle.

  “What do those words mean?” I point at the flag.

  “Ordem e Progresso. ‘Order and progress.’ Those are words we live by in Brazil. It comes from positivism. Love, order, and progress. We had to memorize it in my school.”

  “What’s positivism?”

  “I do not remember much about this. One part says that real truth is only found in science. But I do not believe that is true.” She looks at the flag, then at me. “Do you think that is true?”

  I think about those words for a long moment.

  Truth. Science. Believe.

  I lean back against the couch and hold a pillow on my lap, protecting me like a shield. “I don’t know.”

  Operation Ninja Bird

  So what is the first step for your project?” Gabriela asks me.

  “I need to get my bike back from Mouton. That way I can cruise around town and gather things I need. My mom works late. She doesn’t have time to take me all over the place. Plus I can’t keep it from my mom much longer. She’s going to figure it out sooner or later.”

  Gabriela stands up, smoothing out her dress. “Would you like a cup of Papa’s berry drink?”

  “Right now?”

  “Eddie, we have a plan to make. You could be here for a while. We need strength.”

  Be here for a while? There’s no place I’d rather be right now than Gabriela’s living room, sipping Papa’s berry drink.

  “Sure, I’ll have some. Maybe it’ll help us think better.”

  Gabriela brings two drinks from the kitchen and sets them on the table. Steam rises from the cups. The smell is stronger than I remember. “This one is made from the camu camu berry. It is high in vitamin C. Papa says it gives you strength and courage.”

  “Courage,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Sounds like a winner to me.”

  She drops the orange pen and her notebook into my lap. “You will be the note-taker.”

  “Um, okay.” I open the notebook’s flowery cover and uncap the pen. “What does that make you?”

  Gabriela sips her camu camu drink like a cup of hot soup. “I am the rhyme and the reason.”

  “Rhyme and reason? Where did you hear that?”

  “From this book.” She holds up a torn-up, crinkled paperback. The Phantom Tollbooth. The corners are creased, and a few pages are dog-eared.

  “I read that in fifth grade.”

  “I know. This is your book. Your mother brought over a box of gifts the day after we moved in. This book was in the box. You have so many strange phrases in English. It is hard to keep track of them. I am trying to learn them all.”

  “So, wait, you’re learning better English by reading The Phantom Tollbooth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, whatever you say.”

  “Is this another phrase I should know? ‘Whatever you say’?”

  “Actually, yes. It means ‘whatever you just said is good enough for me.’ ” I tap the pen on Gabriela’s notebook, which reminds me of Mouton and his nervous tapping in class. Now that I think about it, the tapping is easy to do, especially when your mind is on more important matters, like telling your new friend what overused phrases mean.

  In the notebook I write “Golden Plan” at the top of the first page.

  Together we come up with a list of plans to get my bike back.

  1. Operation Nuns Saving Orphaned Babies. Gabriela dresses up like a nun. She distracts Mouton at the front door while I sneak around back, hop the fence, snatch my Predator (assuming it’s somewhere in the backyard), lift it over the fence, and then hop back over to safety and ride my bike into the night, all while Gabriela wraps up her speech on saving orphaned babies.

  Positives: Low cost, just a nun costume.

  Negatives: There’s a chance my bike will not be in the backyard, and this plan does not give me time to look anywhere else.

  2. Operation Woodpecker Pens. I order woodpecker pens from different states (if they exist) and tape them to a poster board. I knock on Mouton’s door, then run and hide. Gabriela will be stationed at her place on the street. When Mouton answers the door, Gabriela walks by holding the poster so Mouton can see all the woodpecker pens. Mouton will come after Gabriela and he’ll want to see the pens up close. Gabriela’s job is to keep walking, away from the house. Mouton will be so distracted by the pens that he’ll tag along. Once they’re far enough away from the house, I make my move. I run inside the house, avoiding Mouton’s parents (might be better to wait until Mouton is home alone), find my Predator, and ride off in the opposite direction, away from Mouton and Gabriela.

  Positives: The house becomes an empty nest, so I have more time to look for my Predator.

  Negatives: Mouton annoys Gabriela. She has to listen to him go on and on about woodpecker pens.

  3. Operation Ninja Bird. Gabriela acts as the lookout. She dresses in black and stations herself behind the big oak tree in Mouton’s front yard. We communicate through the Donald Duck walkie-talkies that Timmy Latham’s little brother left behind. I wear my fifth-grade Halloween ninja costume. Actually, I call it the Ninja Bird costume, because I was a ninja with an eagle for a sidekick. I sneak into Mouton’s backyard and look for my bike. If I do not locate my bike in the backyard, I’ll be forced to search deeper, possibly looking into Mouton’s windows. Once I locate my bike, I will take it and sneak away, without being noticed.

  Positives: Gabriela does not have to interact with Mouton. She stays safe, behind the oak tree.

  Negatives: None. Ninjas are never heard or seen.

  Epic Quailzilla Destruction

  During the first week of October, Mr. Dover weaves through the aisles, passing back symposium project proposals. His bow tie is a swirly mess of colors: red, blue, and yellow. He calls it his Brazilian bow tie because he thinks the colors represent a scarlet macaw.

  Gabriela says the colors aren’t the same. According to her, the blue is too light, the yellow too bright, and the red is not red at all. It’s burgundy.

  Mr. Dover finishes passing back all the papers. “I’ve approved most of your proposals with an owl stamp that says ‘Hoot, hoot.’ Otherwise, Mr. Squirrel stamp is telling you to ‘Get crackin’,’ which means back to the drawing board in squirrel talk.”

  But there’s a problem. Mouton and I didn’t get our proposal back. Mr. Dover must have forgotten to pass out our paper. Maybe it’s so good that he wants to frame it and hang it behind his desk.

  Doubt it.

  I raise my ha
nd.

  Mr. Dover ignores me. He uncaps the green marker and writes “Teamwork” on the white board. “This isn’t basketball, where you have to work the ball around the perimeter to find the player who’s open or the player who can take advantage of a mismatch. And it’s not a theater production, where the lights operator is just as important as the lead actor, because without lights there’s no acting to be seen, and without acting there’s no production.”

  I keep my hand in the air. I’m not giving up. I want to know about my proposal.

  “This is a science project. One that’s conceived, planned, and executed by you and your partner.”

  I support my arm that’s in the air with my other arm. The blood drains from my fingertips to my shoulder.

  Finally he calls on me. “Eddie.”

  “I just want to know where our—”

  “Eddie, I’ll speak to you after class.” He cuts me off before I can finish.

  Mouton drums the woodpecker pen on his desk. “Eddie-shovel-truck!”

  From across the room Gabriela finds me and opens her eyes wide. She must know I’m in trouble.

  I spend the rest of class tuning out and secretly drawing a peregrine falcon in my bird journal. The peregrine falcon is one of the most underrated birds. It’s a small raptor and can dive-bomb from its perch at two hundred miles per hour. I wish they lived in Indiana. It’s no golden eagle, but any bird that looks like it has a mustache must be cool.

  The bird clock chirps.

  Mr. Dover says “Time’s up” and dismisses everyone.

  On her way out Gabriela walks past me and leans into my ear. “Do not bite off more than you can chew.”

  The classroom finally empties.

  Mr. Dover walks toward me, and I close my bird journal. He lets a piece of paper fall from his hand, and it lands crookedly on my desk.

  It’s my drawing of Quailzilla.

  I stare at my drawing.

  “Tell me, Eddie, who would draw something like this?”

  “I don’t know. Mouton?”

  He smirks, and I can feel he’s getting frustrated with me. “I thought we were going to make this a good year?”

  “That was the plan, until you made Mouton my partner.”

  “The partner drawings were completely random, Eddie. You saw the robin’s nest.”

  “I wish I could believe you.” I start loading my books into my backpack. “You know something, Mr. Dover, I don’t think you really knew my dad.”

  “I knew him well enough to know that you’re following in his footsteps.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Eddie, your dad said he saw a golden eagle in October. That’s not possible. They only come around these parts in the winter. And even then, it would be unheard of to see a bird like that.”

  I shove my bird journal into my backpack, leaving the Quailzilla drawing on my desk. I want to take the drawing with me, but I can’t bring myself to admit that it’s mine.

  “If you knew my dad so well, then what was his favorite bird?”

  “I assume it was the golden eagle.”

  “Wrong. It was actually the sharp-shinned hawk.”

  Mr. Dover holds up another piece of paper and lets it fall onto my desk. It glides over the Quailzilla drawing, covering everything except Quailzilla’s beak.

  It’s our project proposal, with an owl stamp at the top.

  “Hoot, hoot,” Mr. Dover says. “You won’t find a golden eagle, but I’m going to let you spread your wings and give it a go.”

  “So you’re approving our project?”

  “Absolutely. However, I do expect you to utilize every step of the scientific method. And remember, there are rules for the symposium. Mouton is your partner, and he must contribute to the project in a real way. Otherwise you’ll be disqualified.”

  I nod in agreement. “Thanks.”

  I begin to leave and brush past Mr. Dover.

  “Eddie.” I turn back, and he’s holding out my Quailzilla drawing. “You forgot your bird monster.”

  There’s no use faking it anymore. I take the drawing from him.

  “It’s not a bird monster. It’s Quailzilla.”

  Operation Ninja Bird. Over.

  The next day during science class I get up to sharpen my pencil. I walk past Gabriela and say, “It’s time to put Operation Ninja Bird into action.”

  “When?” she asks.

  “Tonight.”

  Gabriela nods. “Okay.”

  “Back to your seat, Eddie.” Mr. Dover stands at the front of the classroom.

  Today Mr. Dover’s bow tie is light green with turkeys covering it. It makes me wonder if there’s a place like the Brownsville Slaughter Grounds for turkeys, and then that makes me never want to eat Thanksgiving dinner again.

  When I get home from school, I take the ninja costume out of my closet. I pull it out of the plastic bag, unfold it, and shake it out. It’s in pretty good shape for not having breathed in two years.

  Back then Mom took me to Dan’s Sporting Goods the night before Halloween, and that’s when I found the ninja costume on the sale rack. It was half off, so Mom didn’t give it a second thought. Most kids don’t buy their Halloween costumes at a sporting goods store, especially one like Dan’s, where everything is last year’s model or covered in dust. But when your mom is a janitor—even the head janitor—going to a nice costume shop is not an option, because everything there is, according to Mom, “priced for royalty.”

  During the drive home from Dan’s, Mom said, “You can be a ninja next year too.”

  There was no way I was being the same thing for Halloween two years in a row. So last year I went as an ornithologist. I made the costume from Dad’s old birding gear and clothes. A lot of people at school didn’t know what I was—even with binoculars hanging around my neck—so I put a name tag on my khaki shirt with “Ornithologist” on it. And then most of the kids couldn’t read the name tag because the word was too long. And if they could read it, they didn’t know what it meant.

  The best thing about my ninja costume is that it’s all one piece. This way I don’t have to wear a belt or worry about my pants falling down. This mission might involve a lot of army crawling, climbing, and unusual poses, so I have to dress appropriately.

  I unzip the costume and put my legs in first. I pull the upper body part over my shoulders and stick my arms through. Then I zip up the front. Now that I think about it, the costume looks like an outfit babies sleep in, only it’s all black. It used to be baggy in places, but now the leg parts only come down to my mid-shins. But it’ll have to work. Wearing all black is what ninjas and spies do. In movies they find a way to capture their targets, and in the end they always win.

  If my plan goes like it should, that’ll be me, riding my Predator off into the sunset.

  Dad would slap me on the back and be proud. Then he’d say, “Now get your butt off that bike and get out there and find that golden eagle before it kicks the bucket.”

  Dad had his own way with words.

  I stand in front of the mirror in my room. The costume’s arms are way too short, and it’s too tight across the chest. If I move suddenly, there’s a good chance I’ll rip right through it. But there’s no turning back. It’s the ninja costume or bust. My Predator won’t last much longer in Mouton’s hands.

  I turn around and check out the design on the back of the ninja costume: a bald eagle holding an American flag in its beak.

  On Halloween I also wore a fourteen-inch leather glove to represent my partner in crime, my ninja eagle, who just happened to be out on a secret mission all day and night.

  In the costume’s plastic bag is a small tube of black makeup. I twist the cap off and smell it, like smelling the makeup is really going to determine if it’s still okay to use or not. I squeeze out a drop and rub it between my finger and thumb. After deciding it’s still good, I sit down at my desk and paint a black mask on my face, just like the northern cardinal’s
from Gabriela’s front yard.

  I have some time to kill before meeting up with Gabriela, so I sharpen a pencil and sketch the ruby-throated hummingbird from Gabriela’s backyard. Hummingbirds are easy to draw. They’re all beaks. Long and pointed.

  Bird: Ruby-throated hummingbird

  Location: Gabriela’s backyard

  Note: Seeing so many hummingbirds in one place is unusual.

  Dad: I remember when you taught me how to listen for hummingbirds.

  You said they sound like electricity. Well, I’m hoping to spark a new friendship.

  I hope you’ve made some friends in your new habitat.

  If not, you should think about putting yourself out there.

  At Gabriela’s house I ring the doorbell. This time I have a decent enough reason to be standing on her porch. She can’t roll her eyes and say, “What brings you here again?”

  I wait for her to answer. The night air is cool, but the ninja costume is so tight that it’s trapping my body heat. Sweat drips down my back, inside my costume.

  “Eddie? Is that you?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “You look so scared.”

  “You mean ‘scary’?”

  “Yes, that is what I mean.” Gabriela looks at her watch. “You are early.”

  “I was bored. Mom’s working late again. She says it’s easier to clean the school when all the kids are gone. I didn’t have anyone else to bug.”

  “Did you have a square meal?”

  “Uh, yeah. Leftovers.” The truth is, I haven’t eaten a thing since lunch. Chicken Patty Tuesday, on Friday. I inhaled everything on my tray except the patty. I picked up the sandwich, took one look at the deep-fried shell, and dropped the whole thing onto my tray. All I could think about was Jeb, the chicken murderer, tossing chicken heads into a bucket.

  Gabriela dabs her mouth with a napkin. She and Papa must be in the middle of dinner. “Meet me at the bus stop in ten minutes.”

  “Ten? I’m roasting in this outfit.”

  “I will hurry and make it five minutes. Then you will eat your words.”