by Kym Brunner
I slammed the door as I got in, getting another dirty look from Maddie. I stared out the window, amazed that ten minutes ago I was the happiest guy in Woodley—I had a chance with the girl I liked, I had a hawk who had his first kill under my command, and I had a belly full of onion rings and corn dogs. And now all I had was indigestion. And Flip, of course.
Oh yeah, maybe not even that.
SIXTEEN
THE SECOND WE GOT HOME FROM THE FESTIVAL, I flung open the car door, eager to get away.
Before I could make it five feet, Dad said, “Mercer, meet me in the rehab center in fifteen minutes. We need to talk.”
There was nothing that sent the fear of God through my system more than hearing Dad utter those four little words. He headed off toward his bird sanctuary while I retreated to my room to think about what I would say if he told me I had to quit falconry over this.
Lying on my bed bouncing a tennis ball against the far wall over and over, I told myself that Dad was a reasonable man. If I could endure his little speech about lying and keep my mouth shut, everything would be fine. As I trudged toward the rehab center fifteen minutes later, each step closer made my gut tighten.
I took a deep breath before pulling open the door.
To my great relief, Maddie sat on the wooden worktable, balancing the small kestrel leather hoods on her fingertips like miniature puppets. This was one time I was thankful for her nosiness, as Dad wouldn’t let himself get too worked up with her around.
He had our latest patient, a prairie falcon, in the raptor restraint. We called him Bullet because the duck hunter who brought him to us said he mistook him for a duck and shot him, blowing off two of his toes in the process. The same way I mistook that guy for someone with a brain. If all went well, we’d release Bullet back to the wild in a few weeks.
“How’s Bullet doing?” Although I hoped the diversion might help lessen the anger in his lecture, watching Dad work his magic with these birds never ceased to fascinate me.
“His foot’s healing nicely, but something’s not right.” Bullet’s head was hooded, allowing Dad to examine every inch of him before placing him on the scale.
“What’s wrong?”
Dad eyed the scale before checking his notes. “He’s weighing in light. The thing is, he ate everything I gave him this morning.” Dad stroked his mustache, thinking. He looked at me and frowned. “You’ve kept his mews clean and given him fresh food and water every day, haven’t you?”
I thought back to Thursday, when I wanted to play some video games before I did my homework. Lying could jeopardize Bullet’s health even more, so I decided to gloss over my explanation and hoped it’d fly.
I squinted, looking up into the air as if thinking. “Well, I gave him fresh water Thursday night, but he had so much food left in his dish, I didn’t replace it.” I hastily added, “I didn’t want to waste our supplies.”
“Didn’t want to waste our supplies,” he echoed, his tone drenched with sarcasm, “or you didn’t want to waste time getting him fresh food so you could go play your video games?”
The man obviously knew me well. “I didn’t think he needed it, that’s all.” Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Sometimes I skip a meal when I’m sick. Rarely, but it happens.
“We went over this, Mercer! That piece of meat was probably spoiled, which is why he didn’t eat it. But then he got so hungry, he ate it anyway. I’ll bet you Bullet’s got coccidiosis now, damn it!” He strode over to his medicine cabinet and began combing through the dozens of little bottles of liquids and powders.
I knew I shouldn’t challenge him, but if I was going to learn anything, I had to ask. “Sorry, Dad, but the only thing I don’t get is that I read online that the average falconer cleans his mews once a week.” I shrugged, hoping he wouldn’t get too mad when I asked the next part. “So there must always be bits of leftover food hanging around. How can it be my fault that Bullet got sick from only one time?”
Spit flew out of Dad’s mouth like liquid exclamation points. “Once a week if you’ve got strong, healthy birds, not rehabbers! We’ve got to keep our mews pristine. Bullet could very well die from this!” He reached into the medicine cabinet, selecting a small glass bottle filled with reddish liquid. “Not that it’s going to be your concern anymore after today.”
An icy chill ran all the way up my spine, the same way it does when I’m at the top of the Giant Drop at Six Flags, waiting for the ride to begin. “No, wait! I’m really, really sorry about Bullet, and I promise I won’t do that ever again. But I don’t think you should take away my apprenticeship for going to that protest.”
Dad came back to the table and rested his hand on Maddie’s knee. “I need you to go in the house now, okay? Mercer and I have to talk.”
“Okay, sure.” Maddie plucked the leather hoods off her fingers, leaving them in a pile on the table. I’d have to clean those up later, but I wasn’t about to speak up. Not with the biggest lecture of my life looming seconds away.
Dad turned his attention to administering Bullet’s meds. The falcon flapped and protested, but Dad managed to get the medication down his throat. After several painstaking minutes, he finally faced me. “Are you having second thoughts about being a falconer, Mercer?”
“Me? No, not at all,” I said emphatically. “And I don’t know how you could possibly have asked me that. I love it as much as you do.”
“Are you sure?” He took the medicine bottle back to the cabinet. “Because your allegiances seem to be a bit shaky lately, especially after what you said at the carnival today about wanting to explore being an animal rights activist.” He eyed me a second before setting to work changing the dressings on Bullet’s toe.
I took a deep breath, hoping to rid myself of the heaviness in my chest. “Okay, honestly, I was mad because it seemed that you and Mom were dictating how I should feel, so I just said those things to get back at you.” I expected some sort of rebuttal, but Dad stayed silent. “But even when Flip doesn’t do what I want him to do, I never once thought about giving up.” Okay, so maybe I had once, for about a minute, but I wasn’t about to admit that now. I looked Dad square in the eye, needing him to hear my plea. “Being a falconer and having my own bird is something I’ve looked forward to my whole life. Ever since I was little.” I flicked a leather hood against another, watching them spin. “I just wish I didn’t suck at it.”
Dad’s expression softened. “C’mon, Mercer. Don’t say that. You don’t suck at it. In fact, if you keep at it, you’re going to be one heck of a falconer. You have a special knack with birds. Take Monocle, for example. I’ve never seen such an amazing relationship between raptor and human before, and neither has Weasel.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, feeling a drip of sweat roll down my back.
“I’m not done.” He briefly glanced at Bullet, who seemed to have received the medicine without any problem, not regurgitating it as some of our birds had done in the past. “I have to admit that Flip is the feistiest, most stubborn hawk I’ve ever seen. I’ve never told you that before because I didn’t want to scare you. You’ve done an outstanding job so far of convincing that hawk that you two can work together. Trust me when I say that wasn’t an easy feat.”
The lump in my throat returned. Dad had never spoken to me like that before. “Thanks, Dad. So, uh, does that mean I can still be your apprentice?” I held my breath, waiting for his answer.
He shrugged. “I guess that depends.”
“On what?” More sweat dripped down my back, making me rethink getting a haircut. I’d never be caught dead in a ponytail.
“On you.” He tossed the used syringe into the trash before returning to extricate Bullet from the raptor restraint. He set him on his fist. “Follow me and I’ll explain. I need to put him back in the mews so he can heal in peace.” Normally the birds protested a bit when being handled, but Bullet seemed somewhat complacent. Dad had told me that the sicker the bird, the quieter he became. I prayed Bullet would be okay
. Seeing him like this made me feel even worse about abandoning my duties so I could play Wreckage Warrior.
I held the door open as we proceeded down the hall to Bullet’s mews. Dad said, “What I was trying to say was that, in my opinion, a person can’t be a falconer and a member of HALT. Those two ideals are in conflict with each other.”
“But why can’t—”
Dad held up his free hand. “Let me explain why before you jump in. I support freedom of speech, and I’m doing my best to raise you kids to think and act on your own system of beliefs. That’s part of becoming an adult. Talking about differences between what you believe and what I believe is important. It helps the other person see things from a new perspective.” As we passed Monocle’s mews, she started herking like crazy.
I sensed he was done, so I gave my opinion a shot. “I get that, but I don’t understand why someone couldn’t do both—be in HALT and be a falconer. Protest against some things, like people who hurt animals for fun, but then stay home for other things, like when they protest clinical research.”
When we got to Bullet’s mews, Dad tethered him to the lowest perch to minimize his chance of injuring himself further. Monocle’s cries for attention continued to echo across the rehab center.
Dad scratched his face, leathery from being outside so much during hunting season. October through March isn’t the best weather in the Midwest, let’s put it that way. He smiled. “Let’s go see Monocle before she wakes the neighbors.”
“Or the dead,” I joked, glad for the reprieve on Dad’s lecture. He still hadn’t answered my question, so I hoped maybe he was considering what I’d said. As I opened Monocle’s door, the volume of her herking increased and she moved around on her perch excitedly. I rushed toward her before my eardrums split. “Hey, Mon. How’s it going?” I rubbed her chest and she tilted her head in pleasure.
“Hello, Monocle.” Dad stroked her back, but she edged away from him.
“She only likes her head and chest scratched.”
He laughed, scratching next to her ear, and Monocle relented. “You know, Mercer, I’m not so old that I don’t understand liking a cute girl and wanting to do things together. The ironic thing is, falconers and many animal rights activist groups do have something in common—we both want birds of prey to thrive. What many protesters don’t know is that hawks raised in the wild have only a thirty percent chance of surviving their first year, but in captivity, they have a ninety-seven percent chance of making it.”
I nodded, having heard him say that at his public awareness talks.
He continued, “HALT is a specific group of animal rights activists who believe that any form of interacting with animals other than through observance is cruel. Hunting is cruel, eating meat is cruel, even owning a pet is cruel. Which is fine by me—to each his own. My only objection is when HALT members break the law to get their point across.”
I thought about the way the protesters had harassed the Wool-Mart manager until he left, and how they had thrown rotten tomato soup on my mom, ruining her suit. And my lunch at Elliot’s Pine Log. “I see your point. I promise that if I’m out protesting something, I won’t break the law.”
“Apparently I’m not making myself clear. Lucy and her family are not your average animal lovers. While there are many less extreme groups out there who fight for animal rights without infringing on others’ rights, HALT isn’t one of them. This particular group acts with a vengeance to prove their point.”
As much as I wanted him to be wrong about this, I couldn’t deny that Lucy’s parents were fanatical about their beliefs. I sighed, despair creeping over me slowly but steadily, like a fog rolling through a cemetery. “Yeah. I get that.”
Dad stopped scratching Monocle and looked at me. “So in order to protect our family and the birds I’ve sworn to safeguard, you’re going to have to choose one or the other.”
A thought occurred to me, one that could save me from having to sever ties with Lucy. “I understand what you’re saying, but do you seriously think they’d be against you helping injured birds? They can’t be that crazy.”
“But they are,” he said sternly. “Falconers have been the target of this group for years. You being in HALT is a conflict of interest to my profession, and I’m not going to jeopardize my business. I’m sorry, but I can’t make an exception because you’re my son either. If you want to be my apprentice, you can’t be a part of HALT—as simple as that. Decide what you want to do and let me know by tomorrow.” He gave Monocle one last pat. “I’ve got a few more things to take care of tonight. I’ll meet you inside.”
After he walked away, I stood there numbly, wondering what to do, when Monocle dumped a juicy mute right on my shoe. It looked like I had even more crap to deal with on my already crappy agenda.
SEVENTEEN
AS I PLODDED ACROSS THE YARD BACK TO THE HOUSE, I ruminated over my options, which basically boiled down to choosing Lucy or falconry. While I’d had my heart set on being a falconer, having Lucy as my girlfriend ranked pretty high too. Not that she’d even speak to me again after finding out about my mom. Although, now that I thought about it, if Lucy hated me, that would make my decision easier.
Suddenly I had an idea. What if I told my Dad I quit, but then snuck out to rallies when I felt like it? That could work—if I had a car. It wasn’t as though I could ask Dad to drive me to a HALT protest, and I wasn’t sure Lincoln would cover for me. Not to mention that I didn’t want to be a big fat liar who had to sneak around all the time.
And even though Flip wasn’t exactly a star pupil, the first hunt of the season was in less than two weeks. There was nothing I wanted more than to show up at the meet with my own bird under my command. Outside of my birthday and Christmas, the annual Midwest Falconers’ Club hunt was my favorite event of the whole year. I couldn’t give that up. But I wasn’t willing to ditch Lucy either.
That’s when I thought up a possible solution—one that would make everyone happy. I could tell Lucy that my parents freaked out about my being in HALT, so I couldn’t officially belong, but that I would still help out in some small ways—like eating vegetarian food or handing out pamphlets. God, did that sound wimpy. Lincoln would never do this to impress a girl.
Or, what if I told Lucy the truth—that HALT was a conflict with my parents’ work, so I’d have to quit, but that I really liked her and still wanted to hang out with her? Then, if by some miracle we started going out, I’d invite her over and show her around the mews, explaining how we were both on the same side. Give her the statistics that Dad had shared with me about saving more raptors by having falconers raise them rather than letting them grow up in the wild. Then she’d see that HALT was wrong and we were right.
That was the plan. That was exactly what I would do.
Before I went to bed Sunday night, I wanted to tell my parents the good news. I found them lying in bed, the nightstand lamps on both sides lit. Dad was watching sports highlights on TV, and my mom was next to him reading a stapled packet of papers.
“Hey guys.” I stood at the foot of their bed. “I just wanted to tell you—”
“Hold on a second.” Dad leveled the clicker at the TV and muted the sound. Mom glanced up, putting her research materials to the side. “Okay, go ahead.”
I took a deep breath. “I decided to quit HALT and continue my apprenticeship.”
“You had actually joined HALT?” Mom looked at me, alarmed. “Did you sign something?”
“No, Mom. There was a club at school, but I’m quitting tomorrow, so don’t worry.”
She sighed and pulled her reading materials back onto her lap. “I’m glad to hear it, Mercer. I can’t believe you even considered it.”
Dad held his hand up to give me a high-five, which seemed kind of lame, but I high-fived him back. “Excellent choice, Mercer.” He seemed genuinely happy, a giant smile lighting up his face. “There are times in a man’s life when he has to take a stand. It may not be the sam
e choice another man would make, but if he’s true to himself, that’s all that matters.”
My eyes started to glaze over a bit at his statement. I felt guilty that I wasn’t mentioning I still wanted to go out with Lucy but decided that I was taking a stand on going out with her. “Thanks, Dad. I’m going to bed now.” I headed back to my room and flung myself across my bed. All this deception was too much for me. Was this what it was like to be a spy? My stomach contents churned thinking about what Lucy would say to me at school tomorrow.
When I went downstairs the next morning, Maddie informed me that Lincoln had left without me, the impatient little butthead, so I had to take the stupid school bus. I waited outside on the corner with two other kids for about fifteen minutes before the bus came. The second I got on, I made my way to the back. That’s when the curtain opened and the real drama began.
Haley stood up from her aisle seat. “Oh, look. Son of the canine killer.”
“Lay off, Haley,” I told her, looking for Lucy. “For your information, my mom does heart attack research.”
I caught a glimpse of Lucy’s blond head, scrunched way down in the seat next to Haley. She had her knees up, wedged against the seat in front of her, and wasn’t looking at me. I sat down kitty-corner from her.
I slid my knees sideways into the aisle, leaning toward Lucy. “Crazy day yesterday, huh?”
She stared straight ahead, and I could tell making small talk wasn’t going to work, so I got right to it. “Look, I’m sorry about what went down at the carnival. I want to explain my side of things.”
“A little late for an explanation, don’t you think?” Haley snapped. “We kicked you out of our club, F-Y-I.”
Although I planned to quit anyway, I didn’t like being told what I could or couldn’t do. “Why is that? Because you don’t like my mom?” My mother might not be Betty Crocker in the kitchen, but she works hard and is super smart. If Haley continued to diss her, I’d tell her to stick it and worry about the consequences later.