by James Bird
“Thirty-six. Of course.”
I follow her out of the front door and down her driveway. Her father waits with his arms crossed, leaning against the idling truck, eyeing me suspiciously.
“I noticed a new ding on my bumper. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” Foxy asks me.
“Sixty-five. I—”
“I already told you, Dad,” Orenda says. “Those trash cans attacked the truck. We fought them off. You should thank us.”
Foxy laughs. “Oh yeah, I forgot. Thank you guys for that.”
“Thirty-two. It was nothing, sir,” I say, and look down at my shoes to avoid seeing his reaction to my obvious fibbery.
He steps forward, and in one motion, scoops his daughter out of her wheelchair and places her in the passenger seat. Foxy puts the wheelchair on the truck and climbs in.
She leans her head out of the open window, and I meet her at the passenger side door. I close my eyes and lean in for a kiss, which is weird because her dad is right there, but why else would she be leaning her face out the window? Orenda laughs. I open my eyes. I see her dad just staring at me, while Orenda laughs.
“I’m sorry, I thought—”
“You thought what?” Foxy asks.
“I was just going to tell you, while I’m away, I’ll be as brave as a brave if you will be too. Deal?” Orenda asks.
I unpucker my lips. “Deal.”
The truck drives off. Orenda shouts, “And keep training while I’m gone.”
“Twenty-six. I will,” I shout back.
Orenda and I stare at each other for as long as we can, seeing who will break eye contact first. It’s a draw. Neither of us looked away.
She’s going to pick out her wings. I bet that translates to a doctor’s appointment or something. I hope she isn’t scared. It’s hard to imagine Orenda being scared. I’d be kicking and screaming if I was in her shoes. But I’m in mine, and she’s in hers. And we all gotta walk with the feet we were born with … unless you can grow wings and fly.
As I stroll back to my house, I look down at the bag of peaches in my hand. Well, if I can’t hang out with her today, at least I can hang out with her friends.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
WISE TORTOISE (28)
After eating two peaches and tossing the rest of them out her tree house window, I collapse onto her bed and lay my head against the pillow, and as I do, I hear a crinkle underneath me. I reach under the pillow and pull out a folded sheet of paper. It reads Hey, Count, listen to the rest of your brother’s story. Love, Ren.
I flip the pillow over and see her earbuds wrapped around her recorder. I unravel the cord, stick them into my ears, sit up, and hit PLAY.
One morning, the wolves were awakened by a horrible sound. The forest was screaming in pain. The humans had entered and were ripping the trees out from their roots with heavy machines and chopping them down with axes. The wolves were losing their home. In a panic, they all gathered together and fled the forest in search of somewhere new. But the human boy was much too slow to keep up with the pack. The mother wolf saw the boy lagging behind and turned back to help him, but the humans with axes and chainsaws scared her off, and they took the teenage boy.
The boy was sent to the city of humans and was placed in a school and forced to go to church, so he could be a good human boy. But soon the humans knew he was far too different to live amongst them. He acted like a wolf, not a boy. He ate differently, he walked differently, and he even howled at the moon. So the other teenage boys and girls stayed away from him, making him feel alone and unwanted.
The boy fell into a deep depression. He wasn’t wolf enough to escape the humans, but was too wolf to live with the humans. He didn’t fit in. So he decided to run away. That night, he snuck out of the human city and ran as fast as he could for as long as he could. He ran over the hills, he ran through the fields. He ran across the farms, and ran past lakes and rivers and even mountains. And when he finally stopped running, he found himself in a desert.
He thought since there was no one around, there would be no one to not want him. So he decided to stay in the desert. Weeks went by, and he grew so lonely that he no longer wanted to be alive. Life isn’t worth living if you have no one to share it with, so he lay down and waited for the sun to melt him. Just then, an old desert tortoise slowly approached him.
“What are you doing?” the tortoise asked the boy.
“I don’t belong anywhere, so I will leave this world,” he said.
The tortoise laughed.
“Why are you laughing at me?” asked the boy.
“Because, silly boy, everyone belongs somewhere,” said the tortoise.
“Oh yeah? Where do you belong?” the boy asked.
“Wherever I go is where I belong,” the tortoise said and then showed the boy his shell. “You see, no matter where I go, I am home. And to belong, all you need is a place to call home.”
“But I don’t have a shell!” the boy shouted, jumping up.
“A home isn’t always a shell, silly human. A home sometimes is a family. Have you no family?”
“I had a family, but I wasn’t a wolf like them,” the boy responds.
“Well, who are you like?”
“The humans, but I’m not like them either. I was too wolf.”
“Well, it’s simple. Stop trying to fit in. Be different. Different is good. It makes you unique. Look at me, I was raised by ducks.”
The boy sat down and thought about what the tortoise said. He began to look back at his life and realized the wolves were his true family, even though he looked different from them. He began to see that he was so afraid of not fitting in that he made himself feel unwanted and alone. His fears parted like clouds, and his memories began to clear. Even though he was picked last in the wolf games, he was still picked. Even though he was the slowest, he was still included to run with them. And even when they hunted, they wanted him along to climb the trees for them.
If the boy had just accepted that he was different, then he would have been able to look past that and live his life with his family. They still loved him. He still howled at the moon with them. They shared their food, and they even let him grow up around them knowing he’d be a man one day. Even when wolves were taught to fear humans, these wolves trusted him.
“I’ve been so scared of not fitting in that I didn’t ever realize I was already a part of the pack,” the boy tells the tortoise.
“See! Family doesn’t always mean blood. A family is the ones around you, protecting you, living with you. And that makes a home.”
“So what should I do?” asked the boy.
“I don’t know, but if you want to help some wolves out, there’s a whole pack of them a mile back that are stuck in the desert, searching for a den to hide in to escape the hot sun.”
The boy thanked the tortoise and ran as fast as he could toward the wolves. And once he reached them, he saw that it was his family. His mother wolf rushed up to him. “I thought we lost you,” she said as she embraced him.
“No, Mama, you found me a long time ago, and now I found you.”
“But we lost our home, and now I fear the hot sun will kill us all.”
“No, Mama, I have a plan.”
The boy ran all the way back to the city and since he was a human, he was able to speak to the people and have them agree to give him some of the wood they cut down from the forest. He carried it back to the desert and built the wolves small wooden dens. He then ran back to the river, and with human tools, he dug a path through the desert, giving the wolves flowing water.
The wolves were so thankful that they called the boy Ma’iingan, which means “our brother wolf” in Wolf tongue. And soon, the pack regained enough energy and strength to make the long journey north, to find a new forest to live in, far away from the machines that kill trees.
The boy who had always felt like he didn’t belong now felt special. Even though he was a human, he was also a wolf. And
even though he was a wolf, he was also a human. He was able to live in both worlds. He taught humans that wolves aren’t the scary monsters they’re made out to be, and he taught the wolves that not all humans are evil and want to kill them.
And over time, the two worlds became so close, they started to blend together. Some humans became wolves, and some wolves became human.
And today, many, many, many years later, there are people who still have wolf blood pumping through their human hearts and there are wolves that still have human eyes. This is why man and wolf must get along … Because even though we look different, we are family.
The end.
There is silence. I open my eyes and hit STOP on the recorder. My face is dripping onto my shirt. I didn’t even know I was crying. And although it’s just a tale my brother made up and recorded for Orenda, I realize that I am the boy in his story. I am from two different worlds. I am different in both of them. I’ve always believed my counting was a curse.
But how could Aji make up such a beautiful story about me? Or was it about him? Did he feel unwanted? Unloved? Was he from two different worlds too? But didn’t everyone love him?
Including Orenda? Was she in love with him too? Did he love her? If he is a squirrel now, does his heart break every time he sees me with her?
I notice a photo album on the shelf by her bed. On the cover of it is a hand-drawn image of a black-and-orange squirrel riding a large red-and-blue butterfly. That must be Aji and Orenda. I open it.
My heart sinks as I flip through the pages. Each photograph is of them growing up together. Snapshots of their lives show me what happiness really looks like. It’s a past that I don’t have. I see him as a teenager, building the tree house with her father as she watches them. There are photos of them boxing, reading, hopping off the roof, climbing trees. On every page, they look happy. The last photo is the most recent. It is of Aji at prom. He’s standing there, with a confident grin above his velvet blue tuxedo, but Orenda isn’t with him. Some dude is. He also wears a blue tuxedo. They look like cloudless skies, embracing. Orenda is too young for prom, which explains why she wasn’t his date, but who is this guy with him? Is it his best friend?
Then I wonder if Orenda is training me to be strong and smart, so I can be more like him?
I close the photo album and put it back. I’m not sure how to feel. I can’t blame her for loving Aji. He seems perfect. I’d kill a king to be half as good-looking as him, half as smart as him, half as strong as him.
Seven barks for me. I walk over to the opening and look down. She’s right below me, looking up.
“I’m coming, girl,” I say, and climb down the rope. Together, we walk through her yard, squeeze through the fence, and return home.
My mom is in the living room. She’s sitting at the coffee table with a stack of paper in front of her.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Paying bills,” she says, keeping her eyes on the work laid out in front of her.
“Why didn’t you tell me Orenda was in love with Aji?” I ask.
She looks up at me and smiles.
“They loved each other very much, but they weren’t in love,” she says. “And honey, if they were, that’s news to me.”
“How did you not know?” I ask.
She laughs again. “Did Orenda tell you this?”
“She didn’t have to. But you should have. And stop laughing.”
“For someone who wants so many answers, you sure don’t ask many questions,” she says.
“I’m asking you now. Tell me about Orenda and Aji,” I say.
“Go get Orenda. Let’s all talk together. I’ll start a fire,” she says.
“I can’t. She left to go pick out her wings,” I say.
My mom’s expression changes. She gets up and walks over to me. And just when I think she’s gonna finally level with me and tell me what’s really going on with Orenda, she forces a slight smile onto her face and hugs me.
“Well, I’m sure her wings will be beautiful.”
I know she means well, but sometimes it’s better to face reality head-on and let it crush you.
“Why can’t anyone just tell me what’s going on? No more riddles! No more lessons! Just tell me what’s happening!” I say.
“My sweet boy. This is a part of her story that only she can tell. It isn’t mine to give to you. When she’s ready, she’ll reveal it to you. Be patient. And as far as her and Aji, he was like a big brother to her,” she says, and sits back down to continue paying her bills.
“I’m not asking for a story. I’m asking for the truth,” I say, and walk out of the room.
As I enter the garage, I realize another reason why Orenda wanted me to read that book. In that story, gossip spread across the town and people were killed because of it. Families were ruined. Friendships were destroyed. If they all handled a rumor the way my mom would, nothing bad would have happened. Salem would just be another town in America and not be shrouded with such a dark history. They would be like, “Is she a witch?” and the neighbors would be like, “I don’t know. That’s her story. Go ask her.” Done. Problem solved. Everyone would have survived. So the answer to the title of How to Hang a Witch is clear now, and it’s simple … You don’t. You simply just talk to the witch. And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, you’ll see how we’re all not so different from one another.
I spend the rest of the day in the garage with Seven. She gnaws on a rubber bone while I hit the punching bag for hours. Visualizing the bag as Orenda’s un-talk-aboutable illness keeps me swinging, even though my arms feel like mashed potatoes. But I’m not giving up on her; I will beat this bag to nonexistence.
But no matter how many times I swing, it’s still there, and so is Orenda’s sickness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BILLY BEAR (25)
Orenda still isn’t home yet.
Last night I hit the punching bag for a total of three hours. Today I’ve gone jogging with Seven for two miles, and I even found another book to read. When I put the one I read back, right next to it was the sequel, Haunting the Deep. So naturally, I plucked it out and started reading it. I can’t wait for Orenda to come home and discover that I began a new book. She’ll be so impressed.
This time, our hero, Samantha Mather, deals with the sinking of the Titanic. And if the first book was about stepping up and accepting who you truly are, this book deals with privilege and how we view people different from us. That and a ship full of ghosts, curses, spells, and magic. In both books, our main hero is in love with a dead boy named Elijah. I hope Orenda didn’t recommend this book because she knows I’m falling for her and she is preparing me mentally for the day that she dies. I hope she wants me to read them just because they are super-cool books. Although, if she did die, I’d search through every page to find the spell to summon her back to life. But it’s just a book. And this is real life.
And in real life, a whole lot of people went down with the Titanic. They died. And Orenda is right: There are people that have it way worse than I do. I count letters, but at least I’m not drowning in the freezing Atlantic Ocean. Problems come, and sometimes we can’t control the outcome. Some problems get the best of you, even if you’re a strong warrior. Sometimes, the problem wins the fight. And that terrifies me. I know Orenda is just trying to prepare me for what’s ahead, but I’m not going to listen to her this time. I refuse to let whatever it is that’s hurting her win this war. I refuse to lose because I refuse to lose her.
It’s now midday. I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. So much for my weekend. But my mind and body need a rest. I’ve been reading and punching every day since Orenda started training me. And tonight I’ll probably just draw something. I haven’t drawn in a while and my fingers are going through withdrawals. Plus, my mom took a picture of a deer yesterday that was nibbling on a wineberry bush in the front yard. Maybe I’ll surprise her with a drawing of it. I keep thinking of things to do to occupy my mind, but no matter
what I engage in, every twenty minutes I keep checking to see if Orenda is home yet. It feels like she’s been gone forever.
There’s a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I shout.
My mom opens the door. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing a red flowing dress with black flying birds on it, maybe crows.
“Get up. We’re going out,” she says.
“Where?”
“To meet your ancestors,” she says.
“I’m tired. I think I’ll just stay home.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll tell Orenda you said hi.” She begins to walk away.
“Wait! What? She’ll be there?” I say, and launch myself out of my bed.
She smiles and walks out of the room. Meet my ancestors? What does that even mean? I have more family I didn’t know about?
I put my black denim jacket on and slap on a hat. Through all the excitement about seeing Orenda, I completely forgot about how I felt about her having feelings for Aji. I know it’s absolutely stupid for me to be jealous. I mean, he is no longer here, and besides, he did meet her first. And by the look of all those photographs, he made her happy. That’s all that should matter. But then the fear grabs my neck. Can I make her as happy as he did? He was older, stronger, and better-looking. And did she become sick because he is gone? Can love cripple the body like that? If it can, then maybe love can heal the body, too?
My mom honks the horn. I kiss Seven goodbye and rush out of the house. Since the radio doesn’t have reception this deep in the reservation, my mom is compensating for it by belting out one of her favorite rock songs a cappella. I climb into the truck and use her nose as a volume knob and turn the dial down … way down.
As we drive, my nervousness kicks in. All I can think about is Orenda. And the weird part is, I like it. I like her being the strong fist squeezing my brain and making everything I say, see, hear, smell, and think be all about her.
“Wanna sing with me?” my mom asks.