Extraordinary Birds

by Sandy Stark-McGinnis

  Henrietta.

  There’s a chance if I do jump, I could break my ankle, or wrist. Spraining either might cause me not to be able to train Henrietta. I’d be the wounded one. And if I can’t help Henrietta, and I’m the one she trusts, then I’ll have increased her chances of becoming a stuffed bird.

  But if I get stronger, and fly, Henrietta and I will have the chance to soar together, side by side.

  I will fly. “… three.” I have jumping down to a science, taking deep breaths, inflating my lungs, hoping they act like balloons, and bending my knees, using my thigh and calf muscles to push off the branch.

  I’ve done this enough times that I’ve taught myself, in midair, to be aware of waiting. When my wings do unfold, I want to know the second they push out of bone and skin and spread across the air. I want to be able to remember that moment.

  But, this time, the moment doesn’t come, and I fall to the ground. Sometimes the ground is hard, sometimes it’s wet, sometimes it’s soft, and sometimes it isn’t filled with hurt at all, just a mouthful of dirt.

  I don’t get up right away. It’s nice to breathe in the smell of leaves, and roots, and of things growing, and I try to convince my bird self that the ground is not such a bad place to be.

  From this perspective, Eleanor’s house, with its vines spreading over the roof and around the walls, looks like it’s becoming part of the earth, like the plants are on a mission to slowly take over the windows, too, and make their way inside, the vines twisting around couches, chairs, the refrigerator, and my ankles, making sure all things stay planted.

  When I believed my bird type was more like a loon’s, I focused on taking off from the ground. The last time I tried was my eleventh birthday. I used a birthday wish for extra support, and right before I jumped into the air I imagined blowing out candles. One wish was all I needed for my wings to unfold.

  But the potential for birthday wishes to come true is either a big lie or it depends on the wish, or the person, or life in general, or a combination of all three. Lesson learned from that experiment: one day is as good as any to find the possible.

  Eleanor will be calling my name pretty soon. I put one foot back and lean over my front knee. Every once in a while, I have to try this way of flying, just in case.

  I want to keep my head down until I have enough momentum. I’m almost at full speed. My heart beats in rhythm with a different life, a life where I won’t have a scar anymore.

  Out of habit, I make a wish anyway. I wish for the aerodynamics of thin bones, and of feathers, and I leap into the air, spread my arms out to the side, and try to feel wind against my skin as air lifts me up.

  But I fall. There’s the smell of wet dirt and roots again, trying to remind me with every breath I’m just a girl, a human, and the ground is where I belong.

  “December?” Eleanor’s voice is a little shaky. She’s afraid I’ve run away.

  “Coming!” I brush dirt off my jeans and run to get the bag of birdseed I left by my flight tree. On the way across the field, I grab a handful and shove it in my pocket for later—in case the worms don’t work out—and take three or four more handfuls and spread them across the ground.

  Half the bag is gone before I get to the fence. I hide the rest of the birdseed under a pile of loose wooden posts and find a smashed straw hat with holes in it. The hat would look good on a scarecrow.

  I choose a spot that’s just to the side of the gate and twist one of the posts into the ground. Scarecrows are known to live up to their name. I’m hoping the one I’m building will be able to scare birds that get too close to the house, so Eleanor won’t be able to catch them.

  I find twigs and push them into the openings in the post for arms and legs and hang the hat at the top. It’s not much of a scarecrow, but it will do for now.

  In my room, I get my backpack ready for school. I make sure to grab the worms. I’m taking Teresa with me today too, just in case Eleanor comes in the room and searches for evidence while I’m at school. I know foster parents do that. They search for things, like notes or diaries, that can give them clues to who I am.

  My white T-shirt is dirty. I choose my navy one to wear. I pull it over my head and sense without seeing her that Eleanor is standing in the doorway.

  The people in my life who’ve seen the scar: Me. Some doctors, the EMT at Karen’s. And now Eleanor.

  She takes a deep breath. “You ready to go?”

  I pull my shirt down fast. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” A version of a story about how I got it is probably in my file, but it doesn’t tell the truth.

  Eleanor folds her arms in front of her chest and shakes her head. “Looks like it hurt. I’m sorry.” She sounds like she really means it.

  “Why? You didn’t do anything.”

  “I can still be sorry it happened to you, can’t I?”

  I give her one of my well-practiced shrugs as I pick up my backpack and book. The added weight of Teresa doesn’t make that much difference, but I’m strong anyway. “I guess. It really didn’t hurt that bad.”

  Even if it did, the scar is proof, proof of my wings.

  9

  Cheryllynn’s not jumping rope this morning. There’s no song to interrupt me from reading more about the red-tailed hawk. I take out the worm bag and open it all the way, sticking my fingers into the dirt to find a worm. I hold it up for inspection.

  Scientists think raptors see eight to ten times better than humans. Their eyes are the largest organ relative to the size of their bodies. I don’t have eyesight quite like that yet. If I did, I would’ve seen hot pink and lime green clothes coming my way.

  The girls, the ones who called Cheryllynn by another name, look shiny and new. Everything from their hair to their clothes matches.

  “What’s that?” a few of them say.

  They move like a murmuration, like how starlings twist and turn together in flight. Except, the flight patterns of starlings are beautiful, and these girls’ unifying patterns have an ugliness to them.

  “Is that a worm?” one of the girls says. “Were you about to eat it? That’s so gross.” She covers her mouth. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  I drop the worm back into the bag. “No.”

  “Well, you looked like you were about to eat it. Do you eat them for breakfast? Do you save some for lunch?”

  Another girl steps out of the group. “I think we should dare her to eat one right now.” She grabs the bag out of my hand.

  “Ew,” the other girls say. They look really disgusted.

  Maybe if I disgust them more they’ll leave. “They’re pretty good to eat actually. I bet none of you have tried a worm. You never know, you might like it.”

  Two of the girls are staring into my backpack now. One of them picks up my Complete Guide to Birds: Volume One.

  I have to get their attention back to me. “I think you should eat one. Here.” I grab for the bag of worms, but the girl holding it whisks it away.

  “They’re your worms,” she says, and reaches into the dirt with pink-painted fingernails, finding a night crawler. “I dare you. I mean, you wouldn’t have brought them if you weren’t going to eat them, right?”

  “Give her a break, Jenny. Maybe she needs extra protein,” the girl with my bird book says. I’m not sure if she’s being sarcastic or giving Jenny a solid reason why I have the worms.

  “Matilda, don’t tell me what to do.” Jenny grabs my backpack.

  “Why do you always pick on the new kids?” Matilda asks.

  “I don’t pick on them. I’m curious.” Jenny reaches down into my backpack. “She brought worms to school.”

  She won’t find Bird Girl. It’s wrapped in my sweatshirt. It’s safe. No one will find it. No one will read it.

  “Oh, what is this?”

  The group of girls leans forward in unison.

  “What is it? Show us!”

  Teresa is thrust into the air, looking out of place among all the bright colors, my sweatshir
t caught on her talons. The sweatshirt falls to the ground before one of the girls catches her.

  “It’s a dead bird! An owl. Isn’t it against the law to kill owls or something?”

  The other girls, all except Matilda, chant, “Hoo! Hoo!” They don’t sound like owls at all.

  “Come on, the bell’s going to ring.” Jenny takes a step forward and holds the worm in front of me. “We don’t have all day.”

  I can see the spine of Bird Girl exposed. The girls haven’t spotted it yet. I need to grab it before they do.

  “You can stand there all day. I’m not going to eat the worm.”

  My voice is quiet, raspy. It’s getting ready to transform into an avian sound machine. Humans create sound using only two percent of the air exhaled through their larynx. Birds have what’s called a syrinx instead. The syrinx is no bigger than an ant, but it’s efficient and uses all the air that passes through it.

  I don’t have a syrinx, but I’ve been known to make annoying, wicked sounds. According to Karen, at least. I open my mouth, but no sound is there. I’m afraid. I’m afraid they’re going to find my story.

  Even if I had my wings, I wouldn’t be able to fly away. My muscles twitch, but the rest of me is frozen like a potoo making itself look like a tree branch, trying its best to camouflage itself from the world. But there is no camouflage for me right now.

  “Oh, but I think you are going to eat it.” The girl pushes the worm close to my mouth. It squirms between her fingers.

  Teresa flies over my head as the other girls start tossing her back and forth like a beach ball. She lands on the ground, right next to my sweatshirt.

  “Hey, here’s another book. It looks like a diary or something.” No!

  I run and try to grab Bird Girl out of the girl’s hand, but she swipes it away before I can get to it.

  “Let me see the book,” Jenny says.

  “I’ll eat the worm!” I clear my throat and feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t let anyone, especially these girls, know what I really am.

  “I’ll eat the worm,” I say again, “if you give me back that book.”

  “It definitely looks like a diary to me.” Jenny flips through the pages, but doesn’t stop long enough on any one to read the words.

  Her friends are curious now.

  “There’s nothing in there”—I try to sound calm and cool—“it’s just a book. My mom gave it to me.” But then Jenny reads the title out loud. “If I eat one”—my voice isn’t cool anymore—“will you give it back?”

  Jenny holds her hand out so I can shake it. “Deal,” she says, and hands me the worm.

  I drop it in my mouth. I don’t hold my nose. I don’t squint my eyes in disgust. I stare right at the group of girls and chew, biting down hard to keep tears from falling. They have my book. They have my story.

  I chew and chew until the worm is in parts small enough for me to swallow. It doesn’t taste good at all. As a matter of fact, it’s disgusting.

  I lean toward the girls and open my mouth. “See, it’s gone. Now give me the book.”

  She shoves Bird Girl into a pink, sequin-covered purse. “No, I think I’m going to keep it for a while.”

  Some of the ways birds show anger: wing slaps, lunging, diving at intruders, sometimes colliding with other birds that invade their territory.

  I want to run right at Jenny, but she’d just have to throw her purse to one of the other girls. “You don’t even know me. Why are you treating me like this?”

  “I saw you talking to Charlie yesterday,” Jenny says, as if that explains anything. “We used to be friends. I’m actually doing you a favor. You’re new here, so you don’t know that he’s not a good person to be friends with. I’m just trying to help you out.”

  “Why isn’t she a good person to be friends with?” I don’t know why Jenny keeps calling Cheryllynn Charlie. And Cheryllynn seems nice enough to me.

  “Because.”

  “ ‘Because’ is not really a reason, Jenny,” Matilda says. I notice now she wears bright pink clothes, but her boots are cowboy, plain brown, a little scuffed at the toe.

  Jenny gives her the evil eye to tell her to be quiet and turns back to me. “So, here’s my deal. If we see you hanging out or talking to him, you won’t see your book again.”

  The girls leave Teresa and my bird guide on the ground. Walking away, they flock behind Jenny, following her like they’re remote-control robots and Jenny controls the remote. Except for Matilda. She lingers behind the group, and I wonder if she’s going to turn around, stay with me. But she still follows.

  I taste dirt, and there are bits of sand in my teeth and on my tongue. It makes me gag. I bend over. Some birdseed from this morning sprinkles out of my pocket. I grit my teeth.

  As soon as the girls are walking across the blacktop, I spit out as much of the worm taste as I can. I gag more, and on the second heave, throw up.

  I can’t help but stare at the small chunks of worm and the sunflower seeds I had this morning.

  Bird Girl is mine. It’s my story.

  I have to get it back.

  10

  When we get inside the classroom, Mrs. Beck is playing music. It’s low and soft, meant to inspire us to write. The music reminds me of thousands of leaves falling from trees.

  The falling-leaves music is interrupted by the ring of the classroom telephone. Mrs. Beck answers. She hangs up the phone and heads straight toward me. She bends down. “December, the principal would like to see you. She wants you to bring your backpack.”

  When I get there, Cheryllynn is walking out of the nurse’s office.

  I look down, trying to pretend not to see her, hoping she won’t notice me, either.

  “Hey,” she says. “You get in trouble?”

  “Don’t know.” I keep staring at the floor.

  Cheryllynn sits next to me. “I’ll stay with you. I’ve been where you are before, waiting for the principal to talk to me. It’s kind of scary.”

  I need to try and stay away from Cheryllynn, at least until I get my book back.

  “So, you like birds, huh?” she asks.

  Have Jenny and her friends already told everyone my secret?

  “Why?”

  “Well, the other day you were reading that book, and then you knew about black birds. I just put two and two together. Plus, I’m trying to keep your mind off having to see the principal.” Cheryllynn pulls a bag of Froot Loops from a pocket of her pink raincoat.

  “If you could, would you want to turn into one?” she asks. I wait for her to laugh a little, like her question is a joke, but she seems serious, like she wants to hear my answer.

  “I mean, I think it would be cool to be an animal.” Cheryllynn eats the pink pieces of cereal first. “I don’t know if I’d want to be a bird, but a polar bear might be good, even though I don’t think I’d want to get used to living in all that ice and snow, and I wouldn’t like eating fish, or seals. They eat seals, right?”

  I check the office to make sure Jenny or her friends aren’t around. Sitting by the principal’s office, weirdly, should be safe territory to talk to Cheryllynn. And anyway, everyone else is in class.

  “But you’d be a polar bear, so it wouldn’t matter,” I say. “Snow, ice, and fish would be what you know, would just be how you lived.”

  “You’re right.” Cheryllynn picks out all the orange Froot Loops this time.

  The principal’s door opens. “Good morning, December.” Mrs. Vaca holds her hand out for me to shake. “Please come into my office.” She looks up at Cheryllynn. “Did you use the bathroom?”

  “Of course I did,” Cheryllynn says.

  “Then you better get back to class.”

  “Is there something wrong with the regular bathrooms?” I ask Mrs. Vaca.

  “No. There’s nothing wrong with them.” She sounds like she doesn’t want to get into it. Cheryllynn stares hard at Mrs. Vaca but doesn’t say anything. She waves as she heads back to class.
>
  I don’t wave back. I have to do whatever I can not to make her think we’re becoming friends. Especially now.

  The first thing I notice in Principal Vaca’s office is the bright yellow umbrella leaning against the wall in a corner. Yellow would be too bright for my feathers. No matter where I go, I’ll be able to hide with blue feathers, the color of the sky.

  “December.” Mrs. Vaca places her elbows on her desk. “Another student has said you have something you’re not supposed to bring to school. She said it might be dangerous. Can I see what you have?”

  I zip my backpack open and show Mrs. Vaca Teresa. “It’s just a stuffed bird. The only sharp thing it has on it is its talons. Owls needs sharp talons to catch food.”

  Mrs. Vaca sets Teresa on her desk.

  “She’s a great horned owl,” I say.

  “She’s beautiful. I’m going to keep her here, and after school you can pick her up, okay?”

  “Yeah.” I stand up and start to leave.

  Mrs. Vaca gently pats Teresa on the head. “The student who told me about you having this beautiful owl also claims you threatened to use the owl to hurt her. Is this true?”

  “No.” I grit my teeth again. Instead of clenching my fists, I tighten my fingers and spread them out like I have talons, like I am an owl, getting ready to catch prey.

  Mrs. Vaca nods. “Okay, December.” Her voice is a cool color, maybe turquoise, calm and steady. “That’s all for now. Don’t forget to come by after school and pick up your owl. And, please, do not bring her to school again.”

  When I start walking down the hallway, back to class, Cheryllynn is waiting for me.

  “Everything okay?” she asks.

  The part of the hallway where we walk is protected by the outside walls of classrooms. But a few steps ahead, the classrooms stop and the hallway is open. If any girls were standing in the right place, they could see me talking to Cheryllynn.

  “I’m fine.” I walk faster, trying to lose her.

  I turn the corner to the hallway where my classroom is, and just as I open the door and step inside, I hear Cheryllynn ask, “Why are you in such a hurry?”