Soar (11 page)

T
he 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.”

She shuts the door and disappears inside the house. “Square meal”? “Eat your words”? Gabriela is really getting the hang of the harder parts of English.

I leave Gabriela's house and wait at the bus stop. My costume sticks to my back, and black makeup drips from my face.

A pair of square headlights comes rolling toward me. While holding on to the stop sign pole, I swing
away from the headlights, hiding my face. If I saw a person wearing all black with a cardinal mask painted on his face, I'd call the police, so I'm not taking any chances.

The car slows down. The brakes squeal louder than my school bus. Out of all the cars in West Plains, there's only one car that makes a sound like that.

Hoopty.

“Eddie? Is that you?” Mom says through the open window.

I keep quiet, hoping she thinks I'm a juvenile delinquent roaming the streets and then drives away. But she's not buying it.

“Eddie. What are you doing out here? And why are you dressed in your spy costume?”

“It's Ninja Bird. Remember?”

The driver's door creaks open. She gets out, cigarette in hand, and stares me up and down. “What's with the outfit? Are you wearing makeup? You must be burning up underneath all that.”

“I am.” I pull the costume away from my body, letting my skin breathe.

“Then why are you wearing it? Someone's going to mistake you for a burglar and call the police.”

“I'm
looking for the golden eagle, Mom.”

“Oh, Eddie.”

“Dad promised that it would come back.”

“And you think it's going to come back
tonight
?”

“I don't know when it's coming back, but the more I'm out here, the better my chances of seeing it.”

Mom inhales from her cigarette and thinks about it.

“Fine. But you be careful over there at Miss Dorothy's. And stay away from that pond.”

She walks back to her car. She drives away, honking twice, and Hoopty's single taillight disappears down the road.

Gabriela walks up next to me. “I'm ready.”

I push down the legs of my costume. “Let's go.”

M
outon's house is about a quarter mile down the road from mine. It's a small black house that sits in a cluster of oak trees.

Just like the house, the front yard is small. The grass is long and stringy and hasn't been mowed in months. The dull porch light shines down on a brown couch. Dad always said that a house with a couch on the front porch is a house without manners. I don't really know what he meant by that, but Mouton's house must fall into this category.

“Here, take this.” I hold out a Donald Duck walkie-talkie. “I changed the batteries. Should be as good as new.”

Gabriela takes the walkie-talkie. She looks at it like it's from another planet. “ ‘As good as new'? Is that another phrase I should know?”

“Yes. Now, don't touch the volume button. I preset it so it's not too loud.”

“How do I work this talkie-walkie?” She pulls on the antenna.

“Walkie. Talkie. Press the button and talk into this part.” I tap the end of the walkie-talkie, the part you speak into.

“I should try it one time.”

“Okay, but make it quick.”

She presses the button, holding the walkie up to her mouth. “Chirp, chirp. Chirp, chirp.”

“What was that?”

“That is what I will say if there is trouble. I thought you would like it.”

“I do like it. It's just not something spies would say. They say things like ‘over' and ‘roger that,' and they have code names like Ringo and Goose and Foxhound.”

“Fine. Then I will be Ruby. For ruby-throated hummingbird.”

“I'll be golden eagle, but you can just call me Eagle.”

Ruby and Eagle. A perfect team.

Now we have to prove that we're worthy of having call signs.

In spy movies only the major characters have code names, the guys with a lot of skills who can fight and shoot and withstand freezing cold water and run through fires without getting burned. Mouton can throw whatever he wants at me. Dog poop. Poison arrows. Woodpecker pens. I'm ready for anything. Nothing's going to stop me from getting my bike.

Gabriela takes her position in the front yard, behind the oak tree. Gabriela is the ideal lookout. She can focus for a long time, way longer than me, and she has 20/20 vision.

I crouch and creep along the driveway. The closer I get to the backyard, the faster my heart races. I was prepared to be nervous, but not like this. This feels more like a panic attack. At least what I imagine a panic attack feeling like.

I stop in the part of the driveway closest to the house and squat behind a rusty station wagon. I whisper into the walkie-talkie, “Ruby, is it all clear? Over.”

The walkie crackles, so I turn down the volume. I thought the low setting would be quiet enough. But
tonight is especially still. Even the songbirds have turned in for the night.

Gabriela's voice comes over the walkie. “If ‘all clear' means everything is okay, then yes, it is all clear. Should I say ‘over' now?”

“Yes. Over.”

“Okay, Eagle. Over.”

From where I'm squatting, the brown couch looks worse than I thought. Worn cushions. Rips. Holes. Burn marks. It's a mess.

I press the walkie button. “Ruby, I'm heading toward the backyard. Over.”

“
Boa sorte
, Eagle,” Gabriela says. “That means ‘good luck.' Over.”

From behind the oak tree Gabriela gives me a thumbs-up. “One more thing, Eddie. I mean, Eagle. Leave no stone unturned. Chapter seven. Over.”

I stuff the walkie into my cross pouch. Then I creep stealthily around the side of the house toward the backyard.

The backyard is bigger than the front but still small enough for me to see with my mini flashlight. I point the flashlight through the chain-link fence, scanning one section of the yard at a time.

There's a ton of stuff back there. Most of it looks like circus junk. There's
an old tire. A garden gnome. Two pogo sticks. A statue of cupid shooting an arrow. And a bicycle with a huge front wheel and a tiny back wheel. But there's no sign of my bike.

I pull out the walkie and whisper into it. “Ruby, how's it look out there? Over.”

No response.

“Ruby? Are you there? Over.”

Still no response.

I shine the light close to the back of the house.

There it is.

My bike.

“Ruby. Target in sight. I found it.” I try to keep my voice low, but it's hard, knowing that my bike is actually safe. Part of me wasn't sure. Part of me thought it might've been destroyed, strewn over the yard in pieces, or worse—sold—gone forever.

I shine the light onto my bike again to make sure it's not an illusion. Then I pull myself together. Spies can't let their emotions get in their way, even if they have strong feelings for the target.

Gabriela's voice crackles through the walkie. “I'm here, Eagle. Sorry, I could not hold it anymore. I had to use the bathroom. Over.”