My Name Is River (3 page)

New Kid

I
t's pitch black and way past ten o'clock by the time we reach our new house. We open Tilly's doors and climb out onto the gravel driveway.

“Well, Sugar Pie,” Gram says, “what do you think?”

The quarter moon lets me see as much as I want. “It looks like a box with a roof… nothing like our farmhouse.”

Gram comes over and pulls me close. “Like I said, Sugar Pie, it's not gonna be better or worse, just different. Besides, it's a roof over the head. What more does a sugar pie need?”

I think about saying, “Just my parents,” but I don't.

Gram leans back and tilts her head to the sky. “Look at all those stars a twinkling, Sugar Pie. There won't be precipitation tonight, and good old Tilly will guard our belongings, so let's find our pillows and catch a wink on the living room floor.”

“So we'll unload in the morning?”

“Not you, Sugar Pie. You'll be in school. Me and Tilly will drive around town looking to hire an extra hand.”

“I can help. It won't hurt if I miss one day.”

“There's nothing so important as a good education, and I'm not letting my Sugar Pie miss out.”

The next morning Gram drops me off in front of Birdsong Middle School, an old two-story, brick building covered with vines. The sign out front reads “Home of the Falcons.” And on account of our oversleeping (and my missing the bus), I'm late. But it doesn't bother me any. I was never in a hurry to get here in the first place. But then I remind myself that this is only for three weeks. And three weeks is doable.

Gram leans over and gives me a smooch on my cheek. “Don't you worry now, Sugar Pie,” she says. “Everything's gonna be all right. Now you go on and have a good day of learning.” Then she and Tilly drive away.

Two huge white pillars on each side of the front steps do their best to welcome me. But any ounce of welcomeness I might have felt disappears the second I step inside. Hanging from the ceiling directly over me is a huge falcon with its wings spread wide and its talons ready to snare me. Of course it's dead and stuffed, but, really, this is no way to welcome a new kid.

I follow the sign to the office where I'm greeted by Mr. Augur. I know that's his name because of his name tag. He seems pretty old (and short) to be a principal, and for some reason, he seems extremely eager to meet me. Then I realize it's just because his head is positioned way out in front of his body (I'm sure he doesn't hold it out there on purpose. It's just because he's old). His back is scrunched up too, which makes him look even shorter than he really is. Now I know full well it's not right to criticize his body because he obviously can't help it, but I can't help thinking that he has a very strong resemblance to a vulture.

Mr. Augur stretches his hand toward me, and since I don't want to be considered rude—in addition to being late—on my first day, I reach forward to shake it. I tell myself to be careful when I shake his hand because old people have brittle bones and they break easy. And Mr. Augur looks brittle.

He grabs my hand harder than I expected. “Welcome to Birdsong Middle School, River.” Then he covers his mouth and tries clearing a frog from his throat. “I'm sure you'll like it here,” he garbles.

Now, right away I'm not sure I can trust him. How does he know I'll like it? He doesn't even know me. He should've said, “I bet you're going to like it,” or “I hope you'll like it.” Then maybe I'd trust him.

He presses a peel-and-stick name tag on my shirt and gets so close I smell mothballs (which is probably coming from his wool coat because old people like putting mothballs in their closet).

On my name tag, RIVER STARLING is spelled out all in capital letters. Gram's last name is Nuthatch, just like Gramp's was. So that was my mom's last name too. But when she married my dad, she got his name and became a Starling. Even though Gram took me over, she decided I ought to keep Starling as my last name. I'm glad about that for two reasons. First, because everyone needs something from their past to hold onto, and second, because I don't think I could've handled a name like River Nuthatch.

I really don't want to wear this name tag. It just makes me stand out even more. It's hard enough being new. I might as well carry a neon sign that says, “Hey, look at me! I'm the new kid.”

Mr. Augur guides me out of the office. “First I'll give you a tour of our school, and then I'll show you your locker and take you to your first period class.”

As we pass the cafeteria, it's easy to guess what's on the menu (there's no mistaking the smell of fish sticks). I wonder if they'll serve corn and mashed potatoes with them or just French fries. Either way I really don't care. I just hope they have chocolate milk and ice-cream sandwiches. If they don't, I might be following Gram's trail of Camels all the way back to Punxsutawney.

We finally reach my locker, and Mr. Augur slips me a small piece
of paper with my combination 2:2:0. I have no trouble remembering this: two sets of parents, two sets of parents who didn't want me, and no sets of parents left. Mr. Augur looks at the piece of paper and then at me and whispers, “Don't lose this or share it with anyone. If you do, the consequences could be devastating.”

Since I don't want to take a chance with devastation (especially on my first day) and I already have it memorized, I consider rolling the paper into a little ball and eating it. Really, the worst thing that could happen is someone breaks in and steals my books. I can live with that. But my lunch money? Now, that would be devastating.

Mr. Augur points to a door with a sign on it that reads “Ms. Grackle's Seventh Grade English,” and says, “Here's your class, River. And—I almost forgot. Here's your schedule. Good luck,” he says after pulling the piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to me. Then he opens the door for me and turns to walk away.

Nineteen pairs of eyes stare at me. I consider sticking out my tongue but clench my teeth so tight there's no chance of it escaping.

Ms. Grackle smiles real big at me and acts all excited, like she'd just won a national bingo tournament or something. And I'll bet my fish sticks she hasn't a clue about the red lipstick smudged across her left front tooth.

“Well, you must be River,” she says. Since I'm not carrying a neon sign, she must have seen my peel-and-stick name tag, and that makes me think I smell mothballs again.

Ms. Grackle points her long, skinny finger with bright red nail polish toward an empty desk, so I sit down. “Perfect timing,” she says. “The class just finished choosing partners for our year-end project. This year is the very first year I've allowed partners. Normally students have to work all alone.” Then she points to a kid in the front row. “I'm sure William's glad you're here. Now he'll have a partner just like everybody else.”

Ms. Grackle hands out a detailed instruction sheet explaining
what's required for our project. We must work together to decide on a topic of interest to research, complete a hands-on related project, and, finally, present it to the class. The last sentence on the sheet states, “Must include an essay” (and that, in my opinion, is the meanest word in the entire English language).

“All right, class,” Ms. Grackle shouts, trying to get everyone's attention. “Don't forget that you are to do this project without the help of your parents” (she certainly has nothing to worry about with me). Then she waves her finger back and forth across the room. “And if I find out your parents helped in any way, shape, or form, you will automatically receive an F.”

While Ms. Grackle rambles on, I look around the room at the other students and realize something. William didn't have a partner because no one chose him. He's the class dork. The signs are obvious. He's wearing tan pants with a crease all along the front (a dead giveaway that they were ironed by his mother this morning). And even though I realize pants creep up when you sit, it looks like he's waiting for a serious flood. His are nearly up to his knees and showing off pure white socks (which would've blended in better with sneakers). But he's wearing brown leather shoes, and neither one has a single scuff mark. He probably polishes them. His dress shirt matches his tan pants perfectly, and it's buttoned clear up to his chin. To top it off, he doesn't have a single hair out of place. Not one. But he's my partner, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I tell myself that even though he looks like a dork, there's a chance he's probably nice. Gram says, “If you judge a book by its cover, you just might miss a Hemingway.”

All of a sudden, William raises his hand.

Ms. Grackle nods. “Yes, William?”

“Ms. Grackle, may a parent help due to safety factors?”

I figure the whole class will laugh, but no one does.

“Good question, William,” she answers. “Of course if safety is a concern, as in your situation, parent involvement is permitted.”

Just then the bell rings, and William turns toward me. “See you later, River. I'm glad we're partners.”

Then everyone rushes out the door. Everyone but me. Ms. Grackle must have noticed that I have no idea where I'm supposed to go.

“River,” she says, “do you know where your next class is?”

“Not exactly,” I answer (which is the most polite thing I can make myself say because I'm trying hard not to say that I have no idea, and I couldn't care less because I don't even want to be here).

Ms. Grackle takes my schedule and looks it over. “You have PE. That stands for physical education, just in case you call it ‘gym' where you come from.” Then she points toward the hall. “Take a right and go straight to the end. You can't miss the gym.”

4

A Birding Place?

I
have no idea how, but I make it through PE, science, lunch, and finally math when the dismissal bell rings.

Even with mobs of students racing to their buses, William manages to find me. “Hi, River,” he says. “Remember me from English?”

“Sure, I remember. I may be new, but I don't have memory issues.”

William's carrying a massive stack of books in his left arm, so I think my English partner is not only a dork, but a bookworm too (which can be helpful when it comes to school projects). Then I notice his right arm is dangling at his side like a dead trout on a fishing rope, just hanging there without an ounce of life.

He looks up at me through thick, smudged lenses, using my shadow to block the sun. “Would you like to go to the library with me? We only have three weeks to get our project done, and I'd really like to get an A.”

Now, hanging out at a library on a Friday afternoon isn't normally on my list of things to do, but I shrug my shoulders. “Sure, I suppose it won't hurt.” I was going to help Gram unpack, but since this is for school, she'll be glad.

William leads the way along the sidewalk, and we talk about our project. Ms. Grackle said we can pick any topic as long as we follow her guidelines. I cross my fingers, wishing William wants to do something related to hockey or baseball, but I suppose I could
handle something dorky like “How to Build Model Skyscrapers out of Toothpicks” (which I'd bet he's done before).

As we talk, we pass through the middle of town where there's a flower garden. And right in the center of the garden is a huge fountain, which is at least five times as tall as me. It has three different levels, and each one has carved-stone birds getting water splashed over their heads.