Soar (10 page)

“Wow,” I say quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Eddie.” She sets the pen on the table. “I will help you with your project. I believe you can find this golden eagle.”

“Thanks. But technically you're not allowed to help me. I'm supposed to do the project with Mouton, or the judges can disqualify us. It's in the rules.”

“Then why did you come to my door?”

“I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to talk. Or maybe I need some luck.”

Gabriela smiles. “Do you think I am lucky?”

I say the only thing that comes to mind. “Anyone who attracts that many hummingbirds
must
be lucky.”

Gabriela looks down. I've made her blush, but it seems like a good blush, like my face after someone says my bird drawing is awesome, or my faded Black Crowes T-shirt is cool, which doesn't happen very often.

“You are definitely sweet,” she says.

I look up at Gabriela. Behind her, on the wall, hangs the green-and-yellow Brazilian flag. I wonder about the words on the white band streaming across the blue circle.

“What do those words mean?” I point at the flag.

“
Ordem e Progresso.
‘Order and progress.' Those are words we live by in Brazil. It comes from positivism. Love, order, and progress. We had to memorize it in my school.”

“What's positivism?”

“I do not remember much about this. One part says that real truth is
only
found in science. But I do not believe that is true.” She looks at the flag, then at me. “Do you think that is true?”

I think about those words for a long moment.

Truth. Science. Believe.

I lean back against the couch and hold a pillow on my lap, protecting me like a shield. “I don't know.”

S
o what is the first step for your project?” Gabriela asks me.

“I need to get my bike back from Mouton. That way I can cruise around town and gather things I need. My mom works late. She doesn't have time to take me all over the place. Plus I can't keep it from my mom much longer. She's going to figure it out sooner or later.”

Gabriela stands up, smoothing out her dress. “Would you like a cup of Papa's berry drink?”

“Right now?”

“Eddie, we have a plan to make. You could be here for a while. We need strength.”

Be here for a while? There's no place I'd rather be right now than Gabriela's living room, sipping Papa's berry drink.

“Sure, I'll have some. Maybe it'll help us think better.”

Gabriela brings two drinks from the kitchen and sets them on the table. Steam rises from the cups. The smell is stronger than I remember. “This one is made from the camu camu berry. It is high in vitamin C. Papa says it gives you strength and courage.”

“Courage,” I say, rubbing my hands together. “Sounds like a winner to me.”

She drops the orange pen and her notebook into my lap. “You will be the note-taker.”

“Um, okay.” I open the notebook's flowery cover and uncap the pen. “What does that make you?”

Gabriela sips her camu camu drink like a cup of hot soup. “I am the rhyme and the reason.”

“Rhyme and reason? Where did you hear that?”

“From this book.” She holds up a torn-up, crinkled paperback.
The Phantom Tollbooth.
The corners are creased, and a few pages are dog-eared.

“I read that in fifth grade.”

“I know. This is
your
book. Your mother brought over a box of gifts the day after we moved in. This book
was in the box. You have so many strange phrases in English. It is hard to keep track of them. I am trying to learn them all.”

“So, wait, you're learning better English by reading
The Phantom Tollbooth
?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, whatever you say.”

“Is this another phrase I should know? ‘Whatever you say'?”

“Actually, yes. It means ‘whatever you just said is good enough for me.' ” I tap the pen on Gabriela's notebook, which reminds me of Mouton and his nervous tapping in class. Now that I think about it, the tapping is easy to do, especially when your mind is on more important matters, like telling your new friend what overused phrases mean.

In the notebook I write “Golden Plan” at the top of the first page.

Together we come up with a list of plans to get my bike back.

1. 
Operation Nuns Saving Orphaned Babies.
Gabriela dresses up like a nun. She distracts Mouton at the front door while I sneak around
back, hop the fence, snatch my Predator (assuming it's somewhere in the backyard), lift it over the fence, and then hop back over to safety and ride my bike into the night, all while Gabriela wraps up her speech on saving orphaned babies.

Positives: Low cost, just a nun costume.

Negatives: There's a chance my bike will not be in the backyard, and this plan does not give me time to look anywhere else.

2. 
Operation Woodpecker Pens.
I order woodpecker pens from different states (if they exist) and tape them to a poster board. I knock on Mouton's door, then run and hide. Gabriela will be stationed at her place on the street. When Mouton answers the door, Gabriela walks by holding the poster so Mouton can see all the woodpecker pens. Mouton will come after Gabriela and he'll want to see the pens up close. Gabriela's job is to keep walking, away from the house. Mouton will be so distracted by the pens that he'll tag along. Once they're far enough away from the house, I make my move. I run inside
the house, avoiding Mouton's parents (might be better to wait until Mouton is home alone), find my Predator, and ride off in the opposite direction, away from Mouton and Gabriela.

Positives: The house becomes an empty nest, so I have more time to look for my Predator.

Negatives: Mouton annoys Gabriela. She has to listen to him go on and on about woodpecker pens.

3. 
Operation Ninja Bird.
Gabriela acts as the lookout. She dresses in black and stations herself behind the big oak tree in Mouton's front yard. We communicate through the Donald Duck walkie-talkies that Timmy Latham's little brother left behind. I wear my fifth-grade Halloween ninja costume. Actually, I call it the Ninja Bird costume, because I was a ninja with an eagle for a sidekick. I sneak into Mouton's backyard and look for my bike. If I do not locate my bike in the backyard, I'll be forced to search deeper, possibly looking into Mouton's windows. Once I locate my bike,
I will take it and sneak away, without being noticed.

Positives: Gabriela does not have to interact with Mouton. She stays safe, behind the oak tree.

Negatives: None. Ninjas are never heard or seen.

D
uring the first week of October, Mr. Dover weaves through the aisles, passing back symposium project proposals. His bow tie is a swirly mess of colors: red, blue, and yellow. He calls it his Brazilian bow tie because he thinks the colors represent a scarlet macaw.

Gabriela says the colors aren't the same. According to her, the blue is too light, the yellow too bright, and the red is not red at all. It's burgundy.

Mr. Dover finishes passing back all the papers. “I've approved most of your proposals with an owl stamp that says ‘Hoot, hoot.' Otherwise, Mr. Squirrel stamp
is telling you to ‘Get crackin',' which means back to the drawing board in squirrel talk.”

But there's a problem. Mouton and I didn't get our proposal back. Mr. Dover must have forgotten to pass out our paper. Maybe it's so good that he wants to frame it and hang it behind his desk.

Doubt it.

I raise my hand.

Mr. Dover ignores me. He uncaps the green marker and writes “Teamwork” on the white board. “This isn't basketball, where you have to work the ball around the perimeter to find the player who's open or the player who can take advantage of a mismatch. And it's not a theater production, where the lights operator is just as important as the lead actor, because without lights there's no acting to be seen, and without acting there's no production.”

I keep my hand in the air. I'm not giving up. I want to know about my proposal.

“This is a science project. One that's conceived, planned, and executed by you
and
your partner.”

I support my arm that's in the air with my other arm. The blood drains from my fingertips to my shoulder.

Finally he calls on me. “Eddie.”

“I just want to know where our—”

“Eddie, I'll speak to you after class.” He cuts me off before I can finish.

Mouton drums the woodpecker pen on his desk. “Eddie-shovel-truck!”

From across the room Gabriela finds me and opens her eyes wide. She must know I'm in trouble.

I spend the rest of class tuning out and secretly drawing a peregrine falcon in my bird journal. The peregrine falcon is one of the most underrated birds. It's a small raptor and can dive-bomb from its perch at two hundred miles per hour. I wish they lived in Indiana. It's no golden eagle, but any bird that looks like it has a mustache must be cool.

The bird clock chirps.

Mr. Dover says “Time's up” and dismisses everyone.

On her way out Gabriela walks past me and leans into my ear. “Do not bite off more than you can chew.”

The classroom finally empties.

Mr. Dover walks toward me, and I close my bird journal. He lets a piece of paper fall from his hand, and it lands crookedly on my desk.

It's my drawing of Quailzilla.

I stare at my drawing.

“Tell me, Eddie, who would draw something like this?”

“I don't know. Mouton?”

He smirks, and I can feel he's getting frustrated with me. “I thought we were going to make this a good year?”

“That was the plan, until you made Mouton my partner.”

“The partner drawings were completely random, Eddie. You saw the robin's nest.”

“I wish I could believe you.” I start loading my books into my backpack. “You know something, Mr. Dover, I don't think you really
knew
my dad.”

“I knew him well enough to know that you're following in his footsteps.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Eddie, your dad said he saw a golden eagle in October. That's not possible. They only come around these parts in the winter. And even then, it would be unheard of to see a bird like that.”

I shove my bird journal into my backpack, leaving the Quailzilla drawing on my desk. I want to take the drawing with me, but I can't bring myself to admit that it's mine.

“If you knew my dad so well, then what was his favorite bird?”

“I assume it was the golden eagle.”

“Wrong. It was actually the sharp-shinned hawk.”

Mr. Dover holds up another piece of paper and lets it fall onto my desk. It glides over the Quailzilla drawing, covering everything except Quailzilla's beak.

It's our project proposal, with an owl stamp at the top.

“Hoot, hoot,” Mr. Dover says. “You won't find a golden eagle, but I'm going to let you spread your wings and give it a go.”

“So you're approving our project?”

“Absolutely. However, I do expect you to utilize every step of the scientific method. And remember, there are rules for the symposium. Mouton is your partner, and he
must
contribute to the project in a real way. Otherwise you'll be disqualified.”

I nod in agreement. “Thanks.”

I begin to leave and brush past Mr. Dover.

“Eddie.” I turn back, and he's holding out my Quailzilla drawing. “You forgot your bird monster.”

There's no use faking it anymore. I take the drawing from him.

“It's not a bird monster. It's Quailzilla.”