Treading Water (6 page)

“So why are you trying to return it here?” she asks, raising her chin and narrowing her eyes.

“I don't want to return it. I just bought it,” he says. And then adds, louder, “At the feed store.”

Well, okay,” she says. “I was just being careful.” She goes back to her work.

David and I leave quickly. “That was weird,” he says.

It was. But at least we know where some of the animals are coming from. And even if we didn't get to ask if they screen the buyers, we know they sell chicks and ducks at the tractor supply and chicks, ducks, and rabbits—dyed ones, too—at the feed store.

I say good-bye to David and start toward home. If all went well for Sunita and Jules, they should have some information from the animal shelter and some from the pet store. We'll need to compile and figure out exactly what we should do with all this information.

That's all I can think about for now, because tomorrow afternoon, I meet with the Photography Club. It doesn't make sense to ask Maggie or Zoe to go, after all. Neither one is really speaking to me. Fine. It doesn't matter.

I think about how I need to reset my slide show, add a few new pictures, and put everything in the right order. That's going to take a lot of my time tonight.

In my mind, I swap one picture for another then swap it back. I think about the way the stores treated us today. They were nice enough. Helpful enough. But they treated us like little kids. I bet high school kids never get treated like that. That's just one more reason to look forward to leaving middle school behind.

A
s soon as our school day is over, I walk across the parking lots to the high school. Their school day is over, too. The marching band is emptying out the main doors and assembling in an empty corner of the parking lot for practice. A couple buses are idling out front, waiting for some sports teams. It's loud and more crowded than the last time I came. I push through a bunch of students. I wonder if anyone can tell I'm from the middle school or if I look like a high school girl as I make my way through the halls.

I wasn't sure what to wear, so I changed my clothes a few times this morning. I could have asked Zoe for help, but it felt weird with Maggie still being mad at me. So I wore some new clothes my mom recently bought for me. All day long, I've been tripping on the hem of the pants and pulling the waistband up. Even the new shirt is a little too big. The sleeves are long, and the neck is too loose. It was awkward carrying my computer, camera, and portfolio across the parking lot while holding my pants up so they wouldn't drag in the puddles.

I'm hot and a little bit flustered when I get up to the second floor. I set my equipment down on the floor and double-check the room number on the closed door of the meeting room. Should I just walk in? Knock first? I decide to go in. Bad decision. There is some kind of after-school class going on. Everyone looks at me, and the teacher says, “Can I help you?”

“Sorry,” I mumble, and slip back out the door. Now what? I look at my note once more:

Ambler High School Photography Club

Room 214. Tuesday. 3:10

The door says Room 214. It is Tuesday. I know it is. And now it's 3:20. This is making my stomach hurt. I stop a student walking by and show her my note.

“Photography Club. Oh yeah,” she says. “They moved it.”

“Do you know where they moved it to?”

“I'm not sure. During the afternoon announcements they said something about test prep going on in a couple rooms and the Photography and Key Clubs moving. I'm not in either of them, so I didn't pay attention. Sorry,” she says, and starts to walk away.

“Wait,” I call. “How can I find out where they've been moved to?”

She keeps walking but says over her shoulder, “Not sure. Probably posted on the activities bulletin board near the guidance office.”

Well, that's just great. I'm going to be even later, and now I have to figure out where the guidance office is. A couple boys walk by, so I ask them.

“Downstairs where you pick up your schedule,” one says.

“Across from the chorus room,” his friend adds, and then shoves him into a wall as they both laugh and continue down the hall. Those two remind me of the boys in middle school. I guess they have a couple immature kids here, too.

I still don't know where that is, but at least I know to go back downstairs. I guess that the office must be somewhere close to the main entrance, but now that I've turned myself around, it isn't easy finding it. Eventually, I do.

On the bulletin board, three changes and cancellations are posted. I find:

T
UESDAY
3:10
P
HOTOGRAPH
Y
C
LUB
R
OOM
224

Seriously? Practically right where I'd come from. I race back upstairs. It's hard to move fast carrying all my stuff.

When I walk into the room, it's pretty noisy. Nobody notices me, and I'm not sure which one the leader, Najla, is. So I just go to the front of the room and put my computer down on the teacher's desk. The students are in small groups around the room. Some are looking at photos spread across tables. Others look over each other's shoulders—probably looking at digital pictures. A few kids in the corner laugh as one student salutes and pretends to fall down. What should I do?

I decide to set up. I turn on my computer and look around the room to try to figure out who's in charge. I wish there was a faculty adviser, at least. I'd know to ask the adult where and how to set up, anyway. My hands are shaking as I pull open my portfolio and spread it out. I wonder where the screen is? How can I project my photos without a screen to project them upon? For that matter, where is the projector? On the phone, Najla told me I didn't need to bring one, but I don't see one anywhere. This is a nightmare.

The group laughing in the corner finally spots me and comes over.

“Some people left because they thought you weren't coming,” says a girl who might be Najla.

“I was told room two fourteen,” I say.

“Yeah, they moved us without any notice,” the girl says. None of the others seem particularly concerned. I guess they can't tell that I'm a little upset. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

“Is this where you want me to set up?” I ask. My voice sounds funny. My stomach still hurts.

“Oh no. That's not good,” the girl says. “The computer is back here. Give me your thumb drive, and I'll plug it in for you.”

Thumb drive? I didn't bring a thumb drive. That's not what the Outdoor Club had me do for them. They told me to bring my computer, and I did. I take a moment to think this through.

“When I presented to the Outdoor Club last week, we just hooked my computer up to the projector. Can't we just do that again?” My stomach is doing little flips, and I might have to go to the bathroom, too.

“We don't have that kind of projector,” the gesturing boy says. “This is a Smart Room. The projector is built into the computer back there, and your stuff will appear on the screen over here. It works great.” He points to what I thought was a dry-erase board.

I bet it would work great—if they had told me to bring a thumb drive. And I guess I didn't have to haul my computer around all day at school and then over here. My eyes sting. I do not want to cry in front of everyone, but I feel embarrassed and mad. Why didn't anyone tell me anything?

I take a deep breath and say to the one girl, “Are you Najla?”

She nods, and I continue.

“So here's the problem. I didn't bring a thumb drive because you didn't tell me to. I don't know how I can do my presentation unless we can borrow the projector the Outdoor Club used. And I have to use the bathroom. Can someone tell me where it is?”

Najla eyes widen, and her mouth purses. “Well, I just assumed you would know. How should I know what the Outdoor Club uses? We do presentations all the time in Photography Club, and we always use the Smart system.”

The boy looks at Najla, and I can tell he is as surprised by her tone of voice as I am. He says, “Wait a sec.” He tilts his chin to the ceiling and furrows his brow. Then he says, “E-mail. Just e-mail your presentation to us, and we can run it through the system.”

I breathe again. Since my computer is on and ready, I quickly e-mail my presentation file to the address he types in. As soon as he receives it on the school's computer, I head to the bathroom. I can't believe how clueless Najla is. First, she doesn't think to tell me that the room has been changed. Then she's mad that I'm late because of it. Plus she is irritated that I didn't assume I would need to bring different equipment. I guess not all high school kids are cool. I look at the time. I've already lost a half hour of presentation time. I'm going to have to cut it short. How?

When I get back from the bathroom, the faculty adviser is there. She and the students are sitting and looking at the screen. I glance at the screen, and instead of the first carefully selected presentation slide, it's a photo of the dead duckling. Oh no.

“Um, wrong file,” I say to the helpful boy whose name I still don't know. I feel my face redden. What will they think of me? Sunita is a friend, and even she thinks I'm weird for taking it.

“Hold on!” a girl with a long skirt and giant earrings says. “That is an amazing shot. It tells a story.”

“A sad story,” I say. “The duckling had just died because someone bought it and then abandoned it. We're pretty sure it was meant to be an Easter gift for a child. There was plastic grass in its throat when we found it.”

“That's terrible!” she says.

“It really is,” I agree. “Dr. Mac at the vet clinic tried to save it. But it was too fragile and dehydrated when we got to it.”

“So sad,” I hear a few people around the room say.

“We actually found four ducklings right here in the parking lot of the high school,” I tell them.

“Oh yeah,” a boy who seemed to be sleeping says. “I heard about that. Do you think somebody from here just dumped 'em?”

“Well, probably not a high school student,” I suggest. “Most likely, a parent bought them for their kids, and when they saw how messy they were—and ducks are sooo messy—they decided to get rid of them. It's really terrible that whoever did this didn't at least find a place they could be cared for. The animal shelter, or Dr. Mac's clinic. This one didn't have to die.”

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Have I said too much? The Outdoor Club was a lot easier to talk to. My stomach hurts, and I'm still way too hot.

“Still, it's a good shot,” Najla says.

“Crazy good,” a boy in the second row says. “What did you use to get that moody lighting?”

I look at the picture and try to remember. “A red-bulb heat lamp about four feet away and eighteen inches high off the surface gives it that apricot glow.”

“Cool,” he says. “I've never used a heat lamp bulb before.”

I am about to tell him that I didn't set up the shot, that it was unintentional—almost a reflex—taking that photo. I am about to explain that the red bulb was a source of heat for the nearby healthy ducklings, but then my real first slide is projected, and I begin my wildlife photography talk.

I have to flip through quicker than I intended. But it's going okay. My stomach settles down, and I'm not wishing I had said no any longer. I wish they would crack a window, though.

We talk about wildlife. We talk about lighting. We talk about shutter speeds and specialty lenses. We talk about safety, and we talk about luck.

As the students ask questions, I flip to my last couple of slides. They're about the Environmental Club and Save Our Streams Cleanup Days. I have a sign-up sheet and handouts just like I did for the Outdoor Club, in case anyone wants to volunteer.

One girl—in head-to-toe black—asks me about joining the Environmental Club.

“We'd love to have some more members. My blog and e-mail addresses are on the handout. You can get in touch with me.”

“So this club,” she continues. “Where do you meet? And is it a
middle school
club?” The way she says middle school sounds as if she meant kindergarten.

“We meet at the middle school. First Tuesday of the month. Four o'clock. And yeah, it's mostly middle school kids.”

The girl looks less interested now. I see a couple kids pass their handouts back. So I quickly add, “But I'm pretty sure I'm moving the club to the high school soon.”

The girl nods. “If you do, I'll think about it.”

I should be happy about that. A couple other kids tell me they'll think about joining as they head out the door. I wonder if I've done the right thing suggesting it.

I've been thinking about it for a while—since last week anyway. After all, I did check out this school's auditorium and cafeteria in case we decide to move the meetings here. I know we'd get a lot more high school kids coming if the meetings were held here. And the Outdoor Club kids would see that the Vet Volunteers would be good members for their club. The Photography Club kids somehow made me feel too young, and I don't think any of them will join if the meetings are held back at the middle school. I'm sure of all this. So why do I dread telling the Vet Volunteers what I just suggested?

I look at the pile of handouts and my sign-up sheet. Nobody signed it. Only two handouts were taken.

I gather my stuff and walk downstairs. This time, everything looks bigger—and the remaining kids, not so friendly.

S
age picks me up at the front entrance of the high school again. As we drive through the parking lot, I notice we both can't help but look in the direction of where we found the ducklings a week ago.

And that's when I see Nick and his girlfriend, from Outdoor Club, waving us down. Sage stops, and we roll down our windows.

“Hey, man”—Nick leans on the window frame and says to Sage—“I see you already fixed that muffler.”

“Shop got me in fast,” Sage says. “Hey,” he says to Nick's girlfriend.

The girlfriend waves at each of us and then looks down at her phone as she quickly texts.

“Sorry I couldn't stop in to see your photog show,” Nick begins. “I had to get some stuff done.”

“It's okay,” I say. Although I had really hoped to see him. One familiar face would have helped, especially at the beginning. Oh well.

“I was wondering about those baby ducks,” Nick says. “They doing okay?”

Sage looks over at me to answer for both of us.

“The first three we all found are doing well,” I begin. “But that fourth one you found didn't make it. It died a couple days later.”

Nick looks seriously sad. “Jeez,” he says.

His girlfriend looks up from her phone. “What's this?” she asks.

Nick answers, “One of the baby ducks didn't make it.”

The girlfriend pats him on the arm, “Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

“Did you guys ever find out who left them in the parking lot?” Nick asks.

Sage shakes his head. “We're on our way over to pick them up now, though,” he says.

“We are?” I knew nothing of this.

Sage looks my way and says, “Yeah, Dr. Mac called Mom this morning and set it up. Says they're ready to be sprung.”

“Cool,” Nick says. “Glad they're going to your place. Do you think you'll keep them?”

This time, Sage answers for both of us. “Naw. We're just a stop on the road to recovery. My parents work on releasing animals back to the wild or, if that isn't possible, finding them a permanent home.”

“If we kept them all, we'd be overrun,” I add. “Plus, they're meant to live in the wild.”

Nick laughs. “Makes sense.”

“Oh, also,” I say, “I might be moving the Environmental Club meetings over here.”

“Cool. I'm in,” Nick says. He looks at his girlfriend and shrugs. “I think we both are. Keep me posted.”

Sage taps the steering wheel. “We'd better get going to pick up those birds,” he says. “You oughta come out to our place and take a look around. Visit the ducklings you helped save.”

“Really?” Nick asks. “That'd be great. I bet I haven't been to the rehab center since my fourth-grade field trip.”

Sage and I laugh because it seems like every fourth grader in the county passes through our place on a school field trip. Our dad even has a corny saying that he recites like a king might as the kids get back on their school buses:
“Go forth, Fourth Graders, and protect wildlife forever.”

Girlfriend looks up from her phone again, “What's this?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Nick says as he waves good-bye.

We roll up our windows, and Sage drives out of the parking lot.

“How'd your thing go?” he asks when we're out on the main road.

“Fine. Well, eventually.” I tell him all about the meeting room mix-up. Sage listens and nods and then says something that surprises me.

“Yeah, I can see that happening. High school kids can be a little self-absorbed.” He shrugs. “I was like that. Do you remember?”

I think he is
still
self-absorbed sometimes, but he's giving me a ride so I'm not going to really answer that.

“I guess,” is all I say. “How was school today?”

While we drive, Sage fills me in. It's been pretty hard for me to imagine how a college day actually goes. I know they don't have bells to tell them when class is over. And he sometimes has long stretches between one class and another, and he can do anything he wants during that time. Sage tells me he usually either studies or eats. There is a dining hall instead of a cafeteria, and you can just go there whenever you have time to eat. I guess it's like a restaurant. I know he likes college. High school will be a little like college, I guess.

“So Sage, what do you think about me moving the Environmental Club meeting? Do you think anybody will be mad if I do?”

“Why would anyone be mad?” he asks.

Exactly. Why would anyone be mad? Well, I guess I know who might be. But why
should
anyone be mad? It's just a building switch. No big deal.

I guess I am not paying attention as we drive because all of a sudden we are in front of Dr. Mac's clinic.

“We have to be quick,” he says. “I've got lots to do at home.”

I grab the crate from the backseat, and we walk into the clinic. Zoe meets us as soon as we walk in.

“Hi, Sage,” she says, all flirty.

“How ya doing, Zoe?” Sage says, crossing his arms in front of him. He smiles at her, which makes her smile even bigger. He glances at me, and I can tell he's amused.

“Just great,” Zoe says. “I was wondering if you could help me move a bookcase in the living room?”

“Can't you wait for Dr. Mac to help you move it?” I ask.

“Gran is working on a cat right now,” Zoe says. Then, turning to Sage she asks, “So could you?”

“I guess, if we can be quick,” Sage replies. “You can help, too,” Sage says to me, uncrossing his arms.

“Gran needs her help. Come on,” Zoe says, leading Sage through the clinic to the house.

Maggie comes through the house door and Zoe squeezes by her. Maggie looks back over her shoulder as Sage and Zoe go into the house.

“What's that about?” she asks. Maggie is almost friendly. Maybe all is forgiven.

“Zoe wants help moving a bookcase,” I reply.

“This minute? She's been talking about that bookcase for weeks. She keeps rearranging the living room only to put it back the way it was.” Maggie laughs. “She'll probably make him try one of those kale shakes she keeps trying to give me.”

“Sage might actually like that,” I say. “But I have the feeling that Zoe is just trying to get his attention.”

“That's Zoe,” Maggie says.

We look at each other in silence for what seems like forever. I want to say I'm sorry, but I'm still not sure what I ought to be sorry for.

“So,” Maggie begins, “Zoe and Gran think I might have overreacted to what you said about wanting to be in high school. I guess they're right.”

“You realize we'll be in high school
together,
right?” I say.

“Yeah, but high school is going to be hard. At least it will be for me,” Maggie says. “I'm not in any hurry to get there.”

“They have after-school help there, just like at our school. I know, because Sage stayed after
a lot
for Spanish,” I say. “And you know I'll help you when I can.”

Maggie smiles. “Okay, but I'm still not going to weasel my way into that Outdoor Club with you. Let's not rush things, okay?”

I'm just going to have to work on getting into the Outdoor Club myself. Oh well. At least Maggie and I have made up. I feel lighter. And then, I decide to tell her what I said to the Photography Club students. Just to clear the air.

“One more thing, I might have told the Photography Club kids that we're thinking about moving the Environmental Club meetings to the high school,” I say, as fast as I can.

“You
might
have told them?” she asks.

“I did tell them.”

Maggie doesn't say anything. At first. Then, “What?! Why? I can't believe it.” Maggie is angrier than I've ever seen her. “You're not in charge of everything, you know. It's not your decision.”

Before I can answer she storms away. Again.

Sage is beside me. “What was that about?”

“I might've messed up,” I say quietly. Sage pats me on the shoulder. I swallow hard. We go find Dr. Mac.

“You're here,” Sunita says, and waves us back to the recovery room, where Dr. Mac is working on a shiny-coated silvery black cat. I can tell by the way she's handling it that the cat is sedated so it doesn't feel any pain.

Sage whistles. “Good lookin' cat.”

“Hi, Sage, Brenna,” Dr. Mac says. “Yes, he is. His owners named him Seal. Looks appropriate, don't you think?” Dr. Mac finishes wrapping a bandage around the cat's left hind leg. “However, this little guy seems much more interested in the road than in the water. This is the second time in three years that I've had to set a broken bone. He likes to race cars. Ever heard of a cat like that?”

“No,” I say, “though David's cat likes to play fetch. Need any help?”

“I'm good. I'll be with you two in just a moment.” Dr. Mac finishes by giving the cat a shot and putting him into one of the high cages. She scrunches his blanket up beneath his head. Lots of cats like to rest like that. Seal closes his eyes.

Dr. Mac removes her gloves and washes her hands.

“I've given your mom all the care info I have. I trust that your family knows a lot more about taking care of ducks than I do. So I know they're in good hands.”

I put the crate on the stainless steel table and open the door.

“All set,” I say.

Dr. Mac picks up two ducklings and motions Sage to pick up the third. The ducklings look so small in the crate. Their bodies are nothing but dandelion-yellow fluff with marigold-yellow bills and webbed feet. Their feet almost look too big for their little bodies. They stumble over one another, perhaps looking for the heat lamp. They are peeping up a storm, even the one we worried was too quiet before. I close the crate door when all three are inside.

“Here is a bag of the food I've been giving them. It's from Ambler Feed, if you want to get more. Or, of course, taper and mix in if you're going to change their feed.” Dr. Mac hands the bag to Sage.

“Ducks are pretty resilient to feed changes,” Sage says. “I'm sure they'll be fine, whichever way we go.”

Sage takes the crate with him. Sunita waves good-bye.

In the parking lot, I can hear the hard
slap, slap, slap
of Maggie's basketball as she dribbles. Even though I can't see her from this spot, I can tell by the sound that she isn't taking any shots at the basket. Just dribbling.
Slap, slap, slap.