One Day and One Amazing Morning on Orange Street (11 page)

The man took in a sharp breath, and said, “Your dog has found something.”

He strode to the far end of the lot where Ruff had dug his hole. Ali, Leandra, and Bunny/Bonita followed. The man bent down to pull up an old half-buried glass jar. Ali could see that it had a rusty disk on the top, just like the disk she'd shown Ms. Snoops, which meant it was from an old preserve jar. The man put down his drawing pad and unscrewed the jar's rusted cap, twisting it hard with his hand.

“Well...” the man said, looking inside. He whistled a soft melody to himself, a melody the kids didn't recognize. Then he reached in and pulled something from the jar. They saw that it was some folded-up paper, which the man carefully unfolded and separated into two pieces. The pieces tore as he did this, but he read them anyway. That took him a long time. When he was done, tucking the jar under his arm, he folded the papers together again, creasing the edges gently with his thumb and finger. He put the paper into the jar, screwed the cap on tightly, and dropped the jar back into Ruff's hole. Then he bent down and raked the earth around the jar with his hands.

“There was something else in this hole,” he said, looking at the kids, “buried on top of the jar. Did any of you kids find it?”

Ali was looking down at her sneakers. She had her hand in her pocket. The heart-shaped stone felt warm and smooth. She really wanted to keep it.

“Maybe the dog—” the man began. Ali looked up at him, but didn't say anything. The man gave a little shrug and walked slowly from the lot. Ali grabbed an orange and ran after him.

“Wait,” she said, handing him the fruit. “An orange
is
refreshing on a day like today.”

“Thanks,” said the man. He put the orange into the big side pocket of his vest. He was smiling, but Ali thought she saw tears in his eyes.

“The lady across the street told me about you,” Ali said. “You used to collect stones when you were a boy, right?” She reached into her pocket and showed him the heart-shaped stone. “Then this is yours. I was pretending it was my wishing stone.”

The man took the stone, turning it over and over in his palm. He glanced quickly at Ms. Snoops's house, and shook his head. “Nope. Not mine,” he said. He didn't look as if he wanted to say more. Then he gave back the stone, holding Ali's hand for a second in both of his. “But keep wishing.”

“Thank you. I will,” said Ali, and she ran back into the lot.

Leandra was already opening the jar. The others crowded around her as she pulled out the scraps of paper.

Was it someone's last will and testament?

Someone dead and buried, but very, very rich?

Was it a map to buried treasure? (Buried
right there in the lot
!) Would the man be back to dig for it in the dead of night?

Was it a note from someone in danger? Was it a love letter from long ago?

Nobody asked these questions out loud, but it was as if they'd floated right out of that old jar, along with the pieces of paper.

What was actually on that paper was something none of them expected:

Nothing at all.

The scraps of paper were blank, more or less. True, there were splotches and water marks and mud drops on them. And if you squinted a bit you could see what looked like an upper case “D” and a wiggly lowercase “Y.” (Maybe.) But there was nothing that would have made the man's eyes go back and forth and up and down, as if he were reading something. It was all very disappointing.

“That man was just a weirdo,” said Leandra.

But Ali and Bunny/Bonita and Leandra, and even Manny holding Edgar in his arms, continued to stare hard at the pieces of paper, as if hoping the invisible letters would reappear, if they waited long enough.

That's why nobody was prepared for what happened next. The air was hot and still, but suddenly the wind chimes were clanging like crazy, leaves shuddered, and branches snapped.

Mitzi had made her move.

While everyone studied the mysterious note, Mitzi scrambled up the tree's trunk, then leaped on top of the Birdhouse of the Golden Arches. She swung there precariously for a split second as her prey fell to the ground, followed by Mitzi herself.

Everyone ran to the tree. Ali grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck, dropped her at the far side of the lot, then raced back to where everyone else was crouching down in a circle, examining Mitzi's prey—if prey was the right word.

“It's a jelly bean,” said Bunny/Bonita.

But the wrinkled brown being had a tiny beak. Its eyes were closed and it was breathing very fast.

“It's not a jelly bean, silly,” said Leandra. “Look. Its tiny heart is beating. I think it's some kind of bird.”

“Poor little thing,” said Ali.

Manny was standing above them, Edgar asleep again on his shoulder. “That's a baby hummingbird, fallen from its little nest on top of the birdhouse,” he said.

A hummingbird! Bunny/Bonita took a big breath, tapped her purple hat, then blinked three times.

“Where's the mother?” Ali asked.

“She must be here, somewhere,” Manny said. “If not, she'll be looking for her baby when she returns.”

They all looked at the orange tree. Its leaves were still and silent. The Birdhouse of the Golden Arches was still swaying slightly, a little speck of a nest, smaller than a walnut, perched on its roof.

“But meanwhile, the mother's baby could die!” said Bunny/Bonita.

“One of us should take it home and nurse it back to health,” said Ali.

“Oh, no! Not me! Sorry. I can't take that bird home,” said Bunny/Bonita, thinking of all the hat-tapping and eye-blinking that would be required until her own mother returned home safely.

“Neither can I,” said Leandra. “Nope. Impossible.” She could feel that black-magicky fear again, making her heart tighten up like a fist.

“Then it's settled,” said Ali. “Manny and I will take it home. But first we'll go straight to the library for some
hummingbird books.” A semi-amazing idea occurred to her. “This could be a new focus of the Girls With Long Hair Club. Birds! We could be the Girls Who Save Birds' Lives Club.” It was only a semi-amazing idea because there wouldn't always be birds to save. But there was this poor, tiny bird now. And that was a start.

“I think it would be better to phone a wild bird expert,” said Leandra. She looked down at the hummingbird. Maybe she didn't have to worry so much. It was such a teeny tiny bird. Just a bird! Maybe that black-magicky stuff didn't count with birds.

Her heart opened up, and a question flew out.
What will you call it?
Teeny? Little Hum? Bean? “I've changed my mind,” Leandra said. “We know something about birds at our house, so
I'll
take it home.”

“Well, I want it, too,” said Ali. “Let's have a vote.”

Leandra almost yelled, but she decided not to. She pulled a wrinkled tissue from the pocket of her shorts, then gingerly placed the bird on the tissue. “There's no time for a vote. I was the one who called the meeting, and now I'm adjourning it!” She hugged Bean gently to her chest, and for the second time that day, Leandra raced from the lot.

hile all this was going on in the empty lot, Robert Green was sitting on the bottom bunk of his bed, trying to juggle some tennis balls. He was also thinking about the three biggest secrets of his life; three secrets that were connected, like the big metal rings of Manny's Magic Ring Trick.

Secret Number One was a little mouse named Harry Houdini. The day before, Robert had captured him in the empty lot at dusk. He'd made a comfy hotel for Harry out of another shoebox of his dad's (men's sandal, bwn, 14w), which was hidden under the bed. The shoebox was padded with cotton balls and sprinkled here and there with tempting
trail mix and salami. But Harry Houdini didn't appreciate his new home much, if at all. All night long the lonely mouse squeaked to be let out, and Robert figured that a companion mouse would calm him down. So Robert's mission had been to find a suitable friend for Harry. He had been trying and trying since early morning, but no dice.

Robert leaned down to peek under the box's lid. As usual, Harry exploded from the box and raced around the bedroom, every now and then leaping in and out of an open drawer. Finally, Harry Houdini shimmied up the pole of the bunk bed to the top bunk, exhausted.

Robert tossed one ball into the air, followed by another ball, then watched both balls bounce across the floor. Juggling was so impossibly hard! He could hear Harry scratching at the blankets above him. Sighing, Robert put aside his third ball and climbed the bunk bed ladder to grab the mouse.

Green likes mice
.

That's what kids would say if they could see him now. Even though he'd mouse-napped Harry Houdini from the empty lot strictly for training purposes, luring him into the shoebox with treats.

“Hey, little guy,” Robert said, gently stroking Harry's
mushroom-colored body. “Don't you want to be the star of the show?”

Apparently not, because Harry Houdini wriggled free again, sliding down the pole to hide under Robert's pillow.

Secret Number Two was the
true
answer to the question, “How can I get my tricks to work and wow an audience like you do?” He had just discovered the answer a short while ago that afternoon, on his own. And Robert found it odd that Manny hadn't mentioned it, and recited that poetry stuff instead. It was as if Manny wanted to keep the secret all to himself. Robert hadn't figured Manny to be that kind of guy.

The
true
answer to his question about wowing an audience, and the real reason for Manny's success, was something Robert had learned online. It was on the website where Magic Manny shopped, with its snazzy eye-popping demo videos and expensive props.

“Sure, anyone can wow an audience,” Robert said to Harry Houdini, whose pointy ears were now emerging from under the pillow. “All you need are big bucks!”

Robert liked the sound of the sneer in his voice. He sounded cooler with a sneer.

To be fair, Manny himself didn't really deserve that sneer. Manny didn't buy the biggest buck items. His Bending Key
Trick? $24.95. His Cigarette Up-Your-Nose Trick? $14.95. His Gravity-Defying Juggling Balls? $19.95. His Magic Ring Trick was the most expensive, at $32.50.

Then again, it all added up to more bucks than, he, Rob-o, could afford. But Manny was older, and a working man.

When he, Rob-o, was a working man, he'd spring for the incredibly expensive tricks. He couldn't wait to see the look on everyone's faces when he was able to master some of those incredibly expensive tricks.

Especially Ali's face.

That was Secret Number Three. That look on Ali's face was something Robert wished for in the deepest pocket of his heart—the look on Ali's face when she was with Manny, as if Manny were some sort of superhero or something! Or the look on her face when she was taking care of her little brother, like Edgar was someone she'd jump into a lake for, or walk a trillion miles for in a Walkathon. Real love, man. Ali was the neatest, kindest person on Orange Street. (Almost as kind as the old Ali used to be.) If Ali looked at him like that, then that would mean, he, Rob-o, was pretty neat, too.

Sure, maybe he'd been acting not so neat lately. Maybe like a jerk, for starters.

“He's exhibiting a bit of an emotional developmental lag,” Mr. Pokrass, the principal, had told his mother.

True, he'd showed up late once or twice, and lost one or two library books, and disappeared into the boys' bathroom to eat chocolate bars a couple of times. Lots of eleven-year-olds were emotional laggers (like Leandra's brothers, for starters).

And so it wasn't really his fault, and even if it was, there were some good reasons for his own particular lags. Because, speaking of disappearing, everything seemed to be disappearing on Orange Street lately, and that was getting him pretty down.

Life had been going along very well when all of a sudden his best friend Nick (309 Orange Street, now for sale) disappeared to New Zealand. Robert hadn't heard one word from Nick yet, even though he'd had so many sleepovers in Robert's top bunk, and he loved fish and computers and werewolf tales as much as Robert did. Nick, whom Robert had taught to make his trademark shark face, a dazzling virtuoso display of lip-curling and teeth-baring. Audiences (well, only the two of them, so far) roared with laughter at that shark face and Robert thought that Nick could have been his
magic show assistant, or even his
partner
, for halibut's sake, if he'd hung around. But now Nick was too busy kayaking and hunting and fishing (or whatever you did in the wilds of New Zealand) to even bother e-mailing him. Robert had so many questions to ask his friend. Like, ha, ha, where's Old Zealand, for starters?