Soar (20 page)

I keep walking, my heart beating faster, my vision more blurred.

Mom runs down the hallway after me, her squeaky footsteps on the tile floor getting closer with each step I take.

She finally catches up with me, outside of Mr. Dover's classroom, of all places. She grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around.

“Eddie,” she says, out of breath. “I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry.”

“He ruined everything!”
I tell her, my bottom lip trembling. “I tried to be nice to him. I tried to help him, and he ruined it! I hate him!”

“Sweetie, I know it's bad, but you can't just walk out like this. You have to go back and finish what you started.”

“It
is
finished. Everything is finished!”

“It doesn't have to be. What about all the effort you put into this project? There's a lot to be said for that.”

“No one cares about my effort. They're all looking at Mouton's stupid painting.”

“That's not your problem, Eddie.”

“It is too my problem, when he's my one and only partner and he screws everything up. Now we have no chance of winning the blue ribbon.”

Mom takes me by the shoulders and stands me up straight. She looks me in the eye. “What would your dad say right now? Just think about that. What would he tell you to do in this situation?”

I take a deep breath. Another one. I will not cry.

Mom holds a look on me. “He'd tell you to get your butt in there and stand tall, to be proud of your work. He'd
tell you to focus on controlling your own actions, not Mouton's. It's not your fault that Mouton brought the wrong painting.”

I nod, agreeing with her, even though I don't want to.

“Well, guess what?” she says. “Your dad isn't here anymore. He's gone, forever. I'm sorry, sweetie, but that's the truth and you need to hear it. But I'm here, Eddie. It's me and you, you and me. And I'm telling you to be strong and carry on, just like you said about us.”

“What about the blue ribbon?”

“Eddie, who cares about the blue ribbon? That doesn't make or break your project. It's about the process, not the result.”

I think about that for a moment. It doesn't sound like something Mom would say. “Who told you that?” I ask her.

“Who do you think?”

I stand up straighter, taller, my shoulders back. I inhale deeply to clear my head and push back my tears. “Dad?”

“Yes, Eddie. He told me that.”

“When?”

“You really wanna know?”

I nod.

Mom looks down at the floor. She takes out her cleaning rag and wipes a black smudge away from the tile, her keys jingling against her leg. She stands up, stuffing the rag into her back pocket.

“Our marriage wasn't always the best,” she says, still looking at the floor. “We were going through a rough patch after you were born. I wanted to leave, and your dad stopped me.”

“You wanted to leave Dad? Like, take me away from him?”

“I had my suitcase packed. I was leaving, Eddie. I mean, I was out of here.”

Mom crosses her arms over her chest to keep herself from getting upset. “Then your dad told me that being married was about the process of companionship. He said that we should focus more on the moment and enjoy being together, and not worry so much about our future.”

“Then what happened?”

“We got better, and you grew up.”

Mom laughs one of those little laughs that keeps you from crying. I think this one keeps us both from crying.

I look down at the spot on the floor that she wiped clean. I can't
believe she almost left Dad forever. If that had happened, I would've never known about the food chain or the Rules of Birding. I would've never learned how to identify birds by their voices.

I would've never known about Sandy and Dad's friendship.

I would've never known about the golden eagle.

Mom smiles at me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “Now come on. I bet there's a line of curious people in there waiting to ask you questions about that bird.”

I take a deep breath, because it's the only way I know how to respond; it's the only way to keep from losing it and running away from this place.

Mom puts her arm around me, and we walk toward the entrance to the gym.

W
hen I come back into the gym, Mom walks me to my table. But the big crowd has moved on to other tables. There are only two people checking out our project. One is reading our poster board, and the other is looking at the golden eagle feather.

I look around the gym, but I can't find Mouton anywhere.

Holding his clipboard, Mr. Dover walks up to us. “Eddie, I'm sorry about what happened. Mouton's mother took him home for the day.”

“Good. I don't ever want to see him again.”

“Eddie.” Mom nudges me with her elbow.

“Well, I can't promise you won't see him again,” Mr. Dover says. “But I think it's best that he's not here for the remainder of the symposium.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dover,” Mom says. “Eddie and I talked about what happened. He'll be fine.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Just fine.”

I make it through the rest of the symposium in one piece. I'm able to keep my emotions together enough to answer questions and to show off my project. But I can't stop thinking about the stunned faces in the crowd when Mouton yanked the towel away and revealed the stupidest painting ever.

At four o'clock everyone gathers around the stage, waiting for the awards ceremony to begin.

Mom is the only person standing next to me, probably because no one else knows what to say to me.

When I think about Mouton and the painting, my fists clench. He's lucky that he left early, or there would've been a fight right here on the gym floor. I've never been in a fight. The only thing I've ever punched is Dad's shoulder. But there's a first time for everything, including fist-fighting symposium partners.

I'm not sure if Mouton meant to bring that painting
or if he accidentally brought the wrong one. Right now it doesn't matter. He did it, and there's no turning back time.

I wouldn't be so mad if Mouton cared about the symposium, or cared about anything other than woodpecker pens. He's probably at home laughing right now, while my blue-ribbon dreams were shot down and wrangled by the neck, like the quail at Miss Dorothy's place.

On the stage, Mr. Dover steps up to the microphone, holding his clipboard. “Okay, everyone, if I could have your attention, please. It's time to announce the winners of this year's science symposium.”

Mom puts her arm around me. She knows this is going to be hard for both of us to hear. As much as I want to pull away from her, because it's kind of embarrassing to have your mom's arm draped on your shoulder at a school event, I need her arm around me right now more than ever.

Mr. Dover says, “In third place, Josh and Jacob Simmons.”

Everyone in the crowd claps. One section of the crowd erupts into cheers and whistles. Must be their family.

The two boys come up onstage, and Mr. Dover hands them each a small plaque.

It's
no surprise they got third place. The Simmons boys are identical twins, and they're identically good scientists. Their project was about how to make a hybrid airplane. I'm not sure it's really possible, because their theory was based mostly on putting solar panels on the wings to help charge the engines. I guess it would save fuel costs for airlines, but only on sunny days.

Mr. Dover leans into the microphone. “In second place, Mandy Russell and Sophia Everton.”

Again everyone claps. The two girls rush up to the stage, smiling and giggling, while camera flashes go off in every direction. Their project tested the effects of home aquariums on families' blood pressure. They hypothesized that families with aquariums in their homes would have lower blood pressure than those without aquariums, and their research proved that they were right.

Mom begins rubbing my back. I can only look at the stage in disappointment, knowing that my name will not be called.

Mr. Dover hands the girls their plaques, and they move to the side of the stage.

“And the winners of this year's science symposium are”—Mr. Dover looks down at his list one more time—“Gabriela Oliveira and Trixie Longburger.”

The crowd cheers loudly. Gabriela and Trixie walk up to the stage, all smiles.

I don't know what to think.

On one hand, it's now official that I didn't even finish in the top three. On the other hand, Gabriela and Trixie won the blue ribbon!

Mr. Dover hands each of them a giant blue ribbon. The top part of the ribbon is shaped like a medallion with gold lettering and two long streamers flowing from it. Under the stage lights the ribbons shine like rare pieces of gold.

Mom keeps her arm around me. She even tightens her grip.

I clap once, because it's hard to be happy for someone else right now. It's even hard to be happy for Gabriela.

I
've spent the last two days in bed playing sick. Mom knows I'm not sick, but she feels sorry for me, so she let me stay home. She knows how much the symposium meant to me and how it'll be impossible to show my face—or any part of me—at school. If it were up to me, I'd stay in bed for the rest of the year.

Mom opens the door to my room and comes in, carrying a glass of orange juice. She sets the glass on the nightstand. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I take the glass and gulp down half of the orange juice.

“You know, you can't stay in bed for the rest of your life. Tomorrow it's back to school.”

“But, Mom—”

She rests her hand on my arm. “Listen, I know you're disappointed about the symposium. But just like you said about us, you have to move on. Besides, two sick days for you means two sick days for me. I only get so many of them.”

I collapse against the pillows. How can I go back to school after being humiliated at the event I wanted to win more than anything else?

“Also, we have plans on Saturday, so make yourself available.” Mom kisses my forehead and walks out of my room, shutting the door.

I wonder what plans she could be talking about. Maybe she's taking me somewhere special, somewhere far away, like to one of those fancy birding tours where everyone tips the guide because they see so many rare species.

I wonder if they ever see golden eagles.

For the rest of the day, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I think about that quote Dad used to say all the time and how it relates to what happened at the symposium.

“But Hopes are Shy Birds flying at a great distance seldom reached by the best of Guns.”

My HOPES of winning the blue ribbon vanished when Mouton brought the wrong painting.

The golden eagle is a SHY BIRD, and I'll never see it.

And then there's Mr. Dover and his hunting GUNS. I'm sure he's at home celebrating because I didn't win the blue ribbon.

The next morning I find Gabriela at the bus stop. Her breath twirls out in small clouds and disappears into the cool air.

I stop about ten feet away from her and say “Congrats,” the way I rehearsed it fifty times in front of the bathroom mirror.

“I am sorry about what happened,” she says. “You are right. Mouton is a jerk.”

“It was a mistake. We all make them. He just made it at the worst time ever.”

“You are not mad at Mouton?”

“I was mad for a while. But it's over now, and there's nothing I can do about it. I guess it's time to move on.”

“Eddie, thank you for saying ‘congrats.' That was sweet of you.”

I give her a half smile.

And at that moment—even though it's getting colder outside and I can see my breath—my body becomes a little warmer on the inside.

Mouton doesn't show up at school, which is a good thing, because I'm not ready to see him yet. I'll see him at some point, and when that happens, I'm not sure how I'll react.