Authors: Kristen Chandler
Girls Don't Fly (30 page)
“Yeah, so would I,” says Bobbie. “How’s your sister and her miracle baby doing?”
“Good. Really well,” I say.
My cell rings. Dad’s voice shouts through the speaker. “Myra. Are you somewhere where you can see a TV?”
I try to focus. “I’m at the marina. What’s going on?”
“Turn on channel seven. Fast.”
I fumble to turn on the clubhouse TV only to see the last ten seconds of my one day as a chicken immortalized on the small screen. I’m being mugged on national TV. At least I’m covered by the costume.
Ranger Bobbie cracks up. Then my chicken head comes off. Ranger Bobbie stops laughing. “Myra, is that you?”
They replay the tackle scene over and over. They do it slower each time and the audience laughs harder.
“Oh,” says the announcer. “Talk about a drive-through.”
“That’s awful,” says Bobbie, and then spurts out another laugh.
The announcer interviewing Jonathon the fink says, “How did you get this on film?”
“An artist never reveals his sources,” says Jonathon. “But if you’re out there, Myra, you look great in feathers!”
On another day I might think this was funny, but I’m way past not in the mood. I whisper, “I’m going to kill that kid with my bare hands.” I mean it. Jonathon is a dead man.
The TV guy says, “And there you have it, ‘Chicken Sandwich.’ ”
I sit through two more videos of people being humiliated. I am too mad to move.
The man on the TV finally says, “So viewers, which will it be? ‘Tommy Goes Tinkle,’ ‘Udder Madness,’ or ‘Chicken Sandwich?’”
Ranger Bobbie says, “Sorry, Myra, nothing’s as funny as a kid peeing off the balcony onto his sister! You’re going down.”
“Like I want to win!”
“And the winner is ... drumroll please ... for ten thousand dollars ... ‘Chicken Sandwich!’ ”
The camera pans to Jonathon. He’s waving his hands in the air as the confetti falls on him. His beady little eyes shine. He’s delighted with himself. Of course he is. The little toad just made ten thousand dollars off me.
The announcer puts the mike in his face. “What are you going to do with the money?”
“I think I’ll buy a new camera,” he says. “Then move to California.”
“What about your friend?” says the announcer. “Does she get some money too?”
Jonathon looks at the man. “Yeah, yeah. I guess. If she goes out with me.”
“That’s the spirit, my boy. Watch her get pummeled and then bribe her with money. Believe me, it works like a charm.” The announcer rolls his eyes at the audience.
I put my head back on the couch while my phone rings. I press Ignore and it rings again. I turn it off.
43
Flash:
A small lake or pond caused by rain.
Dad throws the door open for me. “He’s already called!”
“Who’s called?” I say.
“Jonathon!”
There’s a short list of people I would like to call me. Jonathon isn’t one of them. “That was fast,” I say. “Did he leave an address where I can send my pipe bomb?”
Melyssa is slouching over her donut in a rare appearance. Between pumping milk, hanging out with Zeke, and being at the hospital learning how to take care of the still unnamed bambina, she isn’t home much. “You’d better hear the rest of what Dad has to say before you kill him.”
“Let me guess, he wants to pay me fifty bucks so I won’t sue him.”
Andrew says, “It’s a little better than that.”
“He wants to give you a thousand,” says Brett.
“You should sue for half if you ask me,” says Melyssa. “You’re the talent.”
“He wants to give me a thousand dollars?”
“When did you work at Chicken Little?” says Dad.
Mom says, “I wish he’d won in time for your contest, honey. I’m sorry.”
“You are?”
“Yes, I am,” she says. “I mean it. I was wrong, Myra. You’d have won.”
“Of course you would have,” says Dad.
“Of course you would have,” says Melyssa. “And you can still apply for all kinds of things. You’re a science freak now. You’re like Diane Fossey, Rachel Carson, and Julia Child all mixed up in one. Science Barbie, but with the brain included.”
I look at my parents. “You’d have wanted me to go?”
Mom grabs my shoulders and hugs me. Really hugs me. “I read your proposal. Melyssa showed me. It’s wonderful. I’m so sorry you missed your deadline.”
It does me in. I burst like one of Brett’s superdeluxe, heinous water balloons. I bawl like a big fat baby. My shoulders shudder. I wheeze. When I can get myself upright again, I say to my entire speechless family, “I didn’t miss the deadline. I got a credit card advance, filled up my bank account, and entered my proposal without telling anyone.”
“You entered the contest without telling us?” says Dad.
“Yes. I did. And I lost.”
When I wake up it’s dark. I can’t believe I fell asleep. Upstairs I hear the TV, and Melyssa talking. She must be home from the hospital. I hear Zeke’s voice too. I look through the window of my dungeon and wonder how I will face my family. I look up at the plastic stars on my ceiling and think of my first night in the basement. How scared and mad I was. How I thought my life was over because of Erik. I think of how many nights I’ve spent in this place, reading and falling in love with science and the natural world, and all the voices in it. It hits me that somehow, while I have been lying here on my sleeping bag in my parents’ basement, reading by the light of my crummy lamp, the world has become a bigger place for me. Even without a ticket to see it in person.
Maybe I really have evolved. I hope that doesn’t mean I’m going to have to give up ironed money.
There’s a knock at the top of the stairs. The door creaks open. “Hello down there!” yells Mom. “Can you come up? The phone’s for you.”
I rub my face. Who would it be? The possibilities don’t do much for me. “Can you take a message?”
“I think you’d better come get it, honey.”
When I get to the top of the stairs my mom has a funny-sad look on her face. My dad is worse. “Is the baby okay?”
“The baby is fine,” Mom says, and hands me the phone.
“Hello, is this Miss Myra Morgan?” The voice on the other end is loud and dramatic, like an old-fashioned radio announcer.
“Yes.”
“Well, good. I’ve just had a nice chat with your parents. Wonderful people. You must be very proud of them.”
“Yes,” I say cautiously. The look on Dad’s face as I talk is giving me an instant bellyache.
“Well, this is Kenneth Whitehead. I’m the man who funds the scholarship program you applied for. You may have heard of me.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, good. Good. I have called to extend an invitation for you to attend the university’s expedition to the Galápagos Islands. Would you be interested?”
I push the air up from my stomach but nothing comes. I can’t breathe.
“Miss Morgan, are you there?”
I say out loud, “I thought Pritchett and Erik won.”
“Oh, yes, Pritchett Danning did win. And he’s accepted. But you are our other winner.”
“Not Erik Christenson? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“Well, I’d be the person to believe I think. Actually, you wrote the highest-ranking essay. Congratulations.”
“Me? Me. Not Erik Christenson?”
“Off the record, Ms. Morgan, Mr. Christenson’s essay was disqualified.”
“Disqualified? Like for plagairism or something? How would he even do that on a proposal?”
“I’ve think I’ve said enough already, don’t you?”
I suddenly have this vision of Pete’s dad as the actor who played the Wizard of Oz, after he comes out from behind the curtain. He really shouldn’t have told me about Erik. I’m sure there’s some big rule somewhere about that. But maybe Pete isn’t the only person in his family who doesn’t believe in rules.
He says, “You are good at guessing, though. I think that’s an important quality in a scientist.”
The breath is coming back into my lungs. “Wow.”
“Yes. Indeed. Now let’s talk about you. I spoke with your parents and they said you have prepared your percentage of the tuition. Earned it all yourself, did you?”
I see a brief flash of myself being tackled on national TV. “The hard way.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful. Builds character. I look forward to meeting you. Always love meeting a brave new mind.”
I have a brave new mind. For a brave new world.
44
Accommodation:
How an animal’s eyes adjust to distance by controlling light.
Sunday after dinner I am in the basement telling a story to the boys. “Arr ... There she stood. In the cave of the cormorants, squawking and grunting. Her riddle was told with plenty o’ flapping and flipping. Says she, ‘What breaks but can never be held? Has a light that can’t be dispelled? Whose journey cannot be withheld?’ ”
Andrew and Brett pretend that they aren’t trying to figure out the answer.
“I don’t get it,” says Carson.
“They didn’t either,” I say.
“ ‘You win,’ grunted the head cormorant. ‘You win the jewel.’
“‘Great,’ said the scullery maid. ‘Where is it?’
“One of the cormorants waddled forward and flapped her feathers. ‘It is I,’ she said.
“ ‘It is you?’ said the girl.
“‘No, it is my eye,’ said the bird. ‘The jewel of Isabela is our eyes. We see stuff the other birds miss. It makes it so we can live on this little island and not turn into dodo birds.’ ”
“They’re extinct, you know,” says Carson.
“We know,” says Andrew.
“So the girl picked up the bird. ‘Do you think you will mind coming to live with me? I mean, things will be really different.’
“The bird grunted, ‘If nothing ever changed, we’d all die of boredom.’
“So the girl and the cormorant went back to Deadendia with the pirates. The maid definitely did not marry the prince. But with the help of her valiant bird, the trolls were routed, air quality was improved, and the people lived happily, for a really long time. The end.”
“Cool story,” Brett says. “What’s the answer to the riddle?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The day.”
Melyssa stands at the bottom of the stairs. “Hey, crew, can I interrupt? I—I mean, Zeke and I—have an announcement to make.” My parents are standing behind Zeke on the stairs.
I say, “I might need to pull out another sleeping bag.”
“We’ve decided on a name for the baby,” says Melyssa.
I say, “It’s about time, the poor kid.”
“We want to name her Isabela.”
I refuse to blubber on cue.
“But we’re going to call her Egg,” says Zeke to me. “After you.”
I feel the traitorous salt water coming to my face. “My name isn’t Egg.”
Melyssa smiles. “I know, but if we name her Science Barbie she’ll grow up demented and have a well-researched eating disorder.”
I look around my dungeon. My family’s faces glow in the light of the lamp and the shadows of the junk that has filled our lives. One thought sails brilliantly through my brain. I’m going. I’m going to the Galápagos Islands
.
.
You might as well step back.
45
Relict Species:
Birds that stink at change.
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