We are also the site of the only Presidential Quiz Competition for Michigan high schools. Of course, Wally Rensbacher runs it.
Our football team didn’t get to the playoffs during my sixth-grade year—despite the 50–0 Homecoming win—but we’ve been a contender nearly every year since then. Tanner Torchman is our star quarterback now. Although he’s the most popular guy in high school, he always says hello to me whenever he sees me in the hallways.
Noah and I have remained best friends, and we have a whole group going to prom together this spring. Noah is wearing a vintage tuxedo and a fedora—which I think is a little over the top, but I’m not going to tell him that.
Veena is the student council president at the high school now. She was the first junior to win election. She is one hundred percent sure that she wants to go into politics someday. Or photography.
Unlike Veena, I have no clue what I want to be.
I’m the managing editor of our high school newspaper, and I’m in literary club, debate club, and theater. I take classes in Mandarin, and I tutor two kids in my neighborhood in reading. I may not be a rare bird, but I’m a really busy one.
Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about Joey and what he would think of Marshallville today. Would he ever come back for a visit?
One time, I swear I might have spotted him in the crowd at one of our football games. During a game last year, I just happened to look up and I saw this tall, lanky kid with blondish hair and something gold around his neck, perched at the top of our grandstand bleachers. I raced to the top.
Of course, by the time I got there, he was gone.
Veena and I often talk about the legend of Joey—that’s how we refer to him. The legend of Joey. We wonder: How much of what we remember about him is true? And how much did he change the direction of all our lives back in sixth grade? If we hadn’t noticed him, would everything be different now? Without Joey (and the Buddy Bench), would I have found the same group of friends? Would Veena be student council president? Would Marshallville have a spiral rose garden?
As Mr. Ulysses said years ago—you can never tell where a simple line may lead.
Sometimes when I’m feeling overwhelmed, I try to look at things the way Joey did. From above. It always makes big problems seem smaller.
Lying down also helps.
Veena and I still keep an eye out for any signs of Joey’s art. When one of us spots another picture by him online or in the news, we usually call or text each other.
Sometimes we get an email message from Mr. Ulysses about it. He retired to Florida a couple of years ago and started his own company. It is called Odysseus Enterprises, and the company makes new products for schools.
He has already patented several inventions, including a universal handle for school lockers (so they won’t jam) and a music-playing mop for janitors. When Mr. Ulysses emails us about Joey’s art, the subject line always has these two words: Another One.
By now, we have a whole collection of Joey’s possible designs: exquisite stars, big snowflakes, cartoon characters, elaborate labyrinths, geometric patterns, faces of famous people—even the Mona Lisa.
The designs have been found in many different places—from snowy fields to sandy beaches. And yes, they’ve appeared on quite a few school playgrounds. Sometimes Joey’s name is mentioned as the artist and sometimes it isn’t.
Earlier this year, an outline of Yoda appeared on a beach in England and that discovery thrilled us the most. We’re convinced it was Joey’s way of telling us that he had finally made his way across the Atlantic. Hopefully, he has met up with some of the secret circle makers too.
We like to think that maybe we played a part in changing his life—or maybe we just gave him a safe place to land for a while.
But take our advice and keep watching. You just might spot a rare bird yourself someday.
Consider yourself lucky if you do.
Can one photo inspire an entire book? Yes! The idea for this book began with this Facebook photo that caught my attention and imagination:
The “Joey Byrd” in the middle of the picture is my nephew in real life. His name is Miles, and he was the inspiration for this story. Perhaps you have a Joey Byrd in your family—someone who sees the world in a unique, one-of-a-kind way. A rare and special person.
Or maybe you are a Joey Byrd yourself.
I spent a lot a time talking to Miles to gather details and ideas for Joey’s part of the story. We walked around his old elementary school playground, and he told me about his spirals of sadness and how they helped him to cope.
It was hard to hear some of his stories. Just like Joey, Miles struggled to read and write because of the way he pictured words in his mind. In elementary school, he had a tough time making friends and fitting in. That’s why he started doing the playground art.
To create the character of Joey, I imagined what might have happened if Miles’s art and abilities had been discovered by his school and community. How could it have changed everything?
I have met students in other schools who have similar visual-spatial gifts and can picture the world from a bird’s-eye view, just like Joey and Miles. Some kids have told me how they’ve made spirals of sadness or playground art of their own.
The concept of creating giant works of art on land isn’t a new idea—it has been around for centuries. At places like Stonehenge, prehistoric people made large stone circles, possibly for ceremonial purposes. In Wiltshire, a county in southern England, there are a number of hillsides marked with the chalk-white outlines of giant horses, like the one that Veena finds online. A few have been around for hundreds of years or longer. In fact, one known as the Uffington White Horse is believed to be more than three thousand years old. No one knows for sure why they were originally made.
In the story, Veena also discovers the artistry of crop circles, which are special designs made by flattening crops, usually cereal grasses, in fields. The formations can be perfect circles, rings, spirals—or really elaborate patterns and images. They have appeared often in fields in southern England near Stonehenge, but they’ve also been spotted in other places throughout the world, including the United States.
As Veena points out in the book, there are many different theories about how the crop circles are made. In England, some are made by a talented and secretive group of artists who call themselves “circlemakers.” They like to re-create truly impressive, mathematically influenced designs as a way to inspire and amaze people. Other crop circles may be formed by unknown natural phenomena or as-yet-unexplained causes.
Just like Joey’s creations, land art often has an aura of power and mystery—and it often leaves unanswered questions.
Once I started writing, I found even more examples of “big art.” While working on the book, I met and interviewed Marc Treanor (sandcircles.co.uk), a well-known land artist in Wales. He makes amazing works of art on the beautiful sandy beaches scattered along the west coast of Wales.
To create his art, Marc rakes wet sand into intricate designs, such as spirals and labyrinths—even realistic faces. (If you want to learn more about him, be sure to check out his breathtaking drone footage and videos on YouTube.)
He explained to me how an important part of being a land artist is being able to let go of your art—which is a hard thing to do. Sometimes the waves erase his designs soon after he finishes them. “You have to be able to leave your art and walk away,” he said. “You have no control over how people will react to it or what will happen once you leave.”
Which reminded me a lot of Joey.
Land artist Simon Beck creates in snow—and his work gave me the idea for Joey’s snowflakes. Simon makes enormously complex designs in ski resort valleys and on alpine lakes using just his imagination—and his snowshoes, a ski pole, and a compass.
As you can probably guess, his art is physically demanding
and dangerous. Some of his designs can reach the size of ten soccer fields, and they often take several days to complete. He has created valley-sized stars, snowflakes, space invaders, and geometric figures, such as Sierpiński triangles. “As time passes, naturally I run out of easy designs, so they gradually get more complex,” he wrote in his book, Simon Beck: Snow Art.
Another artist re-creates entire cities, like New York and Tokyo, on paper, after seeing them only briefly from a helicopter or skyscraper. The artist’s name is Stephen Wiltshire. Although he was unable to speak as a young child, his visual memory is so precise and photographic, he can recall the exact number of windows on city buildings as he draws them. Check out some videos of his incredible work on his website: stephenwiltshire.co.uk.
And what is Miles up to now?
Although he no longer does big art, he’s in high school, where he loves playing the trumpet in the marching band. And just like a lot of kids his age, he’s learning to drive. He’s also a fan of vinyl records and vintage cars—and, especially, historical stuff.
In other words, he’s getting along okay and finding his own place in the world, like the fictional character of Joey.
Miles once told me, “Different kids, like me, have to use our creativity to escape trouble.”
I loved that idea.
This book is for you, Miles—and for all the Joey Byrds out there.
There aren’t enough Buddy Benches for all the buddies who played a part in this book. Special thanks to my editor, Nancy Siscoe, and my agent, Steven Malk, for helping me to see the lines in the wood chips. I’m grateful to artist Xingye Jin for Joey’s views from above and to reader Jyotsna Sreenivasan for her Veena advice. A massive hug to the women of Stanford House 2018: Rebecca Barnhouse, Megan Whalen Turner, Cinda Williams Chima, and Tricia Springstubb—all amazing authors who kept me going through the toughest parts. And thanks to Gene Benedetto for being there when I needed it.
Big thanks to Phil, Ina, and Matt Guzman, who were the very first to read the finished book! Much gratitude to teacher Courtney Rubino and her sixth graders, who provided so many of April’s details for the story, including green chickens. Special thanks to these sixth graders who volunteered to be first draft editors: Natalee Confere, Madalyn Burgdorf, and Ava Sabatucci. And thanks to the Eagle-Eyed Editors of Mrs. Calaway’s Team 511–512 who read the final draft so carefully and shaped the ending of the book.
Finally, thanks to Mom, Marcy, Mike, Miles, and Ethan—and the rest of my family near and far—for all the support and love that made this book possible. I promise no cattail pancakes for dinner tonight.
SHELLEY PEARSALL is the author of Trouble Don’t Last, winner of the Scott O’Dell Award for Historical Fiction. Her novel The Seventh Most Important Thing was named an ALA-ALSC Notable Book. Her other novels include Jump into the Sky, Crooked River, All of the Above, and All Shook Up. She lives in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park in Ohio with her husband, Mike; their cat, Charlie; and lots of trees.
SHELLEYPEARSALL.COM
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Things Seen from Above Page 17
