Chirp

by Kate Messner

  The two old boxes from Gram’s house that belonged to Mia were by her bed now, labeled Mia’s Room in her little-kid, Magic Marker handwriting. The rest of her boxes said the same thing but typed on the Boston moving company’s labels. Mia lifted a flap to look into one of the older boxes. It was full of third-grade homework papers and dried-up cicada shells from the trees behind Gram’s house and gymnastics trophies from her old team in Vermont.

  It was funny. Mom had said moving back would be like coming home. But that wasn’t true. Practically Mia’s whole life here had been about gymnastics, and that was gone now. Her old best friend Lily had moved to Seattle last year, and her friend Alex, who lived next to Gram, was off at camp until fall.

  Mia rummaged through the box until she found some pictures. There was one of Mia and Alex with their toaster robot, one from Lily’s ninth birthday party, and one of Mia jumping off the red rocks into Lake Champlain.

  Mia pulled out that picture and tried to remember what it felt like to be standing on the rocks in her rainbow swimsuit. That girl looked so different from the way Mia felt now. Those rocks were pretty high. You had to run a few steps so you could leap way out into the deep water, and some people stood at the top forever trying to get up their nerve. Not Mia, though. She’d jumped in right away the first time her parents took her there, on the hottest day of the summer after third grade. The water had been so clear, so cold it took your breath away. The rocks had been so red and the sky so perfectly blue, and when Mia leaped off those rocks, she’d felt like she could fly. Like she could do anything. She couldn’t imagine feeling that way now.

  Mia dropped the photo in the box and shoved the whole thing deep into the back of her closet. She didn’t have time to be poking through old floor routine programs and Barbie dolls. She had to deal with the stuff she needed now.

  Mia put on some music, unfolded the sheets her mom had left on the dresser, and made her bed. She found Neptune, the stuffed stingray she’d gotten from the New England Aquarium, and put him by her pillow. Then she loaded her shorts and T-shirts into her dresser, hung her two dresses in the closet, and shoved the bin with school clothes and sweaters off to the side. She’d deal with those in September.

  The next box Mia unpacked was full of gymnastics posters, but Mia didn’t want those in her new room. Waking up to a poster of Simone Biles on the balance beam felt different when you were never going to set foot on one again yourself.

  Mia tucked the posters back in the box. The movers had already put her mirror up on the wall over her dresser, so she found some photos to go around it—one of her family watching the Boston Marathon and one of her cousins together at a cookout last year. Her littlest cousin, Fiona, was wearing Mia’s gymnastics T-shirt over her swimsuit. It was way too big, but Fiona loved Mia’s hand-me-downs whether they fit or not. She always wanted to be just like Mia.

  Mia put up a bunch of photos she’d taken with her photography club at school. They were mostly fall leaves around Boston Common, but one was a picture of Mia from when her friend Eunice had grabbed the camera. It was before her accident, but the Mia next to the maple tree already had a tense, squinty look on her face, like she knew something bad was coming.

  The next morning after church, Mom, Dad, and Mia headed back to the cricket farm so Gram could give them a tour now that the seagulls were gone. As soon as they opened the door, Syd waddle-ran over. As promised, she didn’t bark this time. She wagged her tail, flopped down, and rolled over for a belly rub.

  Gram was waiting in the lobby to greet them, too. But she still didn’t have cookies. Just a big jar of bugs. “Have some roasted crickets!” She gave the jar a shake. “They’re good for you!”

  “I’d rather have coffee,” Dad said, “and a hug from my mom.” He leaned in for one.

  “Food is love,” Gram said.

  “Yes, but that’s not food. Unless you’re a pet lizard.” Mom hugged Gram, too, careful to avoid the jar. Gram had been raising crickets for almost three years now, and Mom still refused to even try one.

  “Mom’s feeling a little ‘bugged’ by this situation,” Dad said, but no one laughed at his joke. “Nothing but crickets, huh?” He paused. “Get it? Crickets?” Dad cracked himself up.

  Mia reached for Gram’s jar. “Crispy Cajun?”

  “New recipe.”

  Mia shook out a handful and popped them in her mouth. She knew that would make Gram happier than any hug. Gram had been the first female entomology professor at the University of Vermont. She’d given Mia a butterfly net and “critter condo” for her seventh birthday, and they’d spent hours stalking grasshoppers in the garden. When Gram first got interested in entomophagy—eating insects as food—Mia had been right beside her, testing recipes.

  “These are pretty good!” Mia said. “But I still like the garlic and sea salt ones best.”

  Gram nodded. “We’ll be able to offer more flavors now that the expansion is underway.”

  “Expansion?” Mom sounded like she had a cricket stuck in her throat. “Sylvia, I wish you’d talked with us about all this. Last I knew, you were getting ready to sell.”

  “I changed my mind,” Gram said. “Insects are the future of food. I want to be part of that.”

  Mom looked at Dad. Then she looked back at Gram. “But what about your stroke? You were going to take it easier now that—”

  “Pfft.” Gram lifted her arm and made a muscle. “There’s nothing stronger than a woman who’s rebuilt herself. I’ve been doing my PT, and I’m ready for anything. Now come see the new place.”

  Gram opened the door to the cricket room, and Mia went in first. “Whoa … this is impressive.” It was the size of Mia’s school gym, with four long rows of big rectangular boxes, all filled with chirping crickets.

  “Daniel’s bringing in fresh feed.” Gram nodded toward the back door, where Daniel was lugging in a big sack. “This’ll all be easier when I can hire more people.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “Sylvia, we’re concerned. A few weeks ago, you were all set to sell. Isn’t your buyer still interested?”

  “Chet Potsworth?” Gram looked at Mom as if she’d just suggested selling her cricket farm to a skunk. “That man needs to learn how to take no for an answer. I’m sure those seagulls are his doing.”

  Mom pressed her lips together. She gave Dad the this-is-what-I’m-talking-about look. Dad just looked like he wanted to go to brunch. Also like he wanted to get Mom out of there before Gram said anything else. He glanced at his watch. “Wow, I didn’t realize what a late start we got today. We’ve got unpacking to do, so—”

  “Can I stay and help Gram?” Mia asked. “I got my room set up last night.”

  “I’d love that,” Gram said.

  Mia looked at Mom, who nodded. “Sure, we can pick you up in a few hours.”

  As soon as Mom and Dad left, Gram’s phone rang. “I should take this.” She called across the warehouse. “Daniel! Mia’s going to help. Can you show her what needs to be done?”

  “Sure! We’ll have you trained as a cricket caretaker in no time,” he said as Gram left for her office. “Let me introduce you to water dish duty.”

  At first, Mia stayed back. She always felt uncomfortable around new people now, even friendly ones. Especially friendly ones sometimes. But Daniel gave her space and showed her how to rinse out the crickets’ dishes. Something about him put her at ease.

  “If there are any crickets in the way,” he said, “just blow on them, and they’ll move.”

  Mia went to a box and found the water dish full of crickets. She blew a light stream of air at them, as if they were birthday candles, and sure enough, they vanished into their little cardboard cricket cubbies. Except for a few lying still in the water.

  “I think I have some dead ones in here,” Mia said.

  “How many?”

  “Four.”

  “That’s fine,” Daniel said.

  Not if you’re those four crickets, Mia thought. “Did they dro
wn?”

  There wasn’t much water in the dish, but Daniel nodded. “Crickets may be a superfood, but as a species, they’re dumber than a bag of banana slugs. They’re totally capable of climbing out of the water; they just don’t know enough to save themselves. We lose some every day.”

  Mia looked down at the poor drowned crickets. They should have just jumped out of that water. Stupid bugs.

  But she felt bad for them anyway as she brushed them into the garbage. When you were the person who showed up to rinse out the water dish, it was so obvious what should have happened. But it was harder to see the solution when you were the one drowning.

  Mia rinsed out four more water dishes. The last one had a dozen dead crickets, and Daniel was concerned about that.

  “Can’t you give them less water?” Mia asked.

  “Not really. It’d evaporate too fast, and we don’t have staff to be adding water all day.”

  “What if you did it automatically? Like those sprinklers in the produce section at the grocery store.” Mia had loved those when she was little. She’d wait and wait so she could stick her hand in above the broccoli and feel the cool mist.

  “That’s actually a great idea,” Daniel said. “I’ll ask Sylvia about it if the next round of funding goes well.”

  “Gram’s trying to raise more money?” That was news to Mia, and she was glad Mom wasn’t around to hear it. “Is that because she wants to expand again?”

  “She doesn’t just want to expand,” Daniel said. “She needs to. In order to be profitable. We’ve had so many issues—with temperature and humidity and now seagulls. We need to start producing more crickets. We can do that if we expand, but we’d need another five hundred thousand dollars by the end of the year.”

  “Whoa,” Mia said. That was more than most people even asked for on Deal with the Sharks. “Who’s going to give her that kind of money?”

  “Angel investors. Hopefully.”

  “Angel investors?” Mia tipped her head, imagining the chubby angel from the stained glass window at church, showing up with a big check.

  “People who invest in a small business, with the understanding that it may or may not end up succeeding,” Daniel said. “They’re hoping it’ll end up being the next Google or Apple.”

  Mia looked around at all the cricket condos. As much as she loved Gram, it was hard for her to imagine some serious businessperson investing half a million dollars in a room full of bugs. “What if she can’t raise the money?”

  “Then I’m going to need a new job.” Daniel sighed. “We’re out of options here. It’s either come up with new investors or shut down the farm.”

  CHAPTER 4

  KicksFinder, the Bao Bus, and a Robot without a Job

  There should have been pancakes and bacon on the first Monday of summer vacation. Mia should have slept in until at least ten and maybe later now that she was almost a teenager. She should have had the whole lazy day to herself to watch TV and find out if Elizabeth “Cat Lady” Marino would finally make it through the ultimate extreme warrior course.

  Instead, she was up at seven to say goodbye to Dad, who was driving to Boston to meet with real estate agents about their old house. By eight, she was walking into the middle school for Launch Camp. A lady with short black braids and a neon-green T-shirt was standing outside, bouncing. Literally bouncing. Her voice was even louder than her shirt. “Welcome to Launch Camp!” She looked down at a clipboard. “You must be … Mia!”

  Mia nodded.

  “I’m Zoya. Go ahead to the maker space,” she said, pointing down the hall. “That’s where we’ll have orientation. I need to make a few copies and I’ll be right down.”

  Mia headed for the maker space. Her school in Boston had one of those, too, but it was always full of eighth grade boys who didn’t look excited to share it, so Mia never went in there.

  But at this school, the maker space felt different. There were two big tables covered in scratches and paint drips and a row of computers along one wall. Another wall had shelves full of books, paper, colored pencils, duct tape, Legos, buttons and switches and other electronic-looking parts, hot glue guns, and rolls of string and wire and ribbon.

  On the far side of the room was a glassed-in workshop with a long bench and tools hanging on the walls. A boy and a girl were leaning over the counter, sorting bits of metal into containers. The girl had a freckly face and red hair in two long braids. If they’d been sticking out straight, she’d look like that Pippi Longstocking girl from the stories Mom used to read Mia. The boy next to the Pippi girl had shaggy blond hair, and his feet were resting on a skateboard under the table.

  At the other end of the glassed-in area, a girl with long black hair and sparkly silver nail polish was messing with wires on some kind of robotic arm. It reminded Mia of the robot she and Alex had made, except this one looked like it might actually do something.

  Other kids sat at tables, grouped in pairs, taking notes or huddled around laptop computers. One of the computer boys looked up at Mia. He had sandy-brown hair, bright blue eyes, and the kind of dimples that Mia’s friend Eunice loved. “Are you hardware or software?” he asked, drumming his fingers on the table.

  Mia wasn’t sure what he meant, but she was pretty sure she knew the answer. “Neither.” He looked so unhappy that she added, “I mean, I’m okay with computers, but I don’t write code or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “That’s okay,” the boy said. “We can use you for our social media campaign.”

  “Use her?” The girl next to him gave him a swat on the arm and shook her head. “She might have her own plans, you know.” She adjusted the zebra-striped headband that was trying to hold her blond curls out of her face and turned to Mia. “Sorry. Eli’s obsessed with KicksFinder and tries to enlist everyone to work with us. I’m Clover, by the way. That’s Nick.” She nodded to a boy with spiky brown hair next to Eli. He waved without looking up.

  “I’m Mia. And I really have no clue what I’m doing yet. But what’s KicksFinder?”

  “It’s an app we wrote,” Clover said. “It’s for—”

  “It’s going to be huge,” Eli said. “And when we roll it out—”

  “Dude.” Clover held up her hand. “You interrupted. Let me finish.” She turned back to Mia. “It’s for soccer players. When you share your location on the app, it pulls up a map and shows you all the pickup games at nearby parks.” She held up her phone to show Mia. Their location was flashing on a map, but no games showed up nearby. Probably because everyone was home asleep or eating pancakes and bacon.

  “That’s cool,” Mia said. “But … how do you already have so much work done? Isn’t today the first day of camp?”

  “Yes, but most of us were in the school makers club with Zoya last year,” Clover said. “She said we could work on the same projects if we’re using them for the competition next month.”

  “Competition?” Mia should have read that brochure more carefully.

  “Vermont Launch Junior. Five weeks from Saturday!” As soon as Eli said that, his eyes got wide. “Shoot. We have so much to do.” He turned back to his computer.

  Clover laughed. “The competition is optional. It’s the junior version of a program for adults who want to start small businesses. They present their projects and compete for funding from investors. If you win the junior version, you get a fifty-dollar check, a trophy, and the chance to work with a mentor. Also, the project gets written up in the newspaper, so that’s cool.”

  It sounded a lot like Deal with the Sharks. Mia looked around. “Is everybody doing the competition?” She didn’t want to be the only one who wasn’t.

  “Well …” Clover pointed to the robot girl. “Probably not Anna. She’s building a robot, but it doesn’t really do anything practical. You need a business plan for the competition, and she doesn’t have one. She just likes building robots.”

  “Who’s Anna working with?” Maybe Mia wouldn’t be the only one withou
t a team.

  “Nobody.” Clover lowered her voice. “She was working with us on KicksFinder, but Eli likes her. He was always looking at her and asking her to go for ice cream after camp, and even after Zoya told him to quit it, Anna was still uncomfortable, so she decided to go off and do her own thing. She likes robots better than apps anyway.”

  “Oh.” Mia watched Anna fiddling with her robot wires and understood why that was better than writing code next to someone who kept staring at you all the time. “What about everybody else?”

  Clover pointed to the Pippi girl and the skateboard boy. “Julia and Dylan make jewelry out of recycled metal, and they’re doing the competition. So are Quan and Bella.” Clover nodded toward two kids at another table. The boy had short, spiky black hair and glasses, and the girl looked like she might be his sister. She had the same dark hair, but hers was wet and dripping onto the shoulders of her Champlain Valley Swim Team T-shirt. “They’re starting a Bao Bus to sell dumplings from their family’s restaurant. It’s actually going to be more like a cart, but Bao Bus sounds cooler.” Clover pointed to the last kid, a tall, skinny, curly-haired boy in a baseball uniform. He was bouncing his knee and drawing something with colored pencils. “And that’s Aidan.”

  “What’s he doing?” Mia asked. “Writing an app to find baseball games?”

  “Nope. He’s designing his logo for Cookies for a Cause. Aidan bakes great chocolate chip cookies, so he’s launching a business to supply baked goods for fund-raisers. He’s just in the uniform because he has a Little League game later.”

  “Wow. That’s … great.” The projects were better than Mia expected, which was cool but also kind of terrifying. She hadn’t been here when everybody chose their projects. Where was she even supposed to start?

  Zoya bounced into the room with her copies then. “Gather around, and let’s get going!” When everyone was seated, she ran through the itinerary for camp, including some special days when they’d have guest speakers or field trips. She showed pictures of past camps, too, and the kids’ projects. All the kids in the pictures seemed to be having a pretty great time. Mia was actually starting to look forward to this.