“Bird. Sit down,” Mrs. Simmons said.
Susan, the red-haired girl who sat next to me, had to tug me back down to my seat.
“I think there’s an empty seat in the back, Ken-ji,” Mrs. Simmons said. She pointed to the seat next to me.
Kenji scowled at the way Mrs. Simmons carefully pronounced his name. He answered her with a pretty good imitation of John Wayne. “Ma’am. My friends call me… Ringo.”
Mr. Fujita scolded him in Japanese and Kenji pulled his cowboy hat off.
“Yes, Uncle.” Kenji moped like a wounded cowpoke to the empty seat. He was too busy giving me the evil eye to notice when Farley Peck stuck his foot out.
Kenji tripped and fell face-first onto the floor. The class roared with laughter. Me too. I couldn’t believe it. For once, I was on the laughing side instead of the face-on-the-floor side. Kenji jumped back to his feet, angry and ready to fight.
Mr. Fujita yelled something in Japanese.
“He started it,” Kenji muttered.
Farley stood up from his seat. He towered over Kenji.
“Kenji!” Mr. Fujita locked eyes with his nephew.
Kenji lowered his fists.
“Why don’t you go home to Japland?” Farley said.
“That’s enough!” said Principal Hartwig. Our principal didn’t say much, but when he did speak, everybody listened. Maybe that was ’cause he was in the Great War. Or maybe because he had a wooden leg. He lost his real leg somewhere in France. When I was little I used to wonder what would happen if some French kid found it, but then I realized that by “lost” they just meant it got blown off by a bomb or something. It’s pretty gross when you think about it.
“Kenji is our guest,” Principal Hartwig said. “Now, I want you all to apologize.”
We all mumbled a fake “sorry” in unison. Then Mrs. Simmons helped Kenji gather his things. I noticed that Kenji’s fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white. He lowered his eyes and slid into the seat next to me as his uncle left with Principal Hartwig.
“Minnie, why don’t you lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance?” Mrs. Simmons said.
We all stood. Like always, Minnie Lashley showed off her dimples as she perfectly pronounced: “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America …”
The rest of the class joined in. I listened and watched with surprise as Kenji recited the pledge along with us, in perfect English, “… and to the Republic for which it stands, one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
“Very nice, Minnie,” Mrs. Simmons said. Then she told us to take our seats.
“You speak pretty good English,” I said, thinking out loud.
Kenji gave me a dirty look and barked back, “So do you.”
“Now open your books.” Mrs. Simmons saw Kenji raise his hand and said to me, “Bird, I think there’s enough room for Ken-ji to look on with you.”
“But Mrs. Simmons—”
“No buts, Miss McGill.”
Kenji reluctantly scooted his chair closer to mine.
“Now I want you all thinking of a topic for your final report. It can be on anything”—the whole class’s eyes lit up— “about our fine state of Rhode Island.”
We all groaned in unison.
Every day the school emptied out as soon as the final bell rang at 2:30. Usually I was racing out to avoid running into bullies like Farley, but that day I was immediately surrounded by Minnie, Susan, and Libby (a curly-haired priss who’d moved here from “New Yawk” in the spring and was always afraid of “getting dirty” at recess). I got kind of nervous, because usually the only time they ever talked to me was when I was taking too long in the bathroom.
“Gosh, how did you stand it?” asked Minnie.
“I would have died,” Libby said.
“Did he say anything to you?” Susan piped up.
“Not really.” I shrugged, not sure exactly what they were talking about.
Libby stretched her face to make slant-eyes and buck-teeth. “How do they see through those little slits for eyes?”
“I can’t believe it,” Minnie gasped. “A real Jap right here in our school.”
“I heard they eat their dogs for dinner,” Libby said.
“Really?” I said.
“Mm-hmm.” Libby nodded. “And raw octopuses, and snakes. I read it in a book or something.”
“Gross,” I said. I tried to imagine what kind of person could eat snakes or raw octopuses or their own pet dog.
“My dad says they’re taught from when they’re babies not to feel any pain,” Minnie said. “If they get burned or cut their fingers, they don’t feel it. They’re not like regular people. They don’t even believe in God.”
“Shhh!” Susan covered her mouth and whispered, real slow, “Cindy Ruggles thinks he’s … a spy.”
Suddenly my think-box kicked in. “A spy? Yeah! Maybe he’s really a midget?”
The girls stopped, looked at me like I was from Jupiter, then busted up laughing.
“You’re pretty funny, Bird,” said Susan.
“Want to sit with us at lunch tomorrow?” Minnie asked.
Of course they didn’t realize I was being serious, but I didn’t say anything. It felt kind of good to be laughed with instead of laughed at, so I figured, Why blow it, now that I was in the gang for once.
“Okay, see ya tomorrow.” I waved goodbye before splitting off toward the meadow. The others headed the opposite way, toward their houses on one of the newer tree-lined streets in town. No one else walked home in my direction.
* * *
In the woods, I kicked through the grass and broken twigs, studying my P-40 manual. I knew it was filled with stuff most kids thought was boring, like rpm’s and oil-pressure gauges and altimeter readings and emergency procedures and stuff. But I loved reading it. For some reason it made me feel closer to Dad and helped me not to miss him so much. I had just about got it memorized, all except the last chapter, on landing.
I got to a part of the woods where the thick trees blocked most of the daylight, making it hard to read. Then, amid all the normal chirping of birds and rustling of branches in the wind, I got a sudden chill. It was a strange feeling, like when Farley stuck that Kick Me sign on my back and I could feel everyone watching me.
I shrugged it off and kept walking, stopping only when I noticed my darn shoe was untied again. But as I bent down to tie it, a twig snapped—behind me.
See, the thing was, my dad told me animals in the woods don’t break twigs. They have a natural sense of how to step over twigs so they can move quietly.
“Hello?” I called out, foolishly. I mean, everyone knows that when you’re scared, no one ever answers you back.
The woods were suddenly really quiet. I looked around. I saw nothing but long shadows where the light broke through the trees. Then a cloud blocked the sun, making it even darker.
I started walking again and immediately heard rustling, sort of like footsteps. I stopped again, and when I did, so did the footsteps.
“Who’s there?”
I could hear my voice crack and echo through the trees before it died.
“Farley Peck! You’re gonna be sorry.”
Silence.
Too much silence. I mean, Farley Peck could never be that silent in a million years.
My eyes shot side to side. I started again, this time at a fast walk.
But the footsteps moved faster, too.
I was getting really scared now and I decided to quicken my pace. What was it Dad said about not letting animals know you’re afraid? But this wasn’t even an animal (at least not a regular one), because it snapped the twig, right? So maybe acting afraid would scare it away?
Right. Who was I kidding? I was way too scared to pretend I wasn’t scared. What if being scared was just my mind’s way of telling me to get my butt the heck out of here?
So I ran.
Now the woods began to close in around me. Like long bony finge
rs, the branches clawed at me as I tried to escape. I kicked the moldy leaves out of my path, but a gnarled vine snared my foot and I stumbled and fell. I scrambled to scoop up my books, and once I was on my feet again, I was back into a full-out run.
But the footsteps fell faster and closer. They were almost upon me. I could hear my heart pounding louder and louder—even louder than the first time Dad took me flying.
Suddenly a P-40 fighter plane that must have been on maneuvers roared its twelve cylinders overhead, somewhere above the trees. I ran blindly, gasping for breath, not looking back, not looking ahead, not until I ran smack into—
A man.
“Aaaaaahh!” I screamed with all my heart, but the scream was drowned out by the passing plane. Suddenly the tall man in uniform grabbed hold of me.
“It’s okay,” he said.
Relieved, I struggled to catch my breath. “Hi, Deputy. It was chasing me.”
Deputy Steyer scanned the area. “What was?”
“A werewolf, I think.”
He snickered. “Come on, Bird. I’ll take you home.”
Deputy Steyer had been in charge of law and order in Geneseo since Sheriff Gascon enlisted in the Marines. The deputy had moved to our town about six years ago, from Pennsylvania or New York, I think. He’d known me since kindergarten, when Mrs. Simmons called the cops to get me off the school roof.
He helped with my books and the P-40 manual slipped to the ground. The deputy picked it up. He read the cover. “What are you doing with this, Bird?”
“Memorizing it. I’m gonna fly one.”
He looked around suspiciously, then drew me near and whispered, “Bird, if something like this got into the wrong hands…”
“You mean … the enemy?”
He nodded. “I’m going to have to keep it.”
“But I’m almost done. I just need to memorize the section on landing.”
“I’m sorry. But you know what they say—”
“Loose lips sink ships?”
He nodded again, then reached for the book.
“But… it was from my dad,” I pleaded.
“I’m sorry.” He took it from my hands.
It really stunk to have to hand it over. Why is it always like that? The thing you love the most turns out to be the one thing that can hurt you the worst. Like too many gumdrops. Or Amelia Earhart wanting to fly around the world. Like me, she had loved flying more than anything. She had to try to circle the globe. So she took off and was never seen again.
But I guess I understood. I mean, anything I could do to keep Dad safe was a good enough reason for me, right?
At the edge of the woods, the land sloped to the shore of the bay. I could see Father Krauss holding his fishing rod and talking with a white-haired fisherman, Mr. Ramponi.
“I tell you, Carlo, it was no fish,” Father Krauss was saying. “It nearly pulled my boat under.”
Deputy Steyer and I started down the slope. “Hi, Father,” the deputy said. “Afternoon, Mr. Ramponi.”
Father Krauss was nothing like our old priest. When you saw him without his collar on, he looked more like a longshoreman—you know, big shoulders and a chest like a barrel. I once asked why he became a priest and he said it was so he could be a linebacker for Jesus.
“Bird said someone was chasing her in the woods,” the deputy told them.
“Not someone. Something.” I straightened him out.
“Is that you, Bird?” Father Krauss said. He was pretending he couldn’t recognize me because I was in a dress. “Where’s your pilot’s cap?”
“Mom said I can’t wear it to school anymore.”
Mr. Ramponi examined the broken line on Father Krauss’s reel. “Yep. Look like the Genny that tore my nets last month.” Mr. Ramponi was only about half the size of Father Krauss, but you’d never have known it when you saw him single-handedly haul in his fishnets. He had forearms like Popeye’s. Sometimes he was hard to understand, but I liked to hear him talk because, when he did, he would get all excited and use his whole body.
“Don’t joke around, Carlo,” Father Krauss scolded him. “You’ll frighten the girl.”
“The Genny?” asked Deputy Steyer.
“Where you come from, boy?” Mr. Ramponi said scornfully. “The city? Tell him, Bird.”
“Can I?”
Father Krauss rolled his eyes, but Mr. Ramponi elbowed him and said to me, “Go on.”
I acted it out for Deputy Steyer as I went. “Well, she’s a giant, slithering serpent that lures greedy fishermen out of the bay in the dark of night. And then, when they least expect it, she swallows them whole! I’ve seen her.”
“You’ve got quite an imagination, Bird,” said Deputy Steyer.
Father Krauss just shook his head. “Well, whatever it was that snapped my line, it would’ve been a record for sure.”
“If you say so, Father,” said the deputy skeptically. “Come on, Bird. Your mother will be worried.”
“I guess so.” I waved goodbye to Father Krauss and Mr. Ramponi and then shuffled on my way with the deputy.
When we got to my house, Mom was in the kitchen boiling turnips and cooking beans. I walked in with Deputy Steyer and the first thing she noticed was my tattered homemade frock.
“My dress!” Mom screamed.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I told her.
“Get into the tub this instant,” she ordered. “And no radio tonight. You’ll eat dinner in your room.”
I slumped toward the stairs.
“She said something was chasing her in the woods,” the deputy said.
But Mom didn’t buy it. “You know Bird. Wherever she goes, her imagination’s not far behind.”
“Of course,” he said.
“Thanks for looking out for her, and for bringing her home,” Mom said. “That was really thoughtful of you, Deputy.”
He smiled like he was kind of embarrassed. “Just keeping things safe on the home front.”
Two hours later I was still stuck in my room with nothing but a plate of cold turnips on the nightstand, so I decided to write a letter.
Dear Dad,
I miss you more than ever. Mom doesn’t understand me like you do.
No one does.
I paused. My stomach tightened from hunger. I tried to force down some cold turnip, but it tasted like wet plaster. “Yuck.” But then I started to wonder what Dad was eating for supper. I bet he would have given anything to be there dining on Mom’s undercooked turnips for the tenth day in a row. I downed another slice of turnip, for Dad.
I could hear my mom downstairs, fighting with the sewing machine, trying to save my dress. I always thought she hated sewing, but ever since the war started it was like she was trying to prove she was Betsy Ross or something. Margaret said Mom was just trying to keep her mind off Dad.
Alvin was in the front room listening to my favorite radio program, The Green Hornet. It was just loud enough that I could recognize the theme music. I thought I heard the Green Hornet shoot his gas gun but I couldn’t tell whether Kato and the Black Beauty arrived in time to save Casey from the Creeper.
I could tell Margaret must have been winding rag curlers in her hair because every few minutes I heard her yelp like a cocker spaniel.
Suddenly the doorbell rang and I jumped right out of my bed. You see, out where we lived our doorbell almost never rang, especially at night. After a moment I could hear Mom’s slow, measured footsteps cross to the door. I ran to the top of the stairs and stuck my head through the banister to see. As Mom opened the door, I noticed that her hand was shaking.
On our doorstep were two Army Air Corps officers standing at attention, one behind the other. The older one in front took off his hat.
“Mrs. McGill?” he asked.
Mom took a deep breath. Like she was bracing herself for something bad, which made my hand clutch the banister.
“I’m Captain Winston; this is Lieutenant Peppel.” The captain stepped aside.
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p; Lieutenant Peppel stepped forward, head bowed. “Ma’am, I’m awful sorry.”
Mom covered her mouth. “Oh God!”
“The lieutenant thought it was part of the exercise, Mrs. McGill,” the captain explained.
“I had no idea your little sprout was gonna be out on that airfield this mornin’,” said the young lieutenant.
With one big sigh of relief, Mom said, “Bird.”
The captain seemed confused. “Bird? Ma’am?”
“Won’t you come in?” Mom said.
In the living room the captain explained, “When we contacted the school, one of the teachers remembered your daughter coming in covered with flour.”
Mom hollered upstairs, “Bird!”
I came the rest of the way downstairs and Mom introduced everybody. “Captain Winston and Lieutenant Peppel, these are my children, Alvin, Bird, and Margaret.”
The lieutenant was kind of skinny, with a crooked grin and a fuzzy shadow on his lip that looked like he was trying to grow a mustache but really couldn’t yet. He had pale blue eyes. They weren’t as gentle or as blue as Dad’s, but I could tell Margaret was already all goo-goo eyed over them.
She rolled out a girly “Hello.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss McGill,” the lieutenant said, and he kissed her hand. Yuck. I thought I was gonna throw up.
Margaret nearly swooned. “I just love the way you talk,” she said. “Are you from Texas?”
“I’m from Sweetwater, outside Atlanta, miss.”
“Atlanta?” Margaret looked so dazed you’d have thought he just said his name was Rhett Butler. Ever since she saw Gone With the Wind, she’d been wishing she was Scarlett O’Hara.
“Uh, that’s in Georgia, Margaret,” I explained to her.
“I know that, Bird,” she said haughtily.
“Whatever you say … Curly.” I pointed to her curler-covered head.
Margaret felt atop her head and shrieked with horror, “Mom!” She lifted her pajama top to cover her hair, and instead exposed her bra.
Without missing a beat, Alvin started to chant, “I see London, I see France, I see Margaret’s underpants.”
Red-faced, Margaret ducked and raced back up the stairs. But curlers or no curlers, the poor lieutenant seemed just as goo-goo eyed over her as she had over him. Maybe he needed glasses.
Born to Fly Page 3
