Owen and Eleanor Move In

by H. M. Bouwman

  “It’s too early. Maybe after lunch.”

  Uuuuuuuugh. After lunch was forever. And she’d already had quiet time since super early in the morning. How much quiet time could one kid handle?

  Eleanor went to her room—her and Alicia’s room, that is—and she sat on her bed and thought. Then she wrote a note. A very important note. She put it in the Millennium Falcon and sent it up to Owen. It said, THE GOLDFISH IS HUNGRY!!!! (After lunch). As an afterthought, she added (from Eleanor) just to make sure he knew who the note was from.

  She waited.

  Nothing happened. Maybe he was still sleeping. She waited some more. Nothing happened again.

  She decided to get a message to him another way. Maybe she could throw something at his window. Something soft-ish. Hard enough to make a noise but soft enough not to break glass.

  But when she threw her pillow at Owen’s window, it didn’t go up enough, and she barely caught the pillow before it fell all the way to the ground.

  She decided to build a machine that would throw things up to Owen. For the rest of the morning, she took apart her trebuchet and built a bigger, stronger one. She was pretty sure that if she could launch things straight up, Owen could learn to catch them, and with practice they would both become all-star baseball players.

  When she got the trebuchet rebuilt, she tested it by launching her pink rectangle-shaped eraser.

  But she couldn’t get the trebuchet to throw the eraser straight up—she could only get it to throw farther. And harder.

  The second time she hit Alicia, who was sitting on her bed reading, Alicia told her to get out.

  “No. It’s my room too!”

  “Then stop throwing stuff at me!”

  “I’m an engineer. I have to test things. Don’t tell me what to do anyway.”

  “Daaaaaaad!”

  And the morning was done.

  Alicia and Eleanor both got to help with lunch. Eleanor got to peel the eggs and mash them into egg salad, which was fun. Alicia got to set the table and pour milk, which was less fun. Aaron got to wake up and take a shower.

  Just as they were about to eat, Owen knocked at the door. Dad said Eleanor could play after lunch.

  “Michael and my dad are in the yard,” said Owen, “looking for pillbugs, and then my mom will wake up and then I have to eat lunch too.”

  Eleanor said, “Are you going to eat pillbugs?”

  “No!” said Owen. “Michael thought you might like to see them. After lunch,” he added to Eleanor’s dad.

  Eleanor’s dad said, “Pillbugs after lunch.” Eleanor could tell he didn’t know exactly what pillbugs meant. Even though he had lived in the United States a long time, sometimes he still didn’t recognize a word. He pulled out his phone to check his English–Spanish dictionary. “Ah. Pillbugs. Yes. Perfect.”

  “Um,” said Owen. “I just have something to ask Eleanor.”

  “One minute,” said Dad.

  “One minute,” said Eleanor. She stepped out into the entryway with Owen and closed the door. “Did you get my message? The goldfish is hungry?” Suddenly everything seemed very exciting.

  Owen didn’t look excited. “Yes,” he said. “Are you sure? I mean, you could just stay here.”

  “And bury Scrumpy away from his family? And away from his real house? And my real house?” Then, worried she’d hurt Owen’s feelings, she said, “This is a nice duplex. But I want to go home.”

  Slowly Owen nodded. “Okay then.”

  “I have money for the bus,” said Eleanor. “But I don’t know which bus to take.”

  Owen said slowly, “I figured out the buses this morning.”

  “You did?” Eleanor had taken the bus only a few times in her whole life. What if she took the wrong bus by accident? What if she got off at the wrong bus stop? Then she had an idea. “Hey, you can come with me. To help bury Scrumpy. And I can show you my house.” She tried to make it sound like an adventure.

  Owen stood still for a minute, thinking and frowning like he was making a big decision. Then he nodded. “I’ll go with you.” But he didn’t sound happy.

  No matter. He’d love the tree house when he saw it. “Okay! Let’s go right after lunch!”

  Owen nodded gloomily and went upstairs. Eleanor went inside to eat.

  After lunch, Aaron biked to his job. Alicia biked to her friend Millie’s house. Dad phoned Mom just to say hi.

  Eleanor sat on her bed in her and Alicia’s room—really just Alicia’s room after today—and packed her backpack. Two granola bars she hadn’t eaten at snack time yesterday and the day before. A full water bottle. A book, in case she wanted some quiet time in the tree house. Her money for bus fare. And on top, the dead fish, frozen into a little fish rock and still triple-bagged. She’d gotten him out of the freezer when Dad was busy phoning Mom.

  She looked around the room. Alicia had put posters on Eleanor’s side of the room—of cats and dogs, because Alicia knew she loved animals. That was nice of her. She’d also put yellow tape on the floor to mark her side of the room so that Eleanor didn’t step there. That was less nice.

  But the spaceship window was on Eleanor’s side of the room. Outside the window hung the rope of the Millennial Falcon, waiting to send another secret message. Beyond the rope she could see the backyard with its row of trees, weedy and shady almost like a real woods. On the ground were a lot of sticks for making lightsabers and rocks for building fairy gardens. Really, it was a good yard.

  Dad poked his head into the room. “You going to Owen’s to play?”

  Not play. Run away. This afternoon. But somehow, now, the idea didn’t make her happy.

  She picked up her backpack. “I’m going.”

  Chapter 12

  Owen

  Owen met Eleanor at the door, wishing he knew what to do to stop her from leaving.

  She called out, “We’re going to play in the backyard!”

  Owen’s mom appeared. She was dressed in normal clothes and had wet hair like she had just taken a shower. “If that’s okay with your dad,” she said to Eleanor.

  “Me too!” said Michael.

  Yes. Owen grinned. If Michael was outside with them, then they wouldn’t be able to run away.

  But Owen’s mom said, “Not you, Mister Mike. You have a haircut today.” She herded him down the front stairs.

  When they reached the shady part of the backyard, Eleanor tossed her backpack down. “See?” she said. “Everything’s perfect. We’re meant to escape.”

  It didn’t feel like escape to Owen. It felt like mistake.

  “Let’s go now!” she said.

  “We have to wait until Mom and Michael get down the street so they don’t see us,” said Owen.

  “Okay. Hey, let’s fence! You know, for old times’ sake.” She leaped into position. Owen told her that the first person says pray, then the other person says we, and then the first person says uh-lay, and then you fight.

  “Why do you say pray and we and all that?” asked Eleanor.

  “It’s French,” said Owen. “So it doesn’t really make sense. Maybe your dad would know?”

  “He only knows Spanish,” said Eleanor. “Like me. Only better,” she admitted, “since he spoke Spanish when he was growing up.”

  “That’s cool,” said Owen.

  “He grew up in Costa Rica. And they talk in Spanish.”

  “Does he miss Costa Rica? Do you ever visit? Do your grandma and grandpa still live there?” Owen had a lot of questions.

  Eleanor laughed. “Yes, we visit, but not very often because plane tickets cost so much. One time our grandparents, Abuela and Abuelo, came here to visit us. Well, not here. To the old house.” She threw down her sword, frowning. “I bet your mom and Michael are gone.”

  Owen thought about how much Eleanor missed the old house. He
sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go.”

  They only had to wait a couple of minutes for the bus. It was the 67, and it would take them to the 34. Owen showed Eleanor how to get a transfer ticket.

  On the first bus, the bus driver knew Owen. He said, “You’re a big man, riding the bus by yourself. Where are you going?” He grinned.

  “To Eleanor’s house,” Owen said. Eleanor elbowed him, and he thought maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. But he’d been surprised by the bus driver asking him questions.

  On the next bus, no one asked them questions, except for one old lady who asked them what grade they were in and said her grandson was eight.

  When they got off the 34, Owen was worried they might get lost, but Eleanor recognized the corner right away.

  “This way!” she said. She hoisted her backpack over both shoulders and ran. Owen followed.

  “See?” she yelled back at him. “That’s my house! Isn’t it the prettiest blue house you ever saw? And doesn’t it have the prettiest yard?”

  Then she skittered to a stop.

  Only the front of the house was blue. The sides were white. And there were two guys on ladders with trays of white paint.

  “What are they doing?” Eleanor’s voice went up really high. “They’re ruining the house! Stop!” she yelled, waving her arms and running toward the men on ladders.

  “What’s up?” said the closest one. He was young. The other man was old.

  “Stop!” Eleanor screamed. “This house is supposed to be blue!”

  The younger guy shrugged, and the older man said, “The new owners want it white. Got a work order right here.” He patted his chest pocket. “White with red trim. It’ll look real nice when it’s done.”

  Eleanor was standing very still now, and her voice was cold and quiet. “What else did you change?”

  The younger man shrugged and said, “Well, we tore down the old tree house before we started painting. And tomorrow—”

  The man didn’t get to finish his sentence. “NOOOO!” Eleanor sprinted to the backyard. Owen followed.

  There was the tree, as tall and beautiful as Eleanor had described it.

  Under the tree was a pile of ripped-up wood.

  And in the tree: nothing. No tree house.

  Eleanor cried. She sat right down in the backyard that wasn’t hers anymore, and she cried. Owen sat down next to her and helped her shrug off her backpack and pulled out her water bottle. He didn’t know what else to do. The torn-down tree house was really sad. And Eleanor’s plan to live there was dead.

  They sat for a long time while Eleanor cried. Then they both drank out of the water bottle.

  As they finished the water, Eleanor’s dad ran into the backyard and picked her up. He was crying too. Not real tears like Eleanor. But his eyes were red. Owen could tell.

  Owen said, “I’m sorry.” He meant about running away. And making Eleanor’s dad worry. And probably his own parents too.

  Eleanor’s dad put his hand on Owen’s shoulder like he understood. Then he put Eleanor down and phoned Owen’s parents to say everything was okay.

  Then he drove them home.

  At home they found out that Owen’s mom could yell and cry and hug at the same time. And that Michael was better at listening than they had thought. And that after Michael had told about The Plan to run away, Owen’s mom had run to the bus stop, and Eleanor’s dad had driven to the old house. And that in all, the running away lasted one hour and twenty-eight minutes.

  And that they were in trouble for all of those minutes.

  Finally Owen’s mom said, “What were you thinking, young man?”

  “I’m sorry,” Owen said. “I just wanted to be a good friend. A good friend helps. I didn’t want her to be mad at me.”

  Owen’s mom nodded. “That’s a hard one.” She sat on the sofa in the living room and pulled Owen onto her lap. They just sat for a long time, and then Owen’s mom said, “I think a good friend will be your friend even if you don’t help her do dangerous things. And I think Eleanor’s a good friend.”

  Owen thought about that. Eleanor was a good friend. And he’d be a good friend too, from now on.

  Chapter 13

  Eleanor and Owen

  In the downstairs kitchen, Eleanor fished Scrumpy out of the backpack and put him on the counter. He was still in the three baggies. He was mostly thawed. He did not look too good.

  In fact, Scrumpy looked really, really bad.

  Eleanor’s dad covered his mouth and swallowed. Then he moved the cookie plate to the table, away from the fish. “Eleanor. Querida. Please explain.”

  “We were going to bury him—with all the other Scrumpies. And then I was going to live in the tree house. At my real home.” Her lip quivered.

  Dad sat at the table and motioned Eleanor to sit next to him. “Sweetheart, do you know where my home is?”

  “The old house?”

  “No.”

  “Here?” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s yellow.”

  “Not here.”

  Eleanor said, “Then where?” Suddenly she thought of something. “Is your real home in Costa Rica? Do you want to go back to where you were born?” And what if he did? What then? What if her own dad wanted to run away just like she did? That would be terrible.

  “No worries,” said Dad. He brushed her cheek. “My real home isn’t in Costa Rica. My home is here with my family. Wherever my family is, that’s my home.”

  Eleanor sighed with relief. She took a cookie—a big, round, perfect one with lots of chocolate chips.

  Dad said, “But that’s not even the whole truth. Here on earth, we never have a permanent home. Your mom left Grandma and Grandpa Lohman to work in Costa Rica. I left my house with Abuela and Abuelo when I went to college, and I moved away even further when I married your mom and we came here. Someday you’ll leave your family too: to go to college, take a job, get married—something. Your home on earth might change a dozen times.”

  “Or a hundred,” said Eleanor, breaking the cookie into little pieces.

  “Let’s hope not,” said her dad. “But you’re right. You could have a lot of homes on earth. But your real home is always with God. God always loves you.” He hugged her. “And so do I.”

  “And Mom loves me?”

  “And Mom loves you. And Aaron loves you. And even Alicia loves you.”

  “But—” she said. “What about Scrumpy? What are we going to do about him?”

  Dad stole one of her broken pieces and popped it in his mouth. “I have an idea about that.”

  They buried Scrumpy in the backyard of the duplex, and Eleanor and Owen painted a special brick to be the gravestone. The brick had a drawing of two lightsabers on it, crossed. And it also had waves and fish food and sailboats painted all around the sides, because those were things Scrumpy liked. And if Eleanor ever moved again, she could take the brick to the new house. If she wanted to.

  Eleanor and Owen were grounded from walking around the neighborhood by themselves. For the rest of the week, they stayed in the backyard or inside. Owen and Michael finished the first Narnia book, but Eleanor hadn’t finished the second one yet. She started hers over so that they could all listen to it together. Saturday they had supper at Pizza King. And they played together every day.

  A week after the running away, Eleanor’s dad invited Owen to go on an errand, which was weird. And Eleanor wasn’t invited, which was even weirder. And they did not come back until suppertime. Aaron and Alicia made grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup from a can, and Eleanor’s mom came home from work, and they all started eating. Then, finally, Eleanor’s dad and Owen walked in the door. Owen’s mom and dad and Michael joined them.

  Owen carried a cardboard box.

  Owen held the box very carefully in both hands, and his face was bright, like he was abou
t to explode. The box was a big shoebox, the size for winter boots, and it was taped shut with one piece of silver tape, and it had little round holes in the top just big enough to stick your pinky finger through.

  Eleanor’s dad said, “It’s a surprise for the whole family—but mostly for Eleanor, because she misses Scrumpy.”

  “And I picked her out,” said Owen.

  Her?

  “Ohhhhhh! It’s a new fish!” shouted Michael.

  “Not in a cardboard box with holes,” said Alicia.

  “Is that . . . ?” said Eleanor. She stood still in the middle of the room. She didn’t dare hope too hard. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Open it,” said her dad.

  “Open it!” yelled Michael.

  Owen held out the box. But by then Eleanor already knew. Because the box was meowing.

  She opened it. Inside was a kitten, tiny and fuzzy and stripy.

  Owen said, “She’s orange, just like Scrumpy. I picked her for you. She was the only orange one.”

  Eleanor was too excited to say anything. Her eyes shone.

  Eleanor and Owen sat cross-legged on the floor next to each other, and Eleanor’s dad reached into the box and put the kitten on her lap. It meowed. It crawled from her lap to Owen’s and back again. It licked both their hands. It was so fuzzy and little.

  And everyone was laughing and talking, and there was a litter box and a food bowl and a water bowl and cat toys that looked like little mice. And the kitten had the softest little pink pads on her feet and tiny little claws that prickled when she walked on your bare legs. And she had whiskers that tickled when you put your face next to hers.

  After a while, all the grown-ups went to the backyard with lemonade and with Michael. Alicia went to her friend Millie’s, and Aaron went back to his room. Owen and Eleanor and the kitten were alone in the living room.

  “She’s the best kitten ever,” said Owen.

  “She is,” Eleanor said. “We’re going to share her.”