by Bart King
And to my right, a sign for something called CATARACT GROVE swung from the wires.
Coby had just chased me into an ambush!
As I lay my head back down, I heard a high, squeaky whistle—was it the wood duck? I listened carefully:
Fwee-feet! Fwee-feet-yeah!
Dang. It wasn’t a wood duck’s whistle. Probably an American wigeon (Anas americana).
“If you’re okay, I’m going to take off!” yelled Coby. “Okay?” There was a chuckle, and then that faded and disappeared. Coby’s work here was complete—maybe he had his own items to check off his list from the American Troublemakers Association:
✓ Chase Noahbikulous noobius down a hill.
Hey, if you’d been there, maybe you’d have laughed, too. That doesn’t make you a bad person. After all, I really was flying down the hill with my hands flopping around on my wrists until I hit the wires and got flung back into the dirt.
So have a good laugh. Think about me, just lying there, waiting for the feeling to come back to my legs.
AT FIRST, I HELD STILL AND tried to figure out whether I had any broken bones. Next, I wondered what life in a wheelchair was like for my friend Jenny.
And then I got a strange feeling.
I already know what it’s like to watch a bird: it’s a mix of caution and concentration. But what’s it like for the bird? Can the bird tell when someone’s secretly watching it?
As I lay there, I had an uncanny sense someone was studying me. But who? I turned my head to look around, and as I did, stars glittered at the edge of my vision. Great, I thought. So I’m all dirty, and I have a concussion.
But the stars weren’t floating around, like when Jason “accidentally” kicked a soccer ball off my head. When I looked directly at them, these stars didn’t dance away. Instead, they twinkled from just one spot. There, half-hidden beneath the bush I’d jumped over, was a bright…something.
I squinted and made out a round disc reflecting sunlight. What is that? I crawled closer and reached for it. That feeling of being watched grew stronger. Picking up the glinting disc, I felt a warm, smooth surface. Somehow it glittered green and purple at once, depending on the angle I looked at it.
It’s iridescent. I held it in my hand, my fingers slipping easily into the five indents around the disc’s edge. I gently tried to squeeze the pancake-size thing. It bent and flexed a little, but then stiffened like it was made of hard plastic.
Now this will sound weird, but as I did this, I could have sworn I felt something bend and flex inside of me too. It was the oddest feeling—as if my body was shifting from one thing to another, like that moment when you think you’re going to sneeze but haven’t sneezed yet.
And then the feeling passed.
I shrugged and turned the disc over. It had a slight bulge on the side, but that was about it. Is this a toy? I wondered. Maybe it’s jewelry? Or a Frisbee for a rich leprechaun?
One more thing—as soon as I picked the disc up, the sense that someone was watching me intensified. I looked around again warily—but nope, I really was all alone. Just a dirtcovered kid hanging out with his new friends—a bush and a sparkly pancake.
Between the creepy feeling of being watched and Coby’s ambush, this seemed like a good time to be extra careful. I didn’t want to borrow trouble, and so I went to put the sparkling disc back where I’d found it…when a small black bird zipped overhead.
Was that what I think it was?
Suddenly nothing else mattered.
Shoving the sparkly pancake in my cargo shorts, I scrambled to my feet and spied the black bird heading for the trees at Noyd Falls.
Coby Cage, my hurt back, even the wood duck—all of it was instantly forgotten. A new hunt was on. I ducked under the fence and ran like a maniac into the woods.
* * *
Noyd Nature Preserve is inside Santa Rosa’s city limits. At almost one thousand acres, it’s a small wilderness—and it’s almost right outside my front door. This is lucky for me, because lots and lots of birds live there or migrate through it: chick-adees, creepers, owls, finches, swallows, jays, hawks, grosbeaks, tanagers, vultures, woodpeckers, warblers…
After we moved to Santa Rosa, I got to know all of the preserve’s dirt trails pretty fast. One trail goes right through a small grove of giant, silent redwoods; another winds through oak woodlands and thorny thickets of wild blackberry, then pops out into a meadow that blooms with orange poppies in the spring.
A creek also runs through the preserve year-round, and it actually cascades right off a cliff. Cool, right? That’s Noyd Falls. It drops about twenty feet through the air into a small, circular canyon. Over the years, Noyd Falls has carved out its own pool of water. And this was where I was hoping to spot my mystery bird.
Have you ever gone bird-watching before? If not, you’d never believe how exciting it is. Some people say birding is like hunting, but without any blood. Whatever. All I know is that birders need to look all around, from the ground to the skies, trying to notice everything around them.
When you’re totally aware like that, your heart starts beating fast. But you need to stay calm! And if you see the bird that you’re looking for? That thrill is just about the greatest feeling around.
So now you know how excited I was when I got to Noyd Falls. Its pool was surrounded by ferns and protected from the sun by trees, and it was a relief to feel the heat dip. There was a snap as a dead branch gave way under my foot. But luckily, the splashing water covered the noise.
I hid behind a maple tree and looked around. From where I was standing, I could see the front of the wood duck nesting box that I’d stuck up in a nearby tree last year. But it showed no signs of being lived in by ducks or anything else.
Next I turned my hopeful eyes to the waterfall. Behind the cascade, mossy wet rock ledges stretched left and right.
And that’s where my eyes glimpsed movement! But I needed a closer look. So slowly, I brought my binoculars up….
And there it was—the same bird that I’d seen flying. It was small, with a dark back pattern, and was flattened against the rocks. Amazingly, the bird was nimbly crawling sideways toward the cascading water. As it crawled, it kept its head turned to the side. That way, it could keep one eye on the canyon.
This was one sly bird.
Bird-watchers are patient, so even though my blood was racing, I held perfectly still. Through my lenses, I could see the bird’s rounded gray head, with its big eyes and small beak. Black patches around the bird’s eyes made it look like a bandit.
But what kind of bird was it? I couldn’t be sure yet, but I had a wild theory. One of the most mysterious birds in North America is the black swift, and it’s really hard to spot. For one thing, the black swift is usually silent, so there’s no birdsong to give it away.
Even trickier, the black swift often nests behind waterfalls. Can you believe it? A nest of moss on a cold, wet rock with water spraying all around is its idea of home!
I didn’t want to take my eyes off the bird, but I needed more info. As the splashing water echoed off the rock walls, I carefully reached down into my backpack and pulled out a copy of An Informal Pocket Guide to Western Birds. My hands shook a little as I flipped through the pages—and there it was:
Known for its secretive lifestyle, the black swift flies so fast and so high, it has been called “the cloud dweller.” It spends most waking hours in flight, catching insects in midair. Though its travel paths are generally unknown, the birds have been tracked between United States and Brazil, a round-trip of 8,600 miles.
Status: Total population may not exceed about 15,000 birds. Even so, wildlife experts don’t know if the black swift should be listed as “endangered” or simply “mystifying.” Forest destruction and water shortages in the United States and the clearing of the Amazon in Brazil pose clear dangers. Further, the female only lays one egg at a time, so the bird’s reproductive rate is low even under ideal circumstances.
Voice: The black sw
ift rarely sings. Even a hungry baby black swift will usually stay quiet. However, when an adult nears its nest, a hungry chick will often make a surprisingly deep plik-plik-plik-plik sound….
And right then I heard it, almost lost in the splashing of Noyd Falls.
Plik-plik-plik-plik.
NO WAY. I was so excited, I must have moved, because the little bird cocked its gray head to the side. Suddenly the black swift hopped off the rock, zipped into the air, and disappeared like an arrow shot from a bow.
As it flew off, I almost high-fived myself. I knew, I mean I just knew, that I was the only person to have seen this! And if I could confirm the sighting? The black swift would be my biggest bird-watching score ever!
I imagined the glory of marking my checklist.
✓ Black swift (Cypseloides niger)
A thrill swept from my scalp to my toes (even my right big toe, which was sticking through a hole in my sock). Goose bumps covered my arms. I had to tell someone—anyone—about this right away.
And so another domino fell. How was I supposed to know that such a little bird would lead to such BIG trouble?
PICKING UP THE TRAIL OUT OF NOYD WOODS, I ran down into my neighborhood, heading straight for Jason’s house. Well, almost straight—I had to detour across the street to get around a huge truck with a crane that was blocking the sidewalk. And as I crossed, I almost got run over by a flock of young kids on bikes. Sheesh! Kids.
One of them, a girl with streamers on her handlebars, turned to stare at me as she went past. And none of them said “Sorry!” or anything. As I watched the little menaces go off, I noticed something. They were all practically pedaling in unison. If they had been birds, their wings would have been flapping in perfect rhythm.
Anyway, I knocked on Jason’s front door and my best friend answered, then stepped back in surprise. “Wow, what happened to you, Pigpen? Come in and wash your face, then we can chill.”
JASON BRIGHT (Bene-vestitum athleta)
APPEARANCE: Strong build. Black hair. Blue eyes.
VOICE: Talks fast, often about himself.
PLUMAGE: Favors sportswear; especially likes colorful soccer jerseys and (in winter months) tracksuits.
RANGE: Found on basketball courts and soccer fields.
SOCIAL BEHAVIOR: Has a friendly, outgoing personality. Opinionated; sometimes takes a joke too far.
STATUS: Semipopular.
As I cleaned up, I filled Jason in on my adventures—the bus ride, Coby, the weird object I’d found, and of course, the black swift. By the time I finished talking, we’d ended up in his room. It was hot and stuffy there, even with the window open. So much for chilling.
“Why does Coby hate you so much, anyway?” Jason was lying on his bed, adjusting the straps of a colorfully spattered paintball helmet.
“I don’t know!” I said. “That guy’s been out to get me ever since I moved here.”
“He’s definitely got issues, but still—there must be a reason,” said Jason. “Anyway, it’s cool that you found that duck.”
“No,” I said. “You’re not listening. It’s not a duck. I think I found a black swift.” I waited a second to let the huge importance of that seep in.
Jason kept playing with his helmet.
“They’re really rare,” I added. “And they live behind waterfalls. Did you know—”
“Hey, if you care about a little bird, then I care.” Jason brushed at the front of his brilliant-blue soccer shirt. “Anyway, let’s see that leprechaun Frisbee you found.”
I handed Jason the thick sparkly pancake I’d spotted under the bush. “I have no idea what this thing is.”
Jason turned the disc over in his hands. “Looks like someone covered a hockey puck in glitter,” he muttered. “Then they flattened it with a steamroller.”
“Huh,” I grunted, looking out the window.
The Brights’ neighbor, Mrs. Damaschino, ran a day care. I could hear the children shouting loudly next door—and for little kids, they sure made a lot of noise. In Jason’s backyard, a lawn sprinkler spun lazily, spraying onto the Brights’ new swimming pool. And there was Jason’s dad, pulling the sprinkler to a new spot.
I was happy to see Mr. Bright. After all, he’s one of my favorite grown-ups ever.
MR. THOMAS BRIGHT (Parrotus widowus)
APPEARANCE: Burly male with more hair on his arms than most humans have on their heads.
VOICE: ALWAYS YELLS, EVEN WHEN WHISPERING.
PLUMAGE: Wears colorful Hawaiian shirts (yet has never been to Hawaii).
RANGE: Like all adults, he can drive great distances. (Yet, as noted, he is not found in Hawaii.)
SOCIAL BEHAVIOR: Aggressively friendly.
STATUS: Mated for life; now finds himself a single parent.
Shading his eyes against the sun, Mr. Bright looked back at me. “HELLO, NOAH!” he yelled.
“Hi, Mr. Bright,” I called from the window.
“SEE IF YOU CAN GET JASON TO CLEAN UP THAT WASTELAND HE CALLS A BEDROOM,” Mr. Bright said. “AND PLEASE ASK HIM TO HELP HIS SISTER WITH THE LAUNDRY.”
Giving Mr. Bright a thumbs-up, I turned back to Jason. To my surprise, his face was now lit by a bright-green glow coming from—the pancake?
“Hey! What did you do?”
Jason shrugged, turning the disc around so I could see. “I just pressed this little knob on the side and a blank screen opened up.”
I took it from him. Sure enough, an egg-shaped screen now filled one side of the disc. But it wasn’t blank—the screen was lit with a green background, and in the center was a round icon like a ball. Underneath that was a single word:
ADEPTNESS
The ball pulsed slightly.
I pushed the pancake’s stem experimentally, and the oval screen disappeared. I mean, it didn’t slide out of view—instead, it was just instantly gone. I ran my finger over the disc’s surface where the screen had been. Nothing. It was perfectly smooth.
I pressed the stem again and the screen blinked right back into view, as if it had been there all along.
“That’s weird.”
“Hey, maybe it’s like a squished Magic 8 Ball,” Jason said. “Try shaking it, and we can ask it a question.”
I shook it up and down. “Ask away,” I said.
“Will I win my soccer game this weekend?”
I stopped shaking, pressed the knob, and pretended to read from the puck’s screen: “ALL SIGNS POINT TO NO,” I said, “BECAUSE YOU SUCK.”
Before Jason could make a comeback, there was a crunch at the door. Jenny had crushed some potato chips on Jason’s floor as she rolled into the room in her wheelchair. She had a pile of clean beach towels on her lap and a look of disgust on her face.
“Jason, this room is a total health hazard,” she said.
JENNY BRIGHT (Fortis bellator)
APPEARANCE: Jenny has strong shoulders and pale-blue eyes, like her brother.
VOICE: Despite young age, can have the tone of a teacher, parent, or other authority figure.
PLUMAGE: Jenny’s hair is naturally black but is currently dyed pink and orange. (And last week? Purple.)
RANGE/SOCIAL BEHAVIOR: Range somewhat limited by wheelchair. Caring personality, very self-confident. Can sometimes verge on bossy.
STATUS: Popular-ish, though less outgoing since the accident.
It was true. Every drawer of Jason’s dresser was open and empty. Science-fiction books carpeted the carpet. Empty hangers hung in his closet. Below them were piles of T-shirts, shoes, shorts, and dumbbells. These piles flowed out of the closet and into the room, where charging cords snaked in and out of them.
It hadn’t always been this way. A couple of years ago, Jason’s bedroom was just an average mess. But after the accident, Jason just kind of stopped putting his stuff away. It was like he was done with that.
The odd thing is that Jason is a total neat freak about his looks. His hair and his clothes have to be perfect before he’ll go out. Jason’s room even has
a full-length mirror where he can preen and admire himself.
I glanced in that mirror and checked myself out.
NOAH GROW (Avis custo maximus)
APPEARANCE: Peanut-butter-colored hair, big ears, lots of teeth. My parents say I’m “built like a reed,” whatever that means.
VOICE: Medium pitch, nasal. Vocal speed picks up when excited.
PLUMAGE: Wears glasses. Typically seen in faded shorts and old T-shirts that blend well into the background. (Bright clothes scare birds away.)
RANGE: Can be found in areas near home accessible by foot or bike. Sometimes migrates much farther in the summer, depending on parents’ work projects.
SOCIAL BEHAVIOR: Sometimes seen with friends, but often alone, observing warm-blooded, egg-laying, feathered vertebrates.
STATUS: Invisible-ish.
Meanwhile, Jason was arguing with his sister. “A health hazard? Please. My room is totally organized.” He pointed at the floor. “Look, the clothes are with the clothes.”
Jenny pointed to some small red objects. “And what are those?”
Leaning forward, Jason grinned. “I think those are goji berries.”
“That does it,” said Jenny. She grabbed the pile of warm towels off her lap and threw them on top of her brother. “You heard Dad—fold those towels.”
Like her brother, Jenny’s my friend, too. Because even though she and Jason are opposites, they’re also inseparable. With the twins, everything’s a package deal.
“Wow, Noah,” Jenny said, finally noticing my dirty clothes. “I’m not even going to ask what happened to you. Want to play some air hockey later?”
This was a bad offer to accept. Jenny’s the best air hockey player ever. True, she doesn’t have much of a reach from her wheelchair, but she makes up for it with hawklike reflexes.
Before I could answer, she spotted the iridescent purple-green disc in my hand. “What’s that?” Jenny moved forward with a SQUISH. (Those were the goji berries.)
