by Bart King
The first thing I did after we moved was unpack my binoculars so I could start identifying new bird species. I doubted any local kids would be birders, but theorized that my scientific outlook might impress the neighborhood adults.
This theory was tested when I was sitting in our front yard, scanning the trees. Next door, I heard our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Shuey, come out on their porch.
“Look,” Mrs. Shuey whispered loudly. “There’s that new boy with the binoculars again. Do you think he’s…?” Her voice trailed off, so I swung my binocular view over to their porch. That gave me a nice close-up of Mrs. Shuey tapping her head, like “cuckoo.”
Conclusion: The neighborhood adults were not impressed.
2. FIELD NOTES: Getting to Know Coby
My first sighting of Coby happened when I was in fifth grade. I was in the hallway, and Coby walked past me.
“What’s up, noob?” he asked, snatching the glasses off my face.
A teacher later caught him on the playground using my lenses to set fire to the wood chips under the swings.
3. FIELD NOTES: The Lure of Anemona
I’ve had a secret crush on Anemona since we were in the same art class in sixth grade. On our first day, the teacher, Mr. Sandwick, asked Anemona about her name during roll call.
“It’s Greek,” Anemona answered with a flip of her hair. “It means ‘daughter of the wind.’”
Wow, I thought. How cool is that? (Then I accidentally knocked my colored markers off the desk.)
4. FIELD NOTES: Currency Events
Three years ago, Jason visited my house for the first time. In my bedroom he spotted two wooden swords in my closet. “No way!” he said, picking up one sword and handing me the other. “Where’d you get these?”
“My parents got them at a Renaissance Faire a long time ago.”
“Your parents GAVE you swords to play with? My mom would never allow that. She’d be afraid that Jenny would cut my head off or something.”
Then Jason raised his weapon and cried, “Sword fight!” He swung his wooden blade at my head. (Neither he nor my parents are big on safety.)
With a clunk, I barely blocked his attack with my wooden blade. But then Jason nearly shish-kebabed me before I could jump backward.
“Fine,” I said, buying time. “I’ll be the Baron of Santa Rosa, defending my manor. Who are you?”
“Uh,” Jason said, raising his blade to eye level. “A kid with a sword?” Then he inspected his weapon more closely. “Noah, these things are still practically brand-new. We could sell ’em to some kids around here!”
And so we did. The point being that Jason doesn’t have much of an imagination—unless you need ideas for making money.
5. FIELD NOTES: I Become a Rule-Breaker
Our school allows nose rings but bans innocent stuff, like skateboards and soft drinks. So if I’d asked for permission to bring a mysterious puck with dangerous properties to school, the answer would’ve been “No.”
Actually, the answer probably would’ve been “Huh?”
But I had important questions about the puck, like “WHAT IS THIS THING?” So I needed to talk to a logical adult—and at our school, that was Mrs. Sanchez.
So, in the name of science, I’d brought the puck with me. Jason didn’t know it was in my pocket. He thought I was just going to ask Mrs. Sanchez some hypothetical questions.
(And my decision would lead to more not-so-hypothetical dominoes falling.)
6. FIELD NOTES: My Scar
In the last minute of her life, Mrs. Bright was carrying a cloth shopping bag filled with veggies and a carton of milk. Her hair was pulled back with a polka-dotted headband.
Walking on Mrs. Bright’s right was Jenny. And on her other side was me. I’d gone to the Brights’ house that day to see Jason, but his soccer practice was running late, so Mrs. Bright asked if I wanted to walk up to the corner store while I waited.
She was good at including people, and I liked being included. As we walked back home, Mrs. Bright turned to look at me over her shoulder. “Noah?” she asked. “Do you know the name of a water bird with a big white patch behind its eyes?”
“Probably a bufflehead,” I answered. But before I could ask where she’d seen one, something big hit the curb behind us. Mrs. Bright’s eyes widened—the sound of an engine was suddenly much too loud, too close. There was no time to turn, no time to yell a warning. Mrs. Bright just reached out with both arms and shoved Jenny to one side and me to the other.
I later learned that a red SUV had swerved off the street, driven up on the sidewalk, and hit Mrs. Bright from behind. The doctors said she died instantly. (The doctors always say that.)
Jenny was spun to the side, into someone’s yard. As the SUV drove over her, Jenny was pressed deep into the lawn. She was knocked out, and her spinal injuries put her in a wheelchair.
The side of the car just clipped me, and I flew through the air. I mean, I really flew, like I’d been shot from a cannon. Coming down in the street, I tried to break my fall with a hand. Instead, I broke my forearm in three places. The red SUV had stopped, shielding Jenny and Mrs. Bright from me. All I could see was a canvas shopping bag leaking milk into the gutter.
Later, surgeons put my bones back together with metal plates. And sure, I got a nasty scar—but I got off easy. So did the SUV driver. He didn’t get behind the wheel that day intending to kill someone. No. He was just a guy adjusting his stereo, not paying attention to where he was going. In court, the driver testified that he’d never even seen us. Without even looking up, he’d devastated the Bright family forever.
7. FIELD NOTES: Grade Four, Day One
After climbing aboard the bus, I found it nearly full.
“Try the back,” suggested the bearded driver, Mr. Berry.
I worked my way down the aisle and finally found one entire seat at the back that was empty. So I sat in it and looked out the window.
A few moments later, a voice said, “That’s my seat.”
With nowhere else to go, I grabbed my backpack and I slid over in the seat, saying, “Let’s share.”
Then I looked up to find Mr. Berry steering some tall kid up to a spot near the front of the bus. And I didn’t give it another thought.
Endnotes
*Let’s just say that Ronnie had a cold.
Writing this story would have been impossible without the help of Django Jacobsen Fein, Holden Hindes, Marian Davis, Ricardo Mejías, and Aaron Judd. Thank you! And a tip of the cap to Kira Porton, Pam Erlandson, Robert Rowzee, Vianne V. Wagner, Tina Nichols Coury, Cindy Loh, and the staff at both the Reed College Library and Portland’s Hollywood Library. Extra-special thanks to my wife, Lynn, to my sister, Mary Zephrinia King, and to all the good people at the Audubon Society of Portland.
I wouldn’t be writing at all if it weren’t for the inimitable Suzanne Taylor. Nor would this story have seen the light of day without my superlative agent, Jill Corcoran. Finally, editor extraordinaire Tracey Keevan has my deep appreciation for her insight and diligence.
Now, a Fun Fact! The inspiration for this book came from a young man named Noah Thorin King-Groh. (He’s cool.)
Bart King is the author of twelve nonfiction books for kids, including The Big Book of Boy Stuff, a #1 Amazon best-selling children’s book. The Drake Equation is his first novel. Bart lives in Portland, Oregon.
