Addie looks from the check to me. “Is this a joke?”
My face heats up. She thought it’d be more. “Sorry. That’s it.”
“Sorry?” She grins. “I was expecting a few hundred dollars! This means the community really cares. It means we can raise even more money and create the type of sanctuary our elephants deserve.”
Addie bounds around her desk. At first I think she’s going to hug me but instead she puts her hands on my shoulders. Our eyes meet. Hers are shining.
“Lily, this is so great! Thank you!”
I try to stay professional but can’t help grinning. “You’re welcome.” I don’t tell her that the Pennington community only cared about $9,000 worth of the total. It’s breaking the Code, but I don’t want to ruin her moment.
“What is our calf’s name?” Addie asks.
I wince. “Swift Jones.”
“Like the pop star?”
“She sings country music, too,” I say. Pathetic. “If you don’t mind, I kinda need to quote your reaction?”
“‘I love my pickup truck more than you,’” Addie sings.
It’s a Swift Jones song. Addie has a good voice made prettier by her accent. Sawyer is going to eat this up with a spoon. “You like Swift Jones?”
“Very much. She sings from her heart.”
“So you’re good with the name?”
Addie holds up the check. “I’d have been okay with Daisy or, God help me, Buddy for this much money.”
“So. Um. Good luck with the baby elephant.”
A handheld radio on Addie’s desk crackles to life. “Addie? It’s time.”
“On my way, Steve.” Addie strides toward the door then stops, looking back at me. “Come on. You’ve earned it.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I follow her toward the stairs. My pulse quickens as we leap down the steps two at a time. Outside, Addie breaks into a jog, weaving around the zoo-goers. I jog every day, but her legs are twice as long as mine so I have to really run to keep up. We pass the bat exhibit followed by the tiger habitat. My stomach swirls. Addie veers along a train track that circles the entire zoo. I’ve ridden the train at least one hundred times. Violet loved it, even though the seats were so small that her knees were up at her ears. One day, toward the end, she came to my school, pulled me out of class and brought me to the zoo. Violet’s hair was in pigtails like mine. We rode the train, in the dead of winter, for three straight hours. Somehow my dad figured out where we were. He showed up with my winter coat, but by then I had the beginning of frostbite on my toes.
When we reach the concrete-and-steel entrance to the elephant exhibit, employees in blue Pennington Zoo staff shirts are ushering people out of the building. Addie and I slip inside. A gray-haired staffer locks the door behind us. The smell of straw with a musky undertone rolls over me. I’m standing in the center of a massive elephant footprint that has been pressed into the concrete floor. More footprints lead down a wide hallway. The concrete wall to the right has children’s drawings of elephants in brightly colored frames. There are large glass panels on the left wall that provide windows into different enclosures; some lead outside, where I can see a grassy area, a pond, some thatched sun shades and big logs chained to the ground. In the distance three elephants with dented foreheads, two bumps forming the top of their heads, stand belly-deep in the pond. One sucks up water with his trunk and sprays the other two like they’re little kids at a water park.
A guy in worn jeans and a blue plaid shirt pokes his head out of a doorway set into a barred wall. He looks at me.
“Who’s the kid?”
“Lily, this is one of our veterinarians, Steve Cohen. I think you spoke on the phone?”
“Hey, Lily,” Steve says.
I wave. Dr. Cohen sounded older on the phone. He can’t be more than thirty-five. His auburn hair is brush cut, white scalp shining through a bare patch, and his lopsided ears stick out like teacup handles.
“She raised more than a hundred thousand dollars with her elephant-naming contest. I thought she deserved to be here,” Addie says.
Steve whistles. “Wow. Now we can afford to start construction on the deep pool our herd needs. Thanks, Lily. Seriously. Thank you. Okay, sure, you can watch from the corner but be really quiet and stay out of Raki’s line of sight.”
Steve closes the door. We watch through the bars as he walks into a room about the size of a four-car garage. There are vertical bars on all sides that remind me of the old Western jails I’ve seen in movies. But these bars are white and twice as thick. Steve slowly walks to a metal cage on the far right of the enclosure. He steps into it but leaves the sliding door open. Opposite him, in the left corner of the room, is an elephant. Goose bumps break out on my arms. This close, the animal is stunning and so big she doesn’t seem real. “That’s Raki?”
“Yes,” Addie replies. “Normally, having one of our veterinarians stand so close would stress an elephant in labor. But for the past few years, since we planned to breed Raki, Steve has worked as one of her keepers instead of as her veterinarian, so that she doesn’t associate him with anything unpleasant like shots or foot care.”
“So why is Steve in that cage?”
“He wants to be close in case Raki or her calf needs him, but he has to stay safe.”
“Would Raki hurt him?”
“They have a great relationship, but Raki is a mother in labor. Pain can make anyone unpredictable.”
My eyes travel over Raki’s bulk. She has gray skin covered in wrinkles that make her look like she’s clothed in the worn leather of a really old book. Her tail swishes over a cream-colored sac glistening between her legs. Dribs of seashell-pink fluid drip onto the sawdust. Ears the shape of giant plates wave like fans. She sways, shuffling immense feet. Beneath steel-gray skin I can see her belly rippling as the baby shifts.
I don’t know how much time passes, but together we watch as the sac grows so big it dangles halfway to the ground. Raki’s tail swats faster. She hunches her back. The membrane stretches until the calf’s drum-shaped feet and rounded backside are visible... In a single breath the sac expands then Raki’s calf drops to the ground. There’s a gush of fluid followed by a stream of bright red blood that paints the insides of Raki’s legs crimson. Quickly, she lifts one back leg so that she doesn’t trample her baby. The calf lies motionless half covered by its embryonic sac.
“Is the baby okay?” I whisper. My mouth is so dry I can’t swallow.
Addie holds up her index finger. We wait for the calf to do something—open its eyes, move or cry. But it’s inert. Raki kicks the newborn with her back leg—hard enough to move it several feet. The calf doesn’t react. Raki kicks it again. I grip the steel bars so tight that my hands throb. The mother elephant uses her trunk to roughly tear away the rest of the sac. She clears the membrane from her calf’s face, but it’s still lifeless.
“She’s dead?”
“Shhh,” Addie says.
Raki kicks her newborn a third time. It rolls to face us. The calf’s trunk flops onto the sawdust. Raki’s ears flap against her head in loud thwacks. Her feet stomp. She raises her trunk, trumpeting so loudly that my ears buzz. Steve picks up what looks like a gun with a green dart on the end. I shiver. It must be some kind of tranquilizer gun. “Why doesn’t he use it?” I whisper. Raki’s eyes roll around in their sockets, electric, furious, too bright. She grabs the newborn’s trunk with her own, tugs hard. I press my forehead hard against the bars. Violet’s voice whispers and I’m back on that rooftop...
“Why are you crying?” Mommy asks.
My tummy flutters in a bad way. “I’m scared.”
“You wouldn’t be if you used your real name.”
“Can we go home now?”
“No. But we can fly.”
She smiles at me. Her eyes are fireworks, so bright I squint.
“Come on,” Addie murmurs. “You can do it.”
Raki’s hold slips. The embryonic fluid on the baby makes her fuzz-covered skin too slick to grasp. The mother elephant tries again, until she’s able to lift her calf’s head off the ground. I don’t understand why neither Addie nor Steve is stepping in to save the calf. The baby’s eyes open for a second then slide shut. Instead of flinging her baby against the wall, Raki lifts its head repeatedly. Finally, its dark eyes blink then remain open. The newborn’s rose-colored mouth makes gasping sounds.
I take pronounced breaths like I do at a physical when the doctor listens to my heart to make sure it’s still beating.
“It’s a girl,” Steve calls.
Using her front leg and trunk, Raki helps her newborn stand. The calf is all wobble. The first attempt rolls her sideways. The second leaves her in a Buddha-like slump, head folded on her belly. Raki pushes her calf toward the metal barrier where Steve stands. She wedges the baby against the bars then uses her front leg under its belly to lift it. Raki steps back. The calf sways like the ground is unstable then takes her first step, pushing out her foot like a little kid learning to walk in boots for the first time, shaky but making progress, her mother hovering over her.
“Welcome to the world, Swift Jones,” Addie says. She looks at me. “Holy shit! You’re white as a ghost. Are you going to faint?”
All the blood has rushed out of my head. My vision narrows. My lips are numb. Knees turn to liquid. Addie grips my waist and pushes my head between my thighs. She roughly kneads the muscles of my neck. “I thought—”
“It’s going to be okay,” Addie says. “Raki did what was necessary to help her calf breathe. It’s every mother’s instinct.”
Clearly Addie never knew anyone like Violet. I gulp a few more breaths then stand up straight. Swift Jones is halfway under her mother’s massive belly. She’s about three feet tall. Her skin is a shade lighter than Raki’s, and there are tiny gray hairs sprouting along her back. Raki runs her trunk over the newborn like she’s checking to make sure her baby has all her fingers and toes. Swift Jones grins.
“It looks like they’re smiling.”
“They are,” Addie says. “Elephants have humanlike emotions. They smile. They cry. They even mourn their dead.”
I think she’s anthropomorphizing, like everyone does with animals, but it’s not my business. “Would Steve have stepped in if Raki couldn’t help her calf?”
“Yes,” Addie says. “He would’ve sedated her, but interfering can cause a mother to reject her baby. We want to avoid that at all costs.”
We walk into the late afternoon chill. There are dark gray thunderclouds in the distance. My muscles quiver like they do after a hard run. “Thanks,” I say. Addie tips her head sideways like she’s still making sure I’m not going to pass out. “I’m fine.”
“Thank you for the donation. We will use it wisely.”
My father is waiting in the zoo parking lot. I told him I’d jog home since I haven’t gotten my run in today, or wait for Sawyer to get out of lacrosse practice, but he insisted. He’s been hanging out for over two hours.
“Sorry,” I say, as I climb into our worn Subaru. “I had no idea it’d take so long.”
“No worries. I finished all of my grading.” He starts the car. “Long interview?”
“Not really,” I say. “It was interrupted by Raki having her calf.” I try to fight my smile but it tugs relentlessly upward. “I got to watch. Just me, Addie—that’s Dr. Tinibu—and Steve, the vet.”
“That’s incredible,” my dad says. “Seriously, Lily. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. What a birthday present, right?”
I wedge trembling fingers between my thighs. “Yeah.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
My dad puts on his blinker, turns right out of the parking lot. “How’d Dr. Tinibu like the name?”
“She quoted a Swift Jones song,” I say, laughing. My dad laughs, too. “They’re going to use the money to make the elephants a really big pool.”
“Sawyer will be happy to know that he’s responsible for making that happen.”
“I went by the tigers. We used to practice growling like them.” My comment is a knee-jerk reaction for him giving me zero credit. I want to hurt him back. Invoking Violet in any way is something I rarely do, because my dad has worked so hard to erase her. I get it. But I wish I could tell him that she’s always there anyway, at least for me. It’s like my dad’s act of erasing her made her seep beneath the surface, into my bones.
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Are you okay?”
There are a million ways to answer that but I give my father what he wants. “I’m fine.”
The Pennington Times
OCTOBER 1
BY T. LILLIAN DECKER, INTERN
The Pennington Zoo’s Raki
Gives Birth
The Pennington Zoo’s Asian elephant Raki gave birth to a healthy calf at 5:32 p.m. on September 30, following a twenty-two-month pregnancy.
The calf, enclosed in its embryonic sac, was not initially breathing. Raki struggled to clear her baby’s airway by grasping the calf’s trunk. After several failed attempts, the calf’s eyes finally opened and she gasped for air.
“It’s a girl!” veterinarian Steve Cohen announced as the wobbly newborn took her first step with the help of her mother.
The calf’s birth is the result of a breeding program instituted by the zoo’s director, Dr. Addie Tinibu. Tinibu hails from a small village in northern Kenya. As a young girl working for a conservation group in the Nairobi National Park, she came to love endangered elephants and decided to spend her life finding ways to protect them.
“Poachers illegally slaughter up to thirty-six thousand African elephants annually. They may become extinct as early as ten years from now,” Dr. Tinibu said. “The situation is even worse for Asian elephants, like the ones we have at our zoo. There are only about forty thousand Asian elephants left in the wild.”
The Pennington Times elephant-naming contest generated thousands of potential names and raised $109,350 to aid in the creation of a better elephant exhibit and ultimately a sanctuary.
“I’m stunned and grateful,” Tinibu said.
Drumroll, please. The winning name for Raki’s female calf is Swift Jones. Zoo-goers can see Swift Jones as early as Christmas. For additional information visit: penningtonzoo.org/elephants.
5
“Did Dr. Tinibu really sing a Swift Jones song?” Sawyer asks as we rush to our respective classes.
“Do we have to relive the moment again?” Sawyer nods even though I’ve repeated the story at least twenty times in the last twenty-four hours. “Fine. Yes. The one about a pickup truck.”
Sawyer beams. “Swift Jones would be so proud.”
“Later.” I duck into my math class, slide into a seat and pull out a math book. Dawn turns to face me.
“Did you at least think about it?” Dawn asks. “We’re really in a bind.”
“No.”
“The crack Carla made about a makeover was totally made-up,” Dawn confides. “But you could look way prettier. Everyone needs a little help.” She leans in. “I took Accutane,” she whispers. “Now I’m dating Travis.”
The last thing I want is a boyfriend. But I can tell Dawn’s sparkly pink heart is in the right place, so I throw her a bone. “What would you do?”
Dawn reaches up, pulls one of my dark curls free. It spirals down to my shoulder. “I’d kill for that kind of natural curl,” she says. “It’d look epic with highlights.”
Said by the girl with perfect, long, straight, blond hair. She pulls off my round glasses, studies my wan face with its dusting of freckles like it’s an unfinished painting. Thankfully she doesn’t look through the lenses, beca
use they’re fakes. I’ve worn glasses since the trial. My dad’s recollection is that I stole a pair from the grocery store after the first day in court. I don’t remember that. I just remember the feeling of wearing them as Violet’s jury stared at me with horror and pity. Those round circles of glass created a protective layer between us. Sawyer is the only one, other than my dad, who knows my vision is twenty-twenty.
“If you ladies are done chatting...” Mr. Boce intones.
Dawn hands back my glasses. “Your eyes are a really cool green,” she whispers before turning around.
I put my glasses back on, pretend to focus on the equation Mr. Boce is writing on the chalkboard. I didn’t do my homework so I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I manage to make it through an entire hour of math class without getting picked on or learning anything. The bell rings and there’s Sawyer, waiting outside the classroom door because he knows I’m a flight risk.
“I was thinking about skipping it.”
“If you do, your dad will know.”
He’s right. My father teaches at Grable. As if on cue, I see him at the end of the hallway—red flannel shirt, tan cords, leather Crocs. He doesn’t look up from his iPad, but I’m sure he has registered I’m heading toward Ms. Frey’s office.
Sawyer grabs my backpack and hoists it over one shoulder. “At least your dad doesn’t make you wear one of those ankle bracelets the police use to monitor criminals on probation.”
“Just like you to find the silver lining.”
We pass the student lounge. There’s a sheet of paper taped to the glass door with rainbow letters stating: LGBTQIA Meeting—EVERYONE welcome!!! Two kids sit at a table for twenty. They look...lonely. “Maybe they should bring cookies,” I say.
Sawyer slows. “Do you think—”
Doug Stackler pounds a fist on the lounge’s door as he walks by. One of his football player buddies snickers.
Sawyer hesitates. There’s a battle going on inside him. He wants to stand up for those kids but fear stops him. I get it. I didn’t have any choice when I was thrown into the spotlight. Once your biggest secrets become public, there’s no return. I touch Sawyer’s arm. “Either way, I have your back.” He looks down at the floor, his cheeks ruddy, then widens the distance between the football players and us. I pull folded pages from my backpack to distract my best friend. “I printed out the test.”
When Elephants Fly Page 3
