“What happens if she falls?” I ask Addie. I know my voice is too calm for what just happened.
“A fall could injure her.”
“She tried to kill her calf.”
“It’s not her fault,” Addie says, leading us both out of the enclosure.
“Whose fault is it?”
Addie closes the barred gate. “Why’d you do it, Lily?”
I don’t have an answer I’m willing to share.
11
Jack talks nonstop during the ride back to the newsroom. I pretend I’m listening but really just focus on breathing in and out.
“You doing okay?” Jack asks as we walk into the newsroom.
An elephant almost killed me. Hysterics are appropriate, but I feel...fine. “Just thinking.”
“It’s going to be a great article.” Jack pulls out his camera and laptop, sits down at the desk to my right. “I’ll work on the photos. Let me know when you’ve got a draft.”
“Just so you know, I’m not writing about Raki’s attack.”
“Yeah, right.”
Opening my laptop, I click on Word. “Seriously. I’m not.”
Jack opens a file filled with photos of Swift Jones’s ordeal. “Look.”
I blur my eyes so that Swift Jones’s image is just a gray mass. “Addie asked us not to write about the rejection.”
“Lily, you do know that it’s not her call, right? The rejection is news. News you were sent to cover.”
There’s a chemical taste in my mouth that’s been there since Raki charged me. This is the taste of stress. “I was sent to write a follow-up story about Swift Jones. Not to torpedo the zoo’s breeding program.”
Jack leans back in his chair. “Why the hell did you run in there? You could’ve been trampled. You were seconds away from it. Seriously? Craziest move ever.”
My face gets hot. “Raki was hurting her calf. I wanted to stop her.”
“Raki is an elephant,” Jack says. “She probably weighs about nine thousand pounds. What are you? A hundred and ten soaking wet?” Jack clicks on a photo. He whistles. “Look at this one.”
It’s a photo of me standing between Raki and her calf. Raki’s front right foot hangs prestomp. My face is milky white, framed by escaped curls. My eyes are open wide. They appear much greener than they actually are. “I don’t give you permission to use a photo of me.”
Jack slams his hands on the desk. “Why the hell not?”
I recoil like he’s hit me. I could tell him that the last time I was in this paper, the article was about Violet attempting to toss me off a building. Filicide is nothing new to me. I don’t want someone to drag up my past, make the comparison. Also, my dad would be beyond freaked out by what I did. “I’m a reporter. I can’t be part of the story.”
“But you are part of the story.”
“Not the one I’m writing.”
“This is your chance to get noticed by USC. Hell, they’ll probably give you a scholarship!”
“As journalists we’re supposed to minimize hurt, balance the public’s need for information against the harm we might cause.”
“But these are the most incredible photos I’ve ever taken!”
“Sorry.” I get to work. It’s only four hundred and fifty words, so it doesn’t take long.
Baby Elephant Swift Jones
Turns Three!
Swift Jones turned three weeks old today! She weighs 329 pounds thanks to her mother Raki’s nutritious milk. “She’s healthy, happy and figuring out how to use her wriggling trunk,” Dr. Tinibu, director of the Pennington Zoo, said.
Not all baby elephants have such a peaceful existence. “I worked for the Henry Shaw Wildlife Trust in Kenya, Africa,” Tinibu explained. “Their orphan project is dedicated to saving baby elephants whose mothers had been killed by poachers. The first orphan I saw was named Mbegu. He was found on the Masai Mara beside his dead mother, whose tusks had been sawed off, leaving bloody holes. The calf was brought to the orphan project where a team of specialists waited. Despite the love of our team, Mbegu died a few weeks later.”
According to Tinibu, even with all the work conservationists do to try to decrease poaching and protect the species, saving elephants from extinction is an uphill battle. Every win counts. “Swift Jones’s birth,” she said, “is a huge win.”
To learn more about Dr. Tinibu’s breeding program and how you can donate to help Pennington Zoo’s elephants, visit penningtonzoo.org/elephants.
No typos. The story makes sense. “Done,” I tell Jack.
“Then go home. You looked wrecked.”
“I told Shannon I’d wait for her to get here in case she wants me to make any changes.”
“Just leave it on her desk with a note to call if she has any questions.”
Jack thinks I’m a huge loser. He’s right, but I’m unwilling to change the story so I don’t bother defending myself. “I’ll shoot it to her email.”
“A little secret?” Jack says. “Shannon is old-school. She prefers hard copy for editing.”
“Okay.” I print out my article and put it on Shannon’s desk. “See you later.”
12
In the Pennington Times elevator I call Sawyer. His phone rings four times before he picks up.
“What?”
“Sawyer?” It’s his voice but he sounds wound up way too tight.
“Get off the goddamned phone,” a man in the background shouts.
My skin prickles. “Is that Cushing? What’s going on?” I’ve rarely heard Cushing talk to Sawyer, let alone yell.
“Can I call you back, Lily?”
I should say no, because everything isn’t okay. “Yeah.”
Cushing yells, “I won’t allow that kind of perver—”
Sawyer hangs up and I step into the rain, silently cursing myself for not having a jacket or an umbrella. Or a spine. I’m soaked before I walk half a block. Ten minutes later, Sawyer calls back.
“What’s up?” His voice is hollow, like he’s been carved out.
I’m instantly nauseous. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Distract me.”
I tell him what happened. “Was it so terrible? What I did?”
“Which part?”
“The part where I ran between a stampeding elephant and her calf.”
“It was a lot of things. It was, at the least, a very bad idea.”
“What was it at the very most?” I ask my best friend.
“It was totally Lily.”
The light changes. Skirting a puddle, I cross the street. “Meaning?”
“Fierce.”
“Yeah, right. I haven’t been fierce since I punched Gary.”
“Lily, you are fierce every single day of your life.”
I stop walking. “Excuse me? You’re speaking to T. Lillian Decker, life coward.”
“Lily—”
“Hang on.” The light is red but I chance it and run across the street in front of an oncoming Mercedes. The white-haired driver honks at me. “It’s Oregon,” I yell at him. “Pedestrians always have the right of way!”
“Tell me this.”
“What?”
“Were you scared when Raki was charging you?”
“Terrified.”
“Good.”
I don’t tell him that one of Hannah’s YouTube videos flashed through my mind as Raki charged me. It was the one where she explained how she felt right before a violent hallucination: like hot vinegar is surging up my throat. I was half expecting that taste, and it was way more terrifying than getting trampled to death.
“Lily?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do it again.”
It’s raining so hard that water streams down my face. “So what’s up with Cushing
?”
“Want to go look at apartments tomorrow after school?”
“Excuse me?”
“Apartments. My father wants me out in two weeks.”
“I thought he wasn’t serious.”
“Turns out he is.”
My skin feels like it’s the wrong size. “Are you—”
“I’m thinking a corner unit, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, an outdoor deck for parties with a fireplace and pizza oven, of course, and at least three bedrooms so you have one and the third can be our movie room.”
Sawyer still doesn’t sound right. If my teeth weren’t chattering I’d try a song. “There are some cool buildings near our apartment,” I offer. “The Standard around the corner has a sign advertising gourmet kitchens with high-end appliances.”
“Betty won’t be there,” Sawyer says.
What he doesn’t say is that it’s not really about Betty’s cooking. She’s the only adult in his life who pays any attention to his schedule and actually cares. “If it’s not about the money for Cushing, maybe if you talked to him about the boat thing?”
“The boat thing,” Sawyer says in a flat voice.
I dodge a cyclist. “Watch it!” I shout. “Why is he wearing all black? Is he, like, daring a car to hit him or trying to run over pedestrians?” I get to the front door of our apartment building and key in the code then stand in the atrium, making a puddle on the concrete floor and shivering. “I need a hot shower. Talk to Cushing if you don’t want to move out, okay?”
“I’ll figure it out,” Sawyer says, sounding almost normal. “Movie at seven?”
“Huh?”
“For film class. Our paper is due tomorrow. Betty made us caramel popcorn.”
“Crap. I’m exhausted. I’d just fall asleep, you know?” The line is silent. My nerves vibrate. “Sawyer?”
“No worries. I’ll sign your name.”
“You’re the best.”
I take a hot shower, but it doesn’t wash away the sticky feeling that something is way off with Sawyer. Dinner with my dad consists of broiled chicken—with paprika!—rice and green beans sprayed with Bragg’s Liquid Aminos. My dad says I look bushed. For once, I agree and head to my room. In addition to the film paper, I have a quiz in history tomorrow and a project proposal due for French class but instead of pulling out my homework, I get into bed without undressing. I’m almost asleep when my phone rings. I find it on the fifth ring at the bottom of my backpack. “Hello?”
“It’s Shannon.”
I sit up.
“Just wanted to check in on you. You okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine.”
“Good work on the article. Night.”
“Night.”
13
I wake in the exact same position as when I fell asleep. I’m super stiff as I shuffle my way into the kitchen. My dad sits at the counter with his head stuck in the newspaper. “Morning,” I say after gulping down a glass of fresh-squeezed OJ. “You do know that you can read the paper online, right?” He doesn’t look up. My Cheerios are already set out. Today there are fresh blueberries on them. They’re out of season so they must’ve been expensive. I make a mental note to be nicer to my dad. He tries. “Thanks for the—”
“Were you going to tell me?”
My mouth is full of Cheerios. “About what?”
My father carefully closes the paper, folds it in half so that the bottom of the front page is faceup. There’s a close-up photo of Swift Jones with blood running down her chest. Beside it is a large photo of me standing between Raki and SJ. Raki’s trunk is held high; one massive foot stamps the ground. Even in black-and-white her eyes look wild. Even in black-and-white, my face looks...resigned?
“I don’t understand—”
“That you ran between a furious nine-thousand-pound elephant and her calf? For crying out loud, Lily!”
My dad’s cheeks are red. His fingers grip the edge of the counter. I scan the headline. Elephant Raki Tries to Kill Baby, Swift Jones. For a second I can’t compute what I’m reading, because it’s not the headline I wrote. Then I remember Shannon’s call last night. I just wanted to check on you...good work on the article. Shit-shit-shit. Shannon wouldn’t have complimented me on the shallow article I wrote.
“Lily? I want an explanation. Now.”
My throat closes as I scramble for one. Jack said I looked wrecked. He said Shannon wouldn’t have any real changes to my article. He told me to print it instead of sending it via email like I’ve done in the past. He sent me home. He wanted to use his own photos. He’s worse than a liar, because he’s made me his accomplice. I grab my iPad and read the article he wrote using my byline.
The Pennington Times
OCTOBER 21
BY T. LILLIAN DECKER, INTERN
Elephant Raki Tries to Kill Baby,
Swift Jones
“Raki tried to crush her calf,” zoo veterinarian Steve Cohen yelled as he raced toward Dr. Addie Tinibu, director of the Pennington Zoo. “If we don’t get SJ out of the enclosure, Raki may kill her.”
They ran off, leaving Pennington Times photographer Jack Bell and me, Times intern T. Lillian Decker, alone in the hallway of the zoo’s elephant exhibit to witness what happened next.
Raki was given a strong sedative, but its effects had yet to take hold. She stood in the corner of her pen, ears flapping, bellowing so loudly that the floors vibrated. Her calf, Swift Jones, was in the center of the enclosure. The three-week-old bled from a cut on her chest and made high-pitched mewls.
Suddenly Raki charged her baby, head down, striking hard. Swift Jones flew several feet through the air then hit the ground. Raki kicked her repeatedly then retreated to the far side of the room, preparing for a full-speed, possibly fatal, attack.
I acted on instinct, raced into the pen, standing between the hurt calf and Raki in an attempt to protect Swift Jones. The mother elephant charged. She was only a few feet from me when the sedative she’d been given kicked in. Raki froze, legs splayed, swaying, her trunk limp, eyes glazed.
“You could have been killed,” Dr. Tinibu shouted at me.
This event leaves Swift Jones’s survival in question. “In many ways elephant calves are more complex than humans,” Tinibu said. “They can die of a broken heart.”
Tinibu and Cohen plan to slowly reunite Swift Jones with her mother, Raki. “Hopefully,” Tinibu said, “this is a onetime occurrence.”
Pennington Zoo board member Alfred Conway was reached late last night for comment. “The board plans to thoroughly review the Pennington Zoo’s policies,” Conway said, “and in specific, its elephant breeding program.”
I’m sick to my stomach. Addie is going to hate me. Kids at school will bring up my past. “I didn’t write this article.”
My dad slams his hands on the counter. “I don’t care about the article. I care that my daughter ran in front of a charging elephant. Lillian, for God’s sake, it’s something Violet would’ve done!”
My stomach cramps. “Except Violet wasn’t acting strange!” I shout back. “She was normal right up until the time she tried to fly me off the roof!”
All color drains from my father’s face. “What?”
“So what I did, trying to save that calf, is crazy? But what Violet did, scribbling on every wall, talking to us like she was freaking Peter Pan, doesn’t rate on the insanity scale?” I don’t know when my cereal bowl shattered, but there are shards of glass on the floor and blood drips off my fingers.
“Lily, what I said? Back then? Dammit, how can you even remember? You were in the hospital with a concussion. I was in shock. My wife had been arrested. My daughter almost fell off a roof.”
“Almost fell? Bullshit!” My pulse is so fast, it’s tripping over itself. I close my eyes, take deep breaths, but Violet is there waiting...
“Wi
ll you fly away with me?” Mommy asks.
“Where?”
She points to the sky. “‘Second to the right, and straight on till morning.’”
“I want Daddy!”
“I love you, T. Lily, but you’re hard to like.”
The rooftop door crashes open. We both flinch. I want to look but I’m shaking too hard.
“Violet?” Daddy calls out. “Honey? It’s okay.”
Mommy sobs. “It’s not.”
“I love you, V,” Daddy says. “Come down. We can figure this out together. You and me forever, right?”
“Please don’t cry,” I say. “I’ll fly—I’ll fly.”
Mommy looks over her shoulder. “Calvin, I love you most!”
I can tell Mommy means it. But I’m standing next to her, so even though she doesn’t love me most, she picked me to fly. Her nails dig into my wrist. Blood trickles down my arm. I swallow my sobs and try to be a tiger. Mommy bends her knees and pushes off. I go up, too, then down like a pumpkin. My head cracks open.
“Lillian, talk to me!”
My cell rings.
“Let it go.”
“Hello?”
“We need you at P-Times,” Shannon says.
“I didn’t wri—”
“Now.”
I hang up then rinse the blood from my palm. The cut is shallow. No stitches this time. “That was my boss. I have to go over to the Times.”
“We’re not done talking,” my dad says. “And it’s clear you need to quit that internship.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s threatening everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
My bones fill with lead. “What have we actually achieved?”
“Lily—”
“No. More likely than not, I’m going to get schizophrenia. Paranoid, catatonic, schizoaffective disorder, hebephrenic. It doesn’t matter which one, because they all suck.”
When Elephants Fly Page 7
