18
It’s 5:45 a.m. and Swift Jones wants to play. I’m trying to study, but it’s hard because she’s racing around the pen. If I don’t chase her, she runs at me, swings her trunk so it smacks me then runs away in her version of tag. “Seriously?” I ask. “School is in a few hours. I have a math for dummies quiz I haven’t studied for, a French chapter I haven’t read, plus a chemistry assignment I’ll never figure out. Oh, and it’s freaking important to look rested or my father will know I lied.”
SJ smacks me in the back of the head with her trunk. “You asked for it!” I leap to my feet, chase her around the pen, dodging then weaving. She’s fast. Suddenly she changes course and she’s running after me. I leap over the garbage pail but make the mistake of looking over my shoulder then tripping on the landing, hitting the straw hard. Swift Jones stands above me, running her trunk along my body like she’s making sure I’m okay.
I stand up. The calf looks at me expectantly. “Stay,” I say, holding up one hand. I take a few steps back. She follows me. “Stay,” I repeat. This time she hesitates. I whistle a birdcall my father taught me in another life then hold my arms out, beckoning the calf. She runs right to me, almost knocking me over, but in her defense she tried to brake but had the timing wrong. “Stay,” I say again, then move a bit farther away. I whistle. Swifty comes running. This time she stops before hitting my thighs. We practice until I can cross the room. She’s smart.
I head back to my homework, but Swift Jones is looking over her shoulder at the refrigerator. “More?” I count the empty formula bottles. Four. “Okay, but don’t complain later when you can’t fit into your bikini.” I pull another bottle out of the fridge. “Easy, Swifty,” I say as she swings her trunk over my shoulder then tries to inhale the bottle’s nipple. Formula soaks my shirt yet again. “You are a pig.”
“Morning.” Dr. Tinibu opens the pen’s door. She steps inside.
Swifty finishes her bottle in a giant gulp then runs over to Addie for a scratch behind the ears that must feel great by the way she’s twisting her head to make sure the other ear gets some attention, too.
“How’d it go last night?”
“Five bottles. She had diarrhea after the first one but none since.”
“Did either of you sleep?”
I pull straw out of the tangled mess of my hair. “A few hours, I think.”
“You call her Swifty?”
I gather up my stuff, shoving it into my backpack. “She’s fast.”
Dr. Tinibu unzips her rain shell and tosses it onto the straw. “It was wrong of me to leave you alone last night.”
My eyebrows shoot up. An apology is the last thing I expected. “It turned out okay.”
“It’s not. Okay.”
I push a curl from my eyes. “Then why’d you do it?”
“You don’t grasp the consequences of your article.” Addie tugs at the gold hoop in her ear. “I wanted you to literally feel them.” She points to a small camera mounted in the far corner. “In my defense, I checked in on you.”
My face gets hot. She must have loved the diarrhea part. I heft my backpack. “Good luck with everything.”
“What are you going to write?”
“I don’t know. But it’ll be fair because, believe it or not, I’m not the enemy.”
Dr. Tinibu kneels. The calf nuzzles against her. “Wild Walker’s Circus called. They’re giving us one chance to reunite Raki and Swift Jones. If it doesn’t work, they’ll claim our calf.”
I absorb what she’s just said. “On the record?”
Dr. Tinibu exhales like she’s just run a marathon. “Why not?”
“When will you try?” I ask.
“They’ve only given us three days. So Friday.”
“That’s not much time.”
Dr. Tinibu looks right through me. “I told you—baby elephants sell tickets.”
“Will reuniting them work?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you considered the idea that Raki just might not be mother material?” I venture. “Maybe the circus will be good for the calf.”
“Go home,” Dr. Tinibu says.
Swift Jones watches me leave the pen. I hesitate. “You don’t have enough caretakers.”
“That’s not your concern.”
“I’m volunteering.”
Dr. Tinibu kisses the calf’s forehead. “So you can write another article? You’ve already done enough.”
“She drank five bottles with me. Has anyone done better than that?”
“No.”
“You said that more caretakers will make it easier for Swift Jones, if she goes.”
Dr. Tinibu stands. “Fine,” she says. “Friday night.”
My chest puffs a little bit. Despite everything, Dr. Tinibu thinks I’m good with the calf. I don’t say that she won’t need me Friday because Raki and Swift Jones are going to successfully reunite. It’s pretty clear she’s not sure.
Sawyer is waiting for me in the parking lot. When I get into his Jeep, he opens all the windows despite the cold air and rain. “You reek!”
“Sorry.” I’ll have to clean the dried formula off my shirt in the school bathroom. The good news is that no one has high expectations for my fashion sense.
Sawyer nods at a duffel on the back seat. “Mirabela sent a change of clothes for you.”
“Seriously?”
Sawyer laughs. “Mirabela doesn’t even know who you are. I raided her closet. In case.”
“I’m a foot taller than her,” I say, unzipping the duffel.
“Lululemon fits everyone. Just remember, Lycra is a privilege not a right.”
“Says who?”
“Mirabela.”
I pull out Mirabela’s size zero yoga pants and a long-sleeved light pink top with a V-neck. The tag says one size fits all, but if I rolled the shirt into a ball it’d fit in the palm of my hand. “I’ll stick with my own clothes.”
“You smell. Plus, if your dad sees you like this, he’ll know you lied about staying at my house.” He nods at the duffel. “There’s makeup I swiped from Mirabela’s beauty bar. I doubt it’ll hide those dark circles completely, but it’ll help.”
“Did you do my homework for me, too?” I ask as I strip in the front seat and attempt to squeeze my long limbs into Mirabela’s daily uniform. Sawyer glances at me, grins. “If this is your idea of a joke,” I mutter, “it’s not funny.”
“First, there wasn’t much to choose from in my mother’s closet. It was either yoga clothes or cocktail dresses. But there’s a silver lining,” Sawyer says. “You look hot.”
“Yeah, right.”
He reaches into the back seat and hands me a folder.
“What’s this?”
“It’s from Lux-A Realty.”
“And they are?”
“The number one rental agency in Pennington. I called them for a list of possible apartments. We have an appointment with a Realtor after school. She’s going to show us five places. Two are already furnished, which would be helpful since I have no idea how to decorate an apartment. Two are penthouses with floor-to-ceiling glass and massive decks. The final one is a giant loft, which could be cool.”
Sawyer is smiling and actually seems excited, so maybe he pushed things with Cushing because he was actually ready to move out after all, Betty or no Betty. My insides slump. “Um.”
“What?”
“I can’t go this afternoon.”
Sawyer’s grin crumbles. “Come on, Lily.”
“I have a deadline with the paper and if I don’t spend, like, all afternoon and night studying then I’m looking at Cs in three of my classes. I’m sorry. Seriously, I’d love to go, but you want me to try to get into USC, right?”
Sawyer gives me a sideways look. “Do something with you
r hair.”
My curls are so knotted that all I can do is knot them further by securing them into two pigtails with the elastics on my wrist. The result is really not good. I look like a perverted version of Annie but brunette and freakishly tall. I use the visor mirror to put on Mirabela’s concealer. Sawyer was right. It helps, but nothing is going to make my circles entirely go away.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“How was Swift Jones?”
Sawyer usually drives with his left hand but he’s gripping the steering wheel with both. “She hates her name,” I deadpan.
“If you don’t tell me what happened last night, I will stop this car.”
“Nutshell?”
“Fine.”
“Dr. Tinibu rescinded my right to call her Addie because she hates my guts. She left me alone all night with the calf. Swift Jones rejected my attempts to feed her. Elephant diarrhea reeks. Trust me on this—it’s super hard to get out from under toenails.” Sawyer looks at me, sees I’m serious and bursts out laughing. “I finally got the calf to drink. In fact, I got her to take more bottles than any other caretaker. She practically slept on top of me. Oh, and I taught her a trick.”
Sawyer puts on his blinker. “Are you leaving out any big details?”
I close my window because the rain is pelting me. “I might’ve sung the calf a song from the real Swift Jones.”
Sawyer slaps his hands on the wheel. “What? Which one?”
“‘Sharp Edges.’”
My best friend’s face clouds over. “But your voice...”
He’s actually worried that Swift Jones, the calf, didn’t hear a good representation of Swift Jones, the singer. “I didn’t hear any complaints.”
“She is locked up,” Sawyer points out.
I slug him in the shoulder, but he has big muscles so it just hurts my knuckles. “One more thing,” I add. “Wild Walker’s Circus called. They’re giving the zoo three days to reunite the calf with Raki. If it doesn’t work, they’re going to claim her.”
“That’s kinda awful,” Sawyer says.
“Why? I mean, it’s pretty obvious that Raki has a screw loose. Maybe getting the calf away will save her life. Zoos aren’t perfect either. The animals are locked up, as you pointed out. Swift Jones might have a great life at the circus. Maybe she’ll be a star.” Sawyer gives me a skeptical look. “Quit it. She’s just an elephant.”
“So you’re done?”
“I might’ve volunteered to go back for another night.”
Sawyer makes a ticking sound on the roof of his mouth. “Lily, do you think—”
“Asa,” I say.
“What?”
“That’s your new girlfriend’s name. She’s from the House of Saud, which is the royal family of Saudi Arabia.”
“That sounds way too easy for Carla to cyber snoop.”
“The family has thousands of members. Oh, and Asa goes to Stanford. Freshman year. She plans to be a doctor. Pediatrician.”
“And you figured all this out when?”
“Somewhere between getting soaked with formula, cleaning diarrhea off an elephant’s butt and feeding Swifty.”
“Swifty?”
“She’s fast.”
The Pennington Times
OCTOBER 24
BY T. LILLIAN DECKER, INTERN
Raki’s Last Chance
On Friday, October 25, Pennington Zoo’s Asian elephant Raki will be given a chance to reunite with her three-and-a-half-week-old calf, Swift Jones. As reported, Raki rejected her calf last week.
“Sometimes when animals are taken from their natural environments they don’t learn important behaviors, like raising a calf,” Dr. Tinibu, director, the Pennington Zoo, explained. “Given time, Raki’s maternal instincts will kick in.”
Unfortunately, a slow reintroduction will not be possible. Swift Jones’s sire, Lorenzo, is owned by Wild Walker’s Circus and was loaned to the zoo for breeding purposes. The contract between the zoo and circus states: “Should any calf born from...Lorenzo be shown to be in imminent danger then ownership of said calf immediately reverts to Wild Walker’s Circus.”
The circus has given the zoo three days to successfully reintroduce Raki to her calf. If Raki fails to accept her calf, the circus will take ownership of Swift Jones.
“We are loath to separate a mother and her baby,” Wild Walker’s Circus’s publicist, Otis Walker, said in a statement to the Haven Gazette. “But if the calf is in danger we must act quickly to ensure her safety.”
For more information on the calf, Swift Jones, and the Pennington Zoo’s breeding program, visit penningtonzoo.org/elephants.
19
My dad was pissed when he saw my byline above the latest Swift Jones article. I told him it was a phone interview, super low-key. That I’d realized anything more is too stressful. He believed me. Like Sawyer said, I’m a good liar. I didn’t mention that the AP again picked up my story, because my father won’t care. But there’s no way to cover the next lie.
Mr. Matthews convinced Dr. Tinibu to let me watch today as Raki is reintroduced to her calf, so Calvin will eventually know I was there. If things don’t work out, I’ll stay at the zoo and caretake Swifty tonight. Sawyer will cover for me by calling my dad to say I’ve fallen asleep in one of his mansion’s many guest rooms. But when the articles are printed, my dad will know the truth. The good news, though, is that by then I’ll have written my articles and hopefully they’ll also get distributed by the AP. I’ll have a nice package to send to USC, my Twelve-Year Plan will still be intact and my stress alleviated.
When I arrive at the elephant building it’s late afternoon. Dr. Tinibu’s nostrils flare when she sees me. I’ve figured out that’s her tell. She’s still pissed and doesn’t want me here. The last thing I want to watch is a mother elephant kick the shit out of her baby, but Dr. Tinibu and I have something in common. I’m using her to get into USC. She’s hoping to use me to get Wild Walker’s Circus off her back.
I’m sure Dr. Tinibu was mad about my last article. But there are good reasons that I didn’t include all the negative things she said about Wild Walker’s Circus. Mainly, I couldn’t get any of them substantiated. I did call Walker’s ten times for comments about her allegations. Their publicist, Otis Walker, finally returned my last call. I was in the shower, hair in suds, but leaped out to answer my phone.
* * *
“May I speak with T. Lillian Decker?”
“Yes. That’s me, Lily.”
“Otis Walker. You’ve left ten voice mails.”
“I... Sorry about that, deadline, um—”
“Super busy day. Can you cut to the chase?”
“I’m a reporter for the Pennington Times.”
“That was in every message.”
Otis’s tone is transmitting that I’m an irritating mosquito. “I’d like to talk to you about Swift Jones. The elephant calf that—”
“My family is deeply concerned about.”
“There has been... Can you tell me if your trainers use any negative—”
“We don’t comment on unsubstantiated claims made by animal-rights organizations seeking publicity. Anything else?”
“Well, I guess what I meant was—”
“Thank you for your call.”
* * *
Otis Walker hung up. Admittedly, I wasn’t exactly prepared for the call, my notes buried somewhere in my backpack, but his tone, his impatience? Asshat, I decided. After washing the soap from my hair and burning eyes, I looked up his bio on LinkedIn. It said he’d been the circus’s publicist for three years, was only twenty-one. Maybe that’s why he’s so bad at his job. He’s young, was probably given the position only because he’s a Walker. Still, Otis gave the Haven Gazette a good quote, which felt like a total slight, and he w
as beyond rude. He’s lucky I adhere to the Journalist’s Code.
I push away thoughts of Otis and focus. Raki stands at the far end of an eighty-foot-long, narrow enclosure. There are ropes holding her left front and back feet. “They’re for Swift Jones’s protection,” Dr. Tinibu says. “They don’t hurt Raki, just keep her from charging her calf.”
A gate on the far wall slides open. Steve plus two other guys I’ve seen working in the elephant building bring Swift Jones into the far side of the pen. The calf wears a chest harness attached to a thick rope. When she sees Raki, she snaps up her head, eyes brighter than sunshine, trunk wriggling, a goofy grin on her face. Slowly, the men pay out the rope, letting the calf get closer and closer. At first Raki ignores her calf. Swifty is fifty feet away, then forty, thirty, twenty, ten... Raki’s ears were casually flapping when her calf entered the pen; now they’re moving at high speed, making a thwacking sound. I’m pretty sure that’s her tell.
“Her ears,” I say.
“There’s a fine line between excitement and agitation,” Dr. Tinibu says.
“How can you know which it is?”
“We can’t. But we do know that terrible things can happen fast. Steve and the other keepers are ready to pull Swift Jones back if need be.”
My mouth goes dry. Raki stamps the ground with her free front foot. Swifty is only five feet away. Steve is sweating. My own muscles are wound so taut that they’re bound to snap. Raki trumpets. Her eyes flash. Violet is waiting...
“‘Not the pain of this but its unfairness was what dazed Peter,’” Mommy says.
“Are you talking about when Captain Hook bit Peter?” I ask.
Mommy nods. “‘Every child is affected thus the first time he is treated unfairly.’”
“Hook shouldn’t have bitten Peter,” I agree.
“‘After you have been unfair to him he will love you again, but will never afterwards be quite the same boy.’”
When Elephants Fly Page 10
