The Theory of Hummingbirds

by Michelle Kadarusman

  Then I remembered what I had said to Levi that morning, calling him a nerd. Calling the wormhole stupid and dumb. I couldn’t tell him, not now. Besides, he had already told me that he had seen this exact thing happen.

  He had told me all of it.

  I just hadn’t believed him.

  Chapter Ten

  The High-Performance Running Shoe

  “Race?” said Mom, her forehead creasing. “I don’t understand, Alba. What are you talking about?” Mom kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road.

  “I need some trainers,” I said. “Good ones, for running the cross-country race.”

  “Okay, back up and tell me what’s going on,” she said.

  “At school they’re having the annual cross-country race and it’s going to be two whole weeks after my cast comes off,” I said watching her drive. “I’ve been the timekeeper for all of the practice races. I’ve been timekeeper every year for all of the races since forever. But this year, I can race because I won’t have a brace or a cast or crutches.”

  I turned to look at the traffic so I didn’t have to watch the crease between Mom’s eyebrows get deeper.

  “Dr. Schofield said it would be fine, remember? He said it would be much easier this time. And Coach Adams said it was fine too. I just need a note and for you to call him.”

  “Alba,” she said, arms straight against the steering wheel, “Dr. Schofield said we would have to see how your foot is doing once the cast comes off. You’ll have to do your exercises to strengthen your muscles. We have to see how the operation worked this time before you try anything too strenuous.” Mom stole a glance at me. “Alba, you could risk damaging your foot or your ankle. You could end up having to go through surgery all over again.”

  “He said I could climb Mount Everest,” I said, looking out of the window again.

  “He was joking, angel. You know that,” Mom said softly.

  “But I can be in the race. I can run. I know I can.” I could hear my voice cracking. “I’ve been doing my exercises. And I’ll do the physio every day once my cast comes off. My foot will be completely fine.” I swallowed. “All I need are the trainers.”

  It was getting harder and harder to talk. Tears were escaping even though I was trying to hold them in.

  “Alba, you will be able to do everything you want. In time. But you have to be patient.”

  I didn’t answer her. The silent minutes filled up in the car between us. The radio sounded suddenly loud.

  “You know what?” Mom said after a while. “I think getting new sneakers is a great idea. You are definitely going to need new shoes. Let’s go to the mall now. We need dog food anyway.”

  I watched the traffic go by, getting my tears under control. My breath fogged up the glass. Mom kept driving until we arrived at the mall. Then she parked and switched the engine off.

  “Alba,” she said. “Please look at me.”

  I took a deep breath and turned to look at my mom. She gave me a half smile and stroked my cheek.

  “You have been a trooper about your foot this whole time. I know you want all the procedures done with, and you deserve that. But we have to see how this last operation turns out before you can think about doing anything too soon that’s too hard on your foot. Do you understand?”

  “But I know it will be fine,” I said. “I know it will. Please, can’t you just call Coach Adams? Can’t you just call him and tell him that I can do it? Can’t you just ask Dr. Schofield to write a note? Please, Mom? I’ve already told…I’ve already told everyone. Please?”

  Mom sighed and shook her head. “I will speak with Dr. Schofield and I will speak with the coach. But I can’t promise it will happen the way you want it to happen, Alba. I’m sorry. I just can’t promise you that. But I will see what is possible.”

  “It will be okay,” I said, throwing my arms around her. “I know it will. Just tell them I can do it. Okay?”

  “I’ll speak with them, Alba, but please remember what I just told you. I don’t want you getting disappointed once the cast comes off.”

  “I won’t be,” I said, getting out of the car. “Because it’s going to be fine. It’s going to be totally fine.” Every time I said fine my stomach flipped.

  I didn’t wait for Mom to answer. Instead I made a beeline for the mall entrance and the shoe store. I knew exactly the shoes I wanted to get. Shiny orange, just like the ones Miranda Gray wears.

  In the store, both the sales person and Mom tried their best to steer me toward the cross-trainers and ordinary sneakers, but they were no match for my devotion to the shiny orange high-performance running shoe.

  On the way home from the mall, Mom asked if I wanted to drop by Levi’s.

  “No, it’s okay,” I said. “He probably still needs to rest.”

  I had my new trainers out of the box and was admiring them, holding them up to the sunlight. I pictured myself springing like a gazelle across the finish line. I didn’t want to break the bubble. I didn’t want to see the look Levi would give me again, the look that said I had no business running in the race. The look that said I didn’t belong in Normal Land.

  “I’ll call him later,” I said to Mom. But as I heard my own words, I knew that I wouldn’t.

  ***

  Later at home I added some little-known facts about hummingbirds for Sadie:

  Hummingbirds are not always as nice as they look

  They are not very social

  They can actually be quite aggressive

  Hummingbirds have even been known to attack other birds

  Chapter Eleven

  Field Studies and Pig Braids

  May is the month I look forward to the most because it’s usually when I see my first hummingbird. Years ago, Mom and I planted begonias, fuchsias, and geraniums that bloom with red flowers. The color red attracts hummingbirds. I also hang two red hummingbird feeders from our cherry tree as insurance. I put sugar water in the feeders on the first day of spring. It’s wishful thinking, but who cares? The earliest I’ve ever seen a hummingbird in our garden was April 17. That was back in fourth grade. It only happened the once. Since then they usually arrive in mid- to late May and stay until the end of the summer.

  It’s been a cool spring and the hummingbirds are late this year. Mom offered to take me to the butterfly and bird sanctuary so I could start my field studies. Ever since Fledgling Birder Camp, Levi and I write down our hummingbird observations in the field-notes booklet they gave us. This year I started on April 17 (my first-ever official sighting) and then each date after that. Each day I mark down the sighted activity (none so far) and the field study location (my garden). I add the conditions, like the weather and the level of the sugar water in the feeders, if the flowers are in bloom, and any other significant activity from butterflies, bees, and other birds.

  “It won’t technically be field studies if I’m not, you know, in the field,” I said to Mom.

  She shrugged. “True. But the sanctuary is nice and warm. And it’s as close as we’ll get to a tropical vacation. I’ll bring magazines to read and pretend I’m in the Costa Rican rainforest.”

  This is how I came to be sitting in the bird and butterfly sanctuary in front of the small-species enclosure with my field-notes booklet in my lap.

  “Does it hurt?” asked a voice.

  I noticed her shoes before anything else. They were the kind that light up with each step. They were flashing bright purple with each impatient toe tap.

  I looked up to see a very small girl with glasses, pointing at Cleo. One side of her hair was braided and the other side was in a pigtail. She carried a thermos and wore a woman’s purse over her shoulder.

  “Abigail Pontifax,” she said, her tiny hand outstretched. I shook it.

  “Alba,” I replied.

  Abigail took this as an invitation to si
t beside me.

  “Don’t you love it here?” she said with a sigh. “It’s so peaceful.”

  I nodded. “How old are you?” I asked her.

  “I’m seven. Second grade. That’s my mom over there.” Abigail pointed to a woman who was talking intently with another woman. Abigail’s mother was gripping onto her friend’s forearm and gesturing widely with the other.

  “She’s a therapist,” said Abigail.

  “Oh.”

  “So, does it?” Abigail asked.

  “Does it what?”

  “Does it hurt. Your leg,” she said pointing to Cleo again.

  “Oh. No. Not really. Not much anymore. I’m used to it, I guess.”

  “Hm. So that’s not it.” Abigail went about opening her thermos. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “What you mean?” I asked. “Talk about what?”

  “I’ve been watching you, and you look sad about something. Your eyes have tears in them when you watch the birds, and then you stare at your notebook and don’t write anything.”

  “Oh. It’s just that I usually do this with my friend Levi. But…well, I don’t know if he’s my friend anymore.”

  She nodded slowly. “That’s what happened to me and Simon.”

  “Who’s Simon?”

  “He was my boyfriend in preschool.”

  “Oh.” I shook my head. “It’s not like that. Levi and I are just friends. We’ve been friends since—”

  Abigail held up her hand like a tiny stop sign and shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. He’s pretty special, isn’t he?”

  I nodded. I was becoming hypnotized by her flashing purple shoes.

  “Coffee?” asked Abigail, offering me her thermos.

  “You drink coffee?”

  “Of course. Don’t worry; it’s organic. Fair trade.” She took a large sip. “Decaf.”

  “No, I’m okay. Thanks anyway.”

  “My mom says it’s always better to express your feelings,” Abigail said. “Even if you don’t actually say the words out loud. You know, you just whisper your troubles into a napkin so no one can hear it.”

  “A napkin?”

  “Well it doesn’t have to be a napkin exactly. It could be a handkerchief, or even a scarf. But not a paper towel. Anything as long as you can put it in the washing machine afterward. It washes away the bad feelings.”

  I nodded, watching her sip her decaf.

  “Otherwise, Mom says, the feelings get toxic,” said Abigail. “Here, try it,” she added, taking a scarf from her purse.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging.

  Abigail returned the scarf to her purse and took out a notebook. She put down her thermos and wrote something in the notebook. She ripped out the page and handed me the slip of paper.

  “If you want to talk,” she said.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “My phone number, “she said. “Call whenever you want.”

  Before I could reply, Mom appeared in front of our bench.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said and got up to leave.

  Abigail fist-pumped the air. She crossed and recrossed her legs, tapping her toes so they flickered purple. “It’s been a pleasure,” she said.

  “Me too,” I said, totally meaning it.

  We shook hands again.

  “And thanks for not asking about my pig braids,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s what my mom calls a fashion compromise.”

  As I walked with Mom through the sanctuary to the parking lot, she looped her arm through mine.

  “Was that coffee in that little girl’s thermos?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said, smiling to myself. “But don’t worry. It was organic. Fair trade.”

  In the car on the drive home I looked at the slip of paper that Abigail had given me.There was a phone number, and in large loopy square letters she had written: I LIKE YOU J

  Chapter Twelve

  The Supply Closet

  Levi came back to school but we didn’t talk. He hung around with his chess-club friends and we avoided eye contact in the halls. Even though we weren’t talking, I kept tabs on him. Where he was, what he was doing, and who he was with. I considered starting a field-notes book on Levi’s activity but realized that would make me a total creeper. So I didn’t.

  I kept up Cleo’s exercises and started walking longer distances to help with my race training. Some days I watched Miranda and the other athletic kids run around the track, trying to pick up running tips. I hoped that if I watched the runners long enough, my legs would know what to do when the time came.

  I visited the library often to make sure Ms. Sharma was still on earth. I covered this by asking if she needed help with the library baskets. Maybe I did this a few too many times because she looked at me intently. “Thanks, Alba, but it’s okay,” she said. “Don’t you think you should make the most of your lunch break?”

  I wondered whether this meant that she had promised the job to Levi instead. Or maybe she had started to suspect we knew about her secret discovery?

  I went to the school office to see if they wanted the recycle bins emptied, they said no need since I had done such a good job of it at first recess. So I tidied up the Lost and Found closet as best I could—which is honestly a total disaster zone. Next to the Lost and Found closet there is a large window that faces out to the schoolyard. I reunited items of outerwear—mittens, gloves, boots—and watched Miranda Gray and her friends play four square. After a few minutes, Miranda stopped in midserve. She stood up and looked directly at the window. She smiled and waved, motioning for me to join in. I took a quick sidestep to the right of the window frame, out of sight; sure that she had me confused with someone else.

  Without really making a decision about what I was doing next, I went back to the library. Coach Adams was working at his desk with the door halfway open when I walked past. He didn’t look up from his work as I slipped through the library doors. It was dark inside now and all of the lights were off, including Ms. Sharma’s office. I made my way to her office and stood outside the door. Her Do Not Disturb sign hung on her door handle. It was so quiet in the library that I could hear myself breathe.

  I put my hand on the handle and slowly opened the door. My heart was thumping against my chest. I took a step into the office. I looked around. The room was dark, but it was easy to tell that it was empty. I walked slowly around the room, holding my breath before looking under Ms. Sharma’s desk. Nothing. Then I ran my hand over the walls, but all I felt were the paper posters covering the cool, hard concrete. I continued to walk around the room, running my hands along all the walls. Nothing. The only other thing in the office, apart from the desk, was the supply closet. I knew it was the supply closet because SUPPLY CLOSET was written in big letters on the door. I moved toward it and gripped the door handle. I gave it a tug but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. There was definitely no secret door to the staff room, and as far as I could tell, there was no wormhole to another dimension either. The room was empty.

  I stood in the dark office feeling spooked. Then I noticed a smell. A nice smell. Perfumey. Smokey and flowery. It was something I had smelled before, but I couldn’t place what it was.

  I slipped out of Ms. Sharma’s office and closed the door quietly behind me. Then I stood in the dark library wondering what to do. I had to wait and see if she reappeared in the office like I had seen happen before. I stood next to the library entrance with my back against the wall. I glanced at the wall clock—just a few minutes left of lunch recess. Soon the halls would be filled with kids and I would have to go back to class. My heart was thumping in my chest. I could hear my own breath. It took me a few seconds before I realized that I could hear something else as well. It was a familiar sound.

&n
bsp; But before I had time to think about it, the light came on in Ms. Sharma’s office. I gasped. There she was! Inside the office! She opened the door and took the sign off the handle. But she didn’t look up; she didn’t see me. She turned and went back into her office, and I dashed out of the library.

  The end of recess bell sounded and the corridor began to fill up with kids and teachers. My head was swimming. I turned it over and over in my mind. Ms. Sharma’s office had definitely been empty, but she appeared inside a few minutes later. There were no other entrances to the room. The supply closet was the only possibility. But if there was some kind of wormhole or tunnel in the supply closet, how could it be locked?

  Then I remembered the noise I had heard. I hadn’t been the only one in the library. And I guessed that I wasn’t the only one who had discovered the supply closet either. The noise I heard had been the pump of an inhaler. Something I had heard Levi do a million times.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Google and the Cookie Monster

  The night before Cleo’s cast was due to come off, to help calm my jitters, I Googled A Brief History of Time. I read phrases like the theory of everything, big bang, black holes, and space-time until my head was spinning, my brain ached, and my stomach felt strange.

  Could it be that our own Ms. Sharma had discovered something that even the world’s most brilliant scientists have not? And if she had found a wormhole, was she traveling through time, or to an alternate realm like Alice in Wonderland, or had she just found a nifty way to get home for lunch? What if the wormhole collapsed and she vanished, like Levi had said? Could a person fall in if they got too close?

  I rubbed my eyes and lay my forehead down on the computer desk. The funny feelings in my stomach were butterflies about the next day, when Cleo’s cast would be taken off for the last time.

  I felt Mom put her hand on top of my head. “Time for bed, Alba,” she said. “It’s a big day tomorrow.”