“Look, Kaz,” I exclaim.
Kaz draws in a sharp breath. We both watch as the pigeon flies toward a tree. There’s something strangely graceful about the way he moves. It’s crooked but smooth, as if he has reinvented the way to fly. He lowers his wings and lands on a branch. “Have you ever seen another wing like yours?” I ask Kaz.
There’s no answer. I look over.
Kaz is gone.
“Not again,” I groan.
I spot Kaz flying crookedly through the sky. He lands on the branch next to the older pigeon. I hurry after him and scurry up the tree.
When I get there, Kaz and the other pigeon are staring at each other. Slowly, Kaz spreads out his stubby wing. For several long seconds, the older pigeon just looks at it. Then he spreads out his.
The wings are identical. The same snowy white feathers. The same oily black stripes. The same jagged pattern marking its stubby edge. The older pigeon makes a choking sound. “It can’t be … but … I’ve never seen one that’s not…” He looks up. “Kazington?” he whispers.
Kaz freezes. He’s so still I don’t even think he’s breathing. “I go by Kaz,” he says finally. “Kazington sounds like some fancy-schmancy pigeon.”
The other pigeon is trembling now. “It was my grandfather’s name.”
“Your … your…” Kaz opens his beak, but no more words come out.
My head spins faster than a train wheel. The same wing … the same name …
“My grandfather was born with a half wing,” the pigeon says. “Just like my father was, and just like I was, and just like my son was. That’s why I named my son Kazington. After the start of our half-winged line.”
“Your son?” Kaz repeats. His voice is so low I can barely hear him.
“Yes. He was taken from me when he was very young,” the pigeon says. “I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I never knew my family,” Kaz whispers. “I just have one memory. Of a thick branch that forked into two—”
“—and a nest tucked into the crook of it,” the pigeon finishes. He rests his stumpy wing on Kaz’s back. “You’re him. You’re really him. My Kazington.” He takes a deep breath. “Which makes me…”
“… my dad,” Kaz says.
CHAPTER
34
Open That Can of Worms
“I don’t understand,” I blurt out. “If you don’t remember this place, Kaz, how did we end up here? How did you know where to find your dad?”
Kaz’s dad notices me for the first time. A ruffle runs through his feathers. “Who’s the rat?”
“That’s my friend, Raffie,” Kaz says. “We traveled here together.”
“I’m looking for my brother at 220 Central Park West,” I explain. “And Kaz has always wanted to go to Central Park.”
“Of course he has,” Kaz’s dad murmurs. “That’s my boy.”
“Yeah! Of course I have.” Kaz pauses. “But … um … why, exactly?”
Kaz’s dad rests a wing on his back. “I think you’ll understand better if I tell you the whole story,” he says. “You see, when you were a baby, we lived here peacefully as a family. It was the perfect home: unlimited grass seeds, an umbrella of leaves overhead to protect us from predators like falcons, and a pond nearby, abundant with humans throwing bread crumbs. It was a happy place. A safe haven. Then one day, a new flock flew into the park. They saw our home and wanted it for themselves. When our flock refused to leave, they declared a turf war.”
Kaz draws in a sharp breath.
“What’s a turf war?” I ask.
“It’s some nasty stuff,” Kaz answers. “Two flocks fight—often to the death—to see who gets to call that turf their home.”
Kaz’s dad nods. “We were a peaceful flock. We didn’t want to fight. But when they advanced, they left us with no choice. They were a vicious flock, and Kaz was so young; I didn’t want him to get hurt. So I hid him inside a hollow tree trunk and made him promise he’d wait there quietly.”
“A small space,” Kaz says slowly.
“Very small,” his dad replies. “But you were a good boy. You did just as I asked. You must have hidden in there for hours as the two flocks fought.”
“Now I understand why you hate small spaces,” I say.
“Yes, of course you would.” Kaz’s dad sighs. “What you must have heard while you hid in there…” He shakes his beak. “It was a close fight. Your mother was amazing,” he adds wistfully. “She fought off some of the biggest pigeons that day. We were close to winning when I was attacked by three pigeons at once. I was thrown to the ground and knocked out. When I awoke, we had won—the other flock had retreated. But at what a cost! We lost half the lives in our flock, including your mother’s.” Kaz’s dad’s voice breaks. “It was a dark, dark day. But at least I’d kept you safe. Or so I thought. But when I returned to the tree, you were gone.”
Kaz’s dad pauses. A tremble runs through his feathers. “I knew right away what had happened. The leader of the other flock—”
“Ziller,” Kaz whispers.
His dad swallows hard. “Ziller,” he agrees. “He took you as revenge. You see, I am the leader of our flock. And since Ziller couldn’t have our turf, he took the one thing that was more important. My son.” Kaz’s dad looks down. “If I’d known what would happen, if I’d known what I’d lose, I never would have fought. I would have retreated, given up our home. But never could I have guessed another pigeon could be so cruel.”
“That’s Ziller,” Kaz says quietly.
“I’m so sorry, Kazington. Every week since you were taken, I’ve gone on a pilgrimage to a different part of the city, hoping against hope to find you. And every week, when I return home all alone, I hope against hope to find you waiting for me here. And now, finally, after so many years, I have.”
“What about your stubby wing?” Kaz asks suddenly. “How do you fly such long distances?”
“What do you mean?” Kaz’s dad gives his half wing a strong flap. “Our wings might work differently, but they still work. There’s only one thing that can stop you from flying, and that’s you. Believe me, I should know. I’ve flown hundreds of miles searching for you. I must have visited every corner of Manhattan.”
“I wasn’t in Manhattan,” Kaz says quietly. “I was in Brooklyn. I always wanted to come into the city. Especially to Central Park. Whenever other pigeons took a pilgrimage into the city, I’d beg Ziller to let me go on one too. But Ziller always said my half-wing wasn’t strong enough for that. He always told me it was a falcon who ruined my wing.”
“Of course Ziller would lie.” Kaz’s dad’s voice is tense. “He knew that if you left your turf, your homing instinct would eventually bring you to me.”
“My homing instinct,” Kaz repeats. “So that’s what it was. That’s what made me want to visit Central Park so badly. That’s what took over my body as we got closer. It’s what drove me to this spot, even though I didn’t even know what this spot was.” He looks at his dad in awe. “My body knew where home was, even when my brain didn’t.”
“You’re a pigeon,” Kaz’s dad says proudly. “Home is always a part of you, even when you can’t remember it. Home is stronger than logic, it’s stronger than memories. It’s in your heart.”
I curl my tail in my paws as I watch Kaz and his dad embrace. I can’t help but think of my own home. My dad making slop. My mom helping Lulu put on accessories. The whole family in the sorting nook, laughing as Oggie gnaws tinfoil into the shape of a train. Kaz’s dad is right. Those things are bigger than memories. They’re part of me. They’re who I am. No matter what happens after this, nothing can change that.
I take a deep breath. “I have to go,” I tell Kaz.
Kaz pulls away from his dad. When he turns to me, there’s a sad look in his eyes. My heart sinks. “You’re staying,” I realize.
Kaz’s beady eyes meet mine. “This is where I have to be now. Besides, you don’t need me anymore. You can do this.”
&nbs
p; I feel like I accidentally ate a moth. My stomach flaps and flutters. “Alone?” I whisper.
“Raffie.” Kaz gives me a stern look. “Who saved us from Rex’s human-dad? And who got me through that terrifying pipe? And who got us out of Animal Control—?”
“Animal what?” Kaz’s dad spits out.
“It was all you, Raffie. You helped Marigold and Rex and Walter and Sabrina—and me. I never would have gotten here without you.”
I shake my snout. “You’re making it sound like I’m unstoppable.”
“You bet I am,” Kaz says.
I look down. In my head, I can see Oggie so clearly: getting trapped in that cage, and being carried onto that train, and then zooming away, far out of sight. If I’d been bigger, or stronger, or faster, if I’d been more of a real rat like Ace, not a mouse-sized rat, I could have done something. Instead, I was useless, and now Oggie is missing.
“If I were unstoppable, I could have saved Oggie,” I whisper. “I was too small, and too slow, and now who knows what he’s had to go through.”
Kaz gives his beak an angry snap. “So you’re smaller than other rats. So what? It’s like my dad said: my wing is different, but it can fly just fine. The only thing getting in my way was me. You’re no ordinary rat, Raffie. You’re clever and creative and brave and you tell a mean story—and, most important, you’re a great friend.” Kaz meets my eyes. “The best friend I ever had,” he adds gruffly. “Just be you and you’ll be unstoppable.”
Slowly, I look back up. I think of Rex and Sparkle and Slink the cat, and all the other terrifying challenges I’ve faced. I’ve done things I would have once thought possible only in my stories. And yet here I am. On the other side.
Oggie is so close. I might not have a pigeon’s homing sense, but I have a brother’s sense, and I can feel it, deep down in my bones. Suddenly I can’t wait another minute to get to my brother.
“I’m doing it,” I declare. “I’m going to find Oggie by myself.”
“Hey, Dad,” Kaz says. “Do you have that whole brain-compass thing going on?”
Kaz’s dad laughs. “As the leader of this flock, I better.”
“Tell him where you need to go again, Raffie,” Kaz urges me.
“220 Central Park West,” I say.
Kaz’s dad nods his beak and tells me exactly how to get to where I need to be.
“See?” Kaz says smugly. “It’s good to have a pigeon on your side.” I give Kaz a nuzzle. “Don’t get all sappy on me,” Kaz warns. “Or you’re gonna make a pigeon cry.”
“Going to,” Kaz’s dad and I correct at the same time.
“Noooo.” Kaz covers his face with his wings. “I’ll never escape it!”
I give Kaz another nuzzle. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too,” I tell him.
“Good,” Kaz says. “Because now that I know I can learn to fly far distances just fine, there will be nothing stopping me from taking a little pilgrimage to Brooklyn. Maybe I’ll come for that Ratmas you were talking about.”
“Bergen Street subway station,” I tell him.
“It’s in the brain compass.” Kaz taps his head with his wing. “Now go. You’ve got a brother to find.”
CHAPTER
35
Fish in Troubled Water
My directions bring me to a wide, brown building. I squint up at the letters on the door. Central Park Day School. 220 Central Park West.
I’m here.
I’m actually, finally here.
There’s a window open next to the door. One quick scurry through it, and I’ll be inside. I try to move, but my paws are suddenly rooted to the ground. What if, after everything, Oggie isn’t in there? What if the humans already brought in the E word? Or what if one of Oggie’s escapes finally worked? What if my little brother is now somewhere loose in the city, lost and alone? What if, after everything, I can’t save him? The thought makes me all queasy, like I’m the one with the virus.
I think of what Kaz said. Just be you and you’ll be unstoppable. I take a deep breath. One thing’s for sure: I’m not helping anyone down here.
I wrench my paws off the ground and scurry up to the window ledge. Inside, the floor is white and shiny. Lights burn brightly on the ceiling. There are no shadows to melt into here, no bushes to duck under. There will be no place to hide.
A girl runs along the floor, clutching a paper bag in her hand. She disappears around a corner. “No running in the halls, Sophia!” a woman yells. “I don’t care that it’s lunchtime!” She hurries after the girl, her heels click-clacking against the floor. She too turns the corner, and then there are no humans in sight. A tremble runs through me. This is my chance.
I scurry into the school. The floor is cool and slippery under my paws. Immediately, I smell something. French fries … burgers … juice …
I press myself against the wall and inch toward the smells. They’re coming from around the corner, where the humans disappeared. I move closer. The smells are pouring out of a large, packed room. Kids crowd at tables and carry food and stand in line. Mouths chew, chew, chew, and the smells hit me, one after another: bread, jelly, burgers, tomato, carrots, chips, cookies, fries, apples. I spot a treasure chest in the corner, brimming with wrappers and crumbs. It has a spill of juice dripping down its side. It smells scrumptious, but I know what a room full of humans means for a rat, and it’s never a good thing.
I dash away. At the other end of the hallway, a door hangs wide open. I peek inside. This room is smaller and free of humans. It has rows of tables and a big white board up front. On a table in the corner sits a small glass cage. The cage is filled with water. Colorful, tie-dyed plants sway inside.
My chest squeezes at the sight of the familiar tie-dye pattern. Lulu loves tie-dye almost as much as glitter. She once spent weeks foraging Gatorade bottles so she could use their dredges to tie-dye her straw-wrapper skirt. Thinking about Lulu brings the queasy feeling back. I need to get to Oggie. I need to bring him home.
I’m about to turn away when I notice a flash of orange in the glass cage. It’s a goldfish! He’s swimming in lazy circles around the tie-dyed plants.
“Excuse me,” I call out. I rush over to the cage. “Excuse me!”
The fish pauses. He presses his nose against the front of the glass cage. “Far out,” he breathes. The words send bubbles floating through his cage. “There’s a rat in my classroom.”
“I’m looking for another rat,” I tell him. “He’s smaller than me. He was taken from our subway station and brought here in a cage.”
“Whoaaa.” The fish swishes his fin. “I see it now. You look just like the famous rat.”
“My brother,” I whisper. My heart patters dangerously fast. “But his name is Oggie, not Famous. He has an I heart NY sticker on his—”
“Ear,” the fish finishes. “You really are his brother. Groovy.”
“The name’s not Groovy, it’s Raffie,” I say impatiently. I feel shaky all over. “Do you know where my brother is? Is he still here?”
“Nice to meet you, Raffie. I’m Garcia. And yeah, I know where your brother is. Our cages were next to each other at the class pet competition. That little guy is far out.”
I’m shaking harder now. My breath comes out in shallow bursts. Oggie is here. He’s still here. “Where is he?” I choke out.
“He told me he was living in classroom 5B. That’s at the very top of the stairwell, in the room across the hall. But you better be quick. The classrooms are empty now, but lunch will be over any minute, and then it will be a stampede out there. The halls fill up faster than my tank before cleaning day.”
“Thank you!” I burst out. I turn and race toward the stairwell.
“Peace and love!” Garcia calls after me.
I scurry up the stairwell. The walls are covered in amazing works of art: bright, zigzagging lines and wild scribbles of color. I’ve heard talk on the subway platform of something called a museum, filled with famous artwork. This must be on
e of those places! I don’t have time to admire it, though. The colors blur in my vision as I scurry faster and faster—
Footsteps.
My breath catches in my throat. A man is climbing up the stairs. His shoes rise and fall, large enough to crush a rat in a single step. I spin around. The stairs are bare and bright. There’s no place to duck or dash, and there’s no place to disappear.
The man climbs closer. “Yes, Principal Bowler, of course I want to work late tonight,” he mutters under his breath.
I scurry even faster, but the man is catching up. I look desperately around. My gaze lands on a loose spot in the stair’s carpeting. I think of our carpet back home, the one my mom wove out of sweater lint. Oggie always hid under it during our games of rat and seek. It’s my best shot.
I grab the loose patch of carpet in my teeth and yank with all my might. The carpet peels back. I dive under and flatten myself out. The man’s footsteps draw closer. Please don’t step on me, I beg silently.
“Yes, Principal Bowler,” the man grumbles. “I would love to grade all the tests! Why thank you so much for the honor!” His footsteps grow angrier. Harder. He stomps up another step. Another.
Smash!
A shoe crashes down next to me. I yank my tail out of the way just in time. The man continues up the stairs, still muttering under his breath.
I’m panting as I wiggle out from under the carpet. That took too much time. I need to get to Oggie. I race up the rest of the stairs.
The top floor is narrow and darker. A shadow skitters across the shiny floor, and I scoot gratefully into it. I stop in front of the door across from the stairs. It’s covered in pictures. They’re all of kids holding different rats. There’s a girl with a white rat on her shoulder. There’s a boy with a brown rat on his head. There’s a girl with a rat in each of her palms. Picture after picture after picture.
Raffie on the Run Page 13
