Back on Monday, as the UDM kids practiced their act, Nory had suggested that she be one of the singers again. Everyone had acted like they couldn’t hear her.
On Tuesday, she had suggested singing again. Same thing.
On Wednesday, Nory got loud. “Why can’t I sing lead on the third verse?” she’d shouted. Willa had a verse to sing on her own, and Elliott had one, too. There were three verses. Bax only sang backup. Andres, backup as well. Marigold didn’t sing, and Pepper couldn’t while doing the body drumming. Why shouldn’t Nory sing the third verse on her own?
“Fine,” said Sebastian. “Give it a try.”
They tried it. Sebastian counted Nory in. Nory breathed deep. She sang the third verse loud and clear.
I got my hair soaked!
This is a heart attack!
The earthworms say:
You should love me back!
Sebastian’s hands were over his eyes to block the sound waves. He looked like he was about to pass out.
Nory knew this wasn’t a happy sign. She felt heat rush to her face.
Once Sebastian recovered, he said, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but … it’s not going to work out, with you singing. There’s a pretty large problem with the sound waves.”
Nory opened her mouth, wanting to protest. And at the same time, she knew Sebastian wasn’t trying to be unkind. He could see the sound waves, and they didn’t look good. It was just a fact.
“Am I a bad singer?” she asked, suddenly under-standing.
“Yes,” Sebastian said. “I’m sorry.”
Elliott jumped in. “Nory, you have so many other talents. Like fluxing. What if you were a canary? Then you could tweet.”
“Chirp,” Sebastian put in. “You could chirp in time to the music. No melody.”
“Birds are impressive because they’re so hard to do,” Bax said encouragingly. “Coach was telling us that yesterday. They don’t even teach them until seventh grade, and lots of people don’t master them till high school. So everyone would be really wowed if you did canary.”
Nory knew Bax was right. Everyone, including Father, would be wowed if she could do canary. But she didn’t know how.
“I can’t do canary,” she confessed.
“Then be another bird!” said Andres. “Be that giant blue thing you fluxed into at the beginning of the year! A bluebird.”
Nory blanched. She had fluxed into a giant bluebird to save Andres when the Sparkies had endangered him. But the bluebird hadn’t lasted long before it went wonky. She had added a touch of elephant to it for size, and then later, well … it had ended up the wonkiest animal she had ever done. Heroic, yes. But very, very wonky.
Nory didn’t want to think about it. “I don’t know if I can do a bird and keep my human mind,” she said. “Plus it might go enormous, which would be really embarrassing. And Pepper might scare me, which means the chance of things going wrong is way higher.”
“But bluebird could never hurt anyone,” said Andres.
“I think we should keep talking about flamingo, if we’re talking about birds,” put in Marigold. “Without elephant thrown in, bluebirds are too small; you can barely see them. Flamingos are big and special on their own. And beautiful. You could dance!”
“You could work on flamingo with Coach,” said Bax to Nory.
“I can definitely pause my fiercing for thirty seconds now,” added Pepper. “I’ve been practicing every day in case you decided you wanted to flux.”
Ms. Starr called over from her desk. “Pepper and I can practice even harder, if Nory wants to flux. Thirty seconds is a good start, and I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to go longer soon.”
“Can you really, Pepper?” asked Nory. She surged with hope. If she could do an advanced animal like flamingo during the Show Off, and keep her human mind the whole time, Father might actually be proud.
She was going to find Coach that very afternoon. It was time for a bonus tutoring session.
I need to change into a flamingo,” Nory told Coach in his office. “A bright pink flamingo with nothing wonky about it. And maybe I could chirp? If flamingos chirp.” She swallowed. “Do you think I can do it?”
“You want to learn flamingo right now?” Coach said, putting down a homemade thistledown muffin.
“It’s for the Show Off. And it’s really important to me, so yes, I need to start learning it now. Will you help?”
“If I can,” Coach said. He stood, brushed the crumbs from his shorts, and blew a sharp blast on his whistle. “Tell me this. Have you ever done a bird of any kind?”
“Once I did bluebird,” Nory said. “But it turned very, very wonky.”
He brewed them both cups of herbal tea. “It takes the seventh graders two months to get wings when they start studying birds,” he said. “But you, you’ve already done wings, with your bluebird and your dritten, so that part should progress very quickly. And tell me, did your bluebird have a beak? Beaks are difficult.”
“It had a beak for a little while,” Nory said.
“Any beak at all is very hopeful,” said Coach. “I have eighth graders who can’t put a beak on their birds. And what about feathers?”
“I had good feathers.”
“Were they nice and blue? Some people have trouble with bright-colored birds like flamingos and bluebirds, canaries, cardinals, that kind of thing. They generally start with sparrows to avoid the color challenge.”
“People knew I was a bluebird, for sure,” said Nory.
“Then I think I can help you,” said Coach. “Yes, yes, I think we can fast-track your flamingo.”
For several minutes, he studied her. He asked Nory to flap her arms like wings. He inquired about the shape of her toes. He asked if she’d been eating seaweed snacks and how much fruit she ate each day.
“Righty-o, then,” Coach finally said. “Up onto my shoulders!”
“What?”
Coach bent down. “Stand on the chair. Now take my hands … good. Now I want you to stand on my shoulders. That’s it! Good girl!”
Nory’s body wobbled. Her feet were perched on Coach’s shoulders. She clutched his big hands as tightly as she could. He raised his arms high, which allowed her, more or less, to stand.
“Ready?” he called.
“What? No!” Nory cried, thinking, Ready for what?
“On three!” Coach pronounced. “One, two—”
“PleaseIdon’tthinkthisis—”
“Three!” Coach cried, and he released Nory’s hands while at the same time rapidly bending and straightening his legs to bump her off him.
Wheee!
Ouch.
When Nory opened her eyes, Coach’s big head was leaning over her. His face was full of concern. “Are you all right?” he said. “Can you hear me? Here, have some pomegranate juice.”
Nory gingerly pushed herself to a sitting position. She was in girl form, exactly as she had been when Coach lifted her high on his shoulders. Only now she had a sore bottom.
She chose not to share that with Coach. “I didn’t turn into a flamingo, did I?” she said.
“No. You didn’t flux at all,” Coach said. He scratched his nose. “Bummer. That’s a technique we use for the seventh graders who are having a hard time with the birds. It kind of shocks them into fluxing. They do it out of necessity. Ooh, hey, maybe if I lifted you onto my shoulders and then I stood on my desk—”
“No!” Nory said. “I mean, thank you for the offer.”
Coach looked disappointed. “Well, your call.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Tell you what. Let’s try another technique. Follow me, Nory!”
Nory trotted behind Coach as he strode out of his office and down the hall, then down another hall, until they reached a large room she’d never been in before.
“It’s Ms. Fitsnickle’s eighth-grade tropical animal room,” Coach said, rapping on the door. “Let’s see if she has any flamingos you can meet, shall we? For some Fluxers, all it takes is a f
ace-to-face connection.”
A short lady shaped like a ball appeared. “Yes?” A grin spread over her round face. “Why, Coach! Can I help you?”
Coach spelled out what they wanted.
Ms. Fitsnickle beckoned them into the room.
Wow.
The room was large and bursting with hot steam. It was filled with animals used for eighth-grade Fuzzy lessons. Nory wanted to soak it all in—the families of lizards, the colorful butterflies, the baby alligator napping on a bed of grass—but Ms. Fitsnickle hustled them toward a small indoor pond behind a fence. It was like a kiddie pool, but nicer. “I have six flamingos!” she said. “Aren’t they marvelous?”
They were. Pink and long-legged and beautiful. Nory marveled at their long S-shaped necks and their sticklike legs. They pecked and nibbled at something slimy on the bottom of their pen, and Ms. Fitsnickle explained that it was a mix of algae and the pink shrimpish creatures the flamingos liked to eat.
I like shrimp, Nory thought. And if I were a flamingo, I could eat shrimp every day. Yum.
And just like that … snibble-pipple-pop! Nory’s neck stretched, her legs turned skinny and long, and feathers sprouted over every inch of her. And, as part of it all, she pinkened. She actually felt herself pinken!
“Now we have seven flamingos!” Ms. Fitsnickle exclaimed. “Fabulous!”
“Nory, you did it!” Coach cried. “The beak and everything—brilliant, my girl!”
Shrimp, Flamingo-Nory thought. Shrimp, shrimp, shrimp. Shrimpish things. Must gobble shrimpish things!
“Darling, no!” Ms. Fitsnickle said as Flamingo-Nory lifted one gawky leg into the pen. “This is their pen! You are a fluxed student. They don’t like outsiders! Oh, dear, Coach. She doesn’t have the human mind right now, does she?!”
Shrimpy-shrimpy-yum-yum-yum, Flamingo-Nory thought. Then hands were swatting at her, and a human thing was talking loudly to her—a bald human thing—and the other flamingos were hissing. At her! The nerve!
“You need to get hold of your human mind!” cried the ball-shaped human.
Shrimpies, here I come!
Flamingo-Nory flapped her mighty wings, and her beak started to twitch and wait, was that fur sprouting on her wings? Was she adding kitten to her flamingo? Oh, no!
Her pink wings flopped. Noises rushed in, Coach became Coach and Ms. Fitsnickle became Ms. Fitsnickle, and fwoomp. She was Nory again.
Coach grinned. “Magnificent flamingo. Magnificent! For all of”—he checked his stopwatch—“thirteen seconds!”
“I’ve heard of only one Dunwiddle Fluxer who’s ever pulled off a flamingo,” Ms. Fitsnickle said. “And he was an eighth grader! You must be in the … sixth grade? Seventh?”
“Fifth,” Nory said shyly.
“Zamboozle! Your magic is strong, young lady!” She pulled her eyebrows together. “Although, for a moment there …” She tapped her lip. “Coach, did you see a bit of … hmm, how to say it …”
“I saw something, yes.” He gazed at Nory. “There was the slightest tremor, the briefest of ripples … you were most definitely a flamingo. But then I think you might have added a bit of—perhaps—kitten there at the end?”
Yes. She’d felt it. Kittingo. She didn’t want to be a kittingo!
Ms. Fitsnickle looked curious, then gave a curt nod. “Birds require practice, that’s all.”
“If I practice a ton, do you think I could hold it for longer?” Nory asked. “Without adding in kitten?”
“Vanity helps with flamingos,” said Coach. “With birds generally, but especially with flamingos. You might try admiring yourself in the mirror. The flamingo part of your brain will appreciate it. Let that be your homework.”
Ms. Fitsnickle guided them to the door, a clear signal that she was ready for them to clear out.
“Thank you, Cordelia,” Coach said, shaking Ms. Fitsnickle’s hand.
“Thank you, and thank the flamingos,” said Nory.
“Oh, it’s all in a day’s work,” said Ms. Fitsnickle.
Nory turned into a flamingo twice on her walk home. She knew she wasn’t supposed to. You had to get a license to flux in public spaces, and each animal was licensed separately. But she was so excited she couldn’t help it. As she walked, she thought vain flamingo thoughts. Everyone is admiring my pinkness. Or I have the longest legs of any flamingo in my neighborhood.
Even with the vain thoughts, she did keep popping back to girl shape after only a few seconds. And the second time she fluxed, something definitely felt furry around the tail. She could not become a kittingo at the Show Off. She could NOT.
Nory looked on the bright side. It wasn’t perfect yet, but she could do flamingo. She’d get better and better each time. By the time of the Show Off, she’d be a fifth grader with skills more advanced than every sixth grader. Every seventh grader! Almost every eighth grader!
She’d be Flamingo-Nory, and Father would be proud.
For the next two days, Nory worked on her flamingo. She could hold it for longer and longer, but during band practice, when Pepper’s control ran out and the fiercing magic surged, Nory’s flamingo wonked out. Her flamingo neck shrank, and she grew whiskers. Or she sprouted a kitten tail.
Even if Pepper didn’t start fiercing, there were problems. As soon as Nory tried to feel the music and dance, she’d lose control of the bird. Her feathers would turn to fur, or she’d swell up to the size of an elephant and her beak would transform into an elephant trunk. She had knocked over Elliott’s guitar twice, and had whacked Bax in the face with a giant wing three times. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she just keep that flamingo shape, or at least flux directly back into a girl?
Still, the UDM band continued practicing.
Pepper practiced a complicated percussion sequence that happened during the a capella section of the song. She also practiced pausing her magic with Carrot and Ms. Starr.
Bax practiced piano playing and vocal harmonies. He only fluxed into a rock once. Unfortunately, he broke the piano bench in the process.
Marigold practiced clarinet parts. She shrank one of the keys, but she could still press it with her pinkie.
Willa practiced her small rain cloud and the first verse. She had to change into a dry outfit only once. Bax had to twice.
Elliott practiced the second verse and guitar parts. He froze a few of the strings, but the ice melted by the next morning.
Andres tried practicing while drumming his heels against the ceiling to keep a steady beat. But Sebastian screamed, “My eyes! My eyes! Make it stop!” So Andres quit with his heel beats.
Sebastian didn’t practice. He just acted like he knew everything. But he did borrow a real baton from the music teacher.
They all practiced headstands, because Ms. Starr made them. “Good for integrating the body and mind. That’s a vital part of using upside-down magic to its best potential!” she cried.
The night before the Show Off, Nory couldn’t sleep. She needed to do a perfect, regular flamingo for more than two minutes and eleven seconds—that was how long the song was. Pepper needed to hold her fiercing for that long, too.
Nory sat up in bed. She had to try it again.
She turned on the radio, quietly, so as not to wake Aunt Margo. Some dance music came on—nothing as good as Everyday Cake, but it would do for practicing. Then she stood on her bed. She flapped her arms. She visualized the flamingo. She jumped.
Before she hit the ground, her arms started to tingle. Her body crackled and shrank. Her neck stretched and grew. Pink feathers covered her skin. Flamingo!
Flamingo-Nory could see herself in the mirror behind her door.
Ooh, she looked good. She had been practicing in the mirror a lot, of course, because vanity really did help her hold on to the flamingo longer. It seemed to help her keep her human mind in control, too.
Such a lovely curved beak. So pinky pink pink. Such sleek feathers.
But could she stay a flamingo for the whole two minutes and ele
ven seconds she needed for the show? Without going wonky?
Flamingo-Nory took deep breaths. She held still, despite the music. Totally still, with one leg tucked up, flamingo fashion. She looked back and forth between the clock and her mirror.
She admired herself for one minute and fifteen seconds. She admired herself for one minute and thirty seconds.
Ooh, the music has such a good beat, though. It would be so much fun to shake these flamingo legs. It might even feel good to grow some kitten whiskers and a tail …
No! Don’t dance. Stay a bird. Look how beautiful you are! Hold still!
Two minutes! Two minutes and eleven seconds, and still she stayed 100 percent beautiful, lovely, perfect flamingo! Flamingo-Nory had done it! Hooray!
Slowly and carefully, she fluxed back into a girl.
Okay, then. She couldn’t dance as a flamingo. She couldn’t really move, at all, if she wanted to avoid going wonky. But who cared?!
Not Nory.
She had stayed in full bird form—and a brightly colored, eighth-grade-level bird at that—and that was what mattered for the Show Off.
Then, finally, it was here. The night of the Show Off.
Pepper was so nervous she was afraid she might yak.
“Just breathe,” Zinnia told her. They were alone in Ms. Starr’s room. Pepper had to stay there until it was time for the UDM performance, so that she wouldn’t scare any Fluxers or animals. Zinnia wasn’t in the Show Off, so she was keeping Pepper company.
“Okay.” Pepper tried to take a deep, slow breath, but it didn’t happen.
“Maybe you should stop pacing,” Zinnia said.
Zinnia would be leaving soon to go watch some of the performances. She didn’t want to miss the whole thing. When UDM was up—they were last in the whole show—she’d run and fetch Pepper. It was a small job, but a crucial one. Pepper had argued hard to get Elliott to trust Zinnia with it, and he’d finally agreed. The rest of them would be too busy getting ready for their number.
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