Kinsley Boggs, World Famous Naturalist (Tales of the Uncool)

by Kirsten Rue

  After class, I tell Esperanza to wait for me in the hall, and I go up to Ms. Arple.

  “Ms. Arple,” I ask. “Remember when we wrote practice letters to our Congresswoman about something we wish was different in the world?’

  “Hmmm, yes, I think I do remember that,” she says. She’s also one of the younger teachers, and even though her voice is soft, she always seems to say interesting things. I think the little splash of freckles across her nose is especially cool. I have a little splash of freckles on my nose, too.

  “Could I get the name and address of our Congresswoman again? Please?”

  She goes over and flips open one of the bright binders she keeps on a big shelf next to all of her plants. Ms. Arple promised that we would study plants next month, and I’m pretty excited about that. After going through a few pages, she finds the one she needs and scribbles down the address for me on a Post-it note.

  “Here ya go! Now go do your civic duty!” Ms. Arple laughs in kind of a dorky way. I realize that she’s making a joke, so I laugh, too. I’m not sure I get it, though.

  By the time I rejoin Esperanza in the hallway, I feel energized. My arms and legs are buzzing. I feel like I could shout or even do a handstand in the hall. (I am actually pretty good at handstands.) I know exactly what I’m going to do to save Bob.

  That night, I finish my homework and pull a chair up to my little desk in my little room. It looks over the yard, and I watch Ruby chase birds for a little bit. She never gets them, but they love to tease her. She does a little hop hop hop as she runs around on her three legs, trying to chomp one. I have my laptop open and the address from Ms. Arple. I have a blank document open on the computer. I want the letter to look official, after all. I already told Mom and Granddad at dinner about my plan to write to the Congresswoman.

  “Good for you!” They said. “You tell ‘em!” Esperanza has told me before that my family goes a little over the top with encouragement sometimes. She’s probably right. I could say, “I’m going to go tie my shoe!” and they would reply, “Look at you go!”

  Well, now, I’m ready to work. I stretch my arms above my head and rub my hands together. I crack my knuckles. I smell my hair, which I just washed. It smells like strawberries, the scent of my own special shampoo that I picked out myself. Okay, strawberry hair, rub hands, crack knuckles . . . let’s go!

  Dear Congresswoman Medina, I begin. I’m writing to you about a bird—

  I get stuck at this point. I’ve never written a Congresswoman before. Not about something serious that affects an animal’s life. The letters we wrote in class were just an exercise. This one is important, though. I picture it arriving at the Congresswoman’s office in one, maybe two days. It will immediately be brought to her on a tray by one of her assistants. How many assistants do you get? I wonder. “Let’s get started on this!” she’ll say, as soon as she’s read it. “Call the principal of this Halsey School. Call the president. We need new legislation. And call this brave girl—Kinsley Boggs. I’d like to thank her personally.” Hmmm. . . . I mean, I’m not sure if it will go exactly like that, but Bob’s home will probably be saved within a few days, right?

  I know that now, I need to act like one of my conservation heroes. I have to write people and give interviews and get my picture in the paper. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. This letter is the first step in all of that, but still, I can’t seem to get beyond “I’m writing to you about a bird.” I need some help. I pull out my phone and search for Esperanza’s number.

  “Hello?”

  It’s Esperanza’s little brother, and when I ask for her by name, he screams, “Espere, someone’s calling you!” back into their house. I’m surprised she has convinced her whole family to call her Espere instead of Esperanza. Don’t they feel, I dunno . . . kinda offended? They did give her the name, after all.

  “Ugh, Eric, you are so annoying,” I can hear her say. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Esperanza . . .” After she gets over the shock of me calling her at home, I explain to her that I need help with this letter. I don’t know the right way to save Bob, not really. How can we stop that athletic shed from being built right on top of his home? I’m putting my hope in this letter, and I’ve got to get it in the mail as soon as possible.

  “Well . . .” Esperanza says, thinking on the other line. I can hear her clicking her fingernails against the phone’s receiver. “I don’t know if it’s going to be as fast as you think.”

  “Really?” my heart sinks.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know if this is true or not, but my dad says that they don’t even write you back themselves.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because their desks are piled high with letters from all over the country. They have other people write you back.”

  “Yeah, but THIS letter is important.”

  “How’re they gonna know that? I mean, to her and her workers, envelopes just look like envelopes.”

  I sigh. That’s a good point, I have to admit.

  “Why are you going straight to a Congresswoman anyway? I bet there’s a faster way. Why not ask someone who’s actually from our town, or Halsey?”

  “Good idea!” Why didn’t I think of that?

  “Why not share this special bird, if he is so special? So far, you’re like the only person who’s even seen him.” Another good idea. Man, Esperanza is on a roll! I’m relieved that I called her—she always has good advice. I need to call her more often. Bonus: this means I don’t have to keep writing that boring old letter. I can do something more unique instead.

  “Okay!” I agree, but when we hang up, I have to admit, I still feel stuck. What unique thing should I do? How can I get the rest of the school to care about Bob?

  The Kinsley Boggs Naturalist Tour

  The next morning, during the in-between minutes after I poke Ruby in the side to wake her up and before she starts licking my face, I think about the nature shows that I love. More than anything, they made me care about the forest and animals I’ve never seen in real life. It’s not like I even thought much about birds before Granddad moved in with us. Before, they were just those creatures you saw flying overhead, or the little birdies that jumped out of the way as you walked on the sidewalks. But now? Now that I’ve watched birds with Granddad and read my science magazines and watched my nature shows? Now, I feel like I can picture birds, all over the world. I can picture them, and I care about what happens to them. Maybe that’s what Bob needs. Maybe he needs to be visible to everybody, just like Esperanza said.

  With my eyes still kind of tired from sleep and Ruby just starting to lick my chin, I pull my phone out from underneath my pillow.

  “I’m not really supposed to talk on the phone on school mornings,” Esperanza whispers to me once she answers. “I’m supposed to be getting ready.”

  “I know, I know, I just wanted to ask you one thing. Can you sketch a picture of Bob for me?”

  “Um, sure,” she says, after a pause. “Geez, Kinz, most of the other girls at Halsey probably call each other about boys or lip-gloss or something. But you?”

  “I’m calling about a bird. I know. Not very cool.”

  Esperanza laughs. “Just don’t call me in the morning! I like to sleep in!”

  That day at recess, I introduce Bob and Esperanza. When we approach his habitat, I don’t see him. My heart starts pounding with fear that he was scared away by the workers yesterday, or worse . . . maybe he got hurt or confused and is wandering around somewhere dangerous. I hope he didn’t try to fly over the fence or cross the road! Quails can fly, my Granddad said, but they also like to return to where they’re comfortable. In this neighborhood, Bob doesn’t fit in (kind of like me)—it’s not a safe place for him. When we reach his section of Halsey yard, I take a deep breath and pull back some of the branches of his favorite shrub.

  I see a chubby little turquoise and red bird. Phew!

  “Bob, I’m so glad you’re still here!” I reach in and stroke one of
his feathers. When he comes out to eat his lunch, I let Esperanza feed him instead of me.

  “Here, birdie birdie birdie!” she calls. “Hi, Bob!” Bob seems to approve, and luckily, he doesn’t poop on her shoe. He waddles around the edge of his little puddle, making his satisfied chick-chick-chick sound.

  “He really is kind of cute,” Esperanza says. She has her sketchbook out and is flicking her eyes back and forth between Bob and the page. Her pencil is flying.

  While she sketches, I walk around the area that Bob calls home. The orange spray paint lines from the other day are still there on the grass. I can see footprints where workers have been walking around, probably right THROUGH Bob’s pond. I shake my head. This is not acceptable. Who needs an athletic equipment shed, anyway? Why not get more plants for Ms. Arple’s room or more paperbacks for the library? Why do we need a bunch of stupid sports stuff taking up a whole precious corner of Halsey lawn? Now the Lardos will be everywhere: throwing footballs, playing tetherball. It’s not just Bob that’ll be affected. All of the little flowers will be squashed. Butterflies and bees will stay away in the springtime. Nature will be ruined.

  “Done!” Esperanza shouts. I’ve been brooding so much about the Halsey yard being invaded that I almost forgot she was here. “Let’s go!”

  “Bye, Bob!” We call over our shoulders. “Don’t let those guys bother you! We’re going to help you out!”

  Esperanza slides her sketch over to me during science class, and I have to say, it looks pretty good. Sure, Bob’s neck looks a little short and right now it’s just in black-and-white, but I dunno. It does kinda capture his “CHICK-CHICK-BAWK!” expression and his skinny little feet. She colors the portrait in during free period and hands it off to me right before we board our separate buses. I give her a thumbs-up sign. Only after boarding the bus do I notice that she’s written SAVE BOB! in big letters right over his head. That makes me laugh for sure.

  By the next morning, I’ve got one hundred fliers copied with Esperanza’s sketch and these words written at the bottom: Come meet Bob. Halsey School’s endangered species. Tours led at 12:30 after lunch. Meet at flagpole. Extra credit!! I made Mom drive me instead of the taking the bus so I could stop at a copy shop before school. I even used all the money I had been saving for this summer’s forest camp to make the copies!

  And, um, I did lie, just a teensy bit about the whole extra credit thing. Also, Bob’s not endangered in the legal sense of the word. He’s more just . . . lonely. But, hey, I’ve gotta get people to come see him, right? It’s like my mom always says, “Be aware’“ She’s usually talking about being aware about cars coming or how much homework I have to finish before TV time. But, this is awareness, too. Halsey School is going to realize that they’ve got a special creature living on the lawn, and that they shouldn’t scare him away with a shed. Or hockey sticks. Or tennis rackets.

  I leave the cafeteria early so that I can get to the flagpole in time. While I stand there, I stick on a nametag sticker with Kinsley Boggs written on it. I know that most of the kids at Halsey don’t even know my name. I’m just that uncool. I’m also holding up one of my fliers. I cross my fingers and try to cross my toes inside my shoes, but my socks kinda get in the way. I squinch my eyes close. Please, let Bob get saved. When I open them, a couple of other students are standing there. Joe Russo, one of the Lardos, Dana, one of the Sweets, Tina, and Julian. See. I know all of their names.

  “Um . . . extra credit?” Joe asks. He could probably use some for sure.

  “Yep!” I say brightly, “Right this way!” I walk fast and with energy, just like the hosts of the nature shows I watch. I figure I should make my tour as informative as possible, so I add some stuff along the way. “To your right you’ll see a scarlet oak tree. And that, that plant you just stepped on, Joe, is a dead milk thistle.” The other students don’t say anything, but I do hear Dana the Sweet saying, “Ewwww! I’m getting water all over my shoes!” Of course, I wish Esperanza could be here for moral support, but she has a dentist appointment right this very second.

  When I arrive at Bob’s corner of the yard, I feel a little too embarrassed to do my quail call. I’ve never practiced it in front of people before, and I’m afraid it might come out more like a “Squawk!” Who knows, maybe that will even scare Bob away. So, I tell everyone else to keep back and hold one finger to my lips. “Shhhhh,” I say. “Be very still.” Tina rolls her eyes at Julian, but I pretend not to notice. I go up to Bob’s shrub and spread his pellets out on the ground. There’s a rustle, and then he pokes his head out from the shrub. His black and white face looks as amazing as ever. I spread some more food, and he walks out, pecking and beginning to make his happy sound. For what it’s worth, the other kids don’t say a word.

  “This . . . is Bob.” I turn around and smile. Like, ta da! Bob notices the other kids, but maybe after having so many workmen tramping around his turf, he doesn’t seem to mind. He just pecks at his food and scuttles from place to place. The sun breaks through the clouds overhead and I swear it shines directly on Bob’s red and turquoise feathers. I don’t know, though. I can’t tell if the other kids are impressed or not. They’re just standing there, staring at me. I have a whole speech prepared, and I figure I better dive in before I lose my audience. It isn’t really like I planned when I thought it all through in my bedroom last night, though.

  “Um-this-is-Bob-he’s-a-rare-Chinese-um-painted-quail-and-um-that’s-a-bird-you-don’t-see-in-our-town-because-er-they’re-from-Asia-and-it’s-a-mystery-how-he-got-here-but-Mr.-Speck-is-building-an-athletic-shed-right-on-top-of-his-house-and-we-have-to-stop-him!”

  With that, I hold out my clipboard and the petition I’ve created. I mean, I stayed up really late writing this thing and preparing for the tour.

  Stop Halsey School From Building On Animal Habitat is its title. I’ve even made a space for one hundred signatures below. Aim high, right?

  However, the other kids don’t seem to be getting it.

  “What’s that?” whines Dana. “Is that how we get our extra credit?”

  “Why are you saying bad stuff about Mr. Speck?!” asks Joe Russo, his cheeks coloring red.

  “Is this all . . . a trick?” asks Julian, a guy I’ve always kinda liked, even if he doesn’t know me.

  “No! I’m trying to make people aware. Trying to save this bird.” I gesture back to Bob, who is still pecking at his food. I still think he looks beautiful and exotic. But I can see it from the other kids’ point of view: A girl they don’t know promised them extra credit. She made them walk across a wet field. She showed them a small bird that just stood there eating food, not really doing anything. She said a speech, so fast they couldn’t even hear her—not really. And then she shoved a clipboard in their faces and asked them to sign. I guess I did kind of trick them.

  I hang my head. This is not at all how I wanted things to play out.

  “Ugh, what a waste of time! Kinsley—if that’s even your real name—you are a NERD!” says Dana, flouncing away. Joe follows her, muttering, “I’m going to tell Mr. Speck on you,” as he goes. They both turn their heads a couple of times to glare at me.

  That leaves Tina and Julian, and only Julian signs the petition. I think he feels bad for me. Tina won’t even sign. She crosses her arms and looks away. After that, they shake their heads and walk back across the field. I catch the words “So weird!” I’m sure they’re talking about me. Sigh. Now I’m alone with Bob. You’d think he’d show some kind of gratitude considering all the work I’m doing to save his home. Right now this whole thing almost doesn’t feel worth it.

  The first Kinsley Boggs Naturalist Tour? A total failure.

  We Will Prevail

  “I’m too depressed to go to school today,” I say to Esperanza on the phone the next day.

  “Kinz, I wish you would stop calling in the mornings. My mom hates that!”

  “Sorry. Ugh. I wish you could have been there yesterday. I made a TOTAL fool of myself. I even annoyed
that nice Julian guy.”

  “Nice Julian? Man, he’s usually so . . . well, nice.”

  “I guess he did sign . . .”

  “So, that’s good! You have one signature!”

  “No, that sucks,” I correct Esperanza, glumly. “I’m going to lie and say we have today off. My Granddad won’t care and Mom’s already at work this morning.” Beside me on the bed, Ruby starts thumping her tail. She obviously wants me to stay home all day, too.

  “Well, but haven’t you heard?” Esperanza asks. “I think today is the day they’re going to start digging the hole for the new athletic shed.”

  “Wait, WHAT?!” I sit straight up in bed.

  “Yeah, my dad knows some people who are working on it. He told me this morning.”

  “Espere? I have to go!” I yell, jumping out of bed and starting to search one-handed for jeans on my bedroom floor. Ruby jumps down, too, and begins to bark at me.

  “Hey, you finally called me ‘Espere!’“ Esperanza says happily.

  “Don’t get too excited. I’m just in a hurry.” I hang up.

  I have to sprint to make the bus, so I don’t even get a chance to pack my lunch bag. Not that I’m craving anything special. Not even a dill pickle. I didn’t bring my book bag, either, because you know what? I have no intention of going to class today. Nope. As soon as the bus drops me off at the front of the school, I march straight towards the Halsey yard, cross it, and lie down in front of Bob’s shrub. Bob is there, resting peacefully inside the thick branches. I lie down right over the spot where the workmen are going to come and dig their hole.

  Of course, as soon as I lie down, I wish I’d planned a little better. For one thing, I forgot to put socks on. For another, it sure would be nice to have something like a tarp to separate me from the wet grass. And the last thing? I forgot to bring any signs or even my petition to explain about why Halsey School needs to save Bob. This is going to be a looonnggg day. I can’t move, though, because that would defeat the purpose of my sit-in. For a sit-in, you actually have to, ya know, sit. Once you stand up, it means you’ve given up. For the first hour or two, nobody comes to bother me. Even Bob seems bored. He just sits under his shrub and gives the occasional chick-chick-chick. I wish Esperanza had a cellphone so I could at least text her. That’s another thing I forgot to do: tell a single person that I’m protesting today.