by Kym Brunner
Lucy tilted her head and smiled. “Aw . . . you got all choked up when you talked about your mother. Is she a professor?”
So much for diversion. “I’m not exactly sure what she does,” I said, which wasn’t really lying because I never did find out exactly what she did with those dogs.
I was desperately scrambling to think of another topic when I heard, “I can’t believe they let any old riffraff in here!” Weasel grabbed my shoulders from behind and shook me. “What brings you here today, Mercer?”
“Hot chocolate.” I held up my cup, glad he hadn’t called me Skinny but praying that Lucy wouldn’t bring up the other reason we were there. I had to steer this conversation exactly to where I wanted it to go.
“Sounds tasty.” He held up his bag. “I got me one of them big fat blueberry muffins and a pumpkin scone for Jenny.” He glanced at Lucy, smacking my shoulder with the back of his hand at the same time. “Don’t be an oaf, Mercer. Introduce me to this pretty gal.”
“Lucy, this is Weasel. Weasel, this is Lucy.”
He took her hand and shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, young lady.” And that’s when he cocked his head and peered at the sticker on her shirt. “‘Wool. It’s not for ewe,’” he read aloud. “Were you here for that Wool-Mart protest?”
I panicked. Please don’t say my name.
She nodded, smiling broadly. “Yep. Mercer joined us too.”
Dang it! My face heated up and my heart fluttered as fast as when Flip was flipping out. I sat up quickly, realizing too late that I still had the sticker Lucy’s mom had given me on my shirt.
“He did, did he?” Weasel narrowed his eyes and tapped my chest, right where the sticker was. “Interesting, Mercer. I’d love to hear more about that sometime.” He turned to Lucy. “Well, real nice meeting you.”
“You too!” Lucy waved to Weasel, who didn’t say another word to me as he walked off.
I did my best not to show I was freaking out, but I couldn’t help wondering what he’d tell my dad. I discreetly bit off a piece of my nail, imagining his response. I didn’t know exactly what Dad would do when he found out, but I knew at the minimum he’d tell Mom. That lecture would be a long one. Maybe they’d even ground me, or take away my phone. But I couldn’t think about that now—I had one final task for that day, and I promised I’d punch myself in the face if I lost my nerve.
I took a deep breath. It was now or never. “So . . . have you seen any good movies lately?”
Before she could answer, a rush of wind blew my hair into my eyes as someone opened the door behind me.
“There you are, Lucy!” Her mother appeared next to me. “Ready to go now, sweetie?”
A ball of anger as big and as fat as the blueberry muffin in Weasel’s bag formed in my throat. Not now! Go away! I need to ask your daughter out.
Lucy pleaded with her mom, “It’s not eleven yet. Can’t I have a little more time?”
Her mom shook her head. “Afraid not. Daddy needs to get home. His boss called.”
Lucy sighed as she stood up. “That sucks. Well, thanks for the drink, Mercer. Sorry I have to go so soon.” She squeezed my shoulder as she walked by. “See you Monday!”
I managed to squeak out, “Yep. Monday it is.”
The moment I heard the door clang shut, I slumped back in my chair. So much for being the man. I’d had my opportunity and I’d blown it. Watching the barista pour a brown stream of coffee down the sink, I realized that my chance to be with Lucy was running out too.
THIRTEEN
AFTER DOWNING THE REST OF MY HOT CHOCOLATE AT STARBUCKS, I tossed my anti-wool sticker in the trash and went outside to look for Weasel. I didn’t see him or his truck anywhere. Not only did I have to walk home, but, even worse, he was probably calling my father right this very minute. I started the three-mile trek to my house, filled with worries about what I’d tell my parents. At least I had a lot of time to think about it.
I walked east on Main Street, and then north along Pine Road, stomping on the piles of fallen leaves that had collected along the fence line. But the crackling sound that normally made me smile failed to elevate my mood.
I was sunk, no question about it. What was it I’d heard someone say once, that lies were like angry geese—they always came back to bite you? This lie was nipping at my heels, that’s for sure. I decided if my parents went wild on me, asking questions and demanding answers, I’d just tell them the truth: that I liked Lucy a lot and had joined HALT only temporarily until I found out whether or not she liked me back. If she did like me and we started hanging out, I would confess that HALT wasn’t quite right for me and that I was going to quit. If she wasn’t interested in me, I’d just halt HALT immediately. A win-win situation.
When I walked into the house, I was both surprised and relieved to find it empty. There was a note: “Went grocery shopping with Madison. Back later, Dad.” My spirits brightened when I saw his cell lying on the counter with no announcement about missed calls in the viewing window. Had Weasel gotten too busy and forgotten to call? I rolled my eyes at my own stupidity. No, a more likely scenario was that he came here after seeing me and broke the news to Dad in person, and now Dad was out shopping for a rope to tie me up with so I couldn’t leave the house again.
My cell rang. It was Charlie asking if he and Reed could stop by to see Flip. Talk about a perfect coincidence! I told him that they should come quickly. Not only because I was thrilled to finally show off Flip, but also because my father was less likely to strangle me with witnesses around. While I waited, I made two thick ham sandwiches and washed them down with a can of Mountain Dew. I checked the clock, praying my friends would arrive before Dad did. My prayers were answered when, ten minutes later, they drove up on their ATVs, completely covered in dirt and sweat.
“Where’d you go today?” I asked, a bit jealous. “You guys are caked in mud.”
“Mount Trashmore,” Charlie said, referring to one of our regular spots, a nearby landfill that had tons of hilly areas and natural ramps. “It was muddy; I got bloody.” He lifted his elbow to show me a cut. “Definitely not for fuddy-duddies.” He chuckled. “So where’s the Flipmeister?”
“Follow me.” I walked them to the outside of Flip’s mews and told them to watch me through the bars. Inside the rehab center, I put on my gear and went to fetch my bird. The second Flip saw me, he started up his crazy windmill routine, flapping his wings like he was taking off for Florida.
“Lord have Mercer!” Charlie cried. “His wingspan is huge.”
“And you know huge better than anyone else,” Reed joked, elbowing Charlie.
“Hey, there’s just more of me to love.” Charlie hiked up the waistband of his pants.
I thought it was cool that Charlie never took offense to comments about his size, how expertly he turned things around in his favor. Maybe I could try that the next time Dad complained about my room. Check it out, Pops. They say a messy room is a sign of genius.
I shoved some choice raw meat tidbits into my waist pouch before heading to Flip’s mews, managing to get him up and on my fist without too much of a struggle. I brought Flip outside and introduced him to Charlie and Reed, pointing out all his features: his razor-sharp talons, his gorgeous weatherproof feathers in ten thousand shades of browns and whites, his powerful beak. I wondered if this was how champion hockey players feel when they hold the Stanley Cup. “Not only that, but his eyesight is so good, he can spot a mouse a football field away.”
“Cool,” Reed said, keeping his distance. “But very scary, dude.” He pulled out his phone and thumbed through a few screens. Guess his Grand Theft Auto app was more interesting than real life.
“Speaking of scary, how’d that protest rally go today?” Charlie asked. “Did you get to beat up any wool wearers?”
“Only a couple,” I joked, using my right fist to jab the air. “Actually, I’m a little worried because my dad’s friend Weasel saw me there. If he tells my parents, I’m dead.”
/>
“Ya think?” Charlie asked sarcastically. “Maybe your dad will even have you stuffed and hung on the wall above your fireplace to show what happens to traitors.”
“Don’t laugh. It could happen.” Flip flapped his wings, so I waited until he’d calmed down. “That wasn’t the only part that sucked. Just when I was about to ask Lucy if she wanted to go with the movies with me tonight, her mom walked in and dragged her home.”
“You were going to ask her out?” Reed looked up from his phone, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah. I told you guys yesterday, remember?” I replied with a shrug. Why was Reed acting as though this was the first he’d heard I liked her?
“Too bad you wimped out. Better luck next time, Merman.” Charlie thumped me on the back.
“I didn’t wimp out,” I protested. “Her mom was there.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway,” Charlie said, “because once she finds out about ol’ Flip here, she’ll dump your scrawny butt. And then, my friend, she can have herself a wool-free dog lover.” He patted his chest.
“You never told her that you hunt?” Reed pinched his lips in disapproval. Apparently he hadn’t caught on to the whole belief system of HALT. Perhaps he needed some remedial tutoring in Social Dynamics 101 in addition to Algebra.
I made a face. “I’m pretty sure a girl who loves animals as much as Lucy does wouldn’t dig hunting. Duh.”
Reed turned his attention back to his phone. “So you’re just going to keep on lying to her? That’s dumb. I’d never give up working on cars just because a girl didn’t like it.”
“Not your problem, I guess,” I retorted, unsettled by his comments. “And technically, I haven’t lied to her because she never asked if I hunt.” Having this conversation made me want to put Flip back and send Reed home, but they were here and so was Flip, so I’d just have to hope Reed would shut up.
“Let’s move on, ladies.” Charlie rolled his hand in a circle. “C’mon Mercer. Show us how Flip does his tricks.”
Thank God for Charlie. Although I was glad he acted as a buffer, apparently I hadn’t explained the process of falconry very well to him. “He doesn’t do tricks. But I can show you the training routine I do so we’ll be able to work together when we hunt.”
“Whatever. Show us,” Reed said, glancing up from his phone.
Ignoring his jerk-off behavior, I asked them to move back before tossing the swing lure with a bit of quail attached to it in a circle overhead. “Watch this,” I instructed. Flip swooped down and snatched the bait in midair. Well, on two of the five tries, anyway.
“Cool.” Charlie dug a peanut out of his pocket and shelled it. “What else does he do?”
“I’ll show you.” I placed Flip on the standing bow perch and walked about seventy feet away—just as Weasel and I had practiced. Flip waited patiently until I pulled out a small piece of quail, and then he flew right to me. Yes! I held him up, walking back toward my friends. “Wasn’t that awesome?”
Reed didn’t seem all that impressed, but at least his phone wasn’t in front of his nose. “It’s great and all, but you’ve got a line connected to his leg. Not much free will, is it? No offense, but it doesn’t look that hard to do.”
“Yeah, sorry ol’ chum, but he’s right,” Charlie said. “What happens if you take that thing off? Would he fly away?”
My Stanley Cup took a tumble, getting dented and tarnished. “I’m not sure what he’d do,” I admitted. “He only learned how to use the creance line yesterday. Weasel said that once they’re on the creance line, it doesn’t take long to progress to flying free. Flip should be ready real soon.”
“Today’s real soon,” Reed said, elbowing Charlie. “Don’t you think?”
“That would be cool,” Charlie agreed. “Can you do it?”
I hesitated. What would happen? Flip did seem to be responding to me in the last two days, as if he had finally figured out I wasn’t going to hurt him. I mean, I’d fed him and cleaned his crap for over a week. That should count for something.
“He’s probably afraid he’ll take off,” Reed said.
“I’m not afraid.” Not enough to admit it, anyway, but Reed was pissing me off. I reasoned that since I hadn’t fed Flip yet, once I produced some juicy rabbit chunks, he’d fly right to me. “Fine. Let’s try it. You guys can witness his first flight flying free.” I laughed. “Try saying that ten times fast.”
While Charlie and Reed gave my tongue twister a couple of tries, I removed the creance line from Flip’s leg but still held on to his foot for assurance. I noticed my fingers quivering a bit. Should I do this? I looked at the guys, waiting and watching. Now or later—it had to happen eventually. I hesitated a second before letting go of Flip’s foot, freeing him from all his attachments. Holding my breath, I backed away from the bow perch.
Flip eyed the wet hunk of rabbit meat I held in my hand. Please don’t fly away, I begged silently. He stared at it for a second, tilting his head slightly, and then took off at full speed—in the opposite direction!
“Damn it! Flip! Flip!” I shouted, my words catching in my throat. What was the command to bring your bird back? In my panic, I couldn’t remember anything. I took off running after him.
“Get him, Mercer!” Charlie yelled, pointing. “He’s flying away!”
“I can see that!” I screamed, nearly losing it. All that time to trap him, to man him, and in three seconds, he was gone? I bolted after Flip, almost in tears. Why had I let Reed get under my skin? Flip suddenly took a sharp turn, and in one fierce swoop dove toward me. I stopped running and froze. Three seconds later, he landed back on my fist, earning himself a juicy chunk of meat as a reward. Score one for the underdogs! A small tear leaked out, this one of happiness, but I wiped it away before the guys caught up to me.
Charlie bellowed, “You did it! That was so cool!”
“Thanks. Sorry about yelling before,” I said to Charlie. “I thought I lost him. But flying free is what is so cool about falconry. Once you’ve gained the hawk’s trust, he always flies back to you. Until you release him back in the wild at the end of hunting season, of course.” That idea was beginning to bother me—letting Flip go and never seeing him again after all this work—but I’d worry about it when the time came.
My arm a bit tired, I brought my foot up to rest on a rotting tree trunk so I could prop my elbow on my knee. A second later, a chipmunk came zipping out from the opposite end. Before I knew what was happening, Flip flew off my fist, swooping into action. Flapping his wings rapidly, zigzagging back and forth following the chipmunk’s movements, he skimmed across the field, heading toward the pond. The chipmunk ran like, well, like a hawk was chasing him.
I screamed, “Go chipmunk! Go Flip! May the best man win!”
Flip pulled his wings in tightly and extended his talons as a high-pitched squeal pierced the air. Had my bird caught his breakfast? When I got closer, I saw Flip standing proudly on his catch, holding the chipmunk tightly in his talons.
“Atta boy, Flip!” I cheered, my heart beating as rapidly as I knew Flip’s probably was. I knelt down, ready to dispatch the prey if it was still alive, although I hoped it wasn’t. I didn’t know how to break a chipmunk’s neck without the thing biting me. It would be only a tiny bite, but still. Maybe chipmunks had rabies. Or carried diseased fleas that could jump on me.
Okay, fine. I didn’t like getting bitten by things, no matter how small they were.
“That was so frickin’ cool!” Reed yelled, showing excitement for the first time since he’d arrived.
“Totally sick!” Charlie galloped over, hitching up his pants.
Flip spread his wings out to hide his catch, bobbing his head up and down excitedly in anticipation of a good meal. Before I had a chance to figure out what to do next, Flip ripped a chunk of flesh from the chipmunk’s side.
“Oh man! He’s tearing it to shreds, Mercer!” Reed smacked my arm as if to alert me to something I wasn’t aware of.
Or had control over. Wasn’t like I could train a hawk to use a knife and a fork.
“This is better than a National Geographic special,” Charlie declared. And then switching to a British accent, he added, “And a lot more bloody fun!”
“You knuckleheads.” I laughed, pleased they didn’t think it was lame or, worse, cruel to hunt with a hawk. But watching nature in action—live and with sound effects—couldn’t be beat.
I knew that on an actual hunt, I would have to distract Flip and remove the prey quickly before he ate it and became fed up, which would make him lose his desire to hunt any more that day. But hunting season didn’t start for two more weeks—which technically made this catch illegal. I wasn’t sure about the proper protocol, but decided to try to remove the chipmunk from his grasp, now that the little guy no longer posed a threat to me.
I grabbed a chunk of meat out of my waist pouch and distracted Flip by waving it and calling his name, making him leap to my fist to retrieve his reward. I gently kicked the lifeless chipmunk out of Flip’s sight. Now what? Usually we picked up all the downed prey—either for our birds or for our family to eat, because that was the main purpose of hunting, after all—but if your bird killed something that wasn’t in season, the rule was that you had to “leave-it-lay.” I didn’t think that applied to chipmunks, though, because, well, there was no season for chipmunks. None that I’d ever heard of anyway, but who knew? People ate squirrels, raccoons, bears, snakes—all sorts of animals, so why not chipmunks?
I discreetly scooped up the chipmunk and slipped it into my waist pouch without Flip noticing. The chipmunk was small enough that I wouldn’t have to cut it into parts like with a rabbit or a pheasant. One cool thing about raptors is that you could give them the whole animal to eat, bones and all. They used what they needed and then, presto chango!, barfed up the inedible parts in a little gray ball, like a mini trash compactor.
