by MJ Ware
* * *
Bernie Brownfeather was high over the Splickety Village when she reached with her left hand and opened a powder compact which had been empty for a very long time and which was strapped to her outstretched right wrist. She was about to initiate daytime landing protocol, or DLP as she had decided to refer to the maneuvers if she was ever asked to write a flight manual to instruct the younger fliers. First, she checked her compact mirror. There were no impediments behind her. Then she picked out her landing spot and began her descent towards it. It was a simple procedure, but she had learned the hard way that landings could get you into trouble if you did not concentrate on what you were doing. Before she had begun using her daytime landing protocol, descents had caused all sorts of embarrassing situations. More than once she had misjudged the final stages and ended up astride someone’s shoulders. Just last year, during the Bring The Beets Festival, she had brought down a big tent full of villagers eating doughnuts. On one very unfortunate occasion Bernie Brownfeather had landed on a small copper dog called Misty. Misty couldn’t walk anymore and though the vet said it was all in his mind, Bernie Brownfeather blamed herself. It was soon after the crippling of Misty that she began to work on her flying protocols. Now she considered herself to be the safest flyer in the greater Splickety area. She touched ground outside the school gate, as flying inside any of the school grounds was strictly forbidden.
"Bernie, didn’t you see us waving?"
"Why do you always look so serious when you fly?"
Tawanda Millington and Lindy Looseplates greeted their friend with questions as was very often the case.
"Listen," she said, "you two know very well that flying is a difficult endeavor and has to be rendered safe before it can be properly enjoyed."
"Then how come your brother makes it look so easy?" asked Lindy Looseplates. But the question was not addressed as a loud noise echoed around the school yard.
"C’mon, it’s last clang, we’d better go in." prompted Tawanda Millington as she made the first move towards the front door. In a moment all three entered the building.
Once inside, Lindy Looseplates began to moan.
"I hate jam. I’m just no good at it. I don’t see why we all have to do it. It’s not fair," she said in a whiny voice as she slumped slowly down the corridor to the jam lab.
"Bernie do something to save me from jam. I’ll never make it once I leave school, so why do I have to learn about it now? I can’t bear jam!"
She was still going on about it as they turned to enter the lab. But her friend was hardly listening, for Bernie Brownfeather loved jam and was particularly looking forward to school this Tuesday morning. There was a rumor circulating amongst those who pondered such things that Bernie Brownfeather would be chosen to make this year's Festival Jam. Some went as far as to speculate that the jam would be cherry and berry. It would be up to Rose Regent, Jam Teacher and member of The Jam For The Important Person Committee to reveal her final decision later in the day. In jam class they were going to cover the jams that should be made, the jams that should not be made and how to make the jams that should be made. The friends sat down and reached into their satchels for their jam books. It was then that Bernie Brownfeather realized that she had left hers on the table in her room. Tawanda Millington shoved her copy between the pair of them and they shared. Like Bernie Brownfeather’s, Tawanda Millington’s jam book was old. Her grandmother had used it as a student and it was tatty and stained. Hopefully, Bernie Brownfeather thought, those old stains were from the jams that should be made.
Although Bernie Brownfeather had been looking forward to jam class she had no idea of just how tricky jam could get until Rose Regent began to read from chapter one, The Principles of Wholesome Jam. Not only were there the jams that should be made and the jams that should not be made, but then there were the jams that should be made, but only on certain days and the jams that should not be made unless swans were swimming on Roundypool Lake. Jam she thought, it can get so complicated!
"So", Rose Regent, was saying suddenly, "who can tell me where I should pick the berries for cherry and berry jam if I have picked the cherries on the Cumbersome Corner of the Splickety Road? Let’s see, Bernie Brownfeather!"
For a moment Bernie Brownfeather was startled, then the only information she had remembered from her perusal of her jam book the previous evening jumped into her head and she found herself saying,
"Berries for cherry and berry jam should usually be picked along the Long Lane, however if the cherries have been picked on the Cumbersome Corner, some berries from the Ubble Field should be added to sweeten the mix."
"Well done Bernie, splendid. Clearly you know your jam. As Jam Teacher, I’ve been asked to select a pupil to make cherry and berry jam for The Important Person From Far Away Festival which, as you know, will be held this coming Friday. Bernie Brownfeather, I’m so pleased to tell you that you are that pupil! Well done! I know you’ll do a good job and St. Hubert’s will be proud. Now if you’ll all get your pots, we’ll be off to pick our berries and cherries, then we’ll have lunch and in the afternoon we’ll make our jam. Just in time for you all to take it home for tea. Splendid. Splendid."
Tawanda Millington took her pot for picking berries and cherries from the cupboard and headed off with the rest of the jam class. She was thinking about the lemony frizzcake in her school bag and wondered how long the berry picking might take. She ran up behind Bernie Brownfeather and asked, "Bernie do you…" Whereupon Bernie Brownfeather screamed, threw her pot in the air and shrieked,
"I haven’t a clue, I’m sorry I haven’t a clue. Oh lors Twan, it’s you. Twan, I haven’t a clue."
"What the blue blazes is up with you?" asked a startled Tawanda Millington.
"Blue, don’t mention blue! Cherry and berry jam is made with blueberries. I’ve got to make it for the Festival and Rose Regent thinks I can do it and I haven’t a clue!"
"OK, OK, try to stay calm. Don’t worry, it’s just a pot of jam."
"Stay calm!? Just a pot of jam!? Are you kidding?" Bernie Brownfeather protested.
"Clearly it’s the most important pot of jam the world has ever known and I’m supposed to make it. Everyone thinks I’m good at jam and I’m not, I just remembered a bit from a book. When Rose Regent was listing the things you need to know to make perfect jam, I was thinking about flying suits."
"Really?" said Tawanda Millington whose newest idea was to procure a flying suit although she couldn’t actually fly herself.
"What color?"
"Red, with... oh no! Cherries are red!"
They were back where they started. Before Bernie Brownfeather could work herself into another jam frenzy her friend took over.
"Look", she said, "this is what we’ll do, we’ll pick fruit, have lunch and then we’ll make a pot of jam. Rose Regent will be there to help and we’ll have my book to follow the recipe and you like jam so you’ll be good at it and I’ll concentrate really hard and that will be that. We’ll have it done by going home time and we can do it together again for The Important Person From Far Away Festival. I’ll come around to yours tonight and we’ll practice. There. Sorted!"
Bernie Brownfeather took a deep breath, dropped her shoulders, exhaled and said,
"OK, it’s a good plan Twan. That’s what we’ll do then. C’mon lets catch up on Lindy."
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The Mortal Enemy List
By Tess Oliver
Chapter 1
"Sweet!" Ethan’s booming voice vibrated the shell tassels on Mom’s kitchen curtains. "It’s off shore, Bro."
"Yes!" Luke, my oldest brother, slammed his fist on the wobbly kitchen table, and two of my red crunchy berries jumped free from my bowl and onto the floor.
I glared at Luke. "You jerk. I’ve already counted the berries. Twelve of each color. You could have at least knocked one blue and one red out of the bowl."
Luke had that stupid half grin on
his face that always made me want to smack him and had helped earn him the number four spot on my mortal enemy list. He grabbed the cereal box and plunged his hand inside. His thick fingers, full with cereal, ripped the sides of the box on the way out. With care, he picked out two of the red crunch berries and dropped them into my bowl before shoveling the remainder into his mouth. "Now they’re even again." Bits of cereal sprayed from his mouth.
My hand could not be stopped. Before I knew it, my bowl slid across the table like an ice skater and landed with a splat in Luke’s lap.
"You’ll pay for that!" Luke shot up and lunged for me. Milky cereal trickled down his legs.
I fell sideways out of my chair and scurried away on all fours squeaking out a noise that landed somewhere between a laugh and a scream.
Ethan stepped between us and put his hand on Luke’s chest. "Dude, you aren’t seriously going to waste wave time pounding Quinn."
I pushed my hands off the floor and stood behind Ethan’s back for protection. I felt secure enough to peek above Ethan’s shoulder and stick my tongue out. Luke growled as he lumbered out of the kitchen.
Ethan peered back at me. "If you ever stick your tongue at Luke over my shoulder again, I’m going to rip it from your mouth." He followed Luke out.
Jay, the third member of the Golden Baboon Club, grabbed four slices of buttered toast and headed for the sand room behind Luke and Ethan. Some people have a mudroom we have a sand room, a cramped, windowless space at the back of the house with showerheads in the ceiling and rough tile on the floor. It’s a great place for washing off sand or in Luke’s case, wet cereal.
I made sure Luke was out of the house before turning to the kitchen desk behind me. My colored pencils and sketchpad were stacked exactly the way I’d left them. Mom knew not to rearrange my stuff. Dr. Trent, my third doctor, a tiny hunched over lady who wore pink and a lot of flowery perfume, thought that drawing might relieve some of my problem. So the ocean scared the crap out of me, and I lived on the beach with a family of surfers. So I didn’t really have any friends. Parents always blew everything out of proportion. Besides, I had a good reason for hating the ocean, and friends were usually just a pain.
I double checked my pencils while I waited for the sand room to empty. I moved the yellow because it was touching the black. I did stuff like that because I worried that if I didn’t something bad would happen. It was another part of my problem.
A cloud of board wax fragrance and banana scented suntan lotion floated around the sand room. I grabbed a towel from the rack and pushed out the door onto the weathered back porch. The sun was brighter than Jay’s teeth after he used those whitening strips.
My feet flew over the three steps. I landed with a thud in the hot sand and raced toward my favorite spot. My towel covered the ivory sand like a blue stamp. I plopped down and took a deep whiff. Some people loved the smell of the sea. Personally, I placed it only one step above Ethan’s sweaty running shoes. I glanced toward the water. My brothers had already paddled out to their favorite spot to wait for some good waves. Not that long ago I would have been sitting out there with them, but for now, dry land was the best place for me.
A cluster of seagulls grabbed my attention. They hovered over the rock jetty. I hated the rocks. I never went on them anymore, but something had the flock’s interest and now they had mine. With my luck it was probably just an empty potato chip bag but I would never forgive myself if I missed something cool like a dead jelly-fish or giant crab.
I convinced my feet to inch closer. My bravery paid off. A giant pelican, looking prehistoric and smug, sat still as a statue overlooking the water. I scooted as close to the jetty as I could without actually touching the rocks. The bird didn’t move, but I couldn’t get a clear enough view to draw him without climbing the rocks. For a second I had one of those mind arguments. But I don’t have a devil and angel sitting on opposite shoulders. I have the before DS (Dead Surfer) Quinn who wasn’t afraid of stupid things and the after DS Quinn who is a total chicken. That’s me now.
Because pelican’s were so awesome, the before DS Quinn had a slight edge. Still my feet moved as if sticky wads of gum were stuck on the bottoms. I managed to stay clear of the water. I didn’t look down but kept my attention on the bird. Its leg was wrapped in fishing twine, but I knew it would never let me near enough to help.
My pencil flew across the paper. I just needed to catch the shape of the bird then I could fill in the details from the safety of my towel. Everything was going smoothly. I held up the pad to admire my outline and suddenly an icy hand grabbed my ankle.
"Holy crap!" The pelican flapped away, and my gaze shot down as I wrenched my foot free. A face stared up at me from the water. My pencils flew in the air as I stumbled off the rocks. My bare toes smacked one of the rough edges. The nightmare was happening again. I had discovered another dead surfer. My heart was beating louder than the pounding of the waves as I limped away, my stubbed toes leaving a trail of red blood drops. I pressed my hand against my mouth to keep from puking.
"You forgot your pencils," a girl’s voice called out from behind.
I froze. My heart was still slamming against my ribs and my toes throbbed. And now I was imagining voices. A dead surfer would not be able to talk or grab my ankle. Still freaked out, I turned around slowly. Suntan lotion stung my eyes and I blinked hard hoping I’d be able to figure out what I was looking at. It was hard to see anything past the red and white striped long johns. They were bright and really corny looking and clashed with the black and white stripes in her bangs.
The skinny striped figure moved closer with my pencils clasped in her outstretched hand. "I hope this is all of them."
I glanced for a second. "Where are the yellow and the green?"
Most of her face was hidden behind a pair of orange goggles. She looked down at the pencils in her hand and smiled. There was this little dent on the side of her mouth when she did that. "Wow, you really know your pencils. I’ll help you find the others." She turned to head back to the rocks.
I hobbled after her. "You’re an idiot." They were the next dumb words out of my mouth and there seemed to be no way to stop the stream of stupidity. "Why did you grab my ankle?" I motioned wildly toward the water. "And who floats on their back underwater with their eyes open?"
She tapped her goggles. "That’s why I’m wearing these." She pulled them down and glanced down at my foot. "Sorry about your toes. That must have hurt." Besides the piano key bangs, the rest of her long hair was the color of those caramels my mom used for apples on Halloween. She tucked it behind her ears and knelt down on the rocks. "I think I see yellow." She reached deep into a crevice and plucked the pencil out.
I snatched it from her hand. "You didn’t answer me."
She put her fingers to her temples, squeezed her eyes shut, and put up a hand. "I’m trying to get some vibes from the green pencil."
"Funny," I muttered and stormed off with my bloody toes. "This part of the beach is just for locals," I called back over my shoulder.
She caught up next to me. "Sorry about the green."
A mound of sand nearly sent me face down on the beach. It was hard to march off like a tough guy in the hot sand with stubbed toes. "Don’t worry about it. I’ll just draw my pictures without trees, plants and grass." I plowed ahead. She stuck with me and seemed to have much less trouble walking.
"I was trying to get a fish-eye view of the world," she said.
"I think you mean bird’s-eye view."
"No, then I would’ve been up on a cliff or rooftop. I was definitely thinking fish-eye. Then I saw your foot, and I wondered what a shark might do if it was sitting there staring up at the rocks and saw a foot."
"I’m glad you didn’t use your teeth." I sped up, but she kept pace with me.
She grabbed my arm to stop me. "You sure are mad about it."
"I already hate those rocks and now… It’s a long, icky story. I don’t really want to talk about it."
; "I love long, icky stories. Who hates rocks?"
I held my hand up to shade my eyes. "Those stripes are blinding me. What the heck are you wearing?"
She held out her arms and stared down at the sopping long johns. My gaze traveled down too, but I lifted my eyes quickly before my face became red.
"This is my protection from sunburn," she said.
"Haven’t you ever heard of suntan lotion?"
"If you want to trust your skin to something that is completely invisible when it dries, go right ahead," she said.
I glanced around. "O.K. where are the cameras? I’m being Punked , aren’t I?" I continued walking and she followed.
"How close do you have to live to be a local?" she asked.
I’d forgotten about my mean comment. I shrugged. "A couple of miles, I guess." The words bubbled out of my mouth weakly.
"Then I guess I’m a local." She waved to the rundown beach house four doors down from my house. The windows were still frosted with salty dust and the roof was barely hanging on. "Hey, Mom."
A woman with red hair and rhinestone glasses peaked around the overgrown shrubs with a giant pair of hedge trimmers. "Did you have a good swim?"
"Yep." She smiled at me from under a curtain of razor cut bangs. "Is that close enough?"
"I’d say you’re a local." I pointed to my house. "I live right there. I’m Quinn." Not sure why I did it but my mouth was unstoppable today.
"I’m Bronte, like the famous author sisters. My mom has this thing about them."
"It’s definitely different." I walked on and she followed. "Did your dad move here too?
"Nope, just Mom, me and Chester. My dad is missing. Oh I just remembered something." She turned and started walking back to the jetty. I stumbled behind with stinging toes.
"What do you mean he’s missing? I thought only kids could be missing. You know, like the faces on the milk cartons."
"This time it’s the opposite. I’m here and he’s not." She stooped down suddenly, and I almost fell over her. She picked up a small shell, tossed it around on her palm to inspect it, then dropped it back into the sand.
