It’s raining on our last day at school. At home in Canada, I’m used to rain that soaks in slowly. Here, we’re drenched in seconds, and the cars and buses make waves in the street as they pass. The dusty school grounds have already turned to mud, so we have no choice but to run into the breezeway for cover.
Some boys kick a soccer ball around on the tiles, and a bunch of kids dangle their legs over the rails. Thema stands near the classroom door with Harpreet. Her face looks plastic, like she’s listening to Harpreet but not interested. When she catches my eye, she says something to Harpreet and walks over to me. She puts her hand on her hip, flips some non-existent long hair over her shoulder and says, “You’ll never guess what I’ve heard.”
Her imitation of Harpreet is so good, I splutter with laughter.
“What did she hear?” I ask.
Thema laughs. “Who knows? I left before she could tell me.”
Sister Mary marches down the breezeway, scattering kids as she comes. When she gets to the classroom door, she says, “Well, go on, in you go,” and we all crowd inside.
Summer holidays start tomorrow, and it’s hard to pay attention. Sister Mary doesn’t even try to make us work. Instead, we clean the classroom. We have to collect all our papers into bundles to take home and gather pens and pencils into a box for next year’s kids.
By the time the bell rings at the end of the day, our classroom looks completely different. There’s nothing on the walls except for the rolled-up maps, and our desks have been scrubbed and all the stickers peeled off. We each have a neat pile of papers to take home. Even the snake cage is empty, and the snake is safe in Sister Mary’s pocket.
“Goodbye, Sister Mary,” we chant before she lets us out of the room.
“Have a good summer, everyone,” she says.
Thema and I saunter to the parking lot. “I think I’m going to miss her,” Thema says.
“Sister Mary?”
“Yeah.”
I only think about it for a second before I say, “Me too.”
After lunch, Gordo and I sit outside under the tree. I read, and Gordo watches a spider spin a web. I noticed it first and almost swatted it away, but Gordo puffed out his chest like a rooster and said, “It’s a brown button spider,” as if that meant I’d be a criminal to touch it, so I plunked down into the chair and picked up my book instead. As long as the spider stays over there on the branch, Gordo can watch it as long as he wants.
Watership Down is boring. I hate to say it, but it is. With a sigh, I put it aside and watch Gordo studying the spider instead. For a boy who’s usually running, he can be really still when there’s some kind of creature around.
Thomas comes around the side of the house. He has a frown on his face, and he stares at Gordo like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.
“Thomas?” I say.
“What are you doing?” he asks Gordo.
Gordo points to the spider.
Thomas takes a deep breath and says, “Gordo, I need some help. Come help me.”
“Awww,” says Gordo. “Can’t you ask Astrid instead?”
“I need your help,” says Thomas, and his voice is sharp, like I’ve never heard it before. He jabs the shovel into the ground by his foot. “I’ve found some snake eggs that need to be moved. Come on, it will only take a minute.”
“I’ll watch the spider,” I say, though watching spiders is about as exciting as watching paint dry, and I shove Gordo out of the way and stand under the branch to get a clear view. Gordo runs over to Thomas and says, “What kind of snake? Can I keep one?” as they disappear around the corner.
Something is wrong with Thomas. In the past few days he hasn’t sung or listened to the radio or whittled. He says hello as usual, but there’s something different about the way he talks on the rare occasions he says anything. I keep asking if he’s okay, and he keeps saying he is, but I don’t believe him. He seems preoccupied, and I guess he’s been thinking about his animals and the house that he can’t buy.
I stand under the spider while it does nothing until Gordo comes back. I don’t know why the spider has to be watched, but I’ve given up trying to understand Gordo and his creatures.
“What kind of snake was it?” I ask.
“Python. I couldn’t keep any of the eggs,” says Gordo absently. He’s already totally focused on the spider, and I might as well not be here.
I find Thomas sitting near the laundry area, drinking tea. His whittling knife lies across his leg, and he holds a broken bird in his hand. I’ve seen him make dozens of animals, and I’ve never seen him break one.
“What happened?” I ask, sliding down next to him.
He gathers the bird pieces and folds them into his hand.
“Have you finished your book?” he asks.
“I didn’t like it,” I say.
“What was it about?”
He’s trying to get to me talk about my book so I won’t ask him any questions, but there’s something wrong, I know it, so I pick up a piece of wood on which he’s drawn the outline of an elephant and say, “What happened to the bird?”
He opens his hand. The bird is still beautiful, even though one of its wings is broken.
“It snapped. It happens,” he says.
“Why? Why did it snap?”
“It just did,” he says.
I pick the bird and its wing out of his hand and hold the two pieces together. “Can you fix it?” I ask.
He takes a long drink of his tea and puts the cup on the ledge, then stands up and wipes the grass from his pants.
“I don’t think so, Astrid,” he says.
He picks up his shovel and walks away, and I’m left holding a beautiful, broken bird in my hand. I’ll take it inside and glue it back together. It can be fixed. I’ll show him.