13

Theo and I agreed to do our research in the public library right after school. “It’s quieter there, and Mrs. Russo, the librarian, is way nicer than our school’s librarian,” Theo told me after class. “I’ll introduce you to her.”

He was right. Mrs. Russo was nice. I liked the way her gray hair was cropped so short that it looked like a bath cap. She wore a purple turtleneck without any jewelry or makeup. And her office smelled like sandalwood.

“Welcome to Pyramid,” Mrs. Russo said after Theo introduced me. She took off her reading glasses and gave me a firm handshake.

Theo explained our project, and Mrs. Russo told us she thought we’d picked an “awesome topic.” She helped us find books we could use for research, and we settled in at the oblong table in the back of the reading room. My task was to find out about the landfill’s history, while Theo checked on environmental protection regulations.

After a while I zoned out and stared at the magazine rack next to the window. On the glossy cover of Aviator, a jet like the one Dad used to fly hung suspended in midair over some snowy mountain peaks. In my mind, the jet began to move and gain altitude.

“Wren? Are you listening?” Theo looked at me across the table, with the book Garbage and You in his hands.

I turned away from the magazine and refocused on Theo. “Sorry, what’d you say?”

“In 2013, Americans generated about two hundred and fifty-four million tons of trash,” Theo said. “Imagine!”

“Hmm, that’s a lot of garbage,” I replied.

“It says here that Americans composted and recycled eighty-seven million tons of trash,” Theo continued. “That’s a recycling rate of about thirty-four percent. Did you know that recycling rates in Austria and Germany are much higher?”

I nodded.

“You did?” he asked. “I had no idea.”

“No, sorry, I didn’t either,” I said, shaking my head. “I wasn’t listening.” I looked back down at my book and tried to refocus on my reading, but I had to get up. I couldn’t concentrate. “I think I’ll do some research online.”

“Maybe you could add something to the report about why other countries have higher recycling rates,” Theo suggested. “They might not need to destroy wetlands to expand landfills.”

I nodded and walked over to the library computers, sitting down in front of one. But when the browser opened, I typed the words remains of plane crash victims. A list of links appeared on the screen. I clicked on one and read:

… results from a 2008 study published in the magazine Forensic Science… different conditions of remains retrieved from airplanes crashes… One victim, found off Sicily a month after death, was still fully dressed. A three-month-old body discovered off the coast of Africa had been fully skeletonized by flesh-eating shrimp-like creatures.

The words expanded under the cloud. I imagined Dad’s body on the ocean floor… skeletonized by flesh-eating shrimp.

“What are you doing?”

I heard Theo behind me, and quickly closed the site. “Sorry,” I said, feeling myself blush. “I’m distracted.” I was glad I was facing the computer screen so he couldn’t see my red face.

“How’s your research coming along?” Mrs. Russo asked, walking into the reading room.

Theo threw me a long look before he gave her a short summary of what he’d learned, making it sound like we had done it together. I was glad that Theo had covered for me. But I couldn’t let him do all of the work by himself. I needed to contribute something. And to do that, I needed to get out from under the cloud.