13

“I HATE that violin now,” Rose says. “So much.”

“You already hated it,” I say.

“That wasn’t hate. This is hate.”

We’re playing goofy golf. Ally, Rose, and I are on our own. Mom and Dad are playing a separate round with Zora. Because they do that kind of thing for me on my birthday! And my mom persuaded Mrs. Ashcroft to let Rose come to my sleepover!

Rose has been telling us her side of the fallout from the Nefarious Stink Bomb Operation: no phone, endless packing, infinite violin. Not to mention, she had to stay inside. She couldn’t even leave the house without adult supervision.

“I’m sorry it was so bad,” I say. Mine wasn’t great but hers sounds worse.

Rose sighs. “We’re moving. I can set off all the stink bombs in the world and it won’t change that.”

I rub my sneaker into the artificial turf. “I know.”

“I knew all along,” Ally says and taps her ball into the hole. “I hate that you both were so dumb that we missed out on almost two weeks of our summer. And you missed my game.”

“You won, though,” I say as cheerfully as I can.

“I know. But it’s better when you’re there.”

We pick up and walk to the next hole. It’s the miniature windmill that spins around so you have to time it right to get your ball through.

Rose goes first and a windmill blade blocks her ball. “Shoot,” she says. “Can’t I just move it?”

“Play fair,” Ally says as her ball sails past the windmill to the far side of the hole.

Birthdays seem to make everything better. I’m twelve now and no longer grounded. When I looked into the mirror this morning, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was somehow different. But then, when I saw Peg Leg Fred in the reflection propped up on my pillow, I realized I’m not that different yet.

Mom stayed home from work this morning and after we had Mickey pancakes with candles on top, she signaled to Zora, who ran off to the dining room.

“Now, you know you’re not getting a phone yet,” Mom said, eating her pancakes.

“I know, Mom. I know. I just wish I knew why.”

“You know why,” said Dad.

“Because phones are the devil?”

“I never said that,” he said. “But I see it every day. All those kids on their phones. Constantly! If you get one too soon, your mind will melt before high school.”

“Ta-da!” Zora ran back carrying a wrapped box and placed it on the table before me. I had no idea what it could be.

We ripped off the wrapping paper and I still had no idea what it was.

“It’s a Polaroid camera,” Mom said.

“Oh,” I said, sort of curious. I’d heard about Polaroids.

“A relic from the Pre-iPhone Era,” said Dad. “For pictures.”

“And selfies,” added Mom. “You watch the photo develop before your eyes. And no printing. You can post them on your corkboard right away.”

I opened the box and took out the camera. Mom picked it up and snapped a photo of Zora and me. There was a weird cranking sound right before the camera spit out a picture-sized, plastic-looking rectangular thing. There was no photo, though, only a gray blank space within a little white plastic frame.

“I don’t think it’s working, Mom.”

“Wait for it,” Dad said. So Zora and I stared at the gray space as it slowly morphed into a full-fledged picture of us. “Cool!” I said. “Can I try?”

Later that night, after goofy golf, we take lots of Polaroid pictures. Zora tries to photobomb almost every one and it doesn’t even bother me. I immediately pin three of them onto my corkboard.

There is birthday cake and the best picture of all is of Rose, Ally, and me behind a flaming mass of candles. As my family and best friends sing me the birthday song, I blow them out and make a wish that it can stay this way forever.

*   *   *

“I can’t be as good as him; I have to be better than him. That’s how it goes.”

We’re in our sleeping bags on my bedroom floor, stuffed so full with popcorn we can hardly breathe. The sleeping bags form a T at the foot of my bed, our faces in the center. It’s dark except for the flashlight beam running between us.

“Cuz you’re a girl?” I ask Ally.

“Cuz I’m a girl,” she answers.

The championship game is this Saturday. “So be better than him,” Rose says. “It can’t be that hard. Joey’s a moron.”

“You better hope I’m better than him,” Ally says. “Or it’s your fault I’ll be in the parade in a Broncos jersey.”

“Yeah, please don’t let that happen,” Rose says.

“Yeah, please,” I say and turn over in my sleeping bag. “Where do you think we’ll be this time next year?” It’s a morbid question but I can’t help myself from asking.

“Ugh. London. It’ll be summer and raining and cold,” Rose says. “But you know what I’m going to do that’s going to drive my mum crazy?”

“What?” Ally asks.

“Remain American.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how she hates that I have an American accent and mostly say American words and stuff like that?”

“Yeah,” I say.

“She thinks when we move back to England, I’ll get all English again. I’ll sound like I used to sound. Won’t she be surprised when I don’t?”

“You used to sound funny,” Ally says.

“Well, I’m going to sound funny now in reverse, and this time I don’t care what people think,” Rose declares. She looks at us seriously. “Will you guys Skype me?”

“Yeah!” Ally says.

“Constantly,” I add.

“Good,” she says. “Where will you be a year from now?”

“I’ll be right here,” I say. I don’t add the part about being friendless and afraid, scared that even Ally will drift away when we go to different middle schools.

“Me too,” Ally says at exactly the right moment, making me feel better. “Maybe you can come visit us, Rose.”

“Maybe,” she says forcing a smile.

We get quiet and lie back on our pillows. I shine the flashlight on the ceiling and make a bunny rabbit shadow with my fingers, like my dad sometimes does with me and Zora.

After a while, Ally starts snoring lightly and Rose whispers, “Hey, Bird.”

“What?” I whisper back.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble. I really am.”

She didn’t have to say it but I’m glad she did. “I know.”

It goes quiet again until she says, “You know what makes me sad?”

I could name a number of things but instead just ask, “What?”

“I wanted my first kiss to be with an American boy.”

“Oh.”

“Well, not just any American boy. With a certain American boy.” She sits up. “I know you think that stuff is stupid. But my parents have put me on an accelerated kissing schedule. With the move and everything.”

I slip out of my sleeping bag and walk to the front window.

“All that stuff is coming, Bird,” she says gently. She knows I’m uncomfortable. But she only knows part of the reason why.

I look outside. The moon is shining down like a midnight sun. It strikes the maple tree my father planted when Zora was born and projects a creepy tree shadow across the yard. On the other side of the maple is our mailbox. Beyond that, I see the upper edge of the Gillans’ front yard. Can’t see the koi pond from here. Can only see their mailbox. Their mailbox with the bird on top.

The pieces start coming together before I can process them. I rush to my bed and pull out the clue box that’s stashed underneath.

“What is it?” Rose asks as Ally stirs.

Opening the box, I pull out the clue. I could have mailed this to you (I could have!). I scan further down to: You know her address. Where feathers are hard. The words reverberate in my head. Then, flipping over the sheet, I point to the inky scratches under the words I TOLD YOU SO. To the little bird.

“That’s it!” I exclaim, and hand Rose the clue as my eyes seek out my corkboard. Grabbing the flashlight, I aim it at my pictures and search for the selfie we took on the last day of school—the one in front of the Japanese garden, so close to the mailbox that the bird on top could practically peck us. I shine the flashlight directly on the photograph. And there it is—the METAL BIRD, with feathers that are hard, right on top of the MAILBOX, in front of Ruthie’s Delgado’s house. Just like the clue says.

“What are you doing?” Rose whispers loudly.

Awakened, Ally stares at me, too. My fingers are tingling. My brain is on fire. It might be the only thing over there that escaped the Yukimotos’ renovation. It’s old, 1970s old. And somehow, it remains. That bird. I’ve seen it every single day of my life.

A bird in plain sight.

I take a private moment to let it sink in. Then I tell them. “I know where the next clue is.”