23

PEACE OFFERING

The afternoon sun is hot and bright. So hot and bright, in fact, I wonder if I should just turn around and go back home for some shade.

But I’m already here, standing in front of Lou’s ERGONOMICALLY CORRECT sign. Both of my hands are occupied with a heavy jar, so I consider knocking on the door with my forehead. But before I have to resort to that, it opens from inside. And there’s Lou.

“Hey, Zinny! The hooded girl with her head down!”

“Hi, Lou.”

“When are you gonna call me Coach?”

I ignore that. “Is Birch here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the equipment room. But he’s not feeling too great.”

“Is he sick?”

“Nah. I don’t think so, but his sidesteps have been off, and he’s spending a lot of time staring out the window at flying beetles the last couple of days. Kid’s just like his parents when it comes to creatures. You know anything about this funk he’s in?”

He winks, and I look away.

Lou keeps talking while ushering me through the door. “Kid needs humans in his life. You’ve done him a lot of good so far this summer, you know that? Birch likes you as much as I like good alignment.”

I take a tentative step down the hallway, moving in the opposite direction of Lou’s loud, embarrassing voice.

“Atta girl!” Lou slaps my shoulder so hard I lose my balance from the force and stumble. “I was just going to do some pull-ups,” he says.

Big surprise.

“I’ll be out here. Take your time.”

I round the corner into Lou’s equipment room. The soles of Birch’s sneakers are all I can see of him, because he’s currently lying upside down on the inversion table.

I come closer and can hear him breathing really deeply. I bend down to peek at his face, and his eyes are closed. He might be asleep.

It would be a lot easier to just leave, but I know Lou would tell him I was here. So instead I say, “Hi.”

Birch’s eyes spring open, and he quickly propels the table to vertical. I can now see his whole plaid self.

“Hi,” he says, but he’s shaking his head a little, and his face is red. “I was experimenting with what it would be like to be a bat. You know, they sleep upside down.”

“How was it?”

“Actually, it was quite unpleasant. I feel lightheaded and hungry and like I might throw up.”

“Birch.”

“Yeah?” He unstraps himself from the table and groggily steps out.

“I brought you these.” I practically throw my jar of Mildred’s cookies at him like they’re poison or hot coals and I can’t wait to be rid of them.

“Whoa.” Luckily, Birch catches the jar. Lou’s ergonomic coaching must be working.

“They’re rosewater almond,” I say.

“Sort of like Mildred’s ice cream from charades night.”

“Yeah. Mildred made them. They’re pink from beet juice again. She says hi. Actually she says, ‘Bonjour, sugar dumpling.’”

“Cool,” says Birch. “Thanks.”

“She also says to brush your teeth like it’s going out of style after eating them.”

“OK,” says Birch, laughing. “I got it.”

“OK,” I say. I gave him the peace offering after being so terrible and blaming him for Adam and Crowd Pleasers, so now I can leave. But wouldn’t you know it, Lou’s got a new motivational poster hanging on the wall by the door. This one has a picture of penguins jumping from a tall glacier into the ocean with the word courage in capital letters underneath. The quote says:

“COURAGE IS RESISTANCE TO FEAR, MASTERY OF FEAR — NOT ABSENCE OF FEAR.”

— Mark Twain

Ugh. Thanks, Mark Twain. Thanks, glacier-jumping penguins. And thanks, Lou, for your motivational posters.

I turn around to face Birch. My mind feels tangled up like seaweed. I try to breathe as deeply as I can. I try to master my fear like Mark Twain says.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I start to turn back around again but Birch is looking at me expectantly, like I’ve made a pause and not a full stop. I stay facing him.

“Um, there was this volunteer at one of Dr. Flossdrop’s pet adoptions,” I say.

Birch listens. The way he always listens.

“Anyway, she said that when dogs bite, it’s usually because they feel threatened. Like scared that they’re going to be hurt, or they’re in danger.”

When I finish my bizarre dog speech, the only sound left in the room is Lou’s television streaming in from the kitchen and the faint buzz of bees in my ears.

“So you were a scared dog, and that’s why you bit me?” asks Birch, barely masking his smile about calling me an actual member of the animal kingdom, not just an honorary one.

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying. I’m saying sorry. For blowing up at you. I didn’t mean it.”

Instead of responding, Birch pries the lid off the cookie jar and retrieves two pink mounds. He hands one to me and takes a bite of his own. I do the same. A big sugary, doughy, rosewatery bite. We stand together, eating floral cookies, the sound of chewing added to the room.

“I’m sorry too, for what I said that wasn’t too sensitive. And I forgive you,” says Birch. “Some dogs bark and some dogs bite, and that’s just the way it is.”

“Ugh. Thanks.”

“Kidding. Of course you’re not a canine. You’re a flower. Zinnia, remember? A flower with bees on her head.”

I nod and roll my eyes and nod some more. I finish my cookie. Birch has reminded me why I showed up here the other day — to talk to him about my plan… before we saw Crowd Pleasers and everything fell apart.

We both sit down on some kind of massage table Lou has like it’s a regular bench. My feet dangle, and Birch’s touch the floor. I definitely smell peppermint being this close to him again. I look at Birch, and he hands me another cookie.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hit me,” he says, so I do. Softly on his plaid shoulder.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. Are you interested in another secret mission if I tell you what it is up front this time?”

“Hmmmm. That is an interesting question.” Birch scoots off the table and rests his elbow on a giant turquoise plastic ball of Lou’s. He makes puzzled thinking faces. Then he finally stops stalling and answers. “Yes.”

That’s it. He says yes. After how I acted. After everything. I guess I should’ve known he wouldn’t hold my bite and growl against me.

“How do you feel about neighborhood action projects?” I ask.

“Big fan,” he says.

“And writing an email that uses adult vocabulary?”

“At your service.”

I tell him about my plan, which I’m calling Operation Flora Bomb. I ask about getting Lou to help us with some shopping and explain Dr. Flossdrop’s original tree-planting neighborhood action idea.

“So I guess you didn’t need my naturalist expertise to help figure out your bee problem after all,” says Birch.

“I guess not. But I still need you for this,” I say, which makes Birch’s eyes get all sparkly.

When I leave, I get to thinking how Birch and my initials put together make BZ. As in buzz. Which I have to say is pretty weird. But pretty cool too.