chapter 17

ZAVION

“I think I might have kneaded the bread too much,” said Zavion.

Night was hard.

He didn’t sleep much, and when he did, he had the same nightmare.

And that made the next morning hard too.

“I don’t know what went wrong. I kneaded forty-five times—” He winced as he pulled on the bread. “It’s too tough. I’m sorry—”

“No apologies, Zavion, honey,” said Ms. Cyn. “It’s bread. It’s flexible.” She chuckled. “It stretches just fine.” She pulled on a corner of the dough and let go. It snapped back.

“But it’s better to knead less than knead more. I have to remember that—”

“It’s all a process, Zavion. You’re a good learner.”

Zavion did have to admit that even though he could do better, he was getting the hang of this bread-making thing. It was only his second day on the job and he had made the bread by himself. It was his job now. He was putting the two loaves on the paddle when the kitchen door opened and three men—the clowns—tumbled in.

“Do they always travel together?” said Zavion.

“Yes, they seem to,” said Ms. Cyn.

“Yup, we do,” said Enzo.

“We’ve all got plenty of biceps—” said Tavius, flexing his arms.

“—but not enough brains,” said Skeet.

“A third each,” said Tavius. He flicked Skeet and Enzo on their foreheads. “One, two”—he tapped himself—“three.”

“Together we have a fighting chance,” said Skeet.

“Sometimes I’m not so sure about that,” said Ms. Cyn, pouring cups of coffee. “Where were you?”

“The question is—” said Enzo.

“—where are you?” said Tavius.

“Or who are you?” said Skeet. “My mother-in-law would never set even one tiny baby toe in the kitchen—” Ms. Cyn swatted Skeet with a dish towel. “Just kidding. Sort of. But not really.” She spun the towel and swatted him again. “Oooooh-wheeee! All right! We went to Diana’s house.”

“The bird lady?” said Ms. Cyn.

“Yup. Birds everywhere,” said Enzo.

“And a vet is staying at her house too,” said Tavius. “She said they’ve rescued more than one hundred birds already.”

“Diana said she gets twenty calls a day from families who had to evacuate and leave their birds behind,” said Skeet.

“Why were you visiting Diana?” Ms. Cyn settled herself at the kitchen table and picked up her scarf and knitting needles.

“We wanted to see if we could help,” said Tavius.

“Go back into New Orleans with her,” said Enzo.

“Maybe catch some birds,” said Skeet.

“And…,” said Ms. Cyn.

“She said we’d just be in the way,” said Skeet.

“Us!” said Enzo.

“Can you believe it?” said Tavius.

“Do you want me to even answer that?” Ms. Cyn looked up from her knitting and grinned. Zavion stared at her long trail of orange scarf. “You three clowns in the way?” It was enormous now. He wondered how big the person who was getting the scarf was. Maybe it was for Enzo, Skeet, and Tavius all at once!

“You can never have too much of us!” said Skeet. He reached into the bowl at the center of the table and pulled out three apples. He tossed one to Tavius and one to Enzo. “Right, boys?”

They circled Ms. Cyn and tossed the apples to one another over her head.

“Hey, now—” she protested.

“Hush, Ms. Cyn,” said Skeet. “We got it—”

“—together—” said Tavius.

“—oooh, baby, do we ever,” finished Enzo. And as if on cue, they all spun in a circle and bit down on their apples at the same time.

Zavion couldn’t help smiling.

The clowns bowed. “Thank you, thank you,” said Skeet.

“Tip jar is by the door on your way out,” said Enzo.

“Don’t you let these fools steal your money, Zavion, honey,” said Ms. Cyn. She clucked her tongue and shook her head as she bent over her knitting again.

Steal.

The word punctured the corners of Zavion’s upturned mouth like a pin.

The chocolate bars bounced around in his head like those apples. He should pay back what he owed Luna Market. He knew where it was.

But how?

Mama’s story came to him then. Or his question. The question he asked every time she told him the story. She’d be at the edge of his bed, pulling the blanket to his chin. He’d sit up fast, the blanket falling, his nose an inch away from her nose.

“How?” he’d demand. “How does a mountain travel from one place to another? How is that possible?”

“Zavion, honey—”

Zavion’s head snapped up. He opened his eyes. He hadn’t even known they were closed. Had he been talking out loud? Enzo, Skeet, and Tavius sat on the counters around the kitchen and Ms. Cyn still sat at the table, her knitting needles click-clacking, her eyes shining again.

“Are you okay?” she said.

I will never be okay, thought Zavion.

“Are you kidding?” said Enzo. “No one in this house is okay.”

“Especially you,” said Tavius, slapping Enzo on the back.

“Yeah, you never were,” said Skeet.

They laughed, and Zavion appreciated the shift of focus.

How would anything ever be okay again?

How could he pay back the market?

He didn’t know, but he knew he had to figure it out. If he could just pay back the money for the chocolate bars, maybe he could make this whole hurricane mess go away.

The sound of laughter interrupted Zavion’s thoughts. Ms. Cyn’s head was thrown back as she laughed, her laughter like bread dough, like a mountain, rising into the air.