Girls Don't Fly Read online

  “Because I wasn’t seven weeks early.”

  It takes a second for this to sink in. Then I say, “You’re kidding, right?” Mel doesn’t laugh. I sit back down on the floor in between all my unmatched socks. Mel sits down next to me.

  Mel lowers her voice and puts her head close to mine. “Mom told me when I was fourteen. She wanted to scare me. I thought she’d tell you too.”

  “Mom was pregnant when they got married? Are you sure?”

  “I don’t think she’d lie about it,” she says.

  I pick up a sock in my hand and squeeze it. Moms aren’t supposed to start off their families by getting knocked up. At least not my mom. She gets mad if I wear my swimming suit to the city pool without a tank top. And what about my dad? The engineer who never does anything illogical, immoral, or embarrassing?

  There is too much in my head to fit it all.

  “I’m not like her,” says Mel. “I’m not going to marry Zeke and have a bunch of kids just because of this. No way. That’s what I’m saying. You don’t have to take the hand you get, just because you got it. Going on this trip ...”

  I stand back up. I have to get out of this house. Everything is dirty in this house. “Who cares about this trip? You just told me Mom was knocked up when she got married.”

  “Lower your voice, hysterics girl. It’s not like it doesn’t happen. I’m just saying you have to make your own rules, you know. You don’t have to settle.”

  I walk out of the room. I stand in the hallway that is barricaded by my brothers’ toys. There are messes everywhere. I can’t get out and there is nowhere to go. I walk back in and get a laundry basket. I start throwing my clothes in the basket as fast as I can.

  “You can’t tell Mom I told you.”

  I grab a stack of shirts and fling them into my basket. “Just stop talking. I’m moving to the basement.”

  My mother walks into the room. “What’s going on? Why do you two have to yell?”

  I look at my mother and I feel so incredibly lied to. She had to marry Dad. He had to marry her. No wonder he married her. And then they kept having us. If she hadn’t miscarried so often there might be a school bus of us.

  Mel says, “Myra’s moving to the basement.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I’m sorry you can’t keep the room to yourself, Myra. I am. I know you like things clean. But what else are we going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m moving downstairs.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  My mother glares at both of us. As if we’re five and seven again. Same old story: Melyssa starts the fire and I take the heat. My mom’s tired eyes rest on me. “It’s not a perfect world for any of us.”

  “No kidding,” I say.

  I grab my jeans and throw them on my growing pile. The basement is unfinished so it’s filthy and about two degrees warmer than sleeping outside. It’s filled with stacks of things we don’t know what to do with. The windows are small and the light is dim. It has spiders. But it will be quiet. It will be away from Melyssa and my mom.

  BBD (before being dumped) I could escape from here with Erik. Now there is nowhere to go but down.

  I step over my brother’s toys and walk to the basement door. I kick it open with my foot and begin my descent.

  11

  Pecking Order:

  Who’s in charge.

  At five I look over at my alarm clock vibrating on the cement floor. I’ve survived my first night in the dungeon. I get out of my sleeping bag and grab my pen flashlight so I can find the light switch without killing myself on the junk spread all over the floor. The fact that I could go to sleep in this subzero pig pen is a sure sign I’m in denial.

  I go upstairs to shower and thaw. I write a note to my parents telling them that I’m going to a prep class for the AP biology test, which I feel guilty about, but it’s not totally a lie so I do it anyway. They’re going to be mad about me taking Moby, but I’ll be back before anybody’s even out of their pajamas.

  Right before I walk out the door Carson wanders into the dark kitchen. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a class.”

  He rubs his eyes and looks me over. “It’s Saturday.”

  “It’s a special class.”

  “Who’s going to make me breakfast?”

  I go to the cupboard and quietly get his favorite cereal and a bowl. “All you have to do is get the milk. But go back to bed first. It’s too early.”

  “What time will you be back?” he says.

  “Right after breakfast.”

  He walks down the shadowy hallway. I wait until I hear him get in his bed. I count to ten to make sure he keeps the light off, and then I leave.

  I turn on Moby. The Suburban makes a racket in the cold. I watch for the lights to go on in my parents’ room but they don’t. Not even a flicker. I put my head on the steering wheel for a second, trying to get the guts to drive away.

  I can’t believe my mom was pregnant before they got married. How could they have done that? How could they have not told me all these years? Is that why Mel got pregnant? Do I come from a habitually reproducing family? Am I next?

  I was almost next.

  I bob my head on the steering wheel. This is stupid. I can’t raise money or write a science paper that’s better than Erik’s. But when I go to turn off the car, I look back at the dark windows of my house. I know I will suffocate if I go back inside.

  I drive to the Great Salt Lake State Marina on the winding road that leads past the edges of the plant, with gray trucks and gray tailings piles and gray fences and a gigantic smelter. The weather has turned cold again, but there is no snow or rain to soften the edges of the wind. I drive through the park gate and pull in next to the office. I see Erik’s white truck. Of course he would be early.

  When I walk into the room I’m surprised by the number of kids who are desperate enough for a vacation to be here this morning. There must be almost a dozen of us. But then most of these kids actually care about school. They’re the average-raisers that I parted ways with in junior high. They probably get up at this time of day every Saturday.

  The room we’re meeting in also surprises me. I follow the other kids past the front desk into a clubhouse-looking room with couches and tables. There are trophies lining the bookshelves and tiny flags plastered on the walls. It’s more like someone’s living room than a classroom.

  When I walk in I see Erik talking to some pasty-faced goth girl. He sees me and his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything. I force myself to keep walking to a chair. I can do this, I promise myself. If I’m going to get out of this town, away from moments of torture just like this, I’m going to have to live through this morning.

  At the front of the room is Pete the biology guy. He’s wearing the same clothes he was when he came to our class. He waits until everyone is seated and then says, “Welcome to the Galápagos project training class. If you’re here for home ec you’re in the wrong room.”

  Everyone laughs, even Erik. It’s a little less funny to me.

  “Seriously, we’re having the meeting here because I thought it would be nicer to be near the subject that you will be writing about.”

  A tall black kid with a buzz says, “I thought we were writing about the Galápagos Islands, not Utah’s toilet water.”

  “That toilet water is the closest thing in Utah to the Galápagos Islands and a wonderful place to learn about scientific writing,” says Pete. “How about we go around and introduce ourselves, starting with the comedian in the front row. “

  “Pritchett,” says the kid with the buzz. He puts his hands out and nods at everyone, like the applause light just went off over his head. “And I’ll be here all week.”

  There should be a rule against people trying to be funny before the sun comes up.

  After all the introductions detailing how mutantly intelligent everyone but me is, Pete gets down to basics. “Today we’re going to talk about
environment. Who can describe the environment of the Galápagos?”

  “They’re islands on the equator,” says the goth girl. She introduced herself as Dawn. I think I might call her Dusk myself.

  “It’s a series of islands primarily made of molten rock and is shaped by the confluence of the ocean currents Humboldt, Panama, and Cromwell,” says Pritchett.

  “Funny and smart,” says Pete.

  An ROTC type named Alex twists his pen in his hand. Next to him are not one but two Megans, and a kid who looks like his glasses weigh more than he does.

  Erik raises his hand. “It’s an archipelago of volcanic islands distributed around the equator in the Pacific Ocean 972 kilometers west of continental Ecuador.”

  “Someone else has done their homework. Erik, is it?”

  “There are fifteen large islands and three small ones with rare species found only on the islands themselves,” says a kid named Ho-Bong. He and his twin brother, Ho-Jun, introduced themselves as being “transferred.”

  I feel nauseated. Someone should do a research paper on know-it-all preening rituals. I look out the window. The wind is making the water spit onto the glass. Two suicidal seagulls are diving through the wind currents.

  Pete gives us a little pep talk about the proposal, and then passes out an assignment sheet outlining the requirements. “You are going to write a proposal for the study of flora or fauna on the Galápagos Islands, but you should look at the whole world as a research project. There are enough things to study right outside of this building to fill this room with research findings.”

  Pete turns to my corner of the room. “Myra, what do you find so interesting outside this building?”

  I stare at him. He stares back.

  He says, “Isn’t there anything you like to study, just for fun?”

  What did I ever do to him?

  “You know, something you love to do so much you can’t help but get all geeky about it, like baseball scores or music lyrics or something.”

  My mind fills with white space. Everyone looks at me. I look out the window. “Birds,” I say. “I like birds.”

  “Nice,” says Pete. “Any special kind?”

  “Seagulls and stuff.” I could die at how stupid I sound.

  “I’m a gull geek myself. Which one is your favorite?”

  “I don’t know. The Utah one.”

  Pete says, “You mean Larus californicus, the California gull?”

  The know-it-all Pritchett snickers.

  Pete doesn’t miss a beat. “Actually Myra brings up an interesting point. The majority of Utahans identify this bird as a ‘sea’ gull, even in published texts, when in fact science has named this gull for its land origins, and it’s a state bird that is named after another state. Great, Myra. So, something around here that you can observe and learn about that we might otherwise take for granted.”

  The amazing thing is that even though I know that Pete is just trying to smooth over how stupid I am, the fact that he is being nice about it makes me relax. I look over at Erik. He’s smirking. I’d never smirk at him. Even now.

  Erik says, “Are you going to pick the winners for the scholarship, Pete?”

  “No,” says Pete, laughing. “And hell no.”

  The two Megans look at each other. Alex stops spinning his pen.

  We’re from Utah. Teachers don’t swear in class, unless a bookshelf falls on their foot or the world ends.

  Pete says, “Important people with suits pick the winner. I don’t even get to go myself. I’m here to help you get excited about the project, like a science cheerleader.”

  “You cheer?” says Pritchett.

  Pete nods seriously. “I’ve got moves.”

  “Let’s see one,” says Dawn. I’m going to guess and say she doesn’t like cheerleaders.

  Pete looks over the room. Then he climbs up on his chair. He puts his butt in the air and purses his lips. I can’t believe this. His neck starts bobbing around. He snaps his fingers and sways:“You might be good at basketball

  You might be good at track

  But when it comes to the Galápagos

  You might as well step back,

  Might as well step back!

  Say what?

  You might as well step back!

  Can’t hear you!

  Show me those blue-footed boobies!

  Go Galápagos!”

  Pritchett says, “You are so white.”

  “Can’t be helped,” says Pete.

  No one else says anything. You can tell everyone thinks Pete’s insane. Because he is. He bows and jumps off his chair. When he hits the ground he’s the mild-mannered graduate student again.

  “Well, that does it for today. If you have questions, here’s my e-mail and cell.” He writes his info on the board. Teachers never give out their numbers in school. They don’t even tell us their first names.

  A few students stay behind to ask questions and suck up to Pete, including Erik. I have a question, but I want to get out of there so I don’t have to watch Erik ignore me. I already feel like chewed gum. I walk outside. I remind myself that Erik’s just another person now. Except he’s not. He’s Erik, beloved by adults, kids, and even haters like Jonathon. So all I can think is that if I was a better person he would still want me. But he doesn’t.

  And now he’s the competition.

  I stand in the walkway to the building, wondering if I should go back in and ask Pete my question about my topic, or namely my lack of a topic. But I can’t because Erik’s in there.

  I busy myself looking at the posting board on the front of the building. It’s pretty all-purpose. Pictures of boats for sale. Information about cleaning your boats and a description of what the weather flags mean. Down at the bottom of the board there is also one “Help Wanted” sign. I reread it. They are looking for a secretary at the marina.

  I write down the number. That would be perfect—except that I’m in school. I write it down anyway.

  “You thinking about getting a job here?” says Erik. His voice makes me jump.

  I turn around. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t get mad. Just asking.”

  “I’m not mad.” I know my face is flushed. “There aren’t a lot of jobs around town.”

  “I’m sorry this has been so hard on you,” he says.

  “What’s been hard on me?”

  “Come on. I can see you’re upset.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. Of course he can see I’m upset, because the world stops without him, right?

  “So you really want to go to the Galápagos Islands?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He smiles that perfectly straightened and bleached smile of his. “It just doesn’t seem like your thing.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be my thing?”

  He tips his head. “You always get so defensive. I just mean that I don’t think you would like to travel that far.”

  “People can surprise you,” I say.

  “I hope you get the job then,” says Erik, his voice lifting and then sticking straight in my chest. With a single stroke, whether I get the job or not, I’m a loser.

  Pete walks out of the room with the twins in front of him. Pete locks the door behind him.

  “You all right?” he says to me.

  “Sure,” I say, steadying my voice.

  “Good. Well, hey, do you really like gulls?”

  The two guys with Pete scan me with their superconductor brains and then give me the “nice try” look.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I haven’t studied them in books, but I like watching them.”

  “Great. We’re all going to go out next week to do a little observation. You have a topic yet?”

  “Actually I have a question about that.”

  Pete nods to team Ho. “See you next week, guys.”

  They walk away from us, still giving me disgusted looks.

  “Fire away.”

  “Well, what if I don’t have the money b
y May first?”

  “It’s a lot of money, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “If I had an extra month ...”

  “No can do. The donor said he wouldn’t fudge on the amount or the deadline. Has this thing about being self-sufficient, building character, and all that horse hockey.”

  “Guess I better build some character fast then.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard for you.” He smiles and I feel funny. Not ha-ha funny. But wow-you-have-nice-eyes-for-a-teacher funny.

  He’s my teacher, I think. Get a grip!

  He says, “See you next week, Myra.”

  He’s not actually my teacher. He’s just helping us do our proposals. No. Bad. Bad Myra.

  He walks to the parking lot and gets into a prehistoric Volkswagen van, the kind you see in old movies where everyone is a tragic hippie. It doesn’t look like it should be allowed on the highway. For starters, it doesn’t have a back passenger window. After Pete fiddles around in his van he drives back over to me. He’s wearing fingerless gloves, a beanie, and a puffy coat. “Here’s a book on flightless cormorants. I had it in the back of my van. You might like them for a topic.”

  I look down at the book and see a brown bird with exotic turquoise eyes. I read the title, Galápagos Cormorants: The Jewels of Isabela.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “I think these birds might suit you.”

  “Okay.” I wonder how he knows what will suit me.

  “And there’s a glossary of terms in there to teach you the lingo. You’ll be thinking like an ornithologist in no time.” He waves his fingerless-gloved hand at me and rattles away into the gray air.

  There ought to be a rule about people being so cool you can’t stand it. But I don’t think rules are Pete’s thing.

  12

  Echolocation:

  Finding your way in the dark.

  When I walk through the door to my house, the phone is ringing. No one is answering. I rush to the phone. Involuntary Erik expectations.

  “Is this Myra?” says a loud, raunchy voice. Not only is it not Erik, it’s Howard, my delightful ex-boss.