His chest puffed out a little. “Nine.”
“My brother Parker’s nine. He’s at soccer right now, though.” I tilted my head to get a better look at him. “What’s your name?”
“Nathaniel Xavier Knox. You can call me Nate.”
“I’m Phoebe,” I said, ducking my head. “You can call me Phoebe.”
“Have you lived here a long time?”
“Only, like, my whole entire life.”
“I think I’m gonna like it.” He stared at the water. “It’s near the beach.”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Sometimes there are jelly fish and seals and stuff. It’s cool.”
We were silent for a while.
“We should bury him,” I said, staring at the dove again. “The husband bird deserves a funeral. Maybe it’ll cheer the wife bird up.”
“How do you even know that one’s the boy and the other one’s the girl?”
My bottom lip started trembling again. When he spotted it, he sighed.
“All right, don’t be a cry baby. Let me go get a shovel.”
And so, the strange dark-eyed boy-next-door went back over the fence and returned ten minutes later with a gardening shovel. Together, we dug a hole — well, mostly I watched him dig a hole while I stared forlornly at the dove — and then he used a stick to push the bird into the tiny grave. It took barely any time to cover his soft, winged body over with a mound of dirt.
“We should say something.” I stared from the mound at the base of the maple tree to the boy with dirt under his fingernails sitting beside me. “They always say stuff at funerals.”
“It’s a bird funeral,” he pointed out. “You can’t say normal human stuff. That’s stupid.”
My lip trembled again.
“You’re not gonna cry, are you?”
“No,” I said in a choked voice.
He paused. “I’ll say something.”
My eyes were wide on his face as he cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and grabbed my hand. I stared at his fingers — large, grimy, and tangled with mine — and felt comforted for the first time since I discovered the bird an hour before.
His voice was steady and serious as he started speaking.
“I believe I can fly,” he intoned somberly. “I believe I can touch the sky.”
My eyes locked on his face. Whoa. He was like a real priest.
“I think about it every night and day,” he continued in that even voice. “Spread my wings and fly away.”
He was like… a poet.
He cleared his throat again. “I believe I can fly.”
“I believe I can fly,” I echoed, in awe of his originality.
(Looking back I can’t believe, even at five, I didn’t recognize R. Kelly lyrics when I heard them.) His eyes opened and met mine. We both looked up at the same time when, a second later, a bird chirped in the tree overhead. Not a song — just a single, solitary chirp.
“Think that was the wife bird?” I asked hopefully.
He shrugged.
“Maybe the funeral cheered her up,” I said, brightening. “She chirped. Maybe that means a broken heart can’t kill you.”
“Maybe,” he muttered. “But, just in case, you’ll never catch me falling in love.” He looked horrified by the mere idea.
“Me neither,” I agreed immediately.
He scrambled to his feet, brushed off his hands on his jeans, and stared down at me.
“See you around, little bird.”
His lips twisted in a smile as he grabbed his shovel, crossed the lawn, and hopped back over the fence… landing firmly in the flesh of my heart as soon as his sneakers hit the grass.
Chapter One
Some people brag about one night stands.
Whatever. I’ve got two night stands.
Either side of my bed.
Phoebe West, upon hearing her best friend lost her v-card after prom.
My name is Phoebe West and I’ve been kidnapped.
I think. Maybe.
It’s kind of a long story.