Give and Take Page 12

  “But I’ll come later and bring Batman,” I say. “We can try it out on him.”

  Dad drives me to Dr. Sparrow’s office. When we get there, I’m surprised that I’m not dreading seeing her. That I’m kind of looking forward to guessing what bright-colored sweater or scarf she’s wearing. Today, it’s magenta. I ask her if she does this on purpose. “You know,” I say, “like the kids who come in here can’t hate talking to someone who’s always wearing happy-color clothes.”

  She just laughs.

  We talk for a while about the things I’ve tossed.

  How it’s getting easier to let go.

  And not forget.

  When I get home, I ride my bike to Gramps’s for Pizza Night. When I get to the end of his driveway, I find my grandfather and brothers in the backyard. Gramps already has a basket of tomatoes for the pizza. Then I spy a shoebox in Charlie’s hands.

  “Why do you have the box from your new sneakers?” I ask, walking over to my little brother.

  “Bert wanted to come with us,” Charlie says as if no more explanation is needed.

  I look at Dillon. “We couldn’t find the thing you carry him in. So we made our own,” he says.

  “But don’t worry, we gave him lots of worms and lettuce and water.” Charlie opens the lid to show me Bert’s temporary home.

  Gramps interrupts. “Charlie, can you grab me a new roll of twine from the kitchen?”

  “But I was just going to show Dillon how tall I am compared to the tomato plants,” he says.

  “You can—”

  “It’s okay. I’ll do it,” I say to my brothers. “Just keep your eye on Bert.”

  When I walk into the kitchen, it smells like Gramps’s special pizza sauce. I see the glass jar of dried flowers on the counter right between the three-tier-castle clock and the lemon dish detergent, like it’s just part of the fabric of things. The mixer clock chimes as I search the drawer and cabinets and pantry. I find lots of pens and paper clips and jalapeño chips. But no twine.

  “Gramps,” I yell out the screen door. “I don’t see any more of that string. Are you sure it’s in here?”

  “I thought I got some at Maker Farms when I bought more plant food. But hold on a sec. I’m coming in to check,” he says as he walks into the kitchen. After a hunt that includes his bedroom, the pantry, and under the bathroom sink, he finally finds a roll in the garage in a bin marked EXTENSION CORDS.

  “We’re the victors of the twine,” I say, carrying the new roll. But the backyard is empty. Then I hear the basketball bouncing and see Dillon and Charlie dribbling down the driveway.

  I run over with the twine, steal the ball from Dillon, and pass to Charlie for a layup. I high-five my little brother, who then does cartwheels up and down the driveway.

  I flop down on the grass, laughing with my brothers. I look around. “Where’s Bert?”

  Charlie and Dillon point to the shoebox on the grass.

  It’s toppled over. And the lid is off.

  The words I want to say tangle with fear.

  I run over to the shoebox.

  It’s empty.

  Bert is gone.

  43

  Unicorns

  I run from one end of the yard to the other. Back and forth and back and forth.

  “Bert,” I yell in a voice filled with worry.

  I crawl on my hands and knees under the bushes. Around the rock garden. Through the patch of dandelions. Nothing.

  “I’m a good finder, Maggie. Don’t worry,” Charlie says in his sweet little-brother voice. The one that still believes in unicorns.

  But I am worried. I’ve circled the lawn three times. No Bert.

  Then I stop and look at Dillon. “This is your fault!”

  He doesn’t respond.

  “I told you guys to watch him. I told you he’s fast. And now, he could be anywhere,” I yell, my arms stretched out to the corners of the yard.

  Dillon looks at me, but there’s nothing to say. Bert is gone.

  Dillon does another search under the bushes, in the weeds, and along the bed of wildflowers. Gramps walks the perimeter of the yard.

  I stand and survey the grass. Where could he be? I don’t see his shell, or moving blades of grass or rustling leaves. Goose bumps climb onto my skin.

  Fear taps my insides.

  I run back into the house and grab the emergency in-case-the-lights-go-out flashlight and some squash. Bert loves squash. I run the squash along the grass, hoping maybe he’ll smell it and come back to me.

  I wait. And wait.

  But he doesn’t.

  “Hey there.” I turn around. It’s Dad. “Gramps told me what happened.” He folds me into his arms, and I let the worry melt into his Go On, Change the World! sweatshirt. He holds me tight until my cries slow-roll to a stop.

  “It’s getting late. We need to go home now,” Dad says. “I put your bike in my car, and we can look again tomorrow.”

  I step back. “I can’t leave Bert. Not now.” The desperation clings to my words.

  “Honey, you have to.”

  “I don’t. He’s not like one of those things on my chart. You can’t make me let him go.” My body starts to shiver and shake.

  Dillon comes over. “We’ll head home and make a plan. I promise, I’ll come back here with you tomorrow,” he says.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlie says, hugging my waist.

  “Me too,” Dillon says.

  The car ride home is pin-drop quiet. No music. No talking. No random facts.

  When we get to the house, Dad puts the pizza we never ate on the kitchen table. I don’t want any. My hunger left with Bert.

  I run to my room and hug my boxes. Then I grab my Go On, Change the World! notebook, my purple pen, and write:

  1. Turtles can run away.

  2. Brothers can’t be trusted.

  3. Everything leaves.

  I stare at the moon, listen to “You Can’t Count On Me” by Counting Crows, and tell Bert, wherever he is, that I’m sorry. My mind trails back to the day I brought him home. It was warm and sunny. I look out my window. I see the North Star and make a wish. Put it in the universe. For Bert and Izzie.

  There’s a knock on my door. It’s Dillon and Charlie.

  With another apology. A plan. And a card. Decorated with blue glitter and a moon.

  I go back to my Go On, Change the World! list.

  1. Turtles can run away.

  2. Brothers can’t be trusted. Forgive brothers.

  3. Everything leaves. Find Bert.

  I go to sleep wondering if Bert and Izzie are looking at the moon.

  44

  Shell and All

  I wake to the warm sun streaming in through the gaps in my shutters. It takes me a stretch and a few eye blinks to remember that Bert is gone. I pop out of bed, toss on sweatpants, and hug Batman.

  I skip breakfast and run smack into Charlie as I’m about to get my bike.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To find Bert.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he says. “You need your best finder. And that’s me.” He slips his little hand in mine. “Plus, I’m wearing my lucky shirt.” It’s white with a picture of a four-leaf clover on the front.

  I’m about to squeeze all his sweetness when I hear a loud honk. “Get in,” Mom says as she opens the door to her silver SUV. “Dad and Dillon are already at Gramps’s house.”

  I remember Dillon’s plan. But thought it wouldn’t happen when I realized it’s Saturday. I’d already told Dad that I was skipping practice, but never thought Dillon would miss basketball. Even after he got three teeth pulled, he ran up and down the court with tissues stuffed in the bloody gaps where his teeth had been.

  When I get to Gramps’s house, there are doughnuts on a big round platter on the wooden table, and the red tea kettle is whistling. Gramps hugs me close and serves himself some mint tea with honey. On the table are stacks of flyers with Bert’s photo and the word missing. I t
hank him for creating these, and he tells me that Dillon was the one who made them. Salty tears drizzle onto my chocolate glazed doughnut.

  “I’ve mapped out the neighborhood,” Dillon says, spreading a poster replica of the neighborhood on Gramps’s kitchen table. “We’ll divide up the streets and hand out flyers to every family.”

  “Don’t you have practice?” I ask.

  “I told my coach I couldn’t make it,” Dillon says.

  In this moment, I’m glad I have a big brother.

  Even if he lost my turtle.

  “What about trap?” I ask Dad.

  “Coach Aiden is running practice today.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and says, “We’re all exactly where we need to be.”

  Dillon takes a handful of flyers and heads to Landview Lane and the nearby pond. Dad and Mom want to come with me, but I tell them what I really want is for us to canvass as much of the neighborhood as possible in the shortest amount of time. And that means splitting up.

  Mom and Dad look at each other and do that thing where they have a conversation without speaking. I wonder if that’s something all parents do.

  Then Mom says, “Okay. But keep your phone on and stay on Brookville Drive.”

  I promise. Mom takes Charlie to Bannister Way, Dad goes toward Lancaster Lane, Gramps wanders the yard in case Bert returns, and Batman and I head to the homes along Brookville, near the farmers’ market. The smell of freshly roasted peanuts and caramel-covered apples compete for air space. But it does nothing for the big fat missing that’s settled into my heart.

  I walk up the path to the brick house on the right. Knock knock. Nothing. Knock knock again. Nothing. I take my flyer and slide it into their mailbox and put up the red flag.

  Next stop: a ranch house with crooked black shutters and overgrown bushes. If I weren’t so sad, I’d be scared. This is the one house that Dillon and I avoid when we go trick-or-treating. It looks dark and abandoned. Like no one loved it enough. But today, I need this house.

  Knock knock.

  It’s quiet.

  Knock knock.

  I wait.

  Knock—

  I hear footsteps and hold my breath. The door opens. Just a crack. Jagged fingers hang on the doorframe.

  “What do you want?” says a small, raspy voice.

  “I, um, wondered if, um, you’ve seen a turtle. His name’s Bert.” I hold out the flyer.

  The jagged hand pushes open the door farther. Standing there is a woman with a tiny face of layered wrinkles.

  Batman licks her hand.

  “What’s his name?” she asks.

  “Batman.”

  She digs her hand into her front pocket, pulls out a dog treat, and hands it to Batman. “Well, I haven’t seen any turtles,” she says. “They’re not usually roaming the neighborhood. I mean, there are cars around. Them things could get run over. Shell and all.”

  I swallow the hurt that flows from her words and walk to the next house. There are yellow and red and green balloons tied to the doorknob. Before I can even ring the doorbell, the big brown front door opens and a knee-high girl with pigtails and bows tells me to go around to the backyard for her sister’s party. I’m about to tell her that I’m here about Bert, but she closes the door before I can get the words out.

  Batman and I walk to the backyard. There’s cake, and more balloons and lots of little kids. Then my eyes lock on a man in the right corner, in tan pants and a tan shirt that reads MR. REPTILIAN. He’s holding a turtle. Hope and possibility swirl through me.

  Batman and I weave in and out of the minis who are darting, jumping, and hopping about the yard in no particular order. We inch closer to the man and the turtle. But before we can get to him, a woman in mom clothes approaches us.

  “Can I help you?” she asks. Her shirt has a chocolate frosting smudge on the bottom. “Do you know my daughter?”

  My words stick. All I see is the turtle. “I, um, don’t. I knocked. And everyone was here, so I, um, came back. I lost my turtle.”

  Before the mom can say anything else, Pigtail Girl grabs my hand and leads me and Batman right to Mr. Reptilian.

  45

  A Smidgen of Hope

  Batman is sniffing the air with purpose while I reach for the turtle. My turtle. But when Mr. Reptilian sets the shelled friend in my palm, I know it’s not Bert. There’s no heart-shaped mark on his shell. I swallow my heap of disappointment, hand the marching-over-to-me mom a flyer, and leave.

  Batman and I move to the rest of the houses on the street. Knock and talk and hand out flyers. No one’s seen Bert. But Mrs. Kaufman has a problem with the deer that keep eating her shrubs, Mr. Night’s still waiting for the electrician who’s an hour late, and Mrs. Henry has no hot water. When we run out of homes and mailboxes, I staple the rest of the flyers to the telephone poles along my path.

  As Batman and I head back to Gramps’s house, I hope Dillon and Charlie and Mom and Dad have had better luck.

  I speed up. Maybe they found Bert. Maybe he’s waiting for me. Quicker still. I hear my out-breaths. That’s what my fourth-grade gym teacher used to call them. My sneakers slap the pavement as I run up the hill on Queens Drive. Hoping with all of me that they found him.

  I swing open the front door. Gramps and Dillon and Mom and Dad and Charlie are sitting around the kitchen table. No Bert.

  “Just because no one has seen him yet doesn’t mean they won’t,” Dad says.

  My heart slips and falls all the way to the linoleum tile floor. “Maybe he’s back in the yard,” I suggest, heading toward the screen door.

  “I just checked,” Gramps says.

  “Me too,” Dillon says.

  I fall into a chair at the table and drop my head into my hands.

  The doorbell rings. Dad looks at me. Then Mom. Then Dillon. Maybe the flyers are working.

  Maybe someone found Bert.

  Charlie runs to the door and opens it, and standing there are Ava, Sam, and Gracie.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask.

  “We just came from practice.” It’s Ava.

  In that moment, I realize I forgot to stop by last night. I look for her mad to spill out, but it doesn’t. She keeps talking. “Coach Aiden told us what’s going on.” Ava grabs my hands.

  Pinwheels spin in my stomach.

  “We’re here to help,” Gracie says, putting her short blond hair into a ponytail holder. Sam nods behind her.

  “Well, no one’s going anywhere without something to eat,” Gramps says. He pulls a tomato, basil, and mozzarella salad from the counter, a bowl of tuna from the refrigerator, and a jumbo size bag of jalapeño potato chips from the pantry.

  Over lunch, Dillon explains the routes we’ve already canvassed and suggests that some of us head to the farmers’ market next.

  I inhale my tuna, potato chip, and yellow mustard sandwich and go with my friends to the market. Mom takes Charlie home, Dad heads to the radio station to edit his interview of a guy who has created some robot that sniffs out disease, Dillon takes the next block, and Gramps stays back in case Bert returns.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come by with Batman last night,” I say to Ava. “With everything that happened with Bert, I honestly just forgot.”

  “It’s okay. I tried out the Find Me sweater on Max the beagle.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Almost. The code still needs some tweaking. But we’re getting closer.”

  “That’s great,” I say.

  “Thanks,” Ava says. Then, “We’ll find Bert.”

  “How can you be so sure?” I ask, unable to keep my worry from crawling over my words.

  “I put it in the universe,” she says.

  I hug my friend.

  Finally, she believes.

  46

  Lost or Found

  Ava, Sam, Gracie, and I zigzag through the stands in the farmers’ market. We’re surrounded by pottery bowls, wind chimes, crystal necklaces, fruits, vegetables, nuts, and ap
ples. Ava and Gracie are in charge of handing out the flyers, and Sam and I search the grass and the gravel path. The sun catches Sam’s face, and her dark eyes shine. I hope they have the power to see the invisible. Or at least find Bert.

  We weave and walk.

  “I wish the Find Me sweater was working and Bert had one,” Ava says. “Then we could use the app to locate him.”

  “I wish that, too,” I say, grabbing my friend’s hand.

  “You guys hungry?” Eddie of Twin Oaks Farm asks as we walk by his stand. “Want some crisp, fresh McIntosh apples?”

  “No, thanks,” Ava says. “We’re actually looking for Maggie’s turtle, Bert. Any chance you’ve seen him?”

  “A turtle? Nope.” He takes a big bite out of one of the apples. “Sweet as candy. Sure I can’t persuade you to take home a carton or two?”

  “Thanks, but not today.” Ava hands him a flyer.

  “Cute fella. If I see him, I promise to call this number.” Eddie turns to the woman coming up behind us with two little kids. “How would you and your crew like something that tastes sweet as sugar?”

  As he’s talking, I see leaves twitching on the extra heads of lettuce Eddie has lined up on the ground next to his table. I stop moving and stare.

  There they go again. A slight wiggle. I tap Ava and point. She sees it, too.

  Ava smiles. “That has to be Bert!” she says, squeezing my hand.

  That smidgen of hope returns.

  I breathe in all the crisp apple air around me, walk over to the right side of the table, and gently pull back the leaves.

  Sitting there is not Bert.

  It’s a fat brown bunny with a mouth full of lettuce, who is now hopping away.

  Disappointment rains down. We check the entire farmers’ market. No Bert. My friends want to walk me home, but I don’t want to go there yet. I text Dad and Mom, and they okay my new plan.

  The girls and I split at LaGrange Street. I look under every bush I pass. Searching for Bert. My feet crunch the leaves on the path to Wade’s Pond. I see a squirrel gathering acorns in her cheeks. I wonder if anyone told her she can’t store her stuff.