Things Seen from Above Page 16

I gave him a skeptical look. “How?”

  Mr. Ulysses shrugged. “Because most of the rare birds never get discovered.”

  I had no idea what he was getting at.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve worked here at Marshallville for a long time,” Mr. Ulysses said. “And I’ve seen literally thousands and thousands of kids come and go through those doors over the years.” The janitor waved one hand toward the glass doors of the lobby entrance. “But every once in a while, a rare bird shows up. They are kids just like Joey with something different, something unique, something unfamiliar about them—kids who land here for a short period of time to see if anybody notices them.”

  He sighed and looked upward. “Usually no one does. Anything that is different or unusual makes most people uncomfortable. They stay as far away as they can. And before long, the rare bird gives up and moves on, and nobody knows the possibilities that they just missed.”

  Mr. Ulysses patted my arm. “But you spotted Joey. You found one of the rare birds—literally, a Byrd.” He chuckled at his own joke. “And you and Veena didn’t just find him. You helped other people to see what was extraordinary about him. And”—he pointed one finger at me—“you helped Joey to discover some things he didn’t even know about himself.”

  “Like what?” I said, still feeling guilty.

  “Like how he could relate to the outside world and other people. And how he was capable of doing more than he realized. You helped him to find his own possibilities—his own magic.” Mr. Ulysses waved his arms for emphasis. “Those are big things.”

  “Okay, but then he left.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Mr. Ulysses replied, “Actually, I’d venture to say that he left at the perfect time. He left after he’d helped us to see a lot of things—but before his luster had a chance to fade. You know what I mean?”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but I understood exactly what he meant. I’d worried what fame (and Marshallville) would do to Joey and his art—how it might have changed him, or overwhelmed him, or even turned people against him eventually.

  For the first time, it occurred to me how much Joey was like his own tracings: How he couldn’t stay long. How he was mysterious and unforgettable, but also fragile and temporary. Just like chalk dust and earth.

  Mr. Ulysses smiled and gently wagged a finger at me. “See, April, you may think you are as different as Joey sometimes. But you are more like the rest of the world than you think you are.”

  “So I’m not a rare bird?” I joked.

  “Nope.” Mr. Ulysses shook his head. “Not really. But you’re the kind of person who isn’t afraid of the mysteries and questions in life. You seek out what is unfamiliar and different. And you don’t quit until you find the answers. That’s why you saw Joey. And it’ll be up to all of us to make sure that what he showed us doesn’t get forgotten….”

  Feeling embarrassed by all the praise, I held up the pencil sketch again. “So you really think someone else did this playground design?”

  “That would be my guess,” the janitor said, squinting at it again.

  “Who?” I wondered if it could have been someone like Noah, but that seemed unlikely. Why would he care about redesigning our school’s playground?

  “Who knows?” Mr. Ulysses shrugged.

  “I’ll find out,” I promised as I stood up.

  “I know you will.” Mr. Ulysses grinned.

  But I have to confess, as I walked back to class, I kept thinking about what Mr. Ulysses had said about me. Was I a rare bird or not? I wondered.

  The next day, I showed Veena the playground map. When she sat down on the Buddy Bench with her lunch, I passed the folded-up drawing to her. “Before you do anything else—open up this note and see what you think.”

  Veena’s eyes darted toward me with a strange look. “Why?”

  “Open it. I want to know your opinion.”

  “Okay,” she said finally. It was a cold day, so she was wearing pink gloves. It seemed to take forever for her to get the paper unfolded. Then she pressed the drawing flat on her lap and gazed at it for a few seconds with the same odd expression on her face.

  “Do you know what it shows?” I prompted.

  “No, I am not quite sure,” she mumbled.

  I pointed out some of the features—the spiral, the tree, the benches. I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. “I think it’s supposed to be a design for a new playground for our school. Someone left it in my Advice Box yesterday. At first, I thought it had to be Joey. But it couldn’t have been him because he hasn’t been in school all week. So who do you think did it?”

  Veena’s pink-gloved hands fidgeted with the map.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Yes,” she answered softly, without looking up.

  “So who do you think did it?”

  Veena stayed silent and kept staring uncomfortably at her gloves—and that’s the moment I realized it had to be her.

  I pointed at her. “Wait. You did it! You were the one who left it, weren’t you?”

  Veena covered her face with her hands. In a muffled voice, she said into the pinkness of her gloves, “Yes.”

  I tugged the paper off her lap. “So is this your idea for a new playground for Marshallville? Did you make this?”

  Looking up from her gloves, Veena nodded. “Yes. I am very sorry,” she said apologetically. “I kept thinking about how nice it would be to make the playground better for Joey when he came back. So I did a drawing of what I was thinking. It was like my dream of a playground,” she added with an embarrassed smile.

  She started pointing out some of the details on her map. The spiral of sadness path for kids to walk on. The three Buddy Benches instead of one—

  “For more conversation,” she explained.

  She showed me how she wanted to replace our old jungle gym with a new climbing tower called Joey’s Tower. Below it, there would be an open space for big art designs—and the tower would be a way to see them. Then how she would add new slides and swings. And a spice garden. “Because in India, spices are very important,” she finished.

  There was one thing I still didn’t understand. “Why did you leave the drawing in the Advice Box for me to find it?” I asked.

  Veena’s eyes blinked behind their aqua frames. “Because,” she said solemnly, “you are an important person like Joey. You are a leader. I knew that you would make this dream happen.”

  And then she folded up her drawing and handed it me.

  All weekend, I went over the conversation with Veena in my head. And I thought about Joey. And the new playground idea. And what Mr. Ulysses had said about me. And rare birds.

  (And I took the little girl who lives next door trick-or-treating for Halloween because her mom had to work. The girl was a ladybug, and I wore a pair of sparkly antennae.)

  By Monday, I’d reached a decision.

  I found Mr. Mac in his office before school started. Taking a deep breath, I told him that I wanted to quit the Buddy Bench.

  “What? Why would you want to do that, April? You’re doing a fantastic job with it!” the counselor said, looking totally shocked by the news. He was sitting in his office, working on his laptop and eating a donut.

  I told him that Veena was much better at it than I was. “She’s been handling almost everything on Wednesdays and Fridays by herself anyway,” I explained. Which was true. “And she’s much more patient than I am with the fourth graders. The bracelet girls are kind of driving me nuts these days.”

  “Really?” Mr. Mac said. “Is this something I should talk to them about?”

  I shook my head. “No, I just really want Veena to have my spot now. I don’t know if she would want to be in charge of my other recesses—or if you could find someone else to do the
m, but I’d like to give up those days too.”

  “Are you sure?” Mr. Mac said, still looking totally shocked.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “I’m sure.”

  * * *

  —

  It was much harder to tell the news to Veena the next time we had recess together.

  At first, she thought she had done something wrong—or that I was mad at her. She started crying (good grief), which made me backtrack and question everything I’d decided to do.

  “Gosh, I didn’t mean to make you cry, Veena.” I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “I’m trying to do a good thing,” I said.

  It took a lot of explaining to get Veena to see why I wanted to quit the Buddy Bench and go back to the sixth-grade lunch. And how it would help her out.

  “Is it because of the boy at the football match?” Veena mumbled, brushing away more tears.

  “Football game,” I said, rolling my eyes. “No.”

  Veena’s eyes blinked behind her glasses. “Then why?”

  I took a deep breath. “It’s kind of hard to describe in words, but I guess Joey’s art and everything that happened at the game made me start thinking about what I’ve been missing.”

  Veena looked down. “What do you mean?”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, I was thinking about how amazing the tiger was—and how you really had to be there to see it appear on the field in front of you. And I was thinking that even though it was kind of terrifying for all of us to go to the game—for Joey and for you and for me—we did it.” I smiled at Veena. “We were there.”

  “And then I was thinking about Joey moving away and starting over—and you coming here from India and starting over….”

  I paused and took another breath. “And I guess I just felt like it was time for me to try going back to being part of the sixth grade lunch again. It may be a total failure and I may totally regret it, but I want to at least try.”

  “Okay…,” Veena said, not looking convinced.

  “And I was thinking that if you take over the Buddy Bench—that will help to make you a lot more important than me. Kids—and adults—will look up to you as a leader,” I told her. “Then you’ll be able to make this new playground happen.” I pulled the folded drawing out of my pocket and handed it to Veena. “Seriously, it’s a really good idea.”

  “No.” Veena shook her head firmly. “I want you to make it happen.”

  “Nope,” I told her, crossing my arms. “I can’t. In less than a year, I won’t even be here. I’ll be in junior high. It’s up to you and the fifth graders to turn this boring old space into something beautiful.” I waved my arm at the playground.

  But Veena still looked upset, and I felt guilty for having caused it.

  So I backtracked on my plan a little. “Okay. How about if I keep volunteering for the Buddy Bench on Wednesdays? It’ll be our bonding time,” I said. “We can talk to each other and catch up on everything then. And if you want me to help you with your playground project, I’ll do that too,” I added.

  Veena’s voice trembled. “So we will still be like friends?”

  “We are friends,” I said.

  “All right,” she said, chewing on her lip.

  I glanced at the time on my phone, realizing I’d better leave before I talked myself out of everything. “Now, I’ve got to go inside so I don’t miss lunch. You can do it.” I pointed at Veena. “Remember, believe in yourself.”

  Then I headed inside and tried to believe in myself too.

  A couple of weeks after Homecoming, Ms. Getzhammer made an official announcement about Joey. She told everyone that Joey’s family had moved, and unfortunately, Joey wouldn’t be returning to Marshallville. By then, it didn’t really matter. Most of the kids had already figured it out for themselves.

  The principal promised that once she received a forwarding address for Joey, she would share the information with everyone, so kids could write letters to him.

  As far as I know, an address never arrived.

  However, a huge snowflake appeared on a beach in Clearwater, Florida, in January. A photo of it was featured in a lot of newspapers and news feeds. My mom saw it on Facebook. Nobody claimed responsibility for the beach snowflake, but we were convinced it was Joey’s way of telling us where he had ended up.

  After Joey left, a lot of things happened to Veena and me.

  Going back to sixth-grade lunch was really stressful at first, especially since everybody already had their own places and their own groups of friends. I tried to tell myself that if I could solve the mysteries of Joey, I could figure out the sixth graders—but it took time. I relied on my mind’s eye a lot.

  I ended up avoiding Julie Vanderbrook’s group. I sat at the end of Tanner’s table where Noah and Jacob and some other girls were sitting. Eventually, we kind of broke off and made our own table group.

  Noah became a really good friend of mine, even though people kept asking if we were dating. We did go out for a couple of weeks, but we decided it was easier just being friends.

  I invited Wally Rensbacher to sit with us at lunch a few times. Eventually, he joined our group too.

  One of the most surprising people who became one of my friends was Rachel—yes, of the two Rs. Even though I had never been a big fan of the two Rs, they had been nicer to me after Homecoming. We waved at one another in the hallways and sometimes we’d sit together at school events.

  Then, Rochelle’s parents got divorced after Thanksgiving and she had to move away pretty suddenly with her mom. After Rochelle left, Rachel started looking worse and worse. Her hair was stringy and her face had a lot of acne all of sudden. Although she had always worn a ton of black, her arms were scribbled with black ink now. Passing by her in the hallway one day, I noticed how the front of her notebook was completely covered with black spirals of ballpoint pen.

  That’s when I knew she needed help.

  That same week, I went over to where she was sitting by herself at a sixth-grade pizza party during our activity block. I asked her if she wanted to sit with our group.

  “No,” she said, at first. “That’s okay. Thanks.”

  “Come on,” I said. “I already saved a spot for you.” Then I literally picked up her drink and her paper plate—which was really brave, considering that she might have socked me for doing that in the past—and I brought her over to our group.

  “Rachel—meet everyone. Everyone—meet Rachel,” I said, even though we all knew each other’s names.

  Rachel slid into the seat next to me with her head down and her hair curtained over her eyes.

  Even though she wasn’t in our lunch period, she sat with our group at most sixth-grade things after that—and surprisingly, she turned out to be a lot smarter and funnier than I thought. When she showed up at school in a cheerful flowered blouse and new leggings after Christmas break, people almost didn’t recognize her. By spring, even her black nail polish was gone.

  I also kept my promise to Veena through the rest of the school year.

  Every Wednesday, I’d skip the sixth-grade lunch to sit with her on the Buddy Bench.

  She had the genius idea of using Mr. Ulysses’s Polaroid camera to take photos of the playground’s rusted and broken equipment to hand out to our school district’s administrators. The old-fashioned photos seemed to make more of an impact than showing ordinary pictures on our phones or laptops. I helped Veena do presentations for the PTA and the school board. And we met with Marshallville’s mayor once.

  We learned that change happens very slowly.

  The design and funding for the playground renovation weren’t approved until my freshman year of high school. Veena was in junior high by then. The school district and the PTA paid for new swings and a new wooden climbing structure that is named Joey’s Tower, just like Veena suggested. T
he school added two more Buddy Benches, so there are three of them now. For more conversation.

  There’s a small garden and the Yoda Tree—which has grown a lot bigger.

  Visitors to the school often ask about the unusual circle of white stones in the far corner of the playground. The path is shaped in a large spiral. A plaque nearby says it is called the Spiral of Deep Thinking.

  The name and sign were Mr. Mac’s ideas.

  Veena and I tried to convince him that a lot of kids—even young kids—have to deal with sadness in their lives, but Mr. Mac thought the spiral needed to have a more positive and uplifting message for little kids. (He became the principal after Ms. Getzhammer retired.)

  As it turned out, the new name didn’t really catch on. Everyone kept calling it Joey’s Spiral of Sadness anyway.

  It is very popular.

  These days you can find spirals all over Marshallville if you know where to look. Almost every afternoon—and weekends, too—you can see kids walking around the one on Marshallville’s playground, letting go of whatever sadness is inside them: loneliness, fear, rejection, losing teams, bad grades, mean kids—you name it.

  There are spirals hidden in people’s gardens and spirals drawn on the sidewalks of Main Street. And just last year, the city planted a beautiful spiral-shaped rose garden in the center of town. The roses are all different colors: red, pink, yellow, lavender, and—of course—orange.

  Little by little, our town is finally getting more colorful.

  Although it has been six years since Joey left—and I’m a senior in high school now—Joey’s influence can still be found everywhere you look.

  As far as we know, Marshallville High School continues to be the only high school in the nation with a Team Artist. Each pregame show always includes a chalk Tiger—some have been pretty large and impressive, although none have ever matched Joey’s spectacular creation.

  (Kenston is still waiting for another eagle to appear.)