Free My Name Is River by Wendy Dunham Page A

rectangular cake pan on the table, and I dump the massive glob in. We press it flat with bare hands (I use two, and Billy, one). “Eeewww,” I say, cringing. “This feels disgusting. It’s greasier than earwax.”
    Billy laughs hysterically. “I’m not sure about the earwax, but the peanut butter sure makes it smell good. The birds are going to love this!”
    Once it’s flat, Billy puts it in the fridge to cool and harden.
    Next we make the hummingbird nectar. Billy starts by pouring four cups of water into a pan. Once it’s boiling, he adds one cup of sugar. I stir until it dissolves. I scoop a little onto a teaspoon and blow on it. Since I’m absolutely sure it’s only sugar and water (without an ounce of kidney fat), I bring it to my lips and sip. It tastes like liquid cotton candy.
    â€œWant to hear something interesting?” Billy says. I look at him and wait because I know he’s going to tell me either way. “A hummingbird’s heart beats more than six hundred times a minute and a human’s only beats about seventy-two.” Billy’s so smart.
    I wonder if I’ll ever be as smart as him.

13

    Black Leather Boot
    B illy pushes aside the branches as we walk into the woods. It feels cool and fresh after working in the hot kitchen.
    â€œHey, River, I almost forgot to tell you. My dad said he’ll help us make the bluebird houses.”
    â€œThat’s great if you want an F. You heard Ms. Grackle—no parents.”
    â€œBut it’s for safety reasons, and he’d only cut the wood. There’s no way he’d let us use the power saw.”
    â€œI guess you’re right. That is great news.”
    As soon as we reach the field, Billy freezes. So I do the same thing. There are tiny birds at the feeder, and a bigger, bright red one right in the middle of the birdbath. We crouch, moving low along the ground like two Indian hunters until we reach the log, where we sit without a sound. Neither of us says a word. It’s kind of a sacred moment. I can’t believe there are birds. I never thought they’d come.
    Billy whispers, “The red one’s a northern cardinal. He’s a male. Females aren’t as colorful.”
    â€œWell, that’s not fair.”
    Billy laughs and then leans close and whispers again. “The other birds at the feeder are black-capped chickadees. When they sing, they sound like they’re saying their name. Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee .”
    Billy cracks me up.
    It must have been his last dee-dee that made the birds fly away. But Billy says eventually they’ll get used to people being around, and they’ll stay longer. He takes a deep, satisfied breath and looks my way. “We’d better start watering,” he says. “And I’m filling the bucket first.”
    As Billy positions himself at the edge of the bank, I start getting nervous. “You know, Billy, maybe we should listen to your father and get water from your house.”
    â€œHe didn’t say we had to get water from the house. He said he’d ‘rather’ we did.”
    â€œIt’s the same thing. And Gram doesn’t like the idea of us using the bucket either.”
    â€œDon’t worry, River. We’ll be careful.”
    As I watch Billy throw the bucket over the edge, I hold my breath and have to force myself from grabbing onto his belt loop. But after a few minutes, I see he’s doing fine, and he pulls a full bucket of water up over the edge. I let out my breath and remind myself that I didn’t need to worry. I whisper the words from Matthew.
    We water the seeds and fill the birdbath too. Then just as we’re ready to go back and check the suet, Robert Killdeer comes by on his bike. He glares at Billy. “Hey,” he says, “I was here ’bout an hour ago, and there was some ugly birds at your feeder.”
    Billy doesn’t look at