Free Soar by Tracy Edward Wymer

style on a big property, just as I remember driving past it with Dad.
    There’s one detail in the picture I’m really proud of. I’ve drawn Zeus, the American kestrel, in the top corner of the page. I make it obvious that he gets away safely, out of Quailzilla’s path of destruction.
    â€œEddie.”
    I look up.
    Mr. Dover is staring at me while holding a tiny slip of paper. He has drawn my name from the robin’s nest. I close my bird journal so no one can see the Quailzilla picture.
    Mr. Dover mixes up the papers in the nest. “Let’s see who will be the lucky partner with the heir of greatness.”
    He pulls out the crinkled slip of paper, unfolds it, and says one name.
    â€œMouton.”

Woodpecker Pens and Bird Wars
    T he first thing that goes through my mind is that Mr. Dover has paired me with Mouton on purpose. This can’t be accidental. Stepping on a toddler’s foot while standing in line at the wild bird exhibit is an accident. But being partnered with Mouton for a science project, after my run-in with Mr. Dover, is definitely not an accident.
    I can’t believe this. I’ll have to pull off a miracle to win the blue ribbon.
    Mr. Dover drops the paper strip on the counter. He draws more names but I’m not listening.
    â€œOkay, everyone. Partner up. Make a list of fivepossibilities for your symposium project. Remember, you’re going to be working closely with this person, so make sure you both agree on your choices. Stubbornness and arguing will only make your lives miserable.”
    Yeah, he definitely partnered me with Mouton on purpose. “Miserable” is going to be my middle name.
    Mouton taps his woodpecker pen on his desk. “Eddie-shovel-truck! Eddie-shovel-truck!”
    Mouton got this woodpecker pen in fourth grade, the same year he started calling me Fish Boy. The pen is red and black. In the top part is a small red-headed woodpecker figurine that floats in clear liquid. He showed up to class with the pen one day, and he kept tapping it on his notebook. The tapping was just loud enough to be annoying, but Mrs. Rollins didn’t take the pen away from him. Maybe she thought it would give him something to focus on, other than blurting out “Yip!” in the middle of spelling lessons.
    Everyone in class stands up and moves next to their partners.
    Gabriela sits next to Trixie, who’s chewing gum and talking so fast, you can’t understand her.
    Mouton drums his woodpecker pen on his notebook. The drumming gets louder every year. I can tell that he’snever going to move closer to me, and I’m not going closer to him, so instead I stare at my bird journal and pretend I didn’t hear Mr. Dover’s instructions.
    â€œEddie,” Mr. Dover says. “Mouton is waiting for you.”
    I roll my eyes, without Mr. Dover seeing me.
    I should’ve stayed hidden in the tall brush at Miss Dorothy’s place, and then none of this would’ve ever happened. I’d be partners with Gabriela, not Mouton. Gabriela would listen to my ideas about the science symposium and smile at me. We’d agree on our project and carry out our plan like two scientists. Like two friends.
    I pull out a chair and plop down next to Mouton.
    â€œEddie-shovel-truck!” He taps the pen on his notebook, the woodpecker dancing up and down in the clear liquid part.
    â€œI can’t believe we’re partners,” I say.
    Mouton leans over close to me. “So, Bird Nerd. Are your legs tired from walking everywhere?”
    I glare at him. “So you do have my bike.”
    â€œI didn’t say that. Yip!”
    â€œI’m coming to get it back, Mouton, if it’s the last thing I ever do on earth.”
    â€œTry it. I dare you.”
    Before I explode in anger, I pull out a piece of paper and scribble “Symposium” at the top. “I have an idea for our project. I’ve had this idea for a long time, and