Free Soar by Tracy Edward Wymer Page B

signs back to her. “I would be happy to help you, Eddie. Come in.”
    As we walk through the house toward the back porch, a familiar smell hits me. A huge pot sits on the stove. Papa must be cooking up another batch of his special berry drink.
    On the back porch the circle of chairs is still set up from Carol and the Bird Talkers. Also, four ruby-throated hummingbirds dart around the honeysuckle bush, near the privacy fence. Last time I was back here, I didn’t notice the bush or the hummingbirds.I guess the Bird Talkers distracted me.
    Gabriela begins stacking the chairs. “The beija-flores are cute.”
    â€œThe what?”
    â€œI mean, the birds .”
    â€œYeah, they’re ruby-throated hummingbirds. They’re common around here. I’m surprised you have so many. They’re usually territorial.”
    â€œThey must like us.” Smiling, she stacks two more chairs.
    I pick up two chairs and swing them over my head. I stumble, then regain my balance. I stack the chairs on top of the others.
    â€œThank you for helping me. Now, will you tell me about your symposium project?” She smiles.
    â€œSure. That’s why I’m here. It always helps to talk about plans with someone else.”
    We stack the last few chairs, go inside, and sit on the couch.
    Gabriela turns to me. “Okay, I am ready. I want to hear all about it.”
    I take a deep breath. “Well, my hypothesis states that a golden eagle exists right here in West Plains.So basically, the purpose of my project is to find that bird.”
    â€œHow do you plan to find it?”
    â€œFirst I’ll need a spool of string and six tree branches to set squirrel traps. I’ll use the dead squirrel to attract the golden eagle, because eagles are known to scavenge while migrating.”
    â€œScavenge?”
    â€œIt means they eat anything they can find, even if it’s already dead.”
    Gabriela takes out her notebook. She writes the word “scavenge” and the definition.
    â€œI’ll also need my bike to get around town faster, my binoculars, a mini flashlight, and my mom’s cross pouch to carry materials and evidence.”
    â€œWhat is a cross pouch?”
    â€œIt’s a bag you wear around your waist. It’s actually called a fanny pack, but I don’t call it that. It sounds too wimpy.”
    Gabriela leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “Out of all the birds, why did you choose the golden eagle?”
    â€œBecause I’ve been looking for it since before my dad flew away.”
    â€œFlew away?”
    â€œMy dad is gone. It happened last year.”
    She sets her notebook on the couch and puts the cap on her pen. She glances down. “I am sorry, Eddie. I did not know this.”
    We both sit there in the living room, in the same place where she held an ice pack on my injured head, where I saw her big brown eyes up close for the first time. On that day there was comfort and a welcoming face hovering above me. Now there’s nothing but silence.
    My bottom lip trembles. Sometimes my emotions come out when I don’t expect them to, especially when I talk about Dad. This is one of those times.
    Gabriela notices. “It is okay. You have feelings inside you, and you need to let them free. Papa tells me it is okay to act this way after you lose something important.”
    The way Gabriela talks, Papa must know a lot about life. I wish Mom would say things like that. Maybe then she’d talk more about Dad, instead of hardly mentioning him.
    I reel my emotions in, and my bottom lip goes back to normal. “When did your father tell you that?”
    Gabriela looks down, then at me. “I have lost something too, Eddie.” She fiddles with the orange pen in her hand. “I lost my mother when I was three. She became very sick with an infection, and we did not have good medicines where I am from in Brazil. We lived far away from the city. The