Crow Flight Page 12

  “I guess they’re not bad. But they’re all the same. You know, they’re in the bell curve. In that big section with 95 percent of everyone. They don’t really stand out.”

  Before Gin could ask how girls like Caitlin—who was not only smart and nice, but also incredibly gorgeous—could not stand out, a large bowl of soup appeared before them, trailing a ribbon of hot, rising steam. The soup was actually crackling and spitting, and Gin’s mouth opened in surprise.

  “Sizzling rice soup,” he said, ladling it in her bowl. “A specialty here. You’ll love it.”

  And not surprisingly, she did.

  // Twenty-Two

  The city streets shone, damp from the burst of rain that had fallen while they ate. It was early in the evening, still fairly warm, and with the mist, everything felt quivery and fresh.

  Gin and Felix were walking through a grassy area near the Kennedy Center. How they’d even gotten there was a mystery to Gin: she’d been too focused on Felix.

  Dinner had been delicious. Even better, they had talked about everything—modeling, of course, and school and family and music and books. She’d even told him about Love Fractal. He liked her logic, and he had laughed when she described Hannah’s matches, and then her own matches. And though he was confident it would be a huge success, he swore that he’d never let a program pick who he dated.

  He had slipped someone a credit card before a bill even came but promised she could help cover the next time. The next time. Those words rang in her chest like a gong.

  Even the fortune in her cookie, which she’d normally joke about, had seemed so right that she tucked it in her pocket to save. A new interest is at your fingertips. Seize the moment!

  They still had an hour and a half before the crows settled down and became easier to track visually. So Felix was taking Gin to two more stops. But he refused to tell her where.

  Gin tried to guess, thinking of all the places in DC that Felix might like. Only, she had no idea how to narrow the list down. But she didn’t have to puzzle through it long, because soon they were cresting a small hill, Felix pointing ahead to the glowing marble statue of Abraham Lincoln himself. “There he is. Stop number one.”

  The Lincoln Memorial. The immense statue looked solemn and stately in its white stone box with towering columns and rows of steps. In a way, it was like a huge, tiered cake. Gin had visited it a few times as a girl, and remembered feeling that the steps were endless, the carved man like a giant.

  “You like Lincoln?”

  “I do.” Felix started jogging towards the memorial, motioning Gin to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  They reached the moon-white steps and Felix didn’t slow, racing up two and three steps at a time. Gin, however, was full from their dinner and tired from the first sprint, and her jog slowed to a walk. When she finally made it up, Felix was sitting at the base of Lincoln’s shoe. She leaned over to catch her breath.

  “He was a simple man, you know. The stories are all true. Log cabin. Hardworking.” Felix’s voice rang out in the structure. They were surprisingly alone. Gin stood up and looked around, deciding that it was much more fun to visit at night when there weren’t hordes of people taking photos and jostling around.

  Felix leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand, leading her to Lincoln’s side. They looked up at him—his thick wavy hair, kind eyes, steady mouth, long limbs, all frozen in smooth, white stone.

  “Ostentatious, isn’t it?” Felix’s tone was suddenly harsh.

  “Wait, what?” Gin asked. “You mean, the Memorial? Or Lincoln himself?”

  Felix reached his arms out wide, as if to encompass the massive marble and stone structure. “The Memorial, of course. Lincoln, no doubt, deserved a memorial. And maybe he should’ve been honored in a big way. But back in the early 1900s, when this was designed, lots of people thought it was too much. That it didn’t come close to representing who Lincoln was.” He looked harder at Lincoln as though Lincoln understood. “It just goes to show how easy it is to mess things up with money. I mean, if they really wanted to represent Lincoln, they should have made something to show how he was only a man. One man, like any one of us. Maybe that would make us all dream bigger.”

  Gin closed her eyes, breathing in the night air. She touched a finger to Lincoln’s cold marble leg. And she wondered for the first time what Lincoln himself would think of such a statue. “You have a point.”

  Felix took her hand, starting to lead her back down the steps. “Then let’s go to stop two—dessert.”

  “Dessert” was not what Gin imagined. She had pictured a cozy coffee shop or a late-night bakery or even a street food vendor. Instead, they were standing in front of a church. Not a church like the National Cathedral, with sprawling gardens and stained glass and spires. This church was plain and dumpy, like all of the nearby buildings. There were beat up Fiats and old Chevrolets parked in front, tough-looking men standing at the corners, and alleyways on either side that were littered with blanket-wrapped homeless people and trash-filled shopping carts.

  “Is this safe?” she whispered as they walked in.

  “Absolutely.” Felix clapped his hands, enthusiastic as ever. “I mean, in relative terms, of course. But I come here every week, and I’ve never had a problem.”

  The inside was bright, but as worn as the outside. It smelled like sweat and bleach and canned peas. And it was full of people. Sitting along the hallways, standing in corners. And Gin realized that this church was also a soup kitchen.

  Felix seemed right at home. As he walked down the hall, he gave at least a dozen high fives. Everyone, it seemed, knew him.

  Soon they were in a large room filled with tables. A slender man wearing a white robe came up and shook Felix’s hand.

  “Hey Felix, my man,” he said. It took Gin a second to sync his casual words with his formal appearance. “Glad you’re here. And you brought company?”

  “Hi, Father Mark,” Felix answered. “This is my friend, Gin. We came for dessert.”

  “Good to meet you, Gin.” He held a hand out, his face calm and happy, the wooden cross around his neck swinging as he leaned forward.

  Gin shook his hand, surprised to see he was young and fit. Cute, even. But the robe made it all feel slightly silly, like he was wrapped up in a sheet.

  “We’re mostly done for the night, so no need to help out. Just enjoy the food. Banana pudding is on the menu.” Father Mark leaned closer and whispered, “I had two servings, it was so good.”

  Felix laughed and pulled Gin to the food line, which was comprised of a row of plastic tables manned by scraggly men and women. When Gin and Felix reached the first woman, she leaned over and tousled Felix’s hair, then let out a deep, low belly laugh.

  “How you been, Felix? Felix the cat. You here for dinner? And you finally brought a friend for us to meet?”

  “No dinner, just dessert. And, yes ma’am, I did bring a friend—this is Gin. Gin, meet Rosa. She works here every Friday.”

  “Got that right. But just for a little longer, ’til my real gig comes up.” She winked at Gin and sent them down the line. “Hey Freddie,” she called. “Be sure and hook up Felix and his friend now, okay?”

  There could be no doubt that Freddie hooked them up: he ladled so much banana pudding in their bowls they had enough for a small party. Felix led the way to a table in the corner, where a man with stringy brown hair ate alone.

  “Hey Rick, this is my friend Gin,” Felix said as they sat down.

  Rick didn’t look up.

  “Rick isn’t real talkative,” Felix continued. “But he’s still cool. Right, Rick?”

  Felix dug into his pudding, stopping to introduce Gin to whoever came up. Which seemed like everyone.

  “You must come here all the time,” Gin said during a break between visitors. “But is this okay, just to come and eat? I thought you had to be, you know . . . homeless.” She whispered the last word.

 
Felix smiled. “True, usually the people who come to eat are homeless. But, everyone is welcome. And it’s good for others to eat, you know? Keeps it more human. I come and volunteer once a week, sometimes more. And I eat every time. It’s Father Mark’s rule—you come not just to serve, but to let others serve you.”

  It was a dichotomy he was showing her, from the Lincoln Memorial to the soup kitchen, and Gin was trying to unknot the whole thing in her chest. All she was sure of was that Felix should be taking Ancient Worldviews. He could probably teach it.

  “Come on, almost time to find the crows. You going to eat all that?” He held his spoon over her pudding.

  Gin pushed the bowl closer to him. “Let’s share.”

  And then she was eating banana pudding, creamy and sweet, in the middle of a soup kitchen, surrounded by men and women who probably hadn’t had a fair shake in months or years, maybe their whole lives, with one of the richest boys in the city. And the weirdest part was, it didn’t even feel that weird.

  The night was starting to seem epic. Gin could already tell it’d be one of those experiences that branded itself onto her brain, her neurons hardwiring themselves to it, letting all sorts of thoughts travel near, over and over, so she would never forget it.

  “I think we got one.” Felix was holding his receiver up in the air, watching a green light flash. “Come on, we’re close.”

  They were in an exclusive part of DC with polished row houses and old trees and lines of Audis and Mercedes and BMWs. Gin felt like she had just been on her first real tour of the city; in a few quick hours, they had sampled the socioeconomic extremes.

  She smelled dinner grilling somewhere and imagined a wealthy couple with friends over. Relaxing after work, not even thinking of all the Rosas and Ricks a few miles away.

  Suddenly, Felix stopped. He put a hand in front of her so she’d stop too, and held the receiver up higher.

  “She should be right here. Just listen and look,” he whispered. He pulled Gin close to his side, and at first, all she could hear was his breathing. If she was braver, she’d wind her fingers in between his, squeeze his hand, lean her head against his shoulder.

  Instead, she looked for the crow.

  There was the swish of cars in the distance, layered in with muted city sounds: a truck backing up, a honking horn. Street lamps glimmered in the bare tree branches.

  She scanned the houses with their painted trim and heavy doors. Then she saw it. Half a block down on the ledge of a second-story window, there was something small and dark. It blended in with the shadows, so that it was nearly imperceptible. And it was almost as still as a statue.

  Almost. Because when it shifted, its dark beak shone. A crow.

  She grabbed Felix’s arm tight. “There,” she whispered. “I see her.”

  Felix followed her gaze, and when he saw the bird, he took Gin’s hand and started walking down the sidewalk. Step by step, closer and closer, Felix’s receiver flashing all the way. “Yep,” he whispered. “That’s Maggie.”

  It was fascinating at first, seeing Maggie out there in the city. No net or cage to hold her, just perched on the windowsill. But the longer Gin watched, the stranger it all felt. Because Maggie was unimaginably still. Sometimes she shifted and hopped to one side of the window ledge. But mostly, she stood there. As though she were there for a specific reason.

  “What’s she doing?” Gin whispered. “Is she okay?”

  Felix shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  They watched for a full ten minutes, which felt like an eternity. It was so long that Gin was getting worried a neighbor might see them and call the police. Finally, they crept closer, out from behind the tree where they’d been mostly hidden. And that’s when Maggie noticed them.

  She turned her head, flapped her wings and hopped a few times.

  “She’s excited to see us,” Felix said.

  Maggie glanced back at the window, as if deciding whether to stay or leave. Then, with a burst of black feathers, she flew down to the tree and perched above them.

  “Hey girl,” Felix said. “How are you?”

  As if in answer, Maggie cocked her head, watching.

  “She’s waiting for me to put my hand up,” he said quietly. “If I did, she’d come here. But I don’t want to interrupt her work. Because it seems like work, doesn’t it?”

  Gin could hear the confusion in his voice. He thought this was strange, too.

  “What does your father do with them at night? When he takes them out?” she asked.

  Felix shook his head. “I guess I don’t know.” He looked quickly around the street, as if expecting his father to suddenly appear. “I thought he let them fly around the city for a while, like a joy ride, then had them stay in one area to practice retrievals or things like that. That he just wanted to get them out around the big buildings and traffic and everything. But with Maggie . . . it’s like there’s something more.”

  They watched the bird a minute longer. Eventually, Maggie flew back up to the window ledge. She stayed there for another five minutes. And then she took off, paddling her powerful wings through the air.

  As Maggie left, she held her beak slightly open, as though carrying something. When she passed close to a street lamp, there was a glimmer in her beak. A tiny spark in the night. Enough for Gin to see what she was holding.

  A small blue bell.

  On the drive home, Felix was in good spirits. He had been impressed by Maggie’s abilities—to stay still for so long was something that surprised even him. But he was also confused. He listed all the explanations for why she could’ve been at that window, trying to guess what his dad was hoping to accomplish with that training. The most plausible explanation, he decided, was that she was practicing a new retrieval process.

  “You got the address, right?” Gin asked. She was trying to form her own theory for why Maggie had been there. Maybe it helped Grant Gartner study the crows’ learning process. He could be tracking how long it took Maggie to process environmental clues. It was a stretch, but she didn’t have any other ideas.

  Felix handed her his phone. “Absolutely. Right here in my notes. You can look it up now. Or later. Maybe it’s time for some music?”

  He turned up his speakers, and Gin rolled the window partway down and leaned back, forgetting about Maggie for the moment. The wintry air swirled through the car as they flew through the night, out of the city. Felix tapped the steering wheel in time with the music, pausing now and then to glance at her. When their eyes met, they’d smile.

  “Hey,” she said. “The plane parking lot.”

  They were driving right by it, the parking lot where you could stop and sit under the planes taking off from Reagan National. Felix pulled hard to the right, and before she knew it, they were parked by the edge of the river, a line of planes with flashing red and white lights circling in the sky above.

  “Come on.” He hopped out of the car and grabbed a thick wool blanket from the back. He climbed up on the hood and held a hand out to Gin.

  “Come on . . . where? You want me to come up there?” The parking lot was mostly empty, but it still felt silly to climb up on a car.

  “Um, yes.”

  There was nothing else to do but to take his hand.

  “Here, this will help.” He spread the blanket out on the hood.

  She slid down, leaning carefully back against the cold windshield. He settled in right next to her, their bodies touching. Felix pulled the free side of the blanket over them both, tugging her even closer. It was suddenly warm—only Gin’s face was still cool.

  The sky seemed bigger, the city bright along the horizon. The river rippled like static and troughs of tiny waves caught the city light and let it go, over and over. Gin could hear the lapping water, close, and the rush of traffic, far.

  Then the plane came. Like an earthquake, low and rumbly. The sound was building behind them, but before she had a chance to look back, the plane w
as overhead. It was so close, it looked massive. Its immense silver body was straight and heavy. Impossible how it hung in the sky.

  “Wow,” she whispered and leaned against Felix’s chest. Their hands met, almost by accident, and he wove his fingers through hers. For a full three seconds, the ground shook.

  She could feel him looking at her, and she turned her face towards his. His face shone bright, his eyes glowed, and his mouth was set, confident. But something about him seemed tentative, like he was waiting. His lips parted, and she felt an urge to reach out and trace them, first the top, then the bottom.

  Instead, her brain listed out reasons to look away. One: she needed to keep her focus on school, and Felix was obviously a distraction. Two: it was unlikely he liked her, and she was probably setting herself up to be let down. And three: Love Fractal certainly hadn’t put them together. But even if all of that was true, it suddenly felt like none of it mattered.

  “Gin,” he whispered. He pulled one hand out from under the blanket and touched the side of her face, pushing a few strands of her hair back behind her ear, running a finger down her jaw to her chin. She could feel the warmth of his breath.

  “Yes?” she whispered back.

  “I . . .” He narrowed his eyes as though searching for the right words. “I . . .” He leaned closer and closer. Until his eyes closed. And his lips were near hers.

  And then they were kissing.

  Kissing. Gin’s whole body felt flooded, as though electricity ran through her, every bit of her suddenly alive. From her burning lips down to her tingling fingertips and into her warm, flip-flopping gut, she felt it: Felix was who she wanted.

  She didn’t pause or reassess or reevaluate. Instead, she leaned closer to him, her body against his, and she touched his cheek, his hair.

  He kissed her harder, like he’d been waiting for this. And all she could think was that this was what it was like to feel his lips. Soft and tender and fiery.