Page 9 of The Two of Us

Ambrose stalks off in his own direction to observe the animals with a small notepad and pencil he pulled from his pocket while I find myself quietly trailing the younger sister, who I found out is the same age as me. I casually stand next to her and take in whatever animal she looks at, but she’s constantly on the move. I can’t tell if she’s too disinterested to care about reading the informational plaques or if she’s so interested, she’s trying to learn about as many animals as quickly as possible. When she turns away from the ledge after only watching the capuchin monkey for a few seconds, I give up on chasing her around and remain in place. Cool, delicate fingers wrap around my wrist.

“Aren’t you coming?” She has a brilliant smile. She doesn’t wait for an answer before dragging the both of us to a giant tank in the center of a brick wall. It’s filled to the brim with jellyfish.

I consider asking her what animal she likes best so far, but I have a feeling even she won’t know the answer, so I watch the jellyfish, curious if their squishy heads feel like Jell-O.

“You should come over to my house to play sometime,” she says, her finger following a jellyfish across the glass. “Do you have a Pocket Princess? The one that just came out, not the old ones. You can always tell which ones are the old kind because their hair falls out when you brush it too much. Ambrose accidentally ran over one of my new Pocket Princesses with his skateboard, and my mom tried to replace it without me knowing, but I figured it out after I brushed her hair. I have the entire village expansion pack if you want to bring yours over.”

Her genuine smile confirms that she’s not trying to brag about her possessions. The Pocket Princesses recently spiked into popularity and most girls my age have one or five, but because of my parents’ layoffs, I haven’t even bothered to ask for one.

It’s as if she understands the reasoning behind my hesitation because her eyes are gentle when she says, “You should just use mine, you know, that way yours don’t get lost at my house. My mom would kill me if someone lost something at our house.” She’s offering me an out, and my chest expands with gratitude. Kids our age rarely save each other from embarrassment. She changes the subject by pointing at her brother who stands to the left of us. He’s engrossed by that tattered notepad.

What are you finding so fascinating that you have to immortalize it on paper?

“Ambrose is only eleven, but he acts like he’s so much older,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I giggle and decide right then that I want to be her friend. Her wheat-colored hair glows around her face. She doesn’t resemble her mom or brother, so she must look like her dad.

“Look! Penguins!”

She flits away before I can ask her to remind me of her name. I quietly stalk Ambrose’s movements until he plants himself in front of a glass aviary enclosure. I walk over and peer inside, curious to know what’s capturing his attention. Behind the glass walls are hundreds of birds flying from one branch to the other. Some drink from the hanging water bowls while others intricately build makeshift nests with the scattered twigs and branches that litter the enclosure’s floor. They’re a chaotic blend of colors soaring across my vision, and the image reminds me of a rainbow, bouncing from left to right. They seem so different from each other, I worry that some of them might be targeted for not fitting in. I watch a puffy yellow bird the size of my fist linger in the corner by itself and have trouble finding others that match its features.

“Why do you look sad?” Ambrose watches me with that curious expression again.

“I’m not sad.”

He waits expectantly, unsatisfied with my answer and I have a nagging feeling that he won’t look away until I offer up something more truthful.

I sigh. “I’m just wondering if any of these birds feel out of place. You know, if they ever get picked on by the other birds for looking too different.” I turn my attention back to the yellow puff, it remains isolated in its corner as Ambrose mulls over my concern with careful consideration.

“Teamwork is common between birds of different species. Some of the smaller birds build their nests near the larger birds because they know they’ll be more protected from predators. Some of them find food together, even though they look different.” He scratches his chin and it makes him look years older. “I think they know that you need friends who are good at the things you suck at. Animals are a lot more like people than we think.”

For someone who seems so sure of himself, I’m surprised when I see the hint of red blooming on his cheeks. Does he think I’ll find him weird for knowing so much about animals? He has the opposite effect on me. I’m completely enamored. I want to plant myself right here forever and listen to anything and everything he has to say. But for the time being, I offer him a small smile.

Awkward silence stretches between us, and I contemplate searching for my dad.

“Quiet,” Ambrose says.

My brows scrunch in confusion, and he smirks, making my belly flop.

“It’s a game. I say a word and then you say whatever word comes to your mind from that word. Give it a try. Quiet.”

“Um… talking?” I whisper.

“Whisper.”

“Secret.”

He grins. “Best friends.”

I frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s kind of hard to think of another word. I don’t have any best friends,” I say, shifting from one foot to the other.

Ambrose turns back to the enclosure and smiles to himself like he’s in on some secret. He tears a blank page from his notepad and pulls an extra pencil from his pocket before handing it to me.

“For now.”

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