Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [48]
We soon saw a sea of girls in navy blue uniforms, wrapped in coats and scarves and jackets, gathering on steps and around the buses. So we were there. Some of the girls glanced or waved at the boys who were congregating across the street and down two buildings at the Boys’ International School.
I was a little nervous, which was weird, considering all I’d been through so recently. But this was the real world, and I was glad when my mom kissed me at the school steps and promised to come pick me up at four o’clock so we could talk about my day over a cup of cocoa.
As I entered the magnificent old marble-floored hallway, I passed a shelf with potted plants, terrariums, dried seedpods, and framed botanical drawings leaning against the wall. A poster hanging above said OUR GREEN EARTH. I stopped to check it out. Right below was a sign-up list for students interested in forming a green squad to help out the local environment. I picked up the pen and wrote my name first on the list.
Then I noticed a gerbera daisy in a pot in the far corner. (TRIBE: MUTISIEAE, GENUS: GERBERA, read the sign beside it.) It reminded me of Belle, although she was a simplex, not a gerbera, of course. The daisy was starting to droop, so I reached into my backpack and pulled out my bottled water.
“There you go, little lady,” I said as I gave her a nice long drink. Almost instantly, the daisy’s thirsty leaves perked up. “You’d probably like to hear a song as well, but I’m new here and don’t want to look too strange,” I whispered.
I headed to my homeroom, which I could find because of the personal orientation I’d had just a few days earlier. Happily, my homeroom was the classroom of the Latin teacher, Ms. Jones. I hung my green coat and scarf in the cloakroom and then took a seat near the back. I noticed a girl a few rows ahead of me with long blond hair in braids twisted on top of her head. From the back, she looked just like Kerka!
But she couldn’t be. Right?
Then the girl turned around, and my jaw just about hit the floor. “Kerka?” I asked.
“Birdie?” she said. I noticed she had an accent here in the real world.
“How—I am so glad you’re here!” I exclaimed.
“Me too! It is a wonderful surprise!” Kerka was beaming, as I must have been.
“Welcome to a new semester, a new year,” Ms. Jones announced. “We have two new students who’ve joined us, and I’d like to start off by asking them to tell us a bit about themselves.” She nodded first to Kerka.
As my friend stepped to the front of the room to introduce herself, I felt for the Singing Stone in my pocket. It was smooth all around the edges, and I moved my fingers gently across the etching. I knew the Glimmer Tree branches and every turn of that maze by heart.
I gave Kerka a great big smile. It was going to be a very good year.
I could be considered a late bloomer, but I just think of it as one continuous bloom over many years. The long wait to fulfill this dream has allowed time to have the blessing of a very large family, some of whom I birthed and others of whom I inherited or picked up along the way. Thank you to those who call me Gigi—my amazing, creative, and sweet family of children, grandchildren, stepchildren, nieces and nephews, and adopted small souls: Shane, Evan, Dustin, Lucy, Casey, Bella, Kailey, Kirian, Emma, Cameron, Andrea, Noelle, Ben, Julian (the Boo), and Indira. I have learned everything worth knowing by loving and being loved by you.
I would like to thank the following people for helping to shape me on the path of my life: Ray Sr., Dora, Sherry (Sissy Lucha) and Ray Jr. (June Bug), Aunt Lita and Uncle Louie, my godparents, and Aunt Bet. They handed down stories from our own Welsh and Cuban families and encouraged me to vision and write. There are friends who generously hoped I was on to something—for years and years: Rob Sides, Jana Dezeeuw, Alan Shapiro, LG, Meredith. Thanks to Jesyca Durchin for thinking my songs were good and putting them into everything. Thanks to my mentor, Doug Glen, who convinced me to trust in the conscience of the marketplace.