Ostrich Eye (Paperback)

Chapter One

Chapter 1

Every time I try to figure out how it all started, I find myself going back to that really nice stretch of days last spring. It was one of those early May afternoons when the birds are kind of flowing in waves from one backyard to the next, eating all the birdseed at one feeder, then moving on. When the lilacs are starting to bud and the lettuce in the gardens is coming up in pale green stripes and you tie your sweater around your waist and let your arms soak up some sun.

I'd gotten off the school bus in front of Kim's house as usual and walked the two blocks home. As I went in the front door, I heard Mom talking in the kitchen.

"God knows how much I hate crafts," she was saying. "A glue gun makes me want to break out in hives." At first I thought she was talking to me, but then I heard my aunt Suzanne's quick bright voice and smelled the coffee and cinnamon rolls.

"Couldn't you get somebody else to

Chapter One

Chapter 1

Every time I try to figure out how it all started, I find myself going back to that really nice stretch of days last spring. It was one of those early May afternoons when the birds are kind of flowing in waves from one backyard to the next, eating all the birdseed at one feeder, then moving on. When the lilacs are starting to bud and the lettuce in the gardens is coming up in pale green stripes and you tie your sweater around your waist and let your arms soak up some sun.

I'd gotten off the school bus in front of Kim's house as usual and walked the two blocks home. As I went in the front door, I heard Mom talking in the kitchen.

"God knows how much I hate crafts," she was saying. "A glue gun makes me want to break out in hives." At first I thought she was talking to me, but then I heard my aunt Suzanne's quick bright voice and smelled the coffee and cinnamon rolls.

"Couldn't you get somebody else to do it?" Suzanne asked.

"I've called everybody. Everybody's too busy."

"Like you're not?" Suzanne said. "You just started a new job, Renee, isn't that enough?" My mom had recently gotten her Realtor's license and was out at all hours of the day and night showing houses.

"True," Mom said. "But Vivian really wants to be a Sunbeam Scout. How much trouble could becoming a troop leader be, anyhow?"

It was a good question. My mom is the last person you'd expect to volunteer. She hates camping, is useless at crafts, and is about as organized as a pile of leaves. She's hardly ever on time and loses things like her car keys or even the car itself if I don't remind her where she parked when we come out of the mall. I doubt she knows the Pledge of Allegiance, and because of her Catholic-school upbringing, she is totally against uniforms. She went on and on about them when I said I might want to join marching band. Like you can have a halftime show without uniforms. On the other hand, that she would become a troop leader just because my half sister, Vivian, wanted to be a Sunbeam Scout was no surprise at all. She'll do anything for Vivian.

"Once a week, Kool-Aid and cookies," Mom went on. "Ginger can help me with the crafts. She likes that kind of thing."

"Ginger is just as busy as anybody else," I mumbled to myself, and dropped my backpack, loud, on the tile floor of our entryway.

"Gin, is that you?" Mom called from the kitchen. "How was your day? Got any homework?"

"A little," I said as I came into the kitchen and took a cinnamon roll, still warm and gooey, from the box on the table. Suzanne had brought them. Mom doesn't buy stuff like that. To her a snack means an apple or yogurt or at best a granola bar, although I've never seen her pass up a cinnamon roll when it was put in front of her.

"Well, take a little break, get yourself something to eat, and get started with it," she said cheerfully. This conversation was routine. It didn't matter whether I had no homework or about a million pages to read in social studies and a report in English and a boatload of math, which is what I had that afternoon. She always told me to get started with it. And if homework wasn't enough to deal with, in three weeks Cottonwood High School would have its Freshman Spring Fling, which I had absolutely no interest in going to but somehow was, thanks to Kim and Annie.

"Hey there, Stringbean," Suzanne said, smiling all crinkle-eyed like she does and calling me by the nickname she gave me when I started kindergarten. I was extremely skinny back then and a good three inches taller than every other kid in the class. "Get yourself a glass of milk to go with that roll. Put some meat on those bones." She still had on her navy blue uniform. Her web gear-a big nylon belt with all the key keepers and gadgets on it-was curled up in the empty chair, and her radio mike was clipped to her shoulder. Suzanne works as a security officer at St. Sebastian College and takes a couple of classes in criminal justice every semester. She wants to be a police detective, even though she's starting kind of late. She's five years younger than Mom, so she'll be thirty next January. Like my mom, she was a little slow in figuring out what she wanted to be when she grew up. Unlike my mom, she'd be the first to admit it.

"Well, I guess that's all settled," Mom said to Suzanne, then turned to me like I'd been part of the discussion all along. "The Rosa girls are ready for scouting."

Suzanne laughed. "But is scouting ready for you?"



As soon as my stepdad, Tony, got home from work that afternoon, Vivian charged him, shouting, "I'm gonna be a Sunbeam! I get to sell cookies!" over and over like a crazy person. Tony picked her up and swung her around. "That's great, big girl. When do you get your beanie?"

"Brownies wear beanies. We get baseball caps."

Tony put his yellow hard hat on her head and swung her around again. Then they both plopped down beside me on the couch, where I was trying to read about China and the Cultural Revolution.

"What's up?" Tony socked me lightly on the arm and put up his fists, dodging like a boxer. "Gotten any taller today? Have you outgrown the man of the house yet?"

"Outgrew him ages ago," I said. It's a running joke between us, but it's also true. Tony's really good-looking, but on the short side. Short, dark, and handsome, as Suzanne says. I'm pushing six feet. I got my height from my real dad, who I don't remember at all. He left for good when I was about three. Tony married Mom when I was in kindergarten. At first he wanted me to call him Dad, but I couldn't do it. Tony has always been just Tony to me. Still, he's the only father I've ever known, and I sure could do a lot worse. He's been at every single school play or basketball game or band concert I've ever participated in. Maybe he used to swing me around like he does Vivi and let me wear his hard hat. I don't remember. We joke around a lot, but I don't think he feels like I'm his real daughter. Nothing against Tony-I know he loves me and all-but when I see how he is with Vivian, there's no comparison.

I was in third grade when Vivian was born. From her first breath, Vivian has been the kind of kid people can't help staring at.

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Excerpted from Ostrich Eyeby Beth Cooley Copyright © 2005 by Beth Cooley. Excerpted by permission.
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