Wonder Mom-Mom

By Kathleen Long

Becky Willowbee dreams of attending the biggest bird-watching festival on the east coast. The science fair grand prize would give her enough money to buy a ticket, and Becky loves science almost as much as she loves birds. Sounds like the perfect plan. Right? There's just one problem...maybe three.

The class bully wants the prize for herself, Becky's little brother is afraid of birds, and her mom-mom thinks she's a superhero. That's right. Superhero. If Becky wants the prize, she'll need to keep everyone under control. What could possibly go wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathleen Long
• Release date: Dec 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999269275

Kathleen Long

After a career spent spinning words for clients ranging from corporate CEOs to talking fruits and vegetables, Kathleen now enjoys spinning a world of fictional characters, places and plots. A RIO and Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence winner and National Readers Choice, Booksellers Best and Holt Medallion nominee, she divides her time between suburban Philadelphia and the New Jersey seashore. Please visit her at www.kathleenlong.com, or drop her a line at P.O. Box 3864, Cherry Hill, NJ 08034.

Book preview

Wonder Mom-Mom

Kathleen Long

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or, if real, are used fictitiously.

Text copyright ©2017 by Kathleen Long

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

First edition 2017

SteeleHouse Press

Visit the author at kathleenlong.com

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

About the Author

For Annie—coolest panda,

master of cuteness, queen of the unicorns.

Never stop dreaming.

CHAPTER ONE

Date: Thursday, September 20th

Location: Westmont Elementary playground

Weather: Mild and sunny

Notes: Dodgeball is fun…said no one ever

I spotted the Great Blue Heron at the exact moment a large rubber ball connected with the back of my head. My thoughts went something like this: Ardea herodias! Excited silent scream. Then: Janie Howell. Frustrated internal groan.

As a matter of fact, I said, Heron! just as my head snapped forward and I staggered across the blacktop.

Sorry, Janie yelled. It slipped.

The spot where the ball hit the back of my skull throbbed instantly, and my glasses slid down my nose. The only reason they didn’t fly off and land on the blacktop was that I’d become a frequent target of Janie’s slips. My reflexes had gotten so fast my hand automatically went to my nose anytime I sensed an incoming object. Unfortunately I tripped at the same time and landed on my knees, pain shooting straight into my bones.

Beside me, Izzy Roswell growled. The sound rumbled from somewhere deep inside my best friend, as if a primal beast had awakened. Which it had.

Izzy grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. Then she fisted her hands on her hips and pivoted, shooting a death glare at Janie. Izzy stabbed one finger at the bridge of her own glasses, a move that typically signaled a stroke of brilliance or violence. She pushed her brown hair behind her ears and narrowed her eyes.

Definitely that second thing.

Janie shrugged. The demented-looking bunny on her T-shirt sat beneath a caption that read, It’s cute how you think I’m listening to you, and her hair looked like she’d done nothing more than finger-comb it for a month. Her expression had grown even scarier than normal. I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d done to deserve her wrath this time.

She hadn’t acknowledged my existence in fourth grade. Pretty much no one had. I was OK with that, though. Some kids wanted to fit in. I simply didn’t want to stand out.

But ever since the start of fifth grade, Janie had chosen me as her target. What I couldn’t figure out was why?

She raised her eyebrows as if to say, What are you going to do about it, Becky Willowbee?

I sighed. I’d never fought Janie. I didn’t want to fight her now. I was a scientist, a lover of birds, a kid who had no idea why the class bully had picked me.

The heron lifted from the bank of the pond where he’d settled, his magnificent grayish blue wingspan spreading wide as he flew out of my sight. My heart sank. I hadn’t even had a chance to log the sighting in the Audubon tracker I kept wedged in the back pocket of my jeans.

Izzy, however, had also launched into motion, flying across the blacktop to stand nose to nose with Janie.

Other students drifted closer, leaving behind soccer games and monkey bars to see what was happening. The teachers remained gathered in their usual corner of the blacktop, but a few heads turned our way. A soft chant rose from the fourth and fifth graders. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

Izzy, no, I yelled. One more disciplinary notice and Izzy would be on after-school detention until she was thirty-five.

An odd sort of clamminess broke out on my face, and my glasses began a slow slide down my nose. I willed my feet to move, but could manage nothing more than standing there, wishing away the queasiness in the pit of my stomach.

Mrs. Jenkins, best science teacher in the world, broke away from the pack of teachers and moved to my side. Looks like you could use some help out here. She shot me a sympathetic smile, then rang the hand bell Westmont Elementary still used to signal the end of recess. Saved by the bell, Willowbee, she said before she turned away.

Bloodthirsty fight goers scattered, gathering up lunch boxes and environmentally friendly drink bottles.

Izzy, however, stood her ground, somehow appearing six inches taller than normal.

Janie smirked. Later, loser.

While most kids held up their fingers in the sign of an L when they spoke those words, Janie held up three fingers in the sign of a W. Then she walked away, one of her minions gathering up her lunch paraphernalia as they headed back to class.

Isabella Roswell, Mrs. Jenkins called out from where she’d stopped partway across the blacktop. We’re doing a gravitational-pull experiment you won’t want to miss. Let’s go.

Izzy reluctantly turned back to where I waited, and together we made our way across the blacktop toward the back door of the school. My gaze dropped to our feet, my battered Keds and her polished Mary Janes. Shoes said a lot about a person, I thought. Mine said I was pretty lazy when it came to footwear. Izzy’s said that no matter how tough she appeared on the outside, she loved her Mary Janes on the inside, and she was brave enough to wear what she wanted.

Thanks for standing up for me, I said softly.

Your head OK? Izzy asked.

I nodded.

Your knees OK?

I nodded again. Confusion and disappointment danced inside me. What had I ever done to Janie? Why couldn’t I be brave like Izzy? Would I ever see the heron again?

Then I asked. "Did you see the heron?"

Izzy sucked in air through her teeth and shook her head. Blue? Or Great Blue?

Great.

Awesome.

Yeah, awesome, I said, a little sad about everything.

In the moment before I stepped across the threshold that separated steel doors and linoleum floors from blacktop, playground, and the county park that bordered school property, I sneaked a look back at the crisp September sky.

I hoped for one last glimpse of the majestic bird, but the great blue heron was nowhere to be seen. He and his amazing wingspan had fled the scene.

Smart bird.

Later that afternoon, as my younger brother, Will, and I headed home on the Route 6 bus, it wasn’t the recess drama or the gravitational-pull experiment that bounced through my brain. Nope. It was the Westmont Science Fair.

I’d had a lot of trouble concentrating after recess. I kept thinking about the playground, and Janie, and the heron. I’d been wishing I were invisible so Janie would leave me alone to watch birds all day, when Mrs. Jenkins had told us all about the upcoming science fair and the one-hundred-dollar grand prize.

It was almost like she’d known exactly what to say to snap me out of my funk.

Here’s the thing. For the past three years, I’d dreamed of attending the Fall Festival in Cape May, New Jersey. Each spring and summer, tens of thousands of birds migrated past the shores of southern New Jersey, and for more than forty years, HawkWatch had been part of the fall festival.

For a few days each October, migrating raptors filled the sky over the southernmost tip of the state. Once, the daily count had reached over twenty thousand birds.

A shiver of excitement raced up my spine just imagining what the skies must look like.

So, what did the Fall Festival have to do with the Westmont Science Fair?

Well, I’d never asked to go to HawkWatch. Not once.

I knew better.

My parents were all about inclusion. They believed in doing things as a family. The Cape May Fall Festival was never going to be one of those things, because Will was terrified of birds.

But the science fair gave me an idea. What if I won enough money to go? Mom and Dad would never say no. Sure, someone would have to drive me the two hours to Cape May, New Jersey, but they knew how much I loved birds. Heck, I spent most afternoons sitting outside logging bird sightings in my field journal.

If I could win the science fair, maybe my parents would let me take the trip of my dreams even if it represented the thing my brother liked least.

All I needed now was a science fair entry that would be a sure-fire winner. I sat back against the fake leather of the bus seat and sighed. The scientist in me knew my plan wasn’t foolproof, but the dreamer in me knew anything was possible.

My heart did a little dance inside my ribs, and I did my best to stay calm. Think, Becky. Think. What sort of project would be so spectacular that no one else could beat me?

Will squirmed beside me and began to rock back and forth.

I put my hand on his knee and waited for him to look me in the eye. When he did, I smiled. Then I stuck out my tongue. He laughed and stopped rocking.

This was our thing.

Some people liked to label him. On the spectrum, they’d say. Autistic, they’d say.

As far as I was concerned, the only label Will needed was brother. My brother.

No sooner had he stopped rocking when he leaned toward the window. The bus driver had turned onto our street, so I figured Will was excited to see our house.

I was wrong.

I know this one, he said.

What one? I asked, stretching toward his side of the bench, but not seeing anything other than our neighbors’ houses.

Wonder Mom-Mom, he exclaimed in an excited rush of breath.

Behind us, the hum of conversation faded.

No wonder you’re such a weirdo, Willowbee, Janie called out, drawing my last name into four syllables. I didn’t have to look to know she was holding up her three-fingered W.

Laughter exploded inside the bus, and Janie called out, Willowbee’s a weirdo.

Will slid his small hand inside mine.

Knock it off, the bus driver hollered, but then she fell silent as she glanced toward our front lawn. What in the—

Wonder Mom-Mom, Will repeated, and this time I spotted the object of his attention.

Our grandmother danced in a tight spiral in our yard, arms outstretched, feet pounding down Dad’s prized Kentucky bluegrass. She wore a red, white, and blue bathing suit, a large gold belt, blue tights, a pair of red rain boots, and a gold tiara.

Dread knotted at the base of my throat, and I swallowed against the lump.

The thing was, Mom-Mom loved costumes. She always had. She was, as my dad liked to say, quirky. But when you’re eleven years old, sitting on a bus full of fellow students, just about the last thing you want to see is your grandmother jumping around in a costume on your front lawn.

Wonder Mom-Mom, Will