Soar by Tracy Edward Wymer

It is the only group like this in the western hemisphere.”
    â€œThe only group in the western hemisphere?”
    Gabriela nods, smiling.
    â€œWelcome to our friendship circle,” says a lady with a great green macaw standing on her shoulder. “Glad you could join us. Are you also mute?”
    She’s clearly asking me, so I answer. “No.”
    â€œAsking is always the easiest way to find out,” she explains. “What’s your name?”
    â€œEddie,” I tell her.
    â€œOkay, everyone, let’s welcome Eddie to our circle.”
    She does something in sign language. Her hand motions look like a cross between sewing with a needle and playing air guitar. “All together now, on the count of three. One . . . Two . . .”
    On three she says “Welcome, Eddie,” and then the birds say something that sounds just like that.
    With everyone looking at me, I’m sure my face is the color of Silvio’s bright red feathers. “Thanks,” I tell everyone. “Glad to be here.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” says the lady. “My name is Carolyn Foster Rosetta Sinclair Mitchell, but you can call me Carol. And we, Mr. Eddie, are the Bird Talkers. Everyone here, except you, me, and Princess Gabriela, is deaf mute. That means they can’t hear or talk. Well, let me clarify. Some can hear specific sounds, but none can talk. Would you like to hear the birds talk some more?”
    â€œSure.” I glance at Gabriela. She’s obviously amused at the spotlight being thrown on me.
    Papa strokes his black beard. I wonder if he can hear me, or if he can only read my lips.
    Carol sits up straight and counts to three again, showing the numbers on her fingers. When she says “three,” the adults gesture with their right hands, making a sign that resembles their first two fingers going down a waterslide together.
    The birds all say, “Groovy.”
    Carol laughs, and the circle laughs silently. “That is my all-time favorite, Mr. Eddie. That’s a silly nilly word. It doesn’t get much use in the real world, but it sure provides some laughs for us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    I look at Gabriela. We hide our smiles so we don’t offend Carol. It’s all I can do to not laugh at this whole situation, not in a mean way but in an awesome, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me way.
    After a couple more demonstrations from Carol and the gang, Papa brings out snacks and drinks from the kitchen. I eat a handful of Brazil nuts, then wash them down with one of Papa’s delicious berry drinks.
    I toss my plastic cup into the recycling container. “I better get home for dinner.”
    The macaws are amazing, and the truth is, I’d rather stay here than go home, but it’s only fair that I show up for dinner. Mom’s probably lonely and needs someone to break up the quietness.
    Gabriela walks me to the front door.
    â€œThat was awesome,” I tell her. “You’re lucky to have those macaws at your house.”
    â€œIt is good therapy for them. They have a real connection with the birds. Though Carol can be a lot to handle.”
    We laugh together.
    And that makes me feel like flying.
    When I get home, I open my journal and flip to my drawing of Silvio.
    It’s crazy what you discover about art when you haven’t seen it for a while. It’s by far the best sketch I’ve ever done! The head and beak are proportionate, and the feathers are just as colorful and vibrant as Silvio’s in real life.
    I want to look at the older sketches in my journal, but then I’ll be up all night fixing wings and crests and beak shapes. I can’t be tired at school, especially during science class.
    I turn the page and begin sketching the northern cardinal from Gabriela’s front yard. I’ve seen a lot of them this year, but this one was more impressive than the rest, maybe because it