"Sam! Hurry up! We're leaving in five minutes!" I hastily gave Fallie the last of the dried corn. She munched contentedly in the corner, her syrupy eyes fixed on me. I petted her soft, thin coat of mousy brown fur dotted with flecks of ivory. Her split hooves looked clean, she was brushed and fed . . .
"SAM!"
"Coming!" I slipped on my sneakers, getting one heel stuck, and hurried out of the room, nearly tripping over another mattress, one of about a dozen. The others waited for me in the van, chattering in excitement of the trip. Elsa sat in the driver's seat, honking the horn.
"There you are, Samuel, get in! We're going!" I smiled and climbed into the back seat where Jared had situated. Unfortunately, the AC didn't circulate back there, but at least it had more space. The front part of the white van held most of the group, and the daring kids leaned forward to occasionally change the music station.
"Hey, Jared."
"Hiya." Jared had white-blonde hair, so some kids teased him about the gray strands that highlighted his even grayer eyes. He preferred to wear long-sleeves or jackets, even, however high the sweltering temperature climbed.
Only I knew his secret. Some may called it weird, some may call it a defect, but I think it's pretty cool. I learned it as soon as we became friends, which was when we got here. He told me his secret, and I let him take care of Fallie. I hated it--no, loathed it, when the others got near her. Who knew when someone accidently kicked her? She was too little to be romped around with. But I trusted Jared to pet her when I was gone and feed her the right amount of corn so she wouldn't get sick.
But what was his secret? My friend, Jared Avern, has
feathers.

Elsa's crow's feet, stretching behind her eyes, deepened. She donned a hat, flicked her sunglasses back up, and tossed a bottle of sticky, dread sunscreen for everyone to lather on.
We piled out of the steaming van, and I shivered in the sudden exchange from cold AC to strong ultraviolet. I slapped white sunscreen on my neck and asked Jared if the coloring was gone. He nodded. As I rubbed my arms with the lotion, I eyed the navy lettering painted on the side of the van. “New Sunrises Foster Care,” it said.
Yes, I was an orphan, as well as the other dozen kids that had just climbed out of the van. Elsa was my adopted mother.
Elsa lead us to the front desk, paid the admission(climbing higher with the temperature) and a tour guide joined our group. Her nametag read: Mrs. Leeson, tour guide for Southern Hills Zoo. Pretty far from Elsa's simple but large Forest Hills house, wich lay smack dab in the middle of a dense forest.
Everyone called it the Forest, because no one else came up with a better name. So the Forest it was. On the edge, an old guy built a public school about four decades ago. Jared and I attended it, but now, it lay forgotten in the backs of our minds. Summer could not be mixed with school, not now, not ever. That remained the rule for the New Sunrises' kids. And that it stayed.
“I see we have a large group here,” said Mrs. Leeson cheerfully. No one responded. The loud buzz of cicadas mixed with the hot summer heat made boredom unbearable. I wished Fallie had come. “Well, here are some maps,” she handed out laminated sheets, “and now we'll go see the 'Lion's Den'!” Jared snickered. I rolled my eyes and sighed. This was going to be a very long day at the zoo.

I pulled out my sketchbook, despite the names I'd been called because of my association with it: "sissy," "loser," "weirdo" . . . . Nevertheless, Jared stood stock still, knowing the routine. I tried to sketch his outline, but nothing came to me. The lines on the page looked blah, lifeless. I abandoned it and flipped to a new page. Jared stood up again.
“What are you drawing this time?”
“Lions.” He raised an eyebrow.
“They're in the back, Sam. We've got about five minutes before Mrs. Leeson runs out of words to say. Chances are, they'll come out when we're gone.”
“Sure.” I stared at the male in the back, obviously in charge. About half a dozen females lounged around or sniffed at the slab of meat given to them by a zookeeper.
I tried to concentrate, and focused on the lines of his face, shadowed by a tree's shade. Then I looked again. He was gone from his spot in the back.
“Sam! Look! It's right there!” The lion, padding softly, nosed up to the chain link fence. It's eyes looked at me in a strange way . . . “Oh my gosh, Sam, you've gotta see this—”
Mrs. Leeson's voice tried to capture attention from the others, who ran up to the lion, oohing and aahing. “And this one, our male, is called—” The lion looked at me again, with almost soft recogniton. Like—like a friend. I had no time to sketch him. I stood, paralyzed, as he retreated into the cool shade of his tree.
“Jared, did you see that?” I murmured. “He looked at me in the strangest way—”
“Oh, I wish I had a camera!” said Jared. “That was amazing.” Mrs. Leeson herded us to the next exhibit, but I think I almost saw that lion wink at me.
“And here we have our black rhinos—” I captured its shape on paper, though still thinking about the lion. Weird . . .

Elsa discussed the rest of our trip with Mrs. Leeson while we feasted on spicy tacos, cheeseburgers, fried corn dogs, and curly frenchfries.
“ 'Oo 'ow, I 'ink 'eah 'un-een 'ang a'ow 'a 'i-en,” said Jared, mouth overflowing like the garbage can in front of the restaurant. Strands of iceberg lettuce leaked out of his maw.
“Say what?” I said, intent on my gooey burger.
“I think there's something strange about that lion,” repeated Jared.
“Mm-hmm,” I said, now studying my picture of an Asian elephant. It looked smudged, so I perfected it with my pencil.
“Okay,” boomed Elsa. “Time to go! Plates in the trash and follow the guide!” I gathered my things and followed Jared outside.
Mrs. Leeson was busy describing various species of parrots.

“What do you mean, forget about it? There was something weird with that lion!”
“Jared, it walked up to me! So what?” Jared grimaced and slouched over his mattress. Fallie munched on another cup of corn.
“I still think it's weird.”
“Just forget about it.”
“I'm trying.”
“Good.” We ended it at that, and I resumed sketching.

That night all of us were too exhausted to hassle with Elsa about how late we could stay up. We obediently filed into our rooms, and I think half the kids were zonked out before they even hit the ground. I was one of the lucky ones.
"Hey, Jared?"
"Eh . . ." he mumbled incoherently.
"I think there's something outside." I peered through the pitch blackness, feeling the wind float through the window.
Then it hit.
A blast of leaves, debris, and twigs exploded into my face, and woke everyone up who wasn't already dead to the world. I coughed and spluttered--getting hit by a prickly ball of junk isn't the greatest.
And then Jared noticed something. "Hey, Sam? I think you dropped something."
He groggily handed me a piece of paper, but it was very thin and not the kind I used.
It had two things written on it.
"The Park, 7:30 am"
"That's weird," said Jared. "Should we go?"
I shrugged. "Worth a try, eh?"
Jared nodded. "Definitely. Definitely something weird."