Strays (14 page)

I like walking in through the
EMPLOYEES ONLY
door. I even like the locker room, which is totally different from the one at high school. Nobody’s snapping towels at me, for one thing. Nobody’s calling me names. The other guys talk about a movie they’ve seen or some girl they got to flirt with up by the reptile house. They plan things and ask if I feel like going along.

Then it’s time to go to work. The zoo is really at its best in the morning. The animals seem more like themselves. Maybe they don’t like being stared at, something I understand. I don’t really like seeing them in cages, but I know that’s not going to change for a long time, so my job is to make things as good as they can be. They shouldn’t be hungry. They shouldn’t be sick. Their pens and enclosures should be clean and safe.

I’ve already graduated from kid-with-a-broom-and-a-burlap-bag to delivery boy. Before we open for business, I like zipping around in my miniature truck with the flatbed that holds boxes of napkins and toilet paper and cases of Snapple one day and bigger boxes of horse meat for the tigers the next.

There’s usually a keeper walking around with a chimp or sometimes a python, and always Larry the llama, who was born in the zoo and imprinted on Rusty, his trainer.

Before the day’s over, though, I always see somebody who reminds me of my mom or dad, and I wonder what they’d think about what I’m doing. Mom would probably like it, and Dad? Man, who knows? I’m not making a lot of money, that’s for sure.

This morning I’m sitting in the truck at the corner of Koala Street and Roo Lane when Larry the llama wanders by a few yards behind Rusty as usual. Larry looks like he always looks, which is a periscope on four legs. Today he stops and stares at me, so I stare back. He nods, so I nod.

“Hey, Teddy.”

What the . . . I thought that was . . .

Then Sarah tugs at my official khaki shirt. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” she says.

“No, really, it’s okay. I just didn’t see you. I was thinking.”

She pretends to look mad. “Any more of that, young man, and no dessert.”

Sarah is nice; she works the café in the African sector. I give her rides in my little open-air truck all the time.

“Big weekend,” she says, climbing in and bracing her long legs against the dash. “Protests, TV crews, movie stars, the whole nine yards.”

“Those guys are right. Somebody should protest. If there’s fifty million left in the budget, half of it shouldn’t go to advertising the new elephant grassland. It should go for more grassland. People will want to see elephants being pretty much like they would be if they could be.”

Sarah nods. She looks kind of sleepy. “Are you working Animals After Dark?”

“For sure. I love Animals After Dark. I get my very own flashlight. What about you?”

“Not this time. I have to look for a new apartment. My roommate used to bring home guys. Now she chants and burns incense.”

“My friend Astin is looking.”

“He’s not living at Megan’s anymore?”

I shake my head. “Yeah, but he says her mom is impossible. He’s coming today; I got some passes.”

Sarah points and I pull into the shade. “Drop me here, okay? I’ve got to put some potato salad out in the sun for people who get on my nerves. ‘Where are the bears?’ she says, pretending to be a cranky mom. ‘Why aren’t the bears out here juggling four or five hoops so I can take their picture?’” She takes her head in both hands. “It’s enough to drive a girl crazy.” Then she pats my leg and hops out. “Just Astin today?”

“No, Megan for sure. C.W. and maybe Belle.”

“Bring ’em by the Serengeti. I’ll hook you guys up with some primo tuna salad.”

I make my deliveries, then pull on some boots and go to work behind the scenes. Trainers are supposed to clean up where the animals sleep, but usually somebody like me does it instead. It’s not too bad, and I like thinking about the antelope or the yak or the wildebeest coming back inside after a day of being stared at and finding everything clean and dry.

Then I wash up and go wait for my friends by the gift shop. Astin will be in his leather jacket, Megan in something short, C.W. in that linen shirt he just bought. The first thing he’ll say is that Tupac looked so cute sleeping on my bed, but I shouldn’t worry because he’d just had a bath and was almost dry.

I’ll tell Megan I talked to Wanda, who says hi, and Megan will say that she’ll absolutely call her this time because she misses Wanda like crazy. But she’ll forget.

I’ve got my official khaki shirt on, so people stop and ask me things. A lot of times it’s just where the bathrooms are, but other stuff too. And most of the time I know the answers: that baboon’s behind is all red because it’s mating season; the old lion’s mane is falling out because he’s got a fungus that we’re treating; the flamingos’ wings are clipped because otherwise they’d fly away.

I can kind of picture myself, taller and stronger, wearing scrubs with just a little blood on them because I had to operate on a paw or a hoof or even untangle an intestine.

Then I spot Astin, and I’m sixteen again, making seven-fifty an hour and driving a little truck. Oh, well.

Megan sees me and waves, so I step out of the shade. It’s time to show my friends around, then buy them some lunch at the Serengeti Café, where Sarah has a handmade
RESERVED
sign on the best table in the place.

www.candlewick.com

www.candlewick.com

RON KOERTGE
is the author of many celebrated novels, including
Deadville, Margaux with an X, Stoner and Spaz, The Arizona Kid, Where the Kissing Never Stops,
and
The Brimstone Journals.
He says, “When it came to
Strays,
I wondered, how would a teenager behave if he was abruptly thrust into the foster-care system? To find out, I made myself a character and named him Ted. Then I waited to see how Ted would act and what he would say. A few drafts later, I had some answers. I hope my readers will be as pleased and surprised by them as I am.” Ron Koertge lives in South Pasadena, California.