Chapter 2 Owen
As soon as Owen said, “You’re doing it wrong,” he realized it was probably not the right thing to say to someone he was just meeting for the first time. Maybe it was even rude.
The girl, taller than him with black curly hair and dark-brown eyes—and lots of glittery pink stuff everywhere else—seemed to think he was rude. She huffed. “It’s not a sword. It’s a lightsaber.” She held the goldfish bowl higher, and the water sloshed, the fish floating at the top like it was sleeping. “I’m training to be a Jedi, so I know how to hold a lightsaber. This is exactly how.”
“Um . . . okay,” said Owen.
“Anyway, are you only seven?” asked the girl, glaring at him like it was a really important question.
“I’m not only seven.” Owen’s little brother was only five. “I’m already seven.” There was a huge difference between only and already.
“Huh. Are you going into second grade?” She said it like it was a bad thing.
Owen could never remember what grade he was in. But luckily, just then his mom came outside, carrying a plate. “Mom, am I going into first grade, or second grade?”
She frowned, thinking. “I think by now you’re a second-grader.” Then she turned to the girl. “You must be our downstairs neighbor. I’m Kathleen.”
“I’m not allowed to call grown-ups by first names,” said the girl. “And how can you not know what grade your kid is in? Is he . . . ?” She paused. “Is he someone you just adopted yesterday, and you don’t know if he can read, so you don’t know what grade he should go into? Or maybe he’s been really, really sick for years and years”—she squinted at him—“or months and months, and he’s missed a ton of school, and you don’t know if he can keep going in his same grade or not? Or maybe . . .”
“I’m homeschooled,” said Owen.
“And we don’t think about grades that much,” said his mom.
The girl looked disappointed. “Are you sure you weren’t maybe kidnapped by a secret society and you just escaped and now you have to start school, later than everyone else, and they don’t know if you can catch up because all you’ve learned is how to talk in secret code and be a spy?”
“Pretty sure,” said Owen.
“I’ll leave you two,” said Mom. “Owen, I’m going to introduce myself to . . . what’s your name?”
“Eleanor,” said the girl.
“I’m going to say hi to Eleanor’s mom.”
“My mom went to the store for toilet paper because we can’t find any in the unpacking. Dad’s home.”
“Well, I’ll drop this off with your dad then.” She left with her plate, but this time to the lower duplex, where she knocked and chatted with Eleanor’s dad before heading upstairs again.
The girl (Eleanor) still looked disappointed about the homeschooling.
“I wasn’t kidnapped,” said Owen, “but I do know secret codes. And I take fencing lessons. You know, with swords. I can teach you about sword fighting.”
“This is a lightsaber.” Then she shrugged and put down the bowl on the sidewalk. “It’s not even the right shape for a lightsaber. Pretty pathetic, really.”
Owen peered in. The fish did not look good. “Is he . . . dead?”
“Dead as crushed-up chips,” Eleanor said cheerily. “Which means yes. We’re going to have a funeral. You’re invited.”
“Oh. I mean, thank you.” Owen had only been to one funeral before, and that was when he was too little to remember. “I won’t have to give a speech, will I?” He didn’t like giving speeches in front of people.
“No, I’ll give the speech,” said Eleanor. “I was his best friend, after all. You can do the fencing performance.”
“The what?”
“Fencing performance. For the beginning of the funeral. It will be like military honors. Like a twenty-one-gun salute but with a sword.”
Owen was pretty sure his grandmother’s funeral hadn’t had a fencing performance. He would have heard about that. “I think a twenty-one-gun salute is for soldiers. Was your fish—was your fish in the army?”
“Of course not! He was in the navy. The fish navy. Very secret.”
Owen wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond.
“And the fish navy does fencing at funerals,” said Eleanor.
“The problem is,” said Owen, “I can’t fence by myself. I have to have a partner. That’s how fencing works.”
Eleanor wrinkled her nose in thought and bounced on her toes, which made all her pink glitter sparkle. “Okay. You teach me fencing this afternoon, and I’ll help you perform the fencing part of the funeral. We can do it together.”
“Okay,” said Owen.
“Let me find a good sword,” said Eleanor. She went inside.
Owen stood in the yard next to the bowl of dead goldfish. He had a lot of questions. A lot. What was the goldfish’s name? Was there really such a thing as a fish navy? (He was pretty sure there was not.) What if he cried at the funeral? (He didn’t think he would, but he’d heard that people did.) After the funeral, would the fish go to heaven? What was fish heaven like? Was it different than people heaven, where his grandmother was?
And most of all: What was life going to be like from now on, with this strange girl living in the apartment below him? She had just talked Owen into fencing at a fish funeral. What would she convince him of next?
Chapter 3 Eleanor
Eleanor ran inside to find her dad in the kitchen. He swiped crumbs from his mouth. “Hey, want a cookie, corazoncito?”
“Are those from Owen’s mom?”
“Yes. Chocolate chip.”
Chocolate chip was Eleanor’s favorite.
Dad said, “So, are we having the funeral tonight?”
Eleanor said, “What is a funeral where you don’t bury someone?”
“That’s called a memorial service.” Dad kept opening boxes, cookie in one hand. He did not seem to be listening all the way. “When do you want to do the funeral?”
“After supper. Owen’s doing the fencing.”
“The what?” Dad was listening a lot now.
“With a sword.”
“For the funeral?”
“Yes. And I’m the
