Carl Hiaasen - Hoot

When Roy's turn came to address Mr. Ryan's class, he didn't use any of those articles for his topic. Instead he held up the newspaper and pointed to the torn page where the Mother Paula's advertisement had been.

"Most everybody here likes pancakes," Roy began. "I know I sure do. And when I first heard that a new Mother Paula's was going to open here in Coconut Cove, I thought that was pretty cool."

Several kids nodded and smiled. One girl pretended to rub her tummy hungrily.

"Even when I found out where they're going to build it-that big empty lot at the corner of Woodbury and East Oriole-I didn't see anything wrong with the idea," Roy said. "Then one day a friend of mine took me out there and showed me something that changed my mind totally."

Now the other students stopped talking among themselves and paid attention. They'd never heard the new kid say so much.

"It was an owl," Roy went on, "about this tall."

He held up two fingers, one eight or nine inches above the other, to show them. "When my family lived out West we saw plenty of owls, but never one this small. And he wasn't a baby, either, he was full grown! He was so straight and serious, he looked like a little toy professor."

The class laughed.

"They're called 'burrowing' owls because they actually live underground," Roy continued, "in old holes made by tortoises and armadillos. Turns out that a couple of owl families hang out on that land at Woodbury and East Oriole. They made their nests in the dens and that's where they raise their babies."

Some of the kids shifted uneasily. A few began whispering in worried tones and some looked at Mr. Ryan, who sat thoughtfully at his desk, chin propped in his hands.

"Roy," he said gently, "this is an excellent subject for biology or social studies, but perhaps not for current events."

"Oh, it's definitely a current event," Roy countered. "It's happening tomorrow at noon, Mr. Ryan."

"What is?"

"They're going to start bulldozing to make way for the pancake house. It's like a big party or something," Roy said. "The lady who plays Mother Paula on TV is going to be there. The mayor, too. That's what the paper said."

A red-haired girl in the front row raised her hand. "Didn't the paper say anything about the owls?"

"No. Not a word," Roy said.

"So what's gonna happen to 'em?" called a freckle-faced boy from the back of the classroom.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen." Roy looked at Mr. Ryan. "The machines are going to bury all those burrows, and everything inside."

"No way!" the red-haired girl cried, and the class erupted in agitated conversation until Mr. Ryan asked everyone to please be quiet and let Roy finish.

"The grown-up owls might try to fly away," Roy said, "or they might just stay in the dens to protect their babies."

"But they'll die!" the freckle-faced kid shouted.

"How can the pancake people get away with this?" demanded another.

"I don't know," Roy said, "but it's not legal, and it's not right."

Here Mr. Ryan interrupted firmly. "Hold on, Roy, what do you mean it's 'not legal'? You need to be careful when you're making those kinds of serious allegations."

Excitedly Roy explained that the burrowing owls were protected by state and federal laws, and that it was illegal to harm the birds or disturb active burrows without getting special government permits.

"All right. Fine," said Mr. Ryan, "but what does the pancake company have to say about this? I'm sure they got the proper permission-"

"The file is missing," Roy cut in, "and the foreman tried to tell me there weren't any owls on the property, not a single one. Which is a lie."

The class started buzzing again.

"So tomorrow at lunch," Roy continued, "I'm going out there to… well, just because I want the Mother Paula's people to know that somebody in Coconut Cove cares about those birds."

Mr. Ryan cleared his throat. "This is a sticky situation, Roy. I know how upset and frustrated you must feel, but I've got to remind you that students aren't supposed to leave school property."

"Then I'll get a note from my parents," Roy said.

The teacher smiled. "That would be the way to do it." The class was expecting him to say more, but he didn't.

"Look," said Roy, "every day we've been reading about regular people, ordinary Americans who made history 'cause they got up and fought for something they believed in. Okay, I know we're just talking about a few puny little owls, and I know everybody is crazy about Mother Paula's pancakes, but what's happening out there is just plain wrong. So wrong."

Roy's throat was as dry as prairie dust, and his neck felt hot.

"Anyway," he muttered, "it's tomorrow at noon."

Then he sat down.

The classroom fell quiet, a long heavy silence that roared in Roy's ears like a train.

"I'm worried about the owls," Officer Delinko told Curly.

"What owls?"

Darkness had fallen on the construction site and swallows were swooping back and forth, chasing mosquitoes. Tomorrow was the big day.

"Come on, I saw 'em with my own eyes," the patrolman said. "Isn't there a way to, like, move 'em someplace safe?"

Curly said, "Want my advice? Don't think about it. Put it out of your mind, is what I do."

"I can't. That's the trouble."

Curly jerked a thumb toward the trailer. "You wanna take a break? I rented the new Jackie Chan."

Officer Delinko couldn't understand how the foreman could be so casual about burying the owl dens. He wondered if it was just a macho act. "Did you tell them the birds were out here?" he asked.

"Tell who?"

"The pancake company. Maybe they don't know."

Curly snorted. "You kiddin' me? They know everything," he said. "Look, it ain't our problem. Even if we wanted to, there's nuthin' we could do."

Curly went off to his trailer while Officer Delinko resumed patrolling the grounds. Whenever he passed a burrow, he shined his flashlight inside, but he saw no owls. He hoped the birds had already sensed that something awful was about to happen and had flown away, though it seemed improbable.

Shortly after midnight, Officer Delinko heard Curly come out and shout his name. The foreman claimed he'd been awakened by a noise like someone climbing the fence.

With his gun drawn, the policeman searched the area thoroughly; he checked the roof of the trailer and underneath it, too. All he found was a line of opossum tracks in the sand.

"Sounded way bigger'n a possum," Curly said grumpily.

Later, as Officer Delinko was retrieving his third thermos of coffee from the squad car, he thought he saw a series of small white flashes at the other end of the property. It reminded him of the bright popping he'd seen at late-night car accidents while the police department's photographer was snapping pictures.

But when Officer Delinko ran to where he'd seen the flashes, he found nothing out of the ordinary. It must have been a burst of heat lightning, he thought, reflecting off the low clouds.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully. The patrolman stayed wide awake.

At breakfast Roy asked his mother if he could leave school during lunch. He figured she'd be more likely than his father to say yes, but she surprised him.

"I don't know if it's such a good idea for you to go to the Mother Paula's groundbreaking."

"But, Mom-"

"Let's see what your dad thinks."

Oh well, thought Roy, that'll be the end of that.

As soon as Mr. Eberhardt sat down at the table, Mrs. Eberhardt informed him of Roy's request.

"Sure, why not?" Mr. Eberhardt said. "I'll write him a note."

Roy's jaw hung open. He had expected the opposite reaction from his father.

"But you've got to promise to behave," Mr. Eberhardt said, "no matter how ticked off you get."