Call Me Alastair Read online

  •Weight: 85 kgs

  •Height: Somewhere around 180 cm

  •Current status: Excellent; ingrown toenail long gone.

  Found this old logbook as I was cleaning out my room before going back to school this fall. Thought I’d write one more entry, for old times’ sake. Before I finally become an actual doctor, that is.

  Harvard Medical School, here I come.

  Signed: Fritz

  AFTERWORD

  – or –

  Rhyme of the Ancient Parroter

  You don’t always get what you want in this life.

  You can plan it all out, plan on flying away, eating poetry in your palm, but sometimes your wings are broken, and Key West’s a little too far.

  And what you get is the Prickly Pines Retirement Village instead.

  And sometimes? It’s not so bad.

  Sometimes you make friends with humans you never expected. Sometimes your feathers fill back in and you begin to look like the proud bird you always suspected you were – although a bit less proud, and a little more thoughtful. Sometimes you enjoy attending Pet Pals at the Pines and gnawing on the large library of books an old-folks’ home can amass. You might realize that the Pines probably has a better assortment of books than any palm tree ever could.

  Sometimes the palm tree’s the wrong ingredient for your pie.

  The years will tick by, and as they do, life will bring you some surprises.

  You might hear, one day, how that cat got what you always wanted, how Tiger’s moved to the Key West you always dreamed of. There might be a slight sting at first, but it mellows quickly. You might even find yourself wishing him well – something you never thought possible. And later, when you hear it was Fiona who adopted him when Henry got her a job caring for Hemingway’s roaming generations of six-toed cats, and that she’s using him for a cats-ercize class, there will only be a hint of gloating. A mere hint.

  But other surprises will knock you sideways.

  Like how heartbroken you’ll be when a Bertie flies on to that glittering city in the sky without you.

  Or how grateful you’ll be when your sister comes to stay with you and the residents of the Pines while Fritz is off at medical school.

  You’ll be shocked how happy you feel when that same Fritz specializes in geriatric medicine and takes a job at none other than the Prickly Pines Rehabilitation and Retirement Village itself.

  You might be surprised at how much you appreciate having your own Fritz-made perch on the medicine cart. You might find yourself shouting Oh, sickle cells! every time someone drops a bottle of pills, or when they serve stroganoff for lunch. Crazier things do happen…

  You don’t always get everything you want in this life.

  But sometimes what you do get is better than you imagined, better than what you even thought possible.

  Sometimes cherry trees do exist.

  Imagine that.

  – Alastair

  Senses and Sensibility

  You hatch

  And you’re still blind.

  Light and shadow less vague,

  I suppose.

  But unlike your ears, which

  have broken the surface and

  beheld,

  your vision remains

  muffled.

  You stumble over yourself,

  over cotton hills and valleys alike,

  and the prickly pinecone

  of your sister,

  wondering,

  Is this life?

  Is it all a blind bumbling

  into the unknown?

  And yet,

  Yet…

  A deep knowing

  flashes

  in your ears, longing

  screams

  behind your eyes,

  then just like that,

  the curtain parts,

  Act Two unfolds,

  and you thank whatever

  artist, that life saw fit

  to paint sunrise

  on a peach.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book was a winding eight-year, soul-searching journey. A crazy dream. A seed and, at times, a pit of one. It’s not every day a pit grows roots, sprouts leaves, and gives fruit. But when it does, where does one begin in expressing gratitude to all the people who’ve tended that seed along the way?

  First, a special thank you to: Linas Alsenas, my editor. Few things have been as exciting as seeing that first tweet, hearing about your excitement, and watching your passion for Alastair find its wings. I can’t tell you how many times I had to look back to remind myself you believed in this story. I’ll forever be grateful you took a chance on this book. You gave me hope. And to the team at Scholastic UK, including Pete Matthews, Jamie Gregory, Jenna Mackintosh, and to the brilliant PR and marketing folks who’ve worked so hard and provided endless surprises in my email inbox, a hearty thank you and a hug.

  To Rena Rossner, my steadfast agent. You’re proof one email can change your life. Thank you for seeing into the heart of this surly parrot and determining to get his voice heard. You’re the one, the original, the Renegade.

  To my Pitch Wars mentors, Amanda Rawson Hill and Cindy Baldwin. There aren’t words enough to write. Alastair’s, Bertie’s and Fritz’s stories would be so much less, but for the two best and most passionate mentors on God’s green earth. Your enormous hearts and tremendous giftedness enabled me. Thank you for all the hours, for your enthusiastic willingness to share your craft and revision knowhow, for your endless support. (Thanks, too, for my education on the art of GIF communication.) You’ve taught me bucketfuls, heaped and spilling over. I’ll never stop being amazed by you. I treasure your friendship. You two are gifts, and I’m sorry, but you’re stuck with me for ever. My endless thanks, dear kindred spirits, to the moon and back. (Sorry for the overuse of adjectives above, but it was necessary.)

  Warmest thanks to my writing community:

  The Pitch Wars family. To Brenda Drake and all who continue to make this magic available to aspiring writers like me, and to the 2016 alumni. To the 2016 middle grade mentees in particular. (Our clubhouse is my favourite.) And to my #teammascaratracks siblings, especially Kit Rosewater. I love being related to you. England awaits us. Kettle’s on.

  The Renegades. We make a great (and crazy) clan.

  Thanks to the Novel Nineteens, particularly Julia Nobel, our fearless leader. I’m grateful to have a debut group like you. What generous hearts you have.

  To my Western and Central New York SCBWI crew. And to my critique partners and friends – Kate Day, Ryan Howlett, and new recruit Brian Montanaro. Thank you, thank you. You’ve loved Alastair from the start.

  This book wouldn’t be what it is without inspiration, big and small, and support from the following people:

  My grandmothers, Joan Kowalewski and Betty Campbell. Nonnie, thanks for baking that disastrous pie and serving it to your unsuspecting family. You’re sweet as strawberry rhubarb – but hold the salt. And Gram, I love you a whole big batch.

  My parents, Ron and Dr Doris Campbell. I wouldn’t have my Norton if you hadn’t supported your book-loving daughter’s decision to major in English. Many thanks. Mom, the menagerie of pets, the days we spent with you at work, and the veterinary exploits you regaled us with at the dinner table every night came in handy. Thanks for living big dreams first. And Dad, thank you for loving your family. You’re our Everest.

  My cheerleaders – Brenna Campbell, Jennie (and Craig) Campbell, Jen Scholz, Corry Tobben, Christine Fischer, Rachael Stahl, Jill Sweeney and Sue Limpert. All these years you’ve prayed, you’ve held on to faith. Your friendships mean the world to me, and I love you with my whole heart. To all the Campbells, Leonardos and Limperts, thanks for cheering me on and for being the greatest family ever known. And to the hundred others I could list. Every time you prayed a prayer, sent a note, even offered those seemingly small words of encouragement, it watered the seed. Every time I was tempted to quit, I remembered you.

&n
bsp; Head cheerleader, Annie Bullard. I’m not sure I would have made it without you. Thank you for saving me from all the Mr McGregors in the vegetable garden. I think my tail survived – intact – because of you.

  My children, Caleb, Sam and Amelia. You’re the cherry on top, my heart, my everything. Thanks for letting your old mom chase her dreams and for never doubting they were within my reach. And thanks for choking down all those chicken nuggets I said were dinner.

  My husband. Andy. Few would support their unemployed dreamer of a spouse as fiercely and completely as you have done and continue to do. I love you.

  And to the Author and Muse, the Seed-sower, Waterer and Grower. This book has been, is, and will always be yours.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A born and bred upstate New Yorker, Cory Leonardo currently lives in the Syracuse area with her husband, a collection of snow shovels and three plucky children. Cory was selected and mentored in Brenda Drake’s Pitch Wars 2016 and is an active SCBWI member. This is her first novel.

  Scholastic Children’s Books

  An imprint of Scholastic Ltd

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  First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2019

  Text copyright © Cory Leonardo, 2019

  The right of Cory Leonardo to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

  eISBN 978 1407 18975 8

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Scholastic Limited.

  Produced in India by Newgen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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