Nothing to Lose by Norah McClintock

meeting tomorrow. They’re going to hold it later in the day. You know why?”
    I had a pretty good idea, but I decided to humor her.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSo that Billy can take me to the parade tomorrow.” Her eyes started to glisten. “And so here we are.”
    â€œWhere, exactly, are we? And why are you wearing those gloves?”
    Morgan led me back in the direction we had just come, past the elevators and toward the hall outside the DARC office, where we found Billy and five other DARC members. I stared at them, trying to absorb what I was seeing.
    Billy and the rest of DARC—most of whom were much older than Billy and all of whom were also wearing latex gloves—were hovering over a tarp spread across the floor. Nearby were two large bins. Billy and the others were reaching into the bins, pulling out plastic bags, and removing the contents. Each bag contained one or more birds.
Dead
birds. Well, that explained the smell.
    â€œHey, Robyn,” Billy said. He had been sitting cross-legged on the floor beside one of the bins, but he stood up as soon as he saw me. He was holding a plastic bag in one hand. “Morgan told me what happened. How’s Nick?”
    â€œWell, actually . . .” I began. I would have kept going, but Morgan pinched the back of my arm—
hard
—a signal for me to shut up. It was also a signal for me to pinch her back just as hard at my earliest convenience.
    â€œRobyn’s really upset, Billy,” she said.
    â€œWell, then, why don’t you stick around?” Billy said. “You can help us. It’ll take your mind off things.” While he talked, he opened the ziplock bag he was holding, reached in, and pulled out a dead bird with a yellow belly. It looked so tiny in the palm of his hand. “Kentucky warbler,” he said. “We picked up a lot of warblers this year.” He held it out to me so I could get a closer look— and an even closer smell. “Grab some gloves. There’s a box of them over there.”
    â€œRobyn wants to talk to me, Billy,” Morgan said. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
    â€œIs there anything I can do?” Billy said. His dogooder eyes were filled with concern.
    Before I could answer, Morgan grabbed me by the hand and dragged me away from the tarp and bins and dead birds in plastic baggies. We were out of sight of the DARC people before I remembered what she was wearing. I stared down at her disposable gloves.
    â€œYou better not have touched something dead with those,” I said.
    Morgan looked at her hands. Her mouth formed a great big O. She yanked her hands away from me and stripped off the gloves.
    â€œ
Eeew!
” I said. “Thanks a lot!”
    â€œThere’s a bathroom just down here.” She led me through a narrow corridor and pushed open a door. I raced to the bank of sinks inside and washed my hands under the hottest water I could stand.
    â€œThey’re taking all of the birds out of the bags and classifying them,” she said. “Sparrows in one place, warblers in another, thrushes in this pile, hummingbirds in that, jays, ovenbirds, woodcocks, juncos. . .” I was impressed by the number of species she could name. “They’re going to arrange them on a white background and take a picture. It’s supposed to give everyone an instant idea of how many birds get killed every season, why more buildings should shut off their lights at night. You know, visual impact. Billy thinks he can use it to get some funding for DARC. He wants to get more people involved.”
    â€œSounds like a good plan,” I said. “What’s the problem?”
    â€œYou saw what Billy had in his hand.” she said. “I actually touched some of them.” She gave me an agonized look. “The first one I pulled out of the freezer was a woodcock. Big. Ugly. Long, skinny beak. And this one’s eyes were open. I was