She pedaled her way up Canyon Road, sweating and pushing her muscles to overcome the steep upward grade. In her fifth-grade science book, gleaming steel pistons were pictured under the heading “How an Engine Works,” but the pistons in the textbook engine felt no pain. Ivy’s legs and lungs burned with the effort of the uphill ride. Later, she thought, If I’d been going along at twenty miles an hour, I never would have seen the turtle, and who knows how things would have worked out? It lay on its back, still alive but having been hit by a car, covered with blood and road dirt. It was a big desert tortoise. Ivy righted it gently and examined the wound. “Nasty!” said Ivy. “But fixable. I’m going to have to take you up to Annie’s house and hose you off,” said Ivy. “Give you some water and let you rest. And maybe you’d like a raw egg to eat.” Annie wouldn’t mind her bringing the turtle. Annie understood Ivy better than anyone in the world, and had since they had both been five.
