Noah Green Saves the World

by Laura Toffler-Corrie

  Mia flashes onto the screen, sitting on her stool, staring coolly into the crowd, her voice once again filling the room.

  It’s quiet for a few moments until I hear snickering and whispering. My stomach flips a little. From the corner of my eye, I spot Mia, who’s staring at the screen—not laughing, not smiling, not doing anything.

  “Pretty lame,” someone says in a low voice.

  Suddenly Val from Bunk 7 rushes in, shouting, “Hey, there’s a rugelach-eating contest down by the volleyball court! Woot!”

  There’s a bunch of “Woot! Woot! Woot!”

  Chairs scrape across the wood floor and everyone stampedes out. But my opus isn’t over and, on the screen, Mia’s voice warbles on. The only people in the room are me, Yipsy, Mia, and Mick Jagger, who’s happily thrashing his fuzzy toy cat. Mia stares blankly at the screen, and I can’t read her room at all.

  Yipsy leans over and presses pause on the computer. Mick drops his toy at my feet and pants up at me.

  “Um, that was cool, dude,” Yipsy says, placing his arm around my shoulder.

  Mia stands abruptly and bolts out the door.

  I’m not sure exactly what happened, but the moment I leave the mess hall, Lily grabs my arm and drags me to an isolated spot by the trees. It’s almost 8:00, and the sky looks like runny paint of deep blues.

  “Noah, jeez!” she explodes. “I mean, like, what were you thinking showing your My Life Right Now thingie? And why did you edit in that weird growly girl? Are you trying to ruin my summer?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I think you are,” she hisses.

  “Maybe I should change it up,” I say to Lily. “Or edit it differently. Put Mia first, then Bailey’s interpretive dance at the aquarium, then the Bigfoot search next, then—”

  “Noah!” Lily barks.

  “What?”

  But she just stares at me.

  “For the rest of the summer? Just, like, don’t talk to me, okay?” She stomps off.

  What was that about? I’m standing alone, listening to woodsy chirping, when I catch sight of Mia over by the trees.

  “Hey!” I approach her. “Whaddaya think? The reaction was a little . . . unusual, but I think you looked awesome on the screen.”

  Mia turns away, swiping at her eyes, smudging her black mascara.

  “Are you crying?” I ask.

  “No,” she sniffs.

  “About my opus?”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “That’s so awesome!” I say.

  “I’m not crying because I liked your film. I’m crying because I hated it.”

  “Oh. I just . . . I just didn’t film it right,” I stammer.

  “I don’t sound like that. Or look like that,” she squeaks, waving her hand dismissively in the air.

  “But you do,” I say.

  “I don’t,” she repeats, her voice all shaky.

  “Um . . . yeah, you do,” I say. “But it’s cool.”

  “You’re just . . . weird,” Mia snaps.

  “So are you,” I say.

  “I am not.”

  “Yeah, you are,” I insist. “But that’s why I like you. You’re different than other kids.”

  “I’m not!” she explodes, leaning close into my face, her eyes dark and angry. “And I don’t like when you say that. Don’t say that. I’m just like my friends.”

  Our eyes swing over to Trina, Marisa, and Jyll. They’re throwing rugelach at each other and laughing their heads off.

  “See?” Mia sniffs defensively.

  “No.” I frown.

  “I’m only nice to you because you’re weird and have no friends,” she snaps, wiping at her watery nose.

  “I have mates,” I say.

  “And you shouldn’t make movies about people,” she continues, “and not tell them.”

  “It’s cinéma vérité. The truth.”

  “I don’t care,” Mia responds. “I have to go. My friends are waiting.”

  She storms away and I feel—I don’t know. I can’t even read my own room. I need time to think. So I walk briskly past the pine trees, away from the chatter and laughter of the campfire, to a place that’s quiet.

  At that moment, I hear the sounds of wings flapping toward me. It’s Sal! He swoops in, lands on my shoulder, and hops onto my hand. A small, raggedy piece of paper flaps on his leg.

  I detach the note. It says: Look behind you.

  Chapter 14

  “Psst!”

  “Who’s there?!” I spin around, alarmed.

  “Psssstttt!”

  I part the bushes and climb over tree stumps, trying to follow the voice, heading deeper into the woods.

  “Pssttt!” The voice is insistent now.

  “Who is it?” I say.

  “Ned!” the voice whispers hoarsely.

  What the . . . ! Could it be? “Pops?”

  I step into a clearing and, sure enough, there’s Pops sitting on a rock. He’s wearing what looks like some kind of old-guy Boy Scout uniform: beige shorts, a beige button-down shirt, black socks, and white sneakers. He holds a kerosene lantern and squints into the darkness.

  “Pops? What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t you get my pigeon?” Pops responds, standing too fast and promptly falling back down onto the rock. “Help me up.”

  I rush to grab his arm and pull him to his feet.

  “Well?” he demands.

  “Well what?” I say. “You mean all those messages tied to Sal’s foot about saving the world?”

  “Who’s Sal?”

  “That’s what I named your pigeon. After your friend from the army.”

  “Well, I guess it’s better than calling him Pigeon,” Pops remarks.

  We stand in silence for a few moments.

  “Enough of your chatter.” He throws his hands up in exasperation. Next, he makes a creaky three-sixty circle, holding his lamp up high and peering out into the woods.

  “We have to be careful so nobody hears us,” he says secretively.

  “Pops, what’s going on?”

  A tree branch cracks.

  “Get down,” Pops hisses, yanking me into a crouch position next to him.

  “Pops, your lantern is pretty bright,” I whisper.

  “You’re right.” He drags me toward one of the docked canoes, crouches down behind it, and yanks me down with him. “Pretend you’re an owl. Hoot, hoot,” he sings deep and low.

  “But—”

  “Do it!”

  “Hoot, hoot, hoot,” we both hoot.

  “Pops, this is dumb,” I interrupt. “We don’t sound like owls. We sound like weird people pretending to be owls.”

  “Shh,” he murmurs. “It’s a stealth technique I learned in the Secret Service.”

  A familiar voice rings out: “Noah!”

  “Over here.” I straighten up.

  “Get down, get down!” Pops yanks at the waist of my shorts, pulling them below my hips.

  “Hey!” I grab for my waistband.

  “Get down,” Pops insists. “Hoot, hoot!”

  “Oh, no,” the voice with a clipped British accent says. “It can’t be.”

  “Over here!” I try to disentangle myself from Pops’s steely grip. Man, what do they feed him at Shady Pines? “Stop it, Pops.” I struggle. “It’s just Simon. You met him at your birthday party. He’s the kid from London.”

  “Is he in on it too?! Drat! Hoot, hoot, hoot.”

  “Simon!” I yell.

  The beam from Simon’s flashlight bounces toward us.

  “Noah? Is that you?”

  “Yeah . . . Let go, Pops,” I grunt, trying to wriggle away. “It’s okay. We can get up.”

  “Mr. Pops?” Simon gapes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here,” he says, “to save the world. What else?”

  Chapter 15

  “I found him in the woods,” I tell Simon.

  Pops grabs our arms and pulls us behind the trees. “I
thought you were in Florida, Pops,” I say.

  “I was,” Pops replies dismissively. “I needed to lay low for a while, get away and think.”

  “About what?” Simon asks.

  “What am I talking about here?!” Pop exclaims impatiently.

  “We don’t really kn—” I start.

  “Besides,” he goes on, “your Aunt Phyllis was driving me nuts. Wanted me to hang around with old fogeys and play shuffleboard and bingo.” He barks a sarcastic laugh. “As if that’s all I have to do with my time.”

  “What else do you have to do with your time?” I ask.

  “Don’t be sassy,” Pops snaps. “Now, the answer,” he continues, “is in these very woods.”

  “Pops, I’ve been thinking a lot about saving the world. And I want you to know that I’m in. I mean, I’m completely on board with it,” I declare, looking into Pops’s face with what I hope is great conviction. “I want to save people, even people I don’t know. Ya know, do good. Tikkun olam. Like Moses and Ari the Lion.”

  “Ah, yes,” Simon concurs. “That would be elevating.”

  “Are we too late?” I ask anxiously.

  But before he can answer, we hear another voice.

  “Hey! You guys back here?” Tyler shouts.

  “Watcha doin’?” Josh yells. “Yipsy’s starting team Scattergories. He’ll freak if he notices you’re gone.”

  “We’re—” I start, but Pops clamps his hand over my face.

  I have to pry his Vapo-Rub-smelling fingers from my mouth. “It’s okay, Pops! They’re my friends.”

  “Everyone is your friend,” Pops says. “That’s the problem. You’re too trusting. How can you save the world if you like everyone?”

  Lily’s annoyed-sounding voice rings out. “I told you he’s probably back at the bunk.”

  “Nope, looked there,” Josh says.

  “Noah!” she yells. “Don’t you know the woods are dangerous? Get out of there before I kill you!”

  “It’s Lily, Pops,” I say. “See?”

  I point to the three of them turning the wrong way on the path, padding out of sight.

  “Now, listen, Ned. You too, Hippie. This is important.” Pops leans in close to us, his breath smelling like kosher pickles. “Meet me here tomorrow at five in the morning”

  “Is there a five in the morning?” Simon jokes.

  “That’s super early, Pops. And we have activities,” I say. “Can’t you tell us now about how to save the world?”

  Pops shakes his head vigorously. “Not here. Not now,” he says. “Very soon, though. Let’s make it ten in the morning. Sharp.”

  “Sure, better,” we mumble on top of each other.

  “Just so you know,” Pops says, “you’ll need to bring shovels, picks, burlap sacks, and sandwiches.”

  “We don’t have shovels, picks, or burlap sacks,” I respond.

  He nods. “Fine, I’ll bring ’em.”

  “Are you ever gonna tell us what this is all about?” I sigh.

  “Okay, fine,” Pops grumbles irritably. “I’ll tell you a few things. There’s a secret from World War II that’s buried here, on the site of the Levy Homestead. It will reveal . . .”

  Pops looks solemn and points up.

  “The sky?” Simon says quizzically.

  “Nope.”

  “The moon?” I guess.

  “Nope.”

  “The stars?” I try again.

  “Nope.”

  “Oh, wait, I’m rather good at charades,” Simon says. “What does it sound like?”

  “Asteroid.” Pops’s voice is grave.

  “Asteroid, asteroid,” Simon ponders. “C’asteroid, D’asteroid, F’asteroid . . . hmm . . . I don’t know.”

  “Asteroid! Asteroid is the word!” Pops exclaims. “Don’t they teach you hippies anything at the commune? A giant asteroid is about to destroy Earth!”

  “What?!” I explode.

  “In a few weeks’ time.” Pops leans in close. “That baby will crash right into us. And splat! We’ll all be flatter than Aunt Phyllis’s matzah brei. But we can do something about it.”

  “We can stop an asteroid?” Simon asks.

  I stare hard into Pops’s face. Has he gone completely bonkers? But he looks the same as he always has, which may or may not be a bad thing. Is it possible that any of this is true?

  “Mr. Pops,” Simon says gently as if he’s talking to a little kid. “This outer space talk. Does it have anything to do with aliens? Do you ever watch television shows about aliens? Say, maybe, when you’re tired late at night or after you’ve taken your medication?”

  “Aliens?!” Pops snaps. “What are you talking about? Have you flipped your cap? And the only medication I take is for my hemorrhoids.”

  Without warning, a flashlight beam bounces into my face, blinding me. Is it the FBI? An alien hunter?! An alien?! I’m freaking out!

  “For God’s sake, Noah!” Lily squints into the dark void but doesn’t see us. “What are you doing now? You really are bent on ruining my summer, frizzing out my hair, and giving me a heart attack, aren’t you? And who are you whispering to?”

  Her voice fades as she heads in another wrong direction.

  “Hmmph,” Pop grumbles. “I’m going to bed.”

  Simon and I exchange confused looks.

  “Now?” I say.

  “Why not?” Pops says. “It’s nighttime, isn’t it?”

  “Um, will you be residing in the woods, Mr. Pops?” Simon asks.

  “Of course not. I’m staying at the motel up the road. But don’t go telling all your ‘friends,’” Pops says, making air quotation marks around the word friends. “Because this is dangerous, and I don’t want anyone knowing where I am.”

  “Pops, wait!” I call out after him.

  “Ach.” He waves at us dismissively. “The road is just up ahead. Somewhere.”

  “Do you at least have a compass?” Simon probes.

  “A compass? What is this, 1971?” Pop grumbles. “I have Google Maps. This place is crawling with Wi-Fi. Got an Uber waiting for me too.”

  And with that, he disappears into the woods.

  Chapter 16

  Right before we reach our bunk, Simon slips off to call his mates. I’m about to head up to the screen door when a voice behind me stops me in my tracks.

  “Hey!”

  “Whaa?” I jump and spin around.

  “Sorry,” Nathan says, standing there looking kind of sheepish. “Did I scare you?”

  “No,” I say.

  Yes, I think, and I suddenly realize how late it is.

  “Are we, like, in trouble?” I ask.

  “Trouble?” Nathan echoes, like he hadn’t even thought of it. “Why?”

  “’Cause it’s so late? Isn’t there, like, a curfew?”

  From the corner of my eye, I notice Josh and Tyler inside the cabin, bunched around the window, frantically shaking their heads and mouthing the word “no.”

  “I mean—um.” I hesitate. “I’ll be back earlier next time.”

  More frantic head-shaking from my mates. And Nathan is frowning at me like he thinks I’m weird.

  “I mean . . .” My eyes keep darting to the window for advice. “I was in the woods . . . I thought I saw an animal . . .”

  The guys are going nuts now, mouthing “shut up,” making slash signs across their throats, and wildly shaking their heads.

  “Like, a wild animal?” Nathan says, looking worried.

  I’m a terrible liar! This is all making me so nervous! My armpits are getting sticky, and I have to loudly gulp down a big wad of saliva that’s lodged in my throat.

  “I mean, I thought I saw a wild animal, but it was really just Mick Jagger,” I offer weakly. “Then I decided to film him. Ya know, running.”

  I tilt my head down so Nathan can see my camera.

  “It looks like it’s off,” Nathan says suspiciously.

  The guys at the window are slapping their heads and looki
ng like they’re in agony.

  Nathan’s eyes snap up to the window, but Josh and Tyler duck just in time.

  “I . . .” I start, my eyes welling up now. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m lying. I don’t know why.”

  “It’s okay, Noah,” Nathan says gently. He reaches out and gives my shoulder a few pats. “After what happened with those bullies, it’s no wonder you’re upset.” His expression is serious. “There’s a Jewish proverb that says, Courage is a kingdom without a crown.”

  “Cool,” I say, because I have no idea what he means and don’t know what else to say.

  “It’s okay,” he repeats. “You don’t have to tell me what you were doing out so late.”

  “Whew.” I let out the long breath I didn’t know I was holding. “That’s a relief.”

  We stand in silence for a few moments, and I notice that the air is rich with cricket-y night sounds. Somewhere in the distance, a lone dog howls. The hazy full moon throws soft, fuzzy light, and the sweet smell of pine is everywhere.

  “The camp grounds are really safe,” Nathan finally says. “Someone’s always nearby, and I’m betting you all keep your phones with you. The place has great Wi-Fi.”

  “I’ve heard that,” I say, thinking of Pops.

  “Just don’t go out there alone,” he continues, “especially when Mike and Jake are wandering around.”

  “It’s okay,” I say reassuringly. “I have mates.”

  “I see that.” Nathan smirks, darting his eyes toward the window, where Tyler and Josh again duck quickly out of sight.

  “Sometimes,” he sighs, his gaze traveling out toward the trees that softly sway in the warm breeze, “I like to take night walks too. Just to think.”

  Maybe I should tell Nathan about saving the world. I wonder what he’d think about that. But before I can say anything, he’s like, “Well, ’night.” He pivots and walks up to the creaky screen door of his bunk.

  “I’m thinking about saving the world,” I blurt out.

  “What?” Nathan spins back around.

  “Actually, someone I know is trying to save the world,” I clarify. “But I think I’d like to help. That’s like tikkun olam, right? And maybe that could be my Bar Mitzvah project. What a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, right?”