“It might be the real McCoy, whatever that means,” Simon says. “But it could be an old McCoy.”
“It says here,” Lily reads from her phone, “that in October 1951, scientists predicted that a great asteroid would destroy Earth. The giant asteroid, named Agatha, was approximately two-and-a-half kilometers in size. The information was corroborated by the world community of scientists, amateur astronomers, astrologists and Native American Earth Watch groups. Fortunately for Earth’s inhabitants, once Agatha entered Earth’s atmosphere, she shattered, and the largest pieces dropped into the Antarctic Sea. What some saw as a random close call for mankind, others saw as an act of divine intervention.”
We all listen in astonished silence.
“Bobby Running Feather, a decorated World War II veteran and code talker, believed the asteroid’s approach wasn’t just a random act of nature. ‘It was a warning for us to learn to coexist in peace and tolerance and not waste our natural resources or destroy our great Mother Earth.’”
“I love him!” Mia gushes.
“When asked why he thinks we dodged the bullet, he simply said, ‘Our ability to rally and unify has given us another chance.’ Whether you call it luck or divine intervention or cosmic warning, the earth spins on to meet another day.”
“Well, I’ll be darned.” Pops shakes his head. “We missed it.”
“It missed us,” I correct him.
“WE LIVE!” Tyler exclaims.
“Time for chow!” Josh says, leading us back toward Camp C. We fall in line behind him.
“I have so many songs in my head,” Mia says. “Need. My. Guitar. Now.”
Josh groans.
“I heard that,” Mia says as the group rounds the tall pine trees.
Somewhere on the road, an Uber honks its horn. George starts the slow climb up the hill.
Pops sinks down onto a rock and stares quietly into space.
“You comin’?” George asks over his shoulder.
“In a minute,” Pops says.
George nods and vanishes into the trees.
Chapter 30
“What’s up, Pops?” I say, slipping into the indented curve on the rock beside him. It’s full-on morning now. Birds sing, and I hear the happy sounds of Camp Challah in the distance.
I should be exhausted, but I feel funny. Not ha-ha funny but different funny, like peaceful and happy but maybe a little sad, too.
Pops doesn’t say anything, so I take a stab at reading his room. “I guess you’re kind of disappointed.”
He shrugs. “’Bout what?”
“About, like, the false alarm and everything.”
“It happens,” he says.
“You didn’t get to go to Washington, but it was still kind of a big adventure.”
“True,” he remarks.
“You know,” I say, “it’s been my experience that sometimes you plan for one thing and then something else comes along, and it’s almost better. You know what I mean?”
“No.”
“Like, for example,” I continue, “I really wanted to go to the David Lynch Film Camp.”
“To be a stylist,” Pops nods. “I remember.”
“Um, yeah. Well, I didn’t get to go and, at first, I was really disappointed. But if I had gone, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have all this in the can.” I tap the camera on my head. “That’s film talk for having good stuff on film.”
“You can still do ladies’ hair, Ned.” Pops pats my shoulder.
“No, I mean—”
Pops pulls himself to his feet, picks up the tablet, and starts climbing up toward the road. I follow.
“I’m fine,” he says. “You go back to camp.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“I’m fine,” he repeats.
All sorts of thoughts run through my head. Is he fine? Is he being rhetorical? Is he sad? Does he really think I want to be a hair stylist, or is he messing with me? Does he know me at all? Sometimes I wish he would just make more sense.
“Pops,” I say, frustrated, “I can’t figure out what you’re feeling.”
He stops and turns, and the sun hits him full on. As if seeing him for the first time, I notice the deep wrinkles around his eyes, the thinness of his cotton-candy white hair, and those brown splotchy age spots on his hands. Like Agatha the asteroid, one day all that will be left of Pops will be a strange memory.
“Noah.” Pops faces me. “You’re a good kid.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
“So you want to be a filmmaker?” he continues.
“Well—yeah. You got it right.”
“That’s nice,” he says, his twinkly eyes meeting mine. “You’ll be good at it.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You see the truth in people. That’s good for an artsy kid. And you’re caring. And I like your friends, even if they are hippies and trolls. And they like you.”
“Thanks.”
“I had a good time,” he says. “A good adventure. I’m glad I did this now.”
“Did this now?” I ask. “Whaddaya mean?”
“You’ll get it. One day. Maybe when you have a grandson. Someone like you,” he says, and the tiniest bit of a smile tugs the corners of his mouth.
Did Pops set this all in motion on purpose? Maybe to help me? I think that’s something I’ll never know. Maybe I don’t really need to know.
“Yeah,” Pops sighs. “Maybe George and I will go to Washington anyways. I’ll bring this. They should know about it. Important historical artifact and all that. They oughta know the proper channels to get it back to the Navajo Nation.”
“That’s a great idea,” I agree.
He turns to go, and I want to say so much more. But I don’t exactly know what—or where to start.
“So, will I see you soon?” I ask, settling for that.
“Well, after Washington, George and I will probably go to Atlantic City. Then I’m off to Florida, and then we’ll see. I’m a busy man . . . Noah.”
The Uber horn honks more urgently.
“I’m coming, dagnabbit!” he yells.
And with that, he hobbles up the soft slope of the hill, muttering cranky stuff to himself the whole way, until he’s gone from view.
Chapter 31
The rest of the summer at Camp C flies by.
Nathan has been anxious to know what was going on in the woods that night. So during the last campfire marshmallow roast, I tell him everything.
“Well, I can honestly say,” he says with a grin, stabbing a marshmallow onto a stick, “that’s a strange story. But whaddaya gonna do now that you won’t be saving the world from an asteroid? I mean, for your Bar Mitzvah project?”
I need to think about that one. Flipping on my head camera, I sweep the scene. Kids are everywhere, happily flitting in and out of the firelight in what looks like an improvised dance. We’ve all made new mates. And if it isn’t forever, at least the memories will last a long time. I’m glad I’ll have so many of them on film.
“I dunno,” I sigh, poking at the campfire embers with my stick. “Maybe I can make a documentary about . . . friendship. Would that work?”
“Well.” Nathan looks solemn, wiping his sticky hands on his shorts. “Observing and documenting is a way of contributing to the world. For example, there are lots of kids who can’t afford good things like going to camp. Maybe you can make a documentary about that.”
“Yeah,” I agree, suddenly really engaged, feeling the way you do when something feels right. “I could make a cinéma vérité about kids in need. Ya know, raise awareness like Mia does with her songs. Maybe I could even raise money for them and stuff.”
Nathan raises his palm for a high five. I still think high fives are super awkward, but I slap his hand anyway so he isn’t insulted.
“Good call,” he says, grinning. “Moses would be proud.”
“Say what now?” From out of nowhere, Janine plops down on our log next to Nathan. She s
miles broadly, her super-white teeth and blond hair glowing in the firelight. “Moses would be proud?”
“I . . .” Nathan freezes, his eyes go glossy, and his mouth pulls down like he just tasted something sour. “Ajekekf . . .” he mumbles, moving his hand to his mouth, then down again, then up to scratch his head.
“Speak English,” I whisper. “And put your hands down. Breathe. You can do it.”
Nathan inhales and exhales loudly through his nose. “I was saying that Moses would be proud of this kid. It’s a long story. Wanna hear it?”
“Sure,” Janine says.
“Also”—he yanks a paperback from his pocket—“I have many interesting stories about the Kabbalah and about Rabbi Akiva from the first century.”
“Um . . . okay.” Janine sounds a little less sure.
I take that as my cue to exit stage right, and by the time I glance back at them from the DJ turntable, they’re chatting easily like good mates.
Simon and Lily have been sort of dating, which means they sit next to each other at the evening campfires, share jokes, and flirt. She acts like she can take him or leave him, but I can tell she likes him a lot. He’s been complaining that she’s always with her mates, but he’s mostly with his mates (us), so it works out pretty well.
Simon also hasn’t forgotten about tikkun olam and Ari the Lion, and he’s super interested in learning more. We’ve been spending some afternoons hanging out with Rabbi Blum, who continues to be super excited to explain it.
Tyler and Josh have become really good at Canoe Rowing for Lake Explorers. They even won the Color War title of Fastest Rowers in the History of Camp.
Mia has been writing lots of new songs and, to Yipsy’s delight, has been “showing her stuff” like crazy. Now her verses are about asteroids and Mother Earth, with choruses about tolerance and peace. A few are even about me, whom she refers to as “the unlikely guy who would have saved the world from an asteroid if it needed saving.”
I think she’s my girlfriend, even though she says she doesn’t like labels because they reduce people to social stereotypes. I don’t feel reduced, but I like her a lot and know we’ll be friends even after camp ends.
As anyone might guess, Nurse Leibowitz has been fired from camp. And even though she didn’t get any time in the Big House, she has to do, like, three hundred hours of community service and get anger management counseling.
A few days after our adventure, I got a note from Pops attached to Sal. It said, Be a Lover, Not a Fighter.
I’m not really sure what it means, but it was nice to see Sal again.
About a week after that, I got some snail-mail from Pops. He sent me a cut-out newspaper article with the title “World War II Heroes find Significant Artifact.”
Underneath the title is a grainy black-and-white picture of Pops and George holding the tablet and standing next to the head of artifacts at the Washington Museum. (I know this because Pops labeled everyone in the picture with small sticky notes, including himself and George.) They look happy.
The article talks about the tablet and about the contributions of code talkers. It also describes our skirmish with Nurse Leibowitz and praises Pops and George for their bravery. There’s a small quote from Pops where he talks about his “brave grandson, Noah,” which he highlighted in shaky lines with a yellow marker.
As for me, I’ve completed one of my documentaries, which I’ve titled My Life So Far and How Cool It’s Been Even Though I Didn’t Really Save the World. Mia says it’s too long, but I kind of like it. I put it on YouTube, and it’s starting to get hits!
And even though Mom and Dad aren’t letting me go to the DLFC Extended Summer Program, they say they’ll think about the DLF Winter Break Two-Week Intensive Session. So I’m sending my opus along with the application. I hope I get in!
Wouldn’t it be cool if I did and could wheedle a hard “yes” from Mom and Dad by Thanksgiving? That would mean I could spend the holidays in sunny Los Angeles!
I wonder what kind of adventure I’ll have there.
About the Author
Laura Toffler-Corrie is an award-winning author of young adult and middle-grade novels. She teaches creative writing and literature at Pace University. Laura lives in New York state with her husband, two daughters, and a variety of large and small animals. She enjoys the beach at twilight, museum crawls, and quoting dumb movies.
About the Illustrator
Macky Pamintuan was born and raised in the Southern Philippines. He received his Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from the Academy of Art College in San Francisco. In addition to illustrating, Macky enjoys playing basketball, his other true passion. He lives in the Philippines with his wife, their baby girl, and a West Highland white terrier named Winter.
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