by Lisa Graff
Amanda Howard: I think we better head back to you guys in the studio, Tom. Frankie here’s getting a little loopy.
Frank Quijata: [voice heard off camera] It’s her, Amanda! It’s the girl, Winnie! She’s zip-lining toward the treehouse!
Amanda Howard: How could the girl be heading toward the treehouse if she’s already in— [Amanda finally spots Winnie; puts on her best professional voice] Tom, I see we have a bit of a scoop here. I, Amanda Howard, from Channel 10 Action News, can officially report that the leader of the Treehouse Ten, Gwinnie Majazz-Melody, is . . . [Camera focuses on the treehouse roof, where Winnie lands and quickly scrambles down through the window] . . . inside her treehouse.
[Amanda is silent for a moment, as the camera remains steady on the treehouse window. All that can be seen is a curtain rustling in the wind.]
Amanda Howard: [clears throat] Well, you heard it here first, folks. Everything’s exactly the same as it was before. Stay tuned for more exciting updates on this breaking story. Back to you in the studio, Tom!
Winnie’s Return
14+ days after what happened happened
When Winnie snuck her way back inside the treehouse, with her friends still snoozing in their sleeping bags, everything was exactly the way it was before she left. But somehow, everything was different, too.
That whole Friday and the day after, as Winnie’s friends took turns using the kitchen and the art station and the bathroom, according to Squizzy’s strict schedule, the mood in the treehouse was tense. No one talked much at all. Everyone seemed awfully grumpy. The whole time, Winnie kept to herself, sitting on the loft steps with Buttons curled on her lap. She was pushing thoughts about her not-turned-in local history report to the farthest corner of her mind. (Would she fail fifth grade now? Would all her friends go to middle school without her?) Instead of worrying about that, she observed her friends with her Artist Vision. She squinted her eyes and noted how the shifted light slanted off them.
She observed.
She noted.
And she doodled in her sketchbook.
And with each doodle she drew, Winnie’s vision grew stronger. Sharper.
Her friends, Winnie realized as she watched and doodled, had come to the treehouse with very clear demands about what they wanted. But in the shifted light, Winnie began to see that perhaps what they really wanted was something else entirely.
Doodles in the Treehouse
(As Drawn by Winnie)
Notes:
- spends kitchen time working on food experiments but never eats them
- spends rest of time writing notes, but throws them away (who is he writing to???)
- makes Cheetos treats in shape of elephants
Observations:
- feels bad about sister’s stuffed elephant?
Notes:
- has lots of water balloons left but won’t throw any of them
- always texting Brogan on Joey’s phone
- cheeks are blotchy (from crying?)
Observations:
- misses Brogan?
Notes:
- wants to help Joey with comic book even when he ignores her ideas
- talks to Upstairs 4 even when Squizzy gets mad at her for it
- makes friendship bracelets for everybody, even though they already have tons
Observations:
- needs a best friend?
Notes:
- made 16 toe sock lizards in 2 days
- wakes up Buttons from naps for tug-of-wars
- really excited when Jolee talked to her (and Jolee was only complaining about her annoying sister again!)
Observations:
- lonely?
Notes:
- hardly uses phone anymore
- very grumpy when not his time at art station
- sending lots of new comic books out in mailbox
Observations:
- found a new hobby?
Notes:
- playing lots of Scrabble solitaire
- keeps complaining about annoying sister (even though no one’s asking!)
- checks mailbox 1,000 times a day for new mail
Observations:
- wants attention?
Notes:
- hasn’t opened a book in 6 days (!!!!!)
- working on new demands so we can all “decide about our own lives”
- very shouty whenever someone (Lyle) disagrees with her!
Observations:
- wants more indipen independence?
Notes:
- doesn’t notice tooth collection is dusty (!!!)
- grinding his teeth without realizing (!!!!!!)
- grumbles about how he’s not just a dumb kid who wants dumb stuff
Observations:
- wants to be taken seriously?
An Artist with a Plan
16+ days after what happened happened
That Sunday morning, more than two weeks after she’d first stormed into her treehouse and refused to come down, Winnie was done with doodling. And she knew that Uncle Huck had been right. Maybe she couldn’t get her friends to listen to her, but maybe—with the help of a useful skill she’d had tucked up her sleeve all along—she could fix some of her problems anyway.
As soon as the clock read six a.m., Winnie used her scheduled art-station time to draft a letter. When she was done writing, she sealed the letter tight and addressed it and plopped it on the mailbox platform.
Then she wrote another.
And another.
By the time Squizzy informed Winnie at precisely nine a.m. that she needed to “move your butt out of the way for some other people—can’t you read the timetable?” Winnie had dropped no fewer than eight letters, each tucked into a crisp envelope and carefully addressed, onto the mailbox platform.
Early that afternoon, the responses began to roll in. The first was a letter, addressed to Aayush in his little sister’s blocky handwriting.
Dear Aayush,
I miss you. Come home ok?
Mom and Dad said if you come home today they’ll take us to the mall so we can pick out a new elefant together. They said it wasn’t there idea but it’s a good idea anyway I think. I will name the elefant Aayush (after you).
Love,
Your sister Ash
After reading the letter, Aayush quickly packed up all his marshmallow elephant treats and his sleeping bag, too. “I . . . ,” he told the group as he stood just beside the trapdoor, “I think I need to go. I . . .”
Squizzy was glaring at him, hands across her chest. Lyle was, too.
“But you can’t leave!” Squizzy said, extra shouty. “We’re fighting for independence here!”
“If you go now,” Lyle told him, extra grumbly, “without getting what you demanded, then why should anyone ever take the rest of us seriously?”
Aayush frowned at both of them. He seemed unsure about what to say. But Winnie observed, from the way he clutched his sister’s letter, that he knew what he wanted to do.
“We can’t force Aayush to stay if he doesn’t want to,” Winnie told her friends. And when Aayush darted his eyes her way, she could tell she’d said something good. It calmed the washing-machine churning in her stomach, just a little, to know that she was helping. “He wants to go.” She slowly spun the combination lock for him and pulled back the trapdoor. Winnie could see the patch of dirt that circled the linden tree, fifteen feet straight below her, and the rope ladder swaying slightly in the breeze. But she wasn’t the one leaving. Not just yet.
“Tell your sister hi for me, okay?” Winnie told Aayush. And Aayush gave Winnie a quick hug before he scrambled down the ladder.
Everyone seemed pretty peeved that Aayush had left, including Logan . . . that is, until an hour later, when Logan’s brother Kyle sent him a series of text
s on Joey’s phone.
yo Joey this is Kyle, give Logan the phone OK?
Hey Kyle it’s Logan whats up?
DUDE, LOGAN, STOP BEING AN IDIOT AND COME HOME ALREADY!!
?????
I know B said to stay in that stupid treehouse forever but he totally misses you OK?
B won’t even let anyone sign his cast till you sign it first
Did Mom and Dad say it was OK to watch our show yet?
No
Dude, they’re never gonna give in about that
They’re really pissed
So I should stay up here then
YOU SHOULD STOP BEING AN IDIOT.
(I say that as your loving older brother)
Seriously tho. Brogan’s really bummed without you
I’ve never seen him so sad
You have to come home OK?
Who cares about your stupid show?
But B told me to stay up here until mom and dad give in
BROGAN IS AN IDIOT TOO YOU MORON!!!
That’s why you have to come back. So you can be morons together
OK????
Everyone was pretty peeved when Logan decided to leave, too—everyone but Winnie. “Sorry,” Logan told the group, his backpack slung over his shoulder. “I know you’re mad, but”—he glanced at the texts one more time before handing Joey back his phone—“I have to go.” He wiped away a sniffle. “It’s important. Brogan’s more important than a TV show.”
Even after she closed the trapdoor behind him, Winnie could hear the cheers of Logan’s parents outside, as they hugged their son tight. And the noise calmed the washing-machine churning in her stomach, just the tiniest bit more.
On Monday morning, a pamphlet arrived for Greta.
On Tuesday afternoon, there was a letter for Joey.
And . . .
And . . .
As more and more somethings began to appear in the mailbox, the Treehouse Ten quickly dwindled to a Treehouse One.
Which, as it turned out, had been Winnie’s plan all along.
Visit http://bit.ly/2hnwSjT for a larger version of this image.
Greta,
We just learned about this camp and thought you’d enjoy it. Know anyone up in that treehouse who might want to come with you? (Someone who’s pretty great at making stuffed lizards, maybe?) Sounds like the perfect place to find a best friend.
We love you and miss you!
Love,
Mom and Dad
P.S. The camp starts this afternoon, just so you know!
P.P.S. Tell Tabitha her grandma thinks Craft Camp sounds great, too!
Nolan Blight
9 S. South St. / Philadelphia, PA 19103
[email protected]
Tuesday, May 2nd
Mr. Joseph Ramundo
The Treehouse Where All the Kids Are Holed Up
Glenbrook, PA 19066
Dear Joey:
I wanted to officially thank you for sending me your Super Joey comics. As I hope you’ve figured out by now, I’m a huge fan.
It’s been suggested to me that you might like to stop by my studio and see how real comics are made, and I think it’s a great idea. So, no rush or anything (since I bet you’re having a pretty stellar time up in that treehouse), but when you do decide to come back to Earth, you and your parents are invited for a tour of my studio. I’ll even give you a sneak peek at my latest issue of Blight Boy and Wrench Monkey, before it’s released to the public.
Your pal,
Nolan
Jolee—
We thought you might want to go to this. Could be fun! We’ll get a babysitter for Ainslee and cheer you on louder than anyone.
Love, Mom and Dad
Dear Sonia,
You’ve been up in that treehouse an awful long time, and I got to thinking. Okay,so maybe your mom and I can’t give you everything you ask for (and, to be honest,we do need to have a conversation about your reading habits),but you’re getting older every day and more mature,and we know you need your independence. So when you’re ready,we’re here to talk What do you want,honey? Higher allowance? Later bedtime? You come down,we’ll discuss.
Love,
Dad
“Treehouse 10” End Two-Week Siege
Wednesday, May 3rd
BY MARGARET WEINSNOGGLE
GLENBROOK—Parents around the world breathed sighs of relief this morning, as the second to last of the so-called Treehouse 10—all fifth-graders from local Tulip Street Elementary School—ended their 19-day standoff. Cheers could be heard from blocks away when the ninth child climbed down from the treehouse between the properties of Dr. Alexis Maraj and Dr. Varun Malladi, running to hug his tearful parents. Everyone seemed relieved that the disagreement had at last come to a peaceful end.
Only one member of the Treehouse Ten still refuses to return to American soil. As of press time, Winifred Malladi-Maraj, the treehouse’s original resident, remains inside, with no sign of when she might leave. Neither of Winifred’s parents chose to comment.
Another Regular Wednesday
19 days after what happened happened
Do you think I’m dumb for leaving?” Lyle asked Winnie on Wednesday morning, as he gazed down at the patch of dirt circling the linden tree fifteen feet below. His feet were dangling from the open trapdoor, and his backpack (with his tooth display case tucked inside) was strapped tightly to his shoulders.
He was the last of Winnie’s friends to leave the treehouse.
“Why would I think you were dumb?” Winnie asked him.
“Because I kept saying I wouldn’t leave until I got what I demanded. And I didn’t get what I demanded. None of us did.”
What Winnie observed, with her Artist Vision, was that her friend’s shoulders were more relaxed than they’d been in days. His teeth were no longer grinding.
He was making the right decision.
“What would be dumb,” Winnie told him, “is to stay in a treehouse forever, just so you didn’t look dumb.”
At that, Lyle laughed. He turned his attention back to the ground. Grown-ups outside were hollering at his feet, pleading with him to come down, but Winnie knew that Lyle would only leave when he was good and ready.
“You’ll be okay up here by yourself?” he asked Winnie.
“Sure,” she said. Already the washing-machine churning was barely a swish. “I like it here. And anyway, I’ve got Buttons.”
Lyle could hardly argue with that.
When Winnie had spun the lock shut behind the last of her friends, she let out a deep sigh of relief. She hadn’t solved all the problems of the world, not by a long shot. (There was still the matter of failing fifth grade to deal with, and—she glanced out the windows, beyond the patch of dirt that circled the linden tree—well, other things, too.) But for the moment, things were good enough.
Winnie picked her way through the mess her friends had left behind—forgotten sleeping bags, an abandoned draft of Super Joey, granola bar wrappers and wadded-up napkins and a smooshed marshmallow Cheetos elephant. Outside, the reporters and parents and police had already packed up, leaving traces of their own—ruts in the grass and bits of litter. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was only quiet drifting in from the window. When she reached the trunk in the center of the treehouse, Winnie tugged down Squizzy’s timeline and crumpled it up and threw it on the floor. Then she poured herself a bowl of Froot Loops and settled at the kitchen table. Buttons leapt into her lap, snuggling into a comfy position.
“Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?” Winnie said as she scratched under his chin. “Just another regular Wednesday.” In response, Buttons purred his happiest purr.
Winnie slurped up he
r Froot Loops, happy to have things back to exactly the way they’d started. Except . . .
She glanced out the north-facing window for any sign of movement from her mom’s house.
She squinted out the south-facing window, at her dad’s house.
Nope . . . exactly the way they’d started.
When the sky outside grew dark and the air grew still, Winnie and Buttons tucked themselves under their soft, ratty quilt and gazed out the skylight above them, watching the leaves and the stars and the world. But Winnie couldn’t sleep. Not a wink. Because now that she was all alone in the treehouse, there was no one left to turn her Artist Vision on but herself. And Winnie wasn’t entirely happy with what she was observing.
Her restless tossing and turning.
The persistent churning of her stomach.
Winnie should’ve been happy to have another regular Wednesday in her treehouse. But she wasn’t.
Late in the night, when Winnie’s tossing and turning grew so agitated that Buttons kicked her out of bed with an annoyed mew! Winnie slumped down the loft steps to make herself some hot cocoa (the best kind, with the mini marshmallows). And that’s when she noticed that the mailbox light on the wall was glowing red.
