by Brian Adams
And now?
I knew I loved my father. But that’s because he took care of me and gave me things and got all misty-eyed whenever I brought home good grades and, well, he was my father. I was supposed to love him.
I knew I loved Auntie Sadie, because she was a lioness and I was her cub and she would have faced a herd of charging hippos and kicked their asses to save mine.
I knew I loved my sister, even though she was a royal pain in my butt and was always into my things and driving me crazy, and had totally blown Kevin’s big moment. But she was, after all, my little sister. What else was I supposed to do? It’s not like I really had a choice.
I knew I loved Ashley, because she was my Ashley and I would always love her, even when she screwed up. And she would always love me, and that was just the way that it always had been and always would be.
I knew I loved Mount Tom and his trees and his animals, because the thought of the bastards blowing his top off made me so totally crazy that I was ready to do just about anything, anything, to stop them.
And then there was Kevin. Just like he had said, this was uncharted territory.
One thing that made me nuts was when kids said they loved someone and adults pooh-poohed it and got all dismissive and stupid and said crap like “You don’t even know what love is.” As if adults have cornered the market on love, with so many of them blowing it big time and screwing around and breaking up and getting divorced and generally making mayhem and mockery out of the whole love thing.
The way I see it, if someone says that they’re in love, then they’re in love. No questions asked. I mean, who am I, who is anyone, to tell them that they aren’t?
“What would you have said?” Ashley asked again.
I had spent a sleepless night, eyes wide open, replaying the conversation over and over in my head and thinking up the most awesome reply had Kevin actually come out with it. An Academy Award–winning reply. A reply that would be the title of the number-one hit song by Beyonce or Taylor Swift or whoever was the hottest star of the moment. A reply that would go viral and be on the lips of every teenage girl in the entire world. A reply that would have completely blown Kevin away and made him get down on bended knee, weeping with joy, and ask me to marry him on the spot even though I was a few weeks shy of sixteen and he was less than two years older.
“And you would have said what again?” Ashley asked for the third time.
“Plumph!”
“Excuse me?” she asked.
“Blurph!”
“Ahhh. . . Now I get it. Weird-girl-speak for totally and completely!”
Ashley hugged me.
56
IT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON, the day before the Great Mount Tom Children’s Crusade. KABOOM had nominated (more like forced!) me to be the speaker and, flattered as I was, I was nervous as hell.
Ever since we had been kicked out of the high school, KABOOM had been meeting at my house. We had put a lot of time and effort into organizing the crusade. We had it all over Facebook and other social media. We had sent out a press release to the local paper and to TV and radio stations. We had plastered posters up, not just at our school, but also at two other schools in the towns nearby.
THE TIME TO MARCH IS NOW!!!!!
KEEP THE TOP ON TOM!
JUST SAY NO TO MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL!
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18
NOON
SOULS’ HAVEN EVANGELICAL CHURCH SHOW THE WORLD YOU CARE!
KABOOM
KIDS AGAINST BLOWING OFF OUR MOUNTAINTOPS
A few of the cooler teachers like Ms. Fogg-Willits, the art teacher, had disregarded Principal Miller’s directive and allowed us to come into their classes to give a plug for the march. Even Diaper Lady, the English teacher—surprise surprise—let us do our thing. She had even gone so far as to require her classes to write an essay on mountaintop removal. Mr. Cooper, while still not entirely in our good graces, had somewhat redeemed himself by allowing extra credit for all those kids who showed up at the march. We had even finagled our way into the middle school to drum up support, and we had Britt’s posse on board.
Talking in front of those classes at school had been hard enough. Just the thought of standing in front of a crusade of kids and giving a real speech scared the crap out of me. The old angst-filled Custard of storybook-dragon fame was crawling back into her cage again, her spiked dragon tail tucked meekly beneath her belly. Belinda was nowhere to be seen.
“Please, will you do it?” I begged Ashley for the millionth time. “Please?”
“Unh uh! You’re the go-to girl. And if there were any hecklers out there I’d go off and start pounding them. You know me. Anyway, you’re way better at this sort of thing!”
“I am not!”
“You are too!”
“I’m fifteen, for goodness sake!” I said. “What do I know?”
“You’re two weeks older than I am,” Ashley said. “And you know a lot!”
“I do not!”
“You do too!”
“We sure aren’t sounding like we’re fifteen,” I said.
“We are too!” Ashley said.
“We are not!”
I was stuck with being the speaker.
Kevin had assured me I’d do great.
“Chill!” he said. “You’re going to kill it!”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“’Cause I know! You always say the right thing.”
I reminded him of our mini-breakup.
“Well,” Kevin said, smiling. “Almost always.”
“And what if I don’t?” I asked. “What if I do something really stupid instead? What if I trip going up the church stairs? What if my voice goes all wavery and weird? What if I make a complete and total ass of myself? What if I run out of things to say?”
“You? Run out of things to say? Fat chance of that happening!”
I poked him.
“Don’t sweat it,” Kevin continued. “All the girls will be jealous because you’re the center of attention. All the boys will be checking you out. And most kids won’t be listening to a word you say anyway. They’ll all be way too busy scoping out who’s there!”
“Thanks, Kev,” I said, poking him again. “That’s just great. Really great! I’ve been in agony for days working on my little speech thingy—and now you tell me it doesn’t even matter?”
“It matters to me!” he said. “I’ll be listening.”
“You better be!” I told him.
To make matters even scarier, we found out that our press releases had actually worked. A Charleston television station was sending a camera crew down to make a news story out of the crusade. They would have their cameras rolling while I spoke!
I had a tizzy in my tummy and a hunk of lumps in my throat.
•
“Can I lead the parade?” Britt asked.
“It’s not a parade,” I told her. “It’s a march. There’s a big difference.”
“Whatever!” she said. “But think how fun it would be if the Twirling Tweens led the charge? Not just us baton-twirlers but clowns and stilt-walkers too. It would be awesome!”
“No clowns!” I said, covering my ears. “Please! No clowns!”
Britt and a bunch of her friends had been taking a circus arts class in the downtown community center and they were dying to strut their stuff.
“Any dancing bears?” I asked.
“How’d you know?” Britt said. “It was supposed to be a secret!”
Britt’s best friend Patty had a sister in the second grade and she was helping some of the little elementary school dweebs make polar bear puppets.
“Polar bears?” I asked Britt. “And the point of that is . . .”
“Oh my God, Cyndie, don’t you know anything?” Britt rolled her eyes. “You blow up the mountain and you get the coal. You burn the coal and you warm the earth. You warm the earth and you melt the icebergs. You melt the icebergs and you drown the polar bears. And polar bears are so
oo cute!”
Who could argue with that?
Kevin told me that some of the rowdier seniors were planning on having a party down by the river in Heaver’s Holler on Friday night. The theme was “Throw Up—Don’t Blow Up!” Evidently vast quantities of alcohol were to be consumed. As in: what else was new.
He asked me if I wanted to go.
“Wow!” I said, “That sounds like so much fun! Should I wear a trash bag for splatter control over my hoop skirt? I hope it’s BYOT.”
“BYOT?” Kevin asked.
“Bring your own toilet! Or do you just hurl away all over Mother Nature?”
“I just asked,” Kevin said sheepishly. “Jeez, at least they’re with us!”
He had a point. But we (as in I) decided we’d go to the movies instead. And a chick flick at that! I had had quite enough of things getting blown up and thrown up, thank you very much.
Frank had gotten his evangelical youth group totally pumped and they had promised to show up en masse. It was reassuring to know that we would have God, the circus, polar bears, and a bunch of totally hungover seniors on our side.
After a sleepless night, Saturday, thank goodness, finally came. It was warmish and beautiful. Good cause or not, there were a lot of fair-weather friends out there who were probably not going to show if the mid-November weekend weather sucked.
We had no idea what the turnout would be. Twenty kids? Fifty? A hundred? We were hoping for lots, but we really didn’t have a clue.
The members of KABOOM met at the church at eleven o’clock to go over last-minute details. Sam, to everyone’s shock, had given up fishing for the day in order to show. Even Jon Buntington was there, which made me feel much better. Not that Kevin wasn’t a certifiable hunk, but no one messed with Jon. It was good to have a little more visible muscle. You never knew what might happen.
Ashley was still not over Marc’s betrayal, but at least she had progressed to the point where she wasn’t looking over her shoulder every fifteen seconds. She had even, gasp, begun chatting it up with Sam in a pretty flirtatious way.
“You think he’ll show?” I asked her.
“Sam?” Ashley replied. “He’s already here.”
“Ashley!” I said. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“What do I care?” Ashley said, lying through her teeth. “He’s history!”
So there we were, standing on top of the church steps, not knowing what to expect, and a crowd began to gather. Big kids. Little kids. Kids we knew. Kids we didn’t. Kids from other schools in other towns who had somehow heard about the crusade and had managed to make it to the church on time. Kids eight to eighteen, with a few toddlers thrown in for good measure. One of the tenth-grade girls who had dropped out because she was pregnant even showed up with her baby in tow.
“Wow!” Ashley said.
“Double wow!” I said, clinging tightly to Kevin.
“Who would have thought? It’s like a real crusade!”
“Only better! No water cannons or attack dogs in sight!”
“Damn!” Piggy said, borrowing Britt’s baton and twirling it menacingly. “I was hoping for a little more drama!”
Kids were crazy creative. There were hand-painted signs and outfits galore.
Tammy and Rich had come dressed as Uncle Sam and Auntie Sammie, all decked out in red, white, and blue. Rich was waving an American flag. Tammy had a sign with the words to “America the Beautiful” written on it:
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America! God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
On the other side of the sign it said:
KEEP AMERICA BEAUTIFUL
AND
THE MOUNTAINS MAJESTIC:
STOP MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL!
Sam was dressed in his fisherman outfit, lures and flies and hooks sticking out every which way. He had his fishing pole in one hand and in the other a sign that read Mountaintop Removal’s Awfully Fishy!
Becky had a sign with a picture of a mountaintop blowing up, volcano-like, with rocks raining down on a cute little farm and terrified baby farm critters scattering in every direction. Chicken Little Was Right! the caption read. The Sky Really Is Falling! Save Mount Tom!
Sharon, whose parents owned the Tasty Top soft-serve ice cream parlor, had made a huge cardboard cutout of an ice cream cone. The scoop of ice cream was drawn to look like a mountaintop and was drooping precariously. If the Top Falls Off It’s Ruined! the caption read. In smaller letters it said, Tammy’s Tasty Top—Say you saw this sign and get a free kiddie cone.
You know you’re doing something right when you’ve got the local ice cream shop on board!
Not only were there kids and signs and outfits and props, but the TV station from Charleston had shown up and there was a reporter from the newspaper as well. It was surreal: interviewers, cameras, lights, and action. One of the camera crew shoved a microphone into my face and I blathered on about the evils of mountaintop removal while crowds of kids continued to gather.
“Promise again you won’t dump me, now that you’re famous?” Kevin whispered in my ear.
“No chance!” I whispered back, giving his hand a squeeze. “Like it or not you’re stuck with me!”
“I like it!” he said, squeezing back.
I was not exactly looking my best. Ashley had spent over an hour on my hair but the wind had picked up and whipped it into a frenzied faceful. My damn chin had erupted again and two zits the size of Mount Tom had reared their hideous heads. Even without dynamite, they were threatening to blow their tops off and spew grossness all over the crowd. My throat still had a tangled knot in it and I was paranoid that nothing would come out.
I turned to Ashley and tried desperately to untangle my tongue.
“I can’t do this!” I whimpered.
“There are things a girl has got to do, and this is one of them,” Ashley said firmly.
“I wrote the speech!” I said. “You read it!”
“You’re going to be great!”
“I have to pee!”
“Hold it!”
The time had come. Channeling Widow Combs and Mom and Elise, I turned to face the crowd.
I had practiced my speech in front of Kevin and Ashley and Britt. It was maybe three minutes at the most. Three minutes. That wasn’t long. I could do three minutes.
I breathed in, letting my hair and my zits and my voice and the butterflies in my stomach do what they were going to do.
“I’m super-excited to be here!” I began. “And it’s so awesome to see so many of you out there!”
The church parking lot was overflowing with kids, and they hooted and hollered.
“We are here today to save Mount Tom! We are here today because mountaintop removal destroys the environment! Pollutes our water! Leaves us poorer! Makes us sick! We are here today because we care! We are here today because we are going to stop this madness!”
With every other word I said, all the kids in the crowd, way more than a hundred by now, would clap and cheer and stomp their feet. Some boy had even brought along an air horn, which he blew every fifteen seconds.
I’d say something and they’d all yell it back.
It was sick!
“Blowing the top off the mountain is wrong!” I yelled.
“It’s wrong!” they yelled back.
“It’s stupid!” I yelled.
“It’s stupid!” they yelled back.
“Are we going to let them do it?”
“NO!” they yelled back.
“What are we going to do?”
“Save Mount Tom!”
Three minutes? Who was I kidding? The speech took me fifteen minutes to get through! I had the crowd whipped into a frenzy. Even in my wildest dreams I hadn’t thought it would go down as wel
l as it did. It was such a rush!
The plan was that as soon as I had finished we would begin the march, but suddenly, to my total shock, who should bound up the church steps but Marc Potvin. Marc the betrayer! Coming back to haunt us. He was dressed in his mascot outfit, the Greenfield High School Miner, his miner’s helmet, oversized overalls, inflatable shovel, and all.
“Shit!” I thought. If he was here to disrupt the march, things could get ugly pretty quickly.
“My name is Marc Potvin,” he yelled to the crowd, not even looking in my direction, “and I am the Greenfield High School Miner!”
Kids pumped their fists in the air.
“Miner! Miner! Miner!” they chanted.
Ashley was standing in the front row, her mouth open, stunned, frozen. I didn’t know whether to try to stop Marc from speaking or let it play out. I turned to Kevin for support but he was smiling. Smiling!
“I’m here today,” Marc boomed, “to tell you that mountaintop removal’s got nothing to do with regular mining. Nothing! American Coal Company wants to blow up the mountain and they want to take the miner out of the mine. No miners mean more money for them. And it seems to me that that’s all they really care about. Not you. Not me. Not our dads and moms and uncles and granddaddies who work the mines. Not about Greenfield. And definitely not about Mount Tom. They only care about their bottom line: Money! I mean no disrespect for the hard-working coal miners out there, but, after a hell of a lot of thought”—he winked at Ashley—“I’m here today to tell you that I can no longer, in good conscience, go out with this getup! If American wants to get rid of the miner, then they’ll have to get rid of me!”
And then, with a dramatic gesture, Marc flung off his miner’s helmet, stripped out of his overalls, and then, for the grand finale, took a pin out of his pocket and popped the inflatable shovel.
The crowd roared. One of the girls yelled, “Keep on going! Take it all off!”
“Coal may be king but I refuse to be the jester!” he yelled to the crowd. “Is there anything funny about mountaintop removal?”
“No!” the kids yelled.
“Is there anything funny about blowing the top off of Tom?”
“No!”
“Then I’m telling you right here, right now, Greenfield High School needs a new mascot!”
