Mom sighed. “Violet’s upset about missing school and leaving Ty. She asked Susan if she could stay with her for the summer.”
“Violet’s not thinking straight.” He shook his head. “Susan would have her in summer camps and piano lessons. She’d have her in bed by nine. Vi would have about as much chance of seeing Ty as she would if she was halfway across the country with us.”
“It’s a moot point anyway,” Mom said. “Susan said no. She doesn’t want her.”
“Yeah,” Curtis said.
They were both quiet for a minute. I couldn’t imagine my mom ever, ever, ever turning me or the twins away. Couldn’t imagine her not wanting us around. Even if I’d just been at school for the day, when I came in the door she always gave me a big hug and said she’d missed me.
For a moment, I even felt a tiny bit sorry for Violet.
On Sunday, we painted the van. It didn’t turn out quite like I’d imagined. The black was kind of patchy and uneven—I guess maybe we should have sanded more or used a glossier paint—and the stripes were more neon-lime than honeybee-yellow. Still, it was done, and the twins seemed happy enough about it.
And then we started packing. Even though Curtis had said there was lots of storage, the van filled up fast. There was the tool box, the tent, sleeping bags, dishes and cooking stuff, cans of food, boxes of pasta, toilet paper, Whisper’s night-time diapers, jugs of water…It all disappeared into the space beneath the mattress. Mom said Violet and I could pack a small bag each. I packed a pair of jeans, a pair of shorts, underwear and a couple of T-shirts, a hoodie and my toothbrush. I managed to cram in my ancient iPod and a couple of graphic novels, plus a few pens and a blank notebook in case I had time to do any drawing.
Mom and Curtis were packing up the rest of the house. Most of the furniture wasn’t ours anyway, since we’d rented the place furnished. Stuff we wanted to keep—like our photos and clothes and books and the twins’ toys—we packed into boxes for Curtis to put in our new storage locker. We’d rented it for a whole year with the money we would’ve used for June’s rent. Which was pretty awesome, when you thought about it. If we were ever really broke, we could just live in that storage locker, no problem.
I wandered through the house, looking at each room, silently saying goodbye. We’d only lived here for three years, but it felt like home. It was weird to be leaving. I wondered if we’d ever live somewhere again, or if we’d just drive from place to place forever. Mom wouldn’t talk about what we’d do once we arrived on the east coast. We’ll take it as it comes, she’d said. One day at a time. We’ll be free, Wolf. Not tied down to any place. We can follow our hearts.
You could tell it made her happy, the idea of all that freedom. Not me. I liked being tied down to a place. I liked our house, the park behind us, the potholed tarmac of our dead-end road. I liked the huge Garry oak trees and the deer that ate our cedar hedge. I liked my friends. I got a lump in my throat imagining going to school in the morning and telling everyone that it was my last day. My teacher Katie, my friend Duncan…even Ginger, the fat grumpy school cat who spent his days curled up on the wide window ledge in the main classroom. Even Caitlin, who made a point of saying at least one mean thing to me every day.
I sat down on my bedroom floor, unpacked my notebook, tore out a blank sheet of paper and wrote down my email address over and over. In the morning, I’d give it to everyone at school. Mom was bringing her laptop on the trip because she had to keep the blog updated and post videos to YouTube and stuff. I didn’t know how often we’d have Wi-Fi, but hopefully I’d be able to stay in touch.
From downstairs, I heard the sound of the front door opening and then slamming closed. Then I heard Curtis, loud and angry: “So you decided to show up after all, did you? Decided you didn’t want to get left behind?”
Violet was home. I’d been kind of hoping we’d have to leave without her.
Four
THE NEXT MORNING I told my friend Duncan about the change in plans. “So you know how we’re doing this trip? This summer?”
Duncan didn’t take his eyes off his computer screen. “Yeah. The save-the-bees thing.”
I logged into the computer beside his. “We’re going to leave sooner than I thought.”
“Uh-huh.”
I moved the mouse in circles and watched the cursor dance around the desktop icons. “So, this is my last day, probably,” I said.
Duncan swiveled his chair toward me and studied me through the gaps in his curtain of dark tangled hair. I used to have long hair too, until last year when I got tired of people thinking I was a girl. Violet cut it for me and made a real mess, so it ended up way too short. I never knew how much my ears stuck out until I had no hair to hide them. It’s grown back somewhat. Enough to cover my ears anyway.
“Seriously, dude?” Duncan said at last. “You’re not messing with me?”
“Yeah. I mean, no, I’m not messing—”
“You’re gonna get to miss the rest of school?”
I shrugged. “My mom says I can homeschool.”
“Huh. So, like, she’d be your teacher? That kinda sucks.” He turned back to his computer and typed furiously for a few minutes, then looked up at me and spoke again. “I’ve been working on a new game. Want to see?”
“Sure.” I rolled my chair closer to his so that I could see his screen. It showed a green and purple landscape with a cartoony helicopter hovering overhead. “Cool. What do you do?”
“Not much yet. You control the helicopter with the arrow keys. Space bar to shoot.”
“Shoot what?”
Duncan clicked open a menu, scrolled down a list and typed something in. “Don’t know yet. I still have to add the bad guys. Enemies. Bosses. You know how some games have those health bars? To show how many shots left for a kill?”
I nodded.
“I’m gonna do that.”
“Cool.” Ginger butted his head against my ankles, purring, and I picked him up. He weighed a ton, and his fur was all matted around his neck and under his ears. “Ginger has dreadlocks,” I said. “Little cat dreads.” I tried to tease one of the tangles apart, but the cat stiffened, gave a squawky meow and jumped down.
Across the room, our teacher, Katie, looked up. She was sitting on the floor with a group of kids who were building a sculpture from tin cans and recycled electronics. “All good?” she called.
“Dude just told me today’s his last day,” Duncan said.
Katie stood up, brushed off her jeans and walked over to us. “Really, Wolf? You’re leaving?”
“My mom didn’t tell you?”
“No.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “So what’s going on?”
I liked Katie too much to give her the family-vacation line. “Uh, have you ever looked at my mom’s website?”
“I didn’t even know she had one.”
I typed in the address and beckoned to Katie to come around to my side of the computer so she could see the screen. “There,” I said. “Read that. Starting at My name is Jade Everett.”
Katie leaned toward the screen. Her dark pink hair hung around her face like the feathers of some tropical bird, and I could see her eyes scanning back and forth behind her black-framed glasses as she read. My hands were sweaty, and I wiped them on my jeans. I was doing exactly what Mom had told me not to do.
“Wolf, have you read this?” Katie turned to me.
I nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”
Katie’s pale cheeks were flushed. “When…she says here that she doesn’t expect to see her kids reach adulthood… I’m sure she doesn’t mean that literally, you know? That it’s just…that she’s�
��”
“Going for maximum impact,” Duncan put in helpfully. “Exaggeration. Hyperbole.”
Katie snapped her fingers. “Right. Hyperbole. Nice word, Duncan.”
I didn’t say anything. I was pretty sure my mom meant it literally.
“Wolf? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“I mean…” Katie touched her fingers to her lips. Her cheeks were still very pink, almost the same color as her hair. “I mean, you’re not, you know, worried that the world is about to end?”
I shook my head. “No. Well, not too worried. I mean, we all know there are some pretty big problems, right?”
“Sure. I mean, I think it’s great your family is doing this. I just wanted to make sure you’re not, uh…”
“Freaking out,” Duncan supplied.
Katie looked at me.
“Really,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“And your sisters? The twins? They’re going too?”
“Of course. What else would they do?”
Katie waved a hand at the computer screen. “Do they know about all this?”
“They can’t read,” I said. “But Mom’s told them we have to help people understand about the bees. How important they are, stuff like that.”
She relaxed slightly. “Just that Juniper seems like such an anxious little girl. I wouldn’t want her to be worrying about adult problems.”
If the bees all died, it wasn’t just going to be adults who had problems. “Nah, she’s all right,” I said. “She and Saffron are excited about the trip.”
“Good.” Katie squeezed my shoulder. “I hope you’ll keep in touch. Let us know how it’s going.”
“I will,” I said. And all of a sudden there was this lump in my throat and a stinging in my eyes, and I had to look away so that she and Duncan wouldn’t see me not-quite-crying.
Duncan and I took our lunches outside and sat on a wooden bench. It was sunny and almost warm down here, with the buildings blocking the breeze. I unzipped my hoodie and opened my lunch box. I’d brought leftover chili, but I didn’t feel hungry.
“Can’t believe you’re leaving,” Duncan said.
“Yeah. It’s weird.”
“You’ll be back though. Right? I mean, in September?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Maybe? Like, ninety percent chance? Fifty percent chance? What are we talking here?”
I shrugged. “Mom says she doesn’t want to plan ahead, you know? Just, like, take it as it comes and see what happens.”
Duncan didn’t say anything for a minute. We watched the little kids—Saffron and Whisper and half a dozen others were playing some kind of tag, dashing this way and that, the game punctuated by loud squeals and protests. That’s not fair! The rule is, you have to count to five. No, ten. No, we changed it to five. Saffron was the loudest and the bossiest—she could hold her own with the second- and third-graders—and Whisper, as always, was her silent shadow.
Finally, Duncan gave a long sigh. “Dude, no offense, but that blog of your mom’s? That’s some pretty crazy stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“You know. Intense. I read it and I was, like, what the photon?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You believe all that? Like, that the world is, you know.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “These last doomed years. All that stuff?”
I shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. I mean, not like this week or anything, but…”
“Huh.”
“I mean, maybe not, right? If people get together and change the way we treat the planet.” I looked at the side of the shed behind the vegetable garden, where the kids from a few years back had painted a giant mural of Earth—a slightly lopsided, blue-and-green planet Earth with little people standing around its edges. “That’s why we’re doing this trip.”
“So you want to do it? You’re into it?”
I shook my head. “Not really. But…well, I guess it’s important, right? So. Yeah. You know.”
“Yeah.” Duncan peeled the lid off a yogurt container and fumbled around in his lunch bag. “Dude, do you have a spoon? My mom forgot to put one in here.”
I shook my head.
“Wolf?” Katie was standing behind us in the doorway. “Your mother’s here.”
“She is?”
“To pick you up. Can you tell your sisters to get their jackets and bags?”
I nodded and she disappeared back into the school.
“So,” Duncan said. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah. See you.” I felt like I should say something more, but I couldn’t think of anything, so I just walked over to where the little kids were playing. “Saffy! Whisper!”
They both stopped running and looked up at me. Saffron put her hands on her hips, ready to argue with whatever I was about to say. “What?”
“Mom’s here. We gotta go. Get your coats and the rest of your things, okay?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now.” I started back toward the school and they followed me. “I’ll meet you in the front hall, okay?”
Saffron nodded, took Whisper’s hand, and they headed down the stairs to the basement. I went the other way, to my classroom, and grabbed my jacket. I had a ton of stuff in my cubby—a whole year’s worth of projects, half-written stories, artwork—and I started to gather it up. Then I stopped. What was I going to do with it? There was no way I could bring it in the van, and we had already packed up the house. I was still standing there with all these papers in my arms when I heard my mom’s voice coming from the little office by the front door.
“I’d think that you, of all people, would understand,” she was saying.
I could hear Katie’s quieter voice replying, and I strained to make out the words. “I do, I do. It’s just…” And then some murmuring that I couldn’t quite catch.
“Seems a bit hypocritical,” Mom said. “I guess all the talk about the environment and sustainability, etcetera etcetera, is just that: talk.”
“That’s not fair,” Katie said. She sounded angry, and her voice was louder now. “And it’s not true. We’re—”
Mom cut her off. “Look, I know you think you’re contributing. And I know that this place makes more effort than most schools. But honestly, do you really think that recycling and composting and riding bikes on field trips is going to save the planet?”
“We all do what we can.”
“Well, it isn’t enough. You have to think about the big picture here—”
“Jade—”
Mom cut her off again. “You think showing kids a few videos on global warming is going to lead to a generation of activists? You think we have that kind of time? These kids can’t grow up to save the world if there’s nothing left for them to save.”
“Jade. Listen. This is what I’m worried about—this world-is-about-to-end thing. How do you think hearing that is going to affect your kids?”
“I don’t think hearing it will hurt them nearly as much as letting it happen! I don’t think it will hurt them as much as seeing the people they love starving and dying.” Mom’s words hung in the still air. My heart was fluttering, all light and irregular-feeling, like an injured bird flapping about in my rib cage.
“Shhh, shhh,” Katie said. She lowered her voice so I couldn’t make out her words. I stepped closer, quietly moving toward the half-closed office door and straining to hear.
“Wolf?” Saffron’s voice.
I tur
ned. Saffron and Whisper were standing there, hoodies and backpacks in their arms. I wondered how much they had heard. “Hey, you two,” I said loudly. “Ready to roll?”
Mom stepped out of the office, her face flushed. “Okay, kids. Let’s go.”
Behind her, Katie waved to us. “Have a good summer,” she said, like she hadn’t just had a huge argument with our mother. “Take care of yourselves.”
Saffron darted forward and gave her a hug. I stared at the floor.
Outside, a horn honked loudly.
“Come on,” Mom said. “Curtis and Violet are waiting in the van.”
I followed her down the steps, holding Whisper’s hand in mine. Saffron skipped ahead, flapping her arms as if she already had her bee costume on. As I got into the van, I glanced back at the school. Katie was watching us from the window, holding a squirming Ginger in her arms. I waved goodbye as we drove off, but she didn’t wave back. She probably couldn’t even see me through the van’s tinted windows.
Five
IT TOOK FORTY minutes to drive to the Swartz Bay ferry terminal, and Violet argued with Curtis for every single one of them. I put on my headphones, closed my eyes and listened to music on my iPod. Saffy went to sleep—she always slept on long drives—and Whisper played a game on Violet’s phone.
Even with my headphones on, I could hear Violet’s heated voice. I cranked the volume until it drowned her out and I could only see her mouth moving and the angry tears tracing lines of mascara down her cheeks. She was always so dramatic. It wasn’t like I wanted to be going away, but it was happening anyway and there was no point fighting it. When something is inevitable, you might as well quit struggling and make the best of the situation.
Violet never seemed to get that.
We arrived at the ferry terminal just in time to see the one o’clock ferry pulling away, which meant we had to wait two hours for the next one. Mom and Curtis went inside to the coffee shop, Vi sat in the car, sulking, and I took the twins to the playground area and watched them swing on the monkey bars. Whisper made it all the way across easily, kicking her skinny legs and grinning with delight. Saffy was heavier and less agile but fiercely determined. The tip of her tongue stuck out in concentration as she battled her way across, grunting with the effort.
The Summer We Saved the Bees Page 3
