Here, in this car, I fit. I am one of them.
Here I am a Hart.
WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A HART
• You don’t need anyone but each other to throw a really good party.
• • •
The Everwood is different in the dark.
Tonight there is no moon. Clouds hide the stars. All we have to help us find our way through the trees is a flashlight.
Right now my forest seems like a living, breathing creature with a mind of its own.
Any minute now the Everwood’s shadows will shift and stretch, and the mud underneath our feet will transform into a huge beast that will carry us away.
I do not think I would mind being taken away to a strange land with only my cousins for company.
We have arranged lanterns around the Tower. Avery found strings of lights in the garage and has hooked them up to an extension cord. It looks like we are surrounded by tiny fairies.
(The good kind, not the Everwood kind that set traps.)
Kennedy has pulled up the radio on her phone, but one of Avery’s requirements for allowing this party is that she gets to choose the music.
So now we are listening to Marvin Gaye. Kennedy is dancing with Dex, Gretchen is setting up snacks, and Ruth is running around in her monster mask, roaring at the top of her lungs.
The queen startled, looking through the trees and the ever-present fog. Was that a chimera, a creature of the Everwood deep, approaching in the gloom?
“She sees things that are,” whispered the Dark Ones. “She sees things that aren’t.”
Ruth latches on to my leg, roaring through her paper-bag teeth.
“What else?” Avery puts her hands on her hips. “This looks pretty good so far, right?”
When I look up at Avery, my heart expands to fill my entire body. I worried it would be weird, having her here. She is new to the Everwood. I would not blame her for thinking we are childish.
But she doesn’t look like that at all. She is laughing, letting herself be dragged by Ruth to the Tower, because Ruth insists that Avery add her artwork to our painted collage.
Avery belongs here—in the Everwood—like we do.
• • •
I put on my crown and make a fallen tree my throne.
I have this horrible feeling that Jack never got my note, or that he has forgotten about me since we stopped coming out to the woods.
But then a chorus of shouts fills the air. Ruth leaps out of the Tower and puts up her fists.
“Attack mode!” she shrieks.
Gretchen rolls her eyes. “It’s just the Baileys.”
Just the Baileys. And Gretchen says it like it means nothing, when it really means everything.
WHAT HAS CHANGED THIS SUMMER
• Jack, Cole, and Bennett are just the Baileys.
• The Bone House is clean(er).
• I am no longer afraid to talk to Avery. (Mostly.)
■ Related: I have developed an appreciation for classic rock.
• My cousins are no longer strangers who happen to resemble me.
■ They have become more than that.
■ They are inside me now, pieces of myself I never realized were missing.
■ Now that I have found them, I will never let them go.
• I have developed my first crush on an age-appropriate boy.
Here he is, bowing to me, wearing an eye patch Dex assembled out of construction paper and bright green finger paint.
I try not to laugh. “Should you have wet paint so close to your eye?”
Jack shrugs, grinning. “Girls wear mascara.”
“I don’t wear mascara.”
“You can try some of mine, if you want.” Avery plops down beside me. “So, you’re Jack, huh?”
Jack springs to his feet. “Arrrr, the one and only, matey!”
“Matey?”
“He’s a pirate,” I explain. “All the Baileys are.”
Gretchen is lying flat on her back nearby, looking for stars through the Baileys’ telescope. “Once they were notorious, but they’ve been redeemed.”
Avery nods sagely. “Oh, I see.”
“And you must be the artist,” Jack says.
“Avery.”
“Finley says you’re really talented. She says you could get into any school you wanted.”
My face flushes. What do I know about art, anyway?
But Avery kisses my cheek and whispers, “Thanks, Fin.”
With her beside me, everything is okay. Our shared secret knowledge sits between us, invisible, tying us together.
It does not seem so terrible that Grandma has cancer, that Dad is not here. Everything feels beatable and not quite real, like I am watching the world unfold on a television screen.
Cole is painting vines onto Kennedy’s arms with dark green paint.
Ruth is burying Dex in leaves.
Gretchen is blindfolded, playing Marco Polo with Bennett and Jack. Kennedy yells a warning every time someone gets too close to the river.
There is no reason for me to be afraid. The night spins on and on, like it was made for us. We are wild Everwood creatures, and this is our kingdom.
Then I hear Cole yell, “Stop it!”
At the sound of his shout I turn around and see Gretchen trying to start a fire.
She has made a circle out of stones from the riverbed, with twigs piled in the middle of it. Kennedy hands her the skinny lighter from the kitchen.
“It’s not a big deal,” Gretchen says. “It’ll be a little one. How else are we supposed to toast the marshmallows?”
Cole slaps the lighter out of her hand.
Gretchen stares at him. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her speechless.
Avery steps out of the Tower, paintbrush in hand. “Hey, chill out! What’s your problem?”
“My problem is that it’s dangerous,” Cole replies. “Do you want to explain to your grandparents how their backyard got burned down?”
“It’s fine. I’m watching her. We’ve got a garden hose.”
“Right. Have you ever seen a forest fire?”
“No. Have you?”
“On TV. It’s summer. It hasn’t been raining. Do you get that this place is covered in dry leaves? Do you know how fast a ‘little fire’ could grow out of control?”
Bennett looks out from behind the mask Ruth helped him make. “But, Cole, I want s’mores!”
“Dad told us to never make a fire back here, not even a little one,” Cole says. “Never. You know that.”
Jack laughs. “Since when did you start caring what Dad thinks?”
“Shut up, Jack. You don’t get it. You’re not the oldest.”
“Aw, you’re right.” Jack pouts and bats his eyelashes. “Please, Big Brother, will you protect me?”
Cole shoves him. “I said, shut up.”
“Guys, stop it,” Kennedy says. “You’re freaking out Dex. Let’s just eat the marshmallows uncooked.”
Gretchen crosses her arms over her chest. “What kind of s’mores have uncooked marshmallows?”
Jack retrieves the fallen lighter and flips it on. “Seriously, Cole. What kind of pirate are you?”
In the next few seconds a million different things seem to happen at once:
Jack successfully lights the pile of twigs on fire.
The fire catches and grows, quickly—still within the circle of stones, but even Gretchen backs away.
Cole screams, “Put it out!” and kicks dirt onto the fire.
Jack shoves him, Cole shoves back, and I am not sure who tackles who, but soon they are wrestling in the mud and leaves, punching each other.
“Whoa,” Ruth whispers, staring wide-eyed.
“Stop it!” Kennedy shrieks. “Somebody’s going to get hurt!”
Avery grabs Jack’s shoulders. “Cut it out! If you want to fight, go home and do it. Not here.”
I am impressed by Avery’s Mom voice. Jack and Cole glare at each other, pantin
g. I think everything might be okay now—but then Gretchen lights the fire once more.
“It’s not a big deal,” she insists.
“Fine,” Cole says, “light your stupid fire. I’m going to go tell Dad.”
Gretchen snorts. “Yeah, like he’ll actually stop drinking long enough to leave the house.”
Cole steps back, looking like Jack has punched him all over again.
Everything is quiet except for the crackling fire and the radio.
“What?” Gretchen crosses her arms and glares at the ground. “Everyone knows about that. People at school say—”
“Shut up, Gretchen.” Jack holds his cheek. “You don’t know anything.”
“Gretchen, don’t be a jerk, and put out that fire,” says Avery.
“But Cole—”
“I don’t care. I’m telling you to put it out.”
But it is too late. Cole is already running toward the Bailey house.
I take off after him.
Avery yells at me to come back.
“Finley!” Jack calls. I hear him running after me. “Don’t! Stop!”
But I will not stop. If Cole tells his father about our party, about the fire, Mr. Bailey will probably tell Grandma and Grandpa, too—and then what?
“The queen in her forest, far from home,” the Dark Ones chanted, grabbing on to the queen’s shoulders and twisting, twisting. “The queen in her forest, all alone.”
Cole must have really hurt Jack, because I am outrunning him, chasing Cole up the steep hill to his house on all fours, pulling myself up by the roots of a gnarled tree.
“Finley, please, stop!” Jack shouts. “Don’t go inside!”
I follow Cole across the Baileys’ run-down wooden porch and through a swinging front door with the screen broken. He stops at the entryway to a dark living room with peeling wallpaper, lit up by a television.
I am dizzy and out of breath. “Please, Cole, don’t tell your dad. Grandma will—”
“Who are you?”
A woman stands in front of me, thin and tired-looking. Her mouth is hard; her eyes are harder.
“I’m . . . Finley. Finley Hart.”
“Hart? What do you want? Don’t you know how to knock? Or are you too good for that?”
Cole hurries over. “Mom, leave her alone—”
Mom?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was trying to talk to Cole—”
“You’re friends with my boys?” The woman steps toward me. “Stay away from them, all right? They don’t need to get mixed up with you people on top of everything else.”
“Are you still here?” bellows a voice from another room. “I told you to get out!”
The woman yells back, “Don’t worry, you won’t see me again for a long time.” Then she looks back at me. “Seriously, girl. Don’t stick around here. Baileys have bad blood.” She grins. It is not a friendly smile. “But I guess you know all about that, huh?”
Then she shoves past me and out the door, car keys in hand.
Cole watches the woman leave. The headlights of her car make his face look frightened and small. “Finley, get out of here, seriously—”
Something crashes in the other room, like a chair falling over.
Jack barrels in from outside. “Please, Finley, just go.”
Jack is crying.
Jack is crying.
I stare at him. “Jack?”
“Who is that?”
We all freeze at the sound of Mr. Bailey’s voice. He stumbles out of the living room toward us.
The queen stepped back in horror. Here, at last, was the infamous Fellfolk troll.
His lair was a festering pile of waste—a once-grand castle now fallen to ruin.
Curled on her back, the Dark Ones cheered. “Run, little queen! Or he’ll pound you and smash you and grind you to bits!”
I do not run.
“It’s nobody, Dad,” says Cole. “You can sit down and watch—”
Mr. Bailey ignores Cole. His face is pale and thin, his dark hair greasy. Like that night two weeks ago when we watched the stars, I think he looks like Jack—but this time it is all wrong. He reeks—like Aunt Bridget’s drinks, but so much worse—and he cannot keep his balance.
“Hello, sir.” I will not run. I will not run. “It’s Finley.” When he does not answer, I add, “Remember? I told you the story about the Everwood?”
Mr. Bailey points at the door. “Get out of here. No Harts allowed on this property.”
But I am afraid to move, even though Jack is tugging on my hand. “Leave, Finley, leave.”
“Get out, I said!” Mr. Bailey yells. He looks like he either wants to throw something or cry. “Get off my property!”
My ears ring with the horrible things he proceeds to say about my family: We are snobs. We are criminals. We don’t deserve what we have. I run out onto the porch and to the edge of the hill that leads down to the river.
Someone approaches the hill with a flashlight—Avery, holding Bennett’s hand.
Jack catches up with me. I could reach out and touch his arm, but I have never felt so far away from another person.
“Jack,” I whisper, “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You kept telling me to stop and I wouldn’t—”
“You should have. You weren’t supposed to see them. He’s not always like this. You saw him that one night. Mostly he’s fine.”
I cannot see Jack’s face, but I can hear him crying. Jack is not supposed to cry. Jack is supposed to smile and make jokes and talk like a pirate.
“That was your mom?” I ask. “That woman who left? Where did she go?”
Jack won’t look at me. “Away. Like usual. I guess I don’t blame her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just leave, Finley. Get out of here.”
“Not until I know you’re okay.”
“I know how to handle him.”
“Maybe you can stay with us tonight, until your dad calms down.”
“We’re fine, okay? He won’t hurt us. He’ll fall asleep and wake up and not remember anything.”
“But, Jack—”
“Did you not get it? I told you to leave!”
Then Jack shoves me—not hard enough to make me fall, but hard enough to break something inside me.
Jack has never looked at me like this before, like we are worse than strangers. Like he wants nothing to do with me.
“Jack, I’m sorry—”
“Get out of here, Finley. And don’t come back.”
As Jack helps Bennett up the hill, I stand there, shaking. Jack leads Bennett inside and slams the broken screen door closed. Bennett presses his face against the screen and waves at me. His cheeks are painted yellow and orange.
At the bottom of the hill Avery waits with her flashlight. “You okay?”
“No.” I feel like I am going to cry, but nothing comes out.
“Are they okay?”
“I think so. I hope so.”
Avery takes my hand. “It was a good party, for a while.”
I do not answer her, but she is correct.
I suppose most things in a person’s life are good for a while, even if that doesn’t last very long.
Maybe that is why, even after something has gone wrong, we spend so much time trying to fix it.
Because we remember when it wasn’t broken.
36
AFTER THE PARTY, AVERY AND I take everyone home and help them sneak back into their houses. Then we return to Hart House and get rid of any evidence of the party. Avery insists on making me pancakes at four in the morning. I can only swallow a couple of bites.
The hollow place inside me that once held my friendship with Jack has been cut open and is bleeding into the rest of me.
Now it is nine in the morning. Ten. Twelve. Grandma and Grandpa will be home soon. I should shower; my hands and arms are covered in dots of paint. Looking at them makes me remember how excited I felt
yesterday.
How naïve that Finley was.
(Five-letter word for “gullible, childish, lacking in worldly wisdom.”)
At two o’clock I hear the wheels of Grandpa’s car crunch on the gravel driveway. I sneak out onto the stairs and listen as Grandma walks across the house, goes straight to her room, and shuts the door.
When I find Grandpa, he is in his office, sitting at his desk and staring at his blank computer screen.
“Grandpa?” I inch inside. “Are you okay?”
He blinks and smiles tiredly at me, and I do not realize until that moment how lost and small he looked before, sitting there all alone.
“Fine. I’m fine.” He waves me over to the window seat.
“Grandma’s okay?”
“She’s very tired, but she’ll feel better after some rest.”
I fold my arms across my chest. I cannot possibly sit down. “Are you scared?”
Grandpa nods. “Yes.”
“Is Grandma?”
His smile is soft. “Your grandmother isn’t scared of anything.”
“Do you want to go on a drive?”
“Not today. Too much driving this weekend. But, actually, I wanted to tell you something.” He folds his hands in his lap and clears his throat. “Your parents are coming by this evening.”
“My . . .” I sit down. “Dad’s coming?”
“Yes, and your mother. For dinner. They wanted to surprise you, but I . . . I thought you might want to know ahead of time.”
There is a thrumming sound in my ears. The rest of the world goes quiet. I cannot think of a reason why my parents would want to show up here to surprise me, except for—
“Okay,” I say. I cannot look at Grandpa. If I see his face, it will tell me everything I need to know.
• • •
Mom and Dad arrive at five o’clock.
Grandma is still shut away in her bedroom and shows no signs of coming out.
It is probably better that way.
Part of me hugs Mom and Dad; the other part of me is hiding deep inside myself and does not notice much of what is going on around me.
(Are they really here? I do not want to know.)
Grandpa dishes out leftovers, and we all sit around the kitchen table trying to eat. I manage five forkfuls of pasta salad with Avery sitting across from me, watching me, before I cannot take it anymore.
Some Kind of Happiness Page 20
