Where I Belong

by Mary Downing Hahn

  “And where’s that?”

  She laughs and points across the train tracks. “Over there, I guess.”

  I decide not to go to the woods after all, not with her. She might be interesting, but how do I know I can trust her? I scramble down the embankment. She’s behind me, slipping and skidding, and finally falling.

  I balance on a rail and watch her get up and slide the rest of the way down. Her shoes must be full of cinders and she’s scraped an elbow. She joins me on the rail and walks ahead of me, arms spread for balance, wobbling a little but pretty steady on her feet despite her zebra-striped flip-flops. No wonder she fell on the hill.

  Suddenly she turns and faces me, squinting against the sun. “How come you’re in summer school?”

  “I failed sixth grade,” I tell her.

  “You don’t look stupid.”

  “I’m not. I just hate school. It’s boring.” I look at her. “Did you flunk too?”

  “My old school didn’t teach some of the stuff I’m supposed to know for seventh grade, so they put me in summer school to catch up.”

  “That stinks.”

  She does a little pirouette on the track and teeters precariously. “It’s not bad with Mr. Hailey for a teacher. You’ll like him. Everybody does.”

  “He’s a big improvement over my sixth-grade teacher,” I admit. “She was sooooo boring.”

  She nods as if she’s known a few teachers like that. “By the way,” she says, “I know your name because Mr. Hailey introduced you, but you don’t know my name.” She says this like she’s Rumplestiltskin or something and I should guess her true name.

  I shrug. What do I care what her name is? I wish she’d go away. I’m tired of her. She talks too much. Anyway, the Green Man might be waiting for me.

  When I keep walking without asking the question, she says, “I’m Shea Browne. I was born in Guam, but I used to live in Texas and before that in Oklahoma and before that in Arkansas and before that in so many other places I can’t even remember them all. My dad’s in the army and we get transferred a lot.”

  Shea—what kind of name is that? Is it spelled “Shay” like the Deacon’s “wonderful one-hoss shay” in the poem? Or some other way? Names are so weird. You never know how to spell them.

  Shea does another dance step on the rail and almost falls off. “Do you ever play in the woods?”

  “I go there sometimes.” But I don’t play there, I add silently.

  “How big is it? Could you get lost in it?”

  “It’s a national forest, so yeah, you could get lost. It goes all the way from Tennessee up here to Virginia.”

  She squints at the trees. “Magic things might live there.”

  I stare at her for a second, surprised. Maybe even scared. I’m not used to other people sharing my thoughts, so I shake my head and lie to her. “No, it’s just ordinary. Kind of boring, actually. You know, trees, squirrels, birds. Nothing special.”

  “Then why do you go there?”

  “I like to be alone.” I stress alone. Maybe she’ll get the idea I’m not about to be her friend or show her my secret places in the woods.

  She frowns. A strand of hair hides one eye and the scar. “I hate to be alone,” she says, so fiercely that I’m surprised. “Where I lived before, I had lots of friends, but people are snobby here. I thought you and me could be friends, but I guess you’re just the same as everybody else.”

  Some people might feel bad for hurting Shea’s feelings, but not me. I just want to get away from her. I’m sure the Green Man’s waiting under the tree.

  “Listen,” I say, “I have to meet somebody. Why don’t you go home?”

  Shea’s face turns red. “You are the rudest boy I’ve ever met. I’ll never bother you again!”

  She turns around and runs off the way we came, her curly hair bouncing. Even from the back she looks mad.

  I almost call after her, but instead I dash into the woods and lose myself in the trees as fast as I can.

  The Green Man isn’t there after all. I climb up to my platform and stretch out on my stomach. For a few seconds, I let myself think about Shea and what she said. Does she really believe magic things live in the woods? I picture her small face and tangled curls, the scar on her cheek. Shea. What if she really wanted to be my friend? What would it be like?

  Mrs. Clancy steps into my head and says, Don’t be stupid. Why would that girl like you? She’ll dump you as soon as she makes other friends.

  Angry at myself, I open my sketchbook and start to draw a picture of the Green Man, but it’s Shea’s face that forms on the page. With a quick yank, I tear it out and crumple it into a ball. I have the Green Man. I don’t need any other friends.

  SEVEN

  FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK, Shea ignores me. On the playground, she does her best to be part of the group of girls talking and giggling together, but they aren’t interested in her, probably because she shoots her hand up every time Mr. Hailey asks a question. I know for a fact that most kids in summer school are there because they hate school. I also know they hate kids who like school even more than they hate school.

  I probably hate school more than any of them, but unfortunately they don’t like me either. In my case it’s because I’m weird.

  I spend all the time I can in the woods, but I don’t see the Green Man. The weekend comes and goes without him. I worry that I’ve disappointed him somehow. That I’m not worthy after all.

  But like I told Shea, the woods covers a lot of territory. The Green Man could be in North Carolina or maybe even Tennessee. Surely one of these days I’ll come upon him napping under my tree. Or meet him unexpectedly by the stream. Or see him peering through the leaves, grinning at me.

  One afternoon, I’m suddenly sure he’s nearby. I can feel him watching me. I look over the edge of my platform, way down at the ground below. The bushes quiver in one place. No breeze blows, so it has to be him.

  “Is that you?” I call softly.

  No one answers. The bushes are still.

  “Come out,” I call, “I’ve got peanut butter sandwiches and apples.”

  Still no one answers. No one appears. I start to worry. What if it’s Sean and his gang? What if they’ve found me?

  “Who’s there?” I shout.

  The bushes rustle as if someone is trying to sneak away. I glimpse dark hair, a blue T-shirt.

  “Shea Browne!” I yell. “I see you!”

  Shea steps out of the bushes and into the clearing beneath the tree. She stands there looking up at me. “That’s the neatest tree house I’ve ever seen. Did you build it all by yourself?”

  “How did you find me?”

  She twists a strand of hair around her finger and grins. “I followed you after school last week. I’ve been here every day watching you and you never even suspected until now!”

  Suddenly I hate her. “You’re a nosy sneaky spy,” I yell. “You had no right to follow me.”

  She shrugs and keeps on twirling her hair. “You don’t own these woods.”

  I look at the bucket full of stones I keep on hand in case Sean and his gang come after me. I’m tempted to start throwing them at her, but she’s just standing there as helpless as a baby squirrel or something.

  “How do you get up there?” she asks, as if everything is settled between us and I’m going to invite her to join me.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes,” she says. “I would like to know.”

  “This is my tree house and no one comes up here except me.”

  She ignores me and begins circling the tree, probably looking for a ladder or handholds or some clue as to how to join me.

  “Can you fly or something?” She sounds half serious.

  “Maybe.”

  “Liar.”

  “Why don’t you go home?”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “You’re the most irritating person I’ve ever met,” I say.

  She sticks out her tongu
e and laughs. “Takes one to know one.”

  I turn my back to her and concentrate on my unicorn carving. If I ignore her, maybe she’ll get bored and leave.

  “What are you doing?” she calls.

  I don’t answer.

  “Are you making something?”

  I don’t answer.

  “I saw you drawing in school,” she says. “You’re a really a good artist.”

  I bend my head over the piece of wood, but I’m so vexed that my hand slips and I cut myself and drop the unicorn. It tumbles down through the branches and lands almost at Shea’s feet.

  While I suck my thumb to stop the bleeding, I see her pick up the unicorn. “Oh, Brendan,” she says, “this is beautiful.”

  I frown at her. If I go down to get it, she’ll see how to climb up to my tree house.

  “Can I have it?” she asks.

  “Of course not. It’s mine. I haven’t even finished it.”

  “After it’s done, then can I have it?”

  Before I can say no, the Green Man steps out of the bushes behind Shea. He’s as ragged and shaggy as ever. “Of course she can have it, Brendan. You’ve got dozens of unicorns up there.”

  Shea stares at the Green Man, wide-eyed with surprise and maybe fright. Clutching my unicorn, she takes a few steps away from him. “Who are you?”

  “He’s my friend,” I shout. “The Green Man, king of the forest and every creature in it.”

  “That’s right, my lady.” The Green Man doffs his hat and bows to Shea. “A friend to all who are true to the Green Wood.”

  “She’s not true to the Green Wood,” I yell. “She’s a spy, an interloper, a thief. Make her give me my unicorn.”

  “I think you’re being a bit harsh, Brendan,” the Green Man says. “Not to mention a tad selfish.”

  “I just want to be his friend,” Shea begins.

  And I interrupt. “I don’t want to be her friend.”

  “Well, this is a pretty turn of events.” The Green Man laughs. “One wants to be friends, the other doesn’t. It puts me in mind of a Shakespearean play. Perhaps I should act the part of Puck and bring peace to the forest.”

  “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Shea and I say at exactly the same moment. We look at each other, surprised to discover we both know the play. But that doesn’t mean we should be friends. It just means we read a lot.

  “Do you know how Brendan gets up there?” Shea asks the Green Man.

  “Don’t tell her!” I shout.

  The Green Man smiles. “I can’t tell you unless Brendan gives his permission.”

  She frowns at me. “If you tell me, I’ll never tell anyone else. Cross my heart and hope to die. And I’ll give the unicorn back to you. And never ask for it again.”

  “That sounds like a fair offer,” the Green Man says.

  “She can’t bargain with something that doesn’t belong to her.”

  “Please, Brendan,” Shea says. “Please let me.”

  The Green Man looks from me to Shea and back again. “Let’s turn our backs and close our eyes and wait for Brendan to come down in secret. When we’re all together on the ground, maybe he’ll change his mind.”

  He looks up at me. “And maybe he’ll bring those sandwiches and apples down with him. I’ve got an empty belly.”

  When I’m sure he won’t let Shea cheat, I scoot backwards into the hollow trunk and climb down as quietly as I can. I sit next to the Green Man and Shea sits on his other side. I pass out the sandwiches and apples. To my surprise, Shea hands me the unicorn.

  “Maybe by the time you finish him, we’ll be such good friends that you’ll give him to me.”

  Don’t count on it, I think.

  After we eat, the Green Man asks Shea questions about herself. Does she like to read? Yes, all the time. Does she love the woods? Yes, especially these woods because they seem so magical. Does she believe in magic? She wants to believe but sometimes it’s hard.

  The Green Man nods. “It’s easier to believe when you’re here in the woods.”

  “Yes,” Shea says to him. “It’s like an enchanted forest in a fairy tale where anything can happen. Even you.”

  Something changes in me. Maybe I’ll be her friend after all. She looks at me and smiles as if she’s guessed what I’m thinking.

  By now the shadows are long. The clearing around the tree has grown dark. A thrush calls, and another deep in the woods answers. Fireflies light up in dark places under the trees. They could be elves carrying lanterns to light their way through the forest.

  The Green Man gets to his feet. “It’s time for you two to go home to supper and for me to resume my rounds.” He kisses Shea’s hand and shakes mine. Bowing to us both, he strides away almost soundlessly and is soon out of sight and hearing.

  “Is he really the spirit of the forest?” Shea whispers to me.

  “What do you think?”

  “He must be.” She stares at the place from which the Green Man vanished. “He must be.”

  Together we follow the path out of the forest. After we cross the train tracks, she says, “Tomorrow will you show me how to climb up to your tree house?”

  “Maybe.” I peer into her pale green eyes. Yellow rings around the pupils remind me of a cat’s eyes. “But you have to keep it a secret. Not just how to get up there but where it is.”

  “Why is it a secret?”

  “I have enemies,” I say, almost proudly. “Enemies who’d destroy my tree house if they knew how to find it.”

  Shea nods, impressed. “Are they supernatural?” she asks. “Demons or monsters or—?” Her voice falters as if she’s not sure what else might roam the forest looking for me and my tree house.

  “No.” I picture Sean and Gene and T.J. skulking through the woods, smoking dope and cussing. Looking for me. I see their ugly faces, their mean eyes, their tattoos. “They’re just ordinary thugs, outlaws, scum. . . .” My voice is rising, and I stop myself from saying more. I don’t want Shea to think I’m afraid of them, that just thinking about them terrifies me.

  Shea nods, but she still looks puzzled. “Well,” she says, “thanks for not chasing me away from your tree. You wanted to, don’t think I didn’t know.”

  I kick a beer can and send it flying down the tracks. I watch it bounce three or four times before it rolls to a stop. “I’m not good at making friends.” I don’t look at her when I tell her this. She had a bunch of friends in Texas. She can’t possibly understand.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I noticed.” Then she laughs.

  I laugh too.

  “When you move as much as I do,” Shea says, “you learn a lot about friends. How to get them. How to keep them until you move again.”

  “You’ll make tons of friends when real school starts,” I tell her. “The kids in summer school, well, I don’t think you’re their type.”

  “You and me, though, we’re right for each other.” She stops in front of me and turns those eyes on me full force. “See, what I know about friends is, you have to pretend to like what they like and hate what they hate. But you, I don’t have to pretend to like what you like because I like what you like.” She starts to giggle. “I’m getting all tangled up in words, but you know what I mean. Right?”

  “I guess.” I kick another beer can, but it only bounces once.

  Suddenly I want to get away from Shea. I need to think about what she said. Could we really be friends? I feel nervous, maybe even scared.

  “Can I go to the woods with you after school tomorrow?” she asks.

  “I guess so.” I watch her scramble up the embankment and head for wherever she lives. Even if I’d said no, she would follow me.

  When Shea’s out of sight, I take a deep breath and walk along the railroad track, balancing the way she did.

  The moon hangs low in the sky, close to Venus, and the sharp sweet smell of the woods fills my nose.

  EIGHT

  THE NEXT DAY, I show Shea how to climb to my tree house. Since sh
e’s a girl, I hope the spider webs will scare her, but she doesn’t even notice them. Once she’s on the platform, she looks in all directions, out over the green sea of leaves moving like waves when the wind blows.

  “You can see so far.” She points at a church steeple way far away and the Blue Ridge Mountains stacked like clouds along the horizon. “It’s splendid!” She hugs herself and smiles so widely her face almost splits in two.

  Next she looks at my carvings, and I tell her she can choose one. She picks a unicorn a little smaller than the one I haven’t finished. Then she goes through my books and finds A Wizard of Earthsea, which she hasn’t read. While she reads, I draw. She’s very quiet. I can think my own thoughts and concentrate on my picture.

  After a while, she says, “Do you think he’ll come today?”

  I shake my head. “He patrols the whole forest,” I tell her. “He only comes this way from time to time.”

  She nods, her face solemn, and returns to her book. A few minutes later, she asks, “Is he a wizard?”

  “No. At least, I don’t think so. Green Men have a special magic—they understand what animals and trees say. They know their secrets. They protect the forest. Guardians, that’s what they are.”

  Shea nods. “Protecting things—that’s better than casting spells.” She pauses and smiles to herself in that secret way she has. “I talk to my cat all the time, but he never talks to me. At least not in a language I can understand.”

  “Do you think your cat understands you?”

  “Definitely. He’s very intelligent.” She smiles. “He’s a purebred Siamese. We show him at cat shows and he always wins. He has more medals and silver cups and ribbons than any cat in the world.”

  Shea leans over my shoulder to see what I’ve drawn. “Hey, that looks like me if I was a fairy princess or something.”

  I stare at the picture. She’s right. “I didn’t mean it to be you,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “It just came out that way.”

  “It’s okay.” Shea smiles. “I like it. Nobody ever drew me before.”

  She settles down with her book again, and I put some finishing touches on the picture. As an afterthought, I carefully print Princess Shea of the Enchanted Woodland.