***
“Pretty great, huh?” asked their dad as they walked toward the elevators. “Do you see why I thought today was the perfect one for a visit?”
“It’s awesome,” said Grace. “It’s like your garden, only a million times bigger.”
“Sure,” said Maya. “It’s great.” It was, she told herself, so why wasn’t she excited?
“It’s been in the works for ages,” Dad said. “I knew about it, but we weren’t allowed to talk about it until everything was official—all the land purchased, the agreements signed, you know. It’s quite a big operation. Probably cost the company a million dollars.”
They got on the elevator, which was now full of people heading back to their offices from the presentation.
“Are you excited about the nature preserve?” somebody asked Maya.
“Sure,” she said. “It’s going to be lovely.” Everyone on the elevator smiled and nodded.
When they reached Dad’s floor, he stopped them from getting off.
“One more stop,” he said. “Then we can take off. I already cleared it with my supervisor.”
The elevator gradually emptied until they were the only ones left. They got off on the twelfth floor—high enough to see most of the city when they glanced out the windows across from the elevators. There was another fountain here and a couple of potted trees. Maya glanced in a fountain and saw fat koi swimming around. They continued through a set of glass doors. A woman stood to greet them.
“He’ll be here shortly,” she said. “You can sit down right here.”
There was only one person they could be meeting on the top floor in this massive suite.
Sure enough, the gray-haired man from the presentation came striding in.
“Michael,” he said to Maya’s dad. He shook her dad’s hand, grabbing his elbow with his other hand to make it especially chummy. He turned his attention to her and Grace. “And these are your beautiful daughters. Excellent. I’m so pleased to meet both of you. Right this way—my office is too dreary, so let’s go to the conference room. Coffee and cookies?” He suggested the last to the receptionist, who nodded.
Maya hadn’t been able to finish her first cookie and hoped she wouldn’t have to eat another one to be polite.
They sat in stuffed leather chairs, Grace swiveling back and forth.
“Nice,” she said.
“Have you ever been up here before?” Maya asked her father.
“Of course,” he said. “Many times.”
The CEO (Maya still didn’t know his name) took his own chair, put his elbows on the table, and leaned in.
“So,” he said. “What do you think of our prairie garden?”
“Really amazing,” said Grace.
“Wonderful,” said Maya. “Thanks for doing it.” Was that all he wanted? To soak up their gratitude? Or was he expecting her to apologize?
“Has your father talked to you about the—” He saw Dad shaking his head. “Ah, well. Then let me tell you. You know that Alceria has suffered a few smears lately. Gossip travels at ten times the speed of information, so it’s hard to keep up. We hope that this plan sends a clear message of where Alceria stands on environmental issues.”
“It does,” said Grace. Maya, aware that all eyes were on her, forced herself to nod.
“We also hope that by doing this, we can win over some of our most vocal critics,” he said. “We don’t expect Dr. Jenkins to do a promotional spot for us, but perhaps children are a bit more open-minded…”
“You want us to do a commercial?” Maya interrupted.
“It’s not a commercial exactly,” he said. “Well, sure. Yes. It’s a commercial. An excited child running across a knoll of native grass, like that kid on the TV show…not that I’m expecting you to wear a pioneer dress or anything…”
“What?”
“Maybe that show was before your time.”
“I know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. “Little House on the Prairie.”
“You want us to dress like pioneer children?” Maya asked.
“None of that has been decided,” said the CEO, waving his palm. “The ad agency will come up with something. But because I care so much, you know, about the environment. About your little pollinators.” He looked right at Maya. “I wanted to extend the invitation myself.”
A man came in with a cart and put out a pot of coffee and a tray of cookies. An entire tray for four people. How many cookies did he think she and Grace would eat? Her father poured half a paper cup of coffee and stirred in creamer.
“You don’t have to answer immediately,” said the CEO. “I’ll give you your privacy so you can discuss this as a family.” He stood up. “I have another meeting anyway. A little confab with the bean counters. I’ll check back in a little while, or you can leave a message for me with Darla.”
“Sure,” said Dad.
“Michael, it was great to see you again.”
“You too,” said Dad.
The head honcho of Alceria left the room.
“Of course I would never make you do something like this,” said Dad, “but I don’t think I have to tell you how much it would mean to me, or, uh, how much it would mean for my future at Alceria.”
“I’m in,” said Grace. “I never hated Alceria in the first place.”
They both turned to face Maya, who stalled by taking a cookie from the tray.
“You don’t have to say anything you don’t believe,” Dad said as he pulled out of the parking lot, looking up in the rearview mirror so he could see her. “For example, you can say that bees are important to our future, and maybe the videographer has footage of you twirling around in the garden or whatever…”
“Nobody said anything about twirling,” said Grace in the passenger seat.
“You don’t have to twirl,” said Dad. He looked back to Maya. “You can use this to get your message out. That’s what I’m saying. If you think about it, Alceria isn’t only giving you a garden—”
“They aren’t giving me the garden,” said Maya.
“You know what I mean. They’re doing the garden plus the nature preserve, plus you get a free PSA to talk about bees.”
“Dad, I said I would do it,” she said. “You don’t have to persuade me.”
“I want you to feel good about it too,” said Dad.
“I don’t feel good about it,” she said. “But I said I’ll do it, and I’ll smile and be nice. I’ll even twirl, if that’s what they want. OK?”
“Yes. OK. Thank you.”
She thought about what kids at school would say after seeing the commercial and felt sick to her stomach.
“There’s a Barnes and Noble over by the mall,” said Dad. “Do you want to drop by?”
“Nah.” She didn’t want Dad to buy her anything. It made her feel like even more of a traitor. What was she supposed to do? If she said no, Dad would be mad at her, and he’d be in trouble at work. Meanwhile, Alceria would go right on making neonicotinoids and killing bees. They would make the commercial with the children of a more loyal employee and pretend they cared about the environment.
“So what did you think of the visit otherwise?” Dad asked. “Lots of great people, huh?”
“Sure.” Maya had to give her dad that much. People were nice to her all day.
“Good people, doing good work. That’s all I wanted you to see,” said Dad.
***
The next day it rained heavily, with lightning flashing against a gloomy sky. Maya was disappointed she couldn’t go on a bike ride. Grace didn’t have to work, so she settled on the couch with a copy of Seabiscuit.
“I didn’t know you cared about horse racing,” said Maya.
“I don’t, but it’s a bestselling sports book by a woman,” said Grace. “Besides, it’s good even if you don’t care about horse racing.”
Since the computer was free, Maya logged on to her private email.
She saw Bijou’s name in the contacts list, and
the green light that showed she was online. She clicked on it, then selected the video chat icon. Moments later a window opened. There was the skinny girl from the photo, only older. Her face was serious, her eyes intense. Behind her was a tiny cluttered room. Maya had never really been worried that Bijou wasn’t who she said she was, but it was amazing to actually see her.
“Hi!” said Maya. “I wanted to say I understand—”
Bijou shook her head and frowned, then said something Maya couldn’t hear.
Maya fumbled with the settings but couldn’t get the audio to play.
The girls gestured helplessly at each other until Maya started laughing at her own improvised sign language. At last a smile cracked across Bijou’s serious expression. She started fluttering her fingers around, making them into crazed birds while Maya laughed.
Even though they couldn’t talk, it was hard to hang up.
***
“I’ve got news,” Dad announced at dinner. “Mr. Patterson wanted to thank you for agreeing to do his commercial. He knows you girls are big baseball fans, so he’s letting you have the Alceria suite at Target Field for a game. I’ve never seen it, but last year the sales department went, and Scott told me it was stunning. He said there’s a gorgeous view of the field and the food is amazing. And you can invite up to thirty people.”
“I don’t know thirty people,” said Maya.
“I do,” said Grace, her eyes brightening. “I could have a Thinking Girl meet-up.”
“You want to meet those blog people in real life?” Mom asked.
“What do you mean, those blog people? They’re regular people like me.”
“I’m sure most of them are,” Mom said after a moment. “I mean, I know you have good judgment.”
“This will be awesome,” said Grace.
Maya didn’t like being indebted to Mr. Patterson, but she couldn’t refuse his offer and take it away from her sister.
“That sounds like fun,” she said. “But I’d rather see the rabbits.”
“What rabbits?” Dad asked.
“Did you even read the blog that caused all the fuss?” Grace asked.
“Oh right. Of course I did,” he said. He plunged his fork into his spaghetti and gave it a twirl. “OK, so we’ll go to Cedar Rapids too.”
“Really? All of us?” Maya didn’t believe it.
“Sure. We’ll look at a calendar,” said Dad. “Find a time that works for everybody…”
“No,” said Maya. “Next week.”
“Um, sure,” he said. “I mean, I can look at my schedule and…”
“Wednesday,” said Maya.
“Why Wednesday?”
“Because it’s a day game,” said Maya. “We can drive home right after the game without being up until 2:00 a.m.”
“I can help drive,” Grace offered.
“Well, of course I need to coordinate with…” Dad started, before he saw Maya’s eyes and quit mid-sentence.
“I’ll make it work,” he said. “And now, um, now for the other news. They want to make the commercial tomorrow.”
The ad agency was in a row of buildings that included a drugstore, a coffee shop, and an upscale grocery. It looked harmless enough, but Maya felt like she was in a horror movie, approaching a tall, gloomy castle on top of a craggy hill.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dad asked after pulling into the guest parking spot in front of the agency.
“I don’t mind,” Grace answered quickly.
“I’ll do it,” said Maya. “I don’t want to do it, but I’ll do it.”
“That’s how I feel most days,” Dad admitted.
The ad agency was weird and arty. There was a pool table in the middle of the lobby for no reason. The balls on the table looked arranged, not like a game had been abandoned. Elaborate mobiles had been strung from the ceiling.
Maya looked down and realized she was wearing the same skirt and sweater she’d worn on TV. Would anyone notice? Did it matter?
“Hello, hello!” A youngish man with floppy hair came out to greet them. He was wearing an expensive-looking shirt and ratty jeans that probably cost more than the shirt. “I’m Noel. Let me show you to the green room.”
Another green room, thought Maya. I wonder if it’s green.
It wasn’t. It was a muted brown with a slash of magenta. Maya was glad the refrigerator had bottled water instead of something conceptual, like fish bowls full of Windex. She opened one, swigged it, and hoped she would get through this thing without having to pee. Too late, she remembered that plastic water bottles were awful for the environment.
Dad stood out of the way, studying a row of framed ads the agency must have created: a cartoonish copy of that famous painting The Scream, ants smothering an apple core, a pseudo-superhero standing atop a parking ramp with cape billowing in the air. Maya couldn’t see what the ads were for. Dad could, but looked no less perplexed.
A woman came in holding a clipboard.
“I’m Staci,” she said. “Super excited to meet you.” She was all lipstick and teeth. Maya did have to pee. Why did she agree to this? Because of Dad, she reminded herself. He turned from the wall of ad art.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m the girls’ father.”
“We made some last-minute decisions, and we won’t need the older girl,” said Staci. “We love your look,” she told Grace. “But we think it’ll be stronger with one actor.”
Grace started to say something, but shook her head and settled down on one of the Adirondack chairs. “I love your look too,” she said finally.
“Thank you!” said Staci. She reached out and put her hand on Maya’s shoulder. Maya couldn’t help but notice the swirls of color on Staci’s fingernails and wondered how long that took. Maybe they weren’t painted though, she thought. Maybe they were decals, like some of the girls at school wore. She realized Staci had been speaking. She hadn’t heard a word.
“Sorry?”
“We’ll talk through the copy, then do the voice-over,” she said. “Then we’ll do two really short video takes. One for the beginning of the spot and one for the end. It’s a thirty-second spot so the whole thing should take…” She thought it over. “Three hours?”
“Three hours for thirty seconds?” Dad asked in surprise.
“If we’re lucky,” said Staci. “Here’s the final copy.” She handed Maya three loose pages of double-spaced type. Staci was wearing a scent that reminded Maya simultaneously of her wildflower garden and the last time Mom cleaned the floors. It made her eyes sting. She tried to read the copy, but the words swam on the page. She took a sip of water and looked again.
The environment isn’t only the rain forests and oceans. It’s also right here in Minnesota. That’s why Alceria is making an investment in the future of our beautiful state. The Alceria prairie restoration project will restore almost five hundred acres…
She stopped. Five hundred? Mr. Patterson had said a thousand in the presentation.
…almost five hundred acres of natural prairieland in the heart of Minneapolis, and thousands more in the surrounding area.
Thousands was vague. Had they cut back on that promise too?
As a preserver of plant and animal life, Alceria guarantees that the natural splendor of the prairies will be around for generations to wonder at and enjoy. Because Alceria cares.
“I can’t say this,” she said. Dad looked at her. She thought he might interrupt, but he didn’t.
“That copy is final,” said Staci. “It’s been approved by the client, so…”
“I’ll say all of it except the last three words,” said Maya. “I can’t say that part.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t think it’s true.” She looked at Dad instead of Staci. He seemed to wince.
“Oh, honey,” said Staci. “We’re not a truth agency. We’re an advertising agency.”
“Can I see the copy?” Dad asked.
Maya handed him the pages, and he flipped thr
ough them quickly. Grace tried to read over his shoulder.
“I’ll say it,” she volunteered. “Maya can still be the one on camera. I can even talk like her.” She raised her voice a little and sounded more like Minnie Mouse.
“I don’t talk like that!” said Maya.
“I don’t talk like that,” Grace mimicked, still sounding like Minnie Mouse.
“Grace,” Dad cautioned.
“Never mind,” said Maya. Her lower lip trembled. “I’ll do it. I’ll do all of it.”
She glanced up and saw her father looking at her, his eyes filled with sadness. His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Hold on,” he said. He got his smartphone out and made a call.
“Hi Darla, it’s Michael Sutton,” he said. “Is Mr. Patterson available? Yes, it is. All right.” He held up two fingers. “Hi. You too. Yes, we’re here now. Absolutely. The thing is, we’re not going to do it. No, I mean ever. Yes, I’m serious. No, we can’t talk about it. Because they don’t want to do it. Absolutely. Yep. Three o’clock. I’ll be there. You too. Bye.”
Staci stared at him, her mouth hanging open.
He tapped the phone to hang up. “I have to drop you girls off, then go back to the office to get fired. But we do have time for lunch.”
Dad didn’t get fired after all. Mr. Patterson had only wanted to meet to say he was sorry for putting pressure on him and his daughters, to say that Alceria really wasn’t that kind of a company, and he wanted to know if Dad was otherwise happy. But somehow, by the end of the meeting, Dad had resigned.
“He sort of talked me into it while acting like he was begging me not to,” Dad explained at dinner. He’d picked up food at their favorite takeout place, a Thai restaurant a mile away.
“I don’t understand,” said Grace.
“I do,” said Mom.
“I don’t want to work there anymore,” said Dad. He glanced at Maya—not with the doting look of a dad, she thought, but with respect. “Asking my daughter to compromise her integrity was the last straw.” He’d been ignoring his food and finally speared a ring of calamari.
Rooting for Rafael Rosales Page 14
