Chapter 14
TAYLOR’S DAD DROPPED HER OFF in the circle drive in front of the school. “Pick you up from Kia’s at six.” His fingers drummed the console.
After school, she and Kia were going to make the posters for the demonstration at city hall the next day. Taylor wanted to make sure Kia’s dad knew exactly which posters were theirs so the reporters and camera people couldn’t possibly miss them.
Her backpack was crammed with paints and two rolled-up poster-size photographs that her grandmother had helped her with. The photographs were from her grandmother’s professional portfolio. One was a picture of the pond at sunrise with a blue heron fishing at the edge. The other was fields of flowers in June, daisies and poppies bending in the wind, the water sparkling with sunlight. Eve had had both of the photographs blown up poster-size for Taylor and Kia. All they had to do was mount them on poster board and sticks, and write messages. Taylor was thinking of SAVE THIS PLACE! PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE KILLED! But she wanted Kia’s dad’s opinion.
Inside the classroom, Taylor spotted Kia helping Ms. Davies take down the amphibian chart. Taylor waved.
“Everybody! Don’t forget to take your amphibians home,” Ms. Davies called, then rushed off to settle an argument over Oreo, the black-and-white Dutch rabbit who was being packed up for the summer along with everything else.
Taylor lifted her papier-mâché mud puppy off the shelf. She had made it life-size, about sixteen inches long. She had never seen a real mud puppy, but hoped she might one day. The salamanders she had seen were the little spotted ones that raced through the grass on rainy nights.
“That thing is so gross,” Kia said.
Taylor didn’t think it was gross. It was interesting. She was going to put it on her bookshelf.
Kia had made a cute little red-eyed tree frog only about three inches long, with bright yellow hands. She slipped it into her pocket. Taylor’s mud puppy wouldn’t fit in her backpack, so she would have to lug it around.
The school day was short, and they didn’t have classes like usual. Just a bunch of last things to do, then lunch and assembly, and then Taylor followed Kia to the long line of cars in front of school.
“So,” Kia’s dad said as the girls were buckling themselves in, “how are you two going to celebrate the first afternoon of summer?”
“We’re going to make posters for the city council meeting tomorrow,” Taylor said. Grown-ups sometimes had the concentration of chiggers. Didn’t he remember that he was supposed to give them advice? And make sure his reporter and cameraperson knew to look for them among the protesters?
“You know what, girls? That got rescheduled. It came across my desk this morning.”
“Rescheduled?” Taylor cried. They couldn’t do that!
“Yep. Something about the mayor being invited to a meeting in Washington, D.C. Now the land use meeting is set for a week from today.”
A week from today, Taylor and her parents would be in Reno.
She clutched her backpack full of paints and poster materials. This couldn’t be happening. She had to be at the council meeting. It was her only hope. Surely her parents would let her stay home.
Chapter 15
ANOTHER HUGE STINKY THING roared past, practically shaking Tad off the rock.
“Will she never come?” Buuurk asked. Tad wondered if Buuurk had asked that more times than there were stars in the sky.
They had sat on the rock for many nights, waiting for the queen to appear, but none of the humans they saw bore the marks of the queen.
Tad stared across the wide covering to where the shape reno glowed brighter than the sunset in the night sky, just as Seer had prophesied.
During the heat of the days they rested in the cool of Toadville-by-Birdbath. The toads in Toadville-by-Birdbath were kind, but they were different. They called their pond Mother Water, and thought the toads had been created by Mother Water and the moon. Tad and Buuurk taught them how to make night-smacky-goo and told them about the wonders of Toadville-by-Tumbledown—the great height of the mulch pile and the sparkling blue beetles, which the toads in Toadville-by-Birdbath had never seen.
“I used to daydream about hunting moths while Seer droned on and on,” Buuurk confessed. “Now I’d give my warts to hear his croaky old voice. Wouldn’t you?”
“I would,” Tad said.
“Where is that queen?”
Tad had an urge to knock Buuurk off the rock. If he knew where the queen was, wouldn’t he go kiss her so they could get back home?
“When she finally shows up,” Buuurk said, “remember to wait for the red moon to rise.”
How many times had Buuurk told him that? The warts on Tad’s back twitched. He might throw himself in front of a roaring, stinky thing if Buuurk told him again about the three moons.
Tad knew what to do. When the green moon rose over the covering, the stinky things ran. When the yellow moon rose, the stinky things slowed down. And when the red moon rose, most of the stinky things rested. That was when he should hop across the covering and catch the queen and kiss her.
“I didn’t think it would take this long,” Buuurk said.
Something blazed inside Tad, and his warts crackled. “If you say that one more time—”
“Look!” Buuurk cried, leaping into the air.
And Tad saw her at once.
It was a little human, and she was hopping. And she had one of the signs on her head. She reminded him of the newbies, falling down and veering into the grass on their way up Cold Bottom Road. She was practically still a tadpole.
“That’s her!” Buuurk said. “Let’s go!”
“Let’s go!” Tad sprang off the rock and into the grass. “The red moon is rising.” And with his first leap he asked the question he’d asked himself so many times. What would happen when he kissed her? It would save Mother Earth and Father Pond and the toads at home. But what would happen to him?
On his third hop toward the covering, Tad heard a noise like a grass cutting thing, only not quite as loud. But the thing was speeding toward them, and it was slinging out a blizzard of white stuff.
“Look out!” He lunged at Buuurk, knocking him out of the path.
The wheels of the thing passed within a toad’s length of them, almost mashing them into the dirt.
When Tad climbed off Buuurk, Tad was covered with white stuff. It smelled terrible.
“Hack-a-mana!” Buuurk cried. “What was that?”
Tad yelled, “Here it comes again!” The thing, with a human standing on it, had whirled around and was headed straight at them, still flinging the pellets into the air. The two toads leaped into the bushes. White stuff hailed against the leaves.
Tad felt his eyes swelling shut. His back stung like the sun had exploded on him.
“Are you okay?” Buuurk asked.
Tad felt like any second he might throw up all the aphids he’d eaten today. But he nodded.
“Then you have to cross the covering. Now! Before she gets away.”
The queen was there and they’d waited so long.
“I’m okay,” Tad said. “I can do it.” He took a hop onto the covering. The aphids swirled in his stomach, and he toppled onto his side. He tried to get up, but his diggers wouldn’t work. He lay there, fighting off the darkness. He had to catch the queen and kiss her. He had to. But the darkness was stronger than he was, and it finally won.
When Tad woke up, he felt something moist and soft moving along his back, over the warts and bumps behind his eyes, down his face, and across the tops of his hands. He felt as if he had been peeled.
He opened his eyes.
“Rest,” a young hopper said. “We’re trying to help you.”
An old toad handed the hopper a fresh rose petal. She dipped it in an acorn-cap bowl and went back to rubbing Tad.
He tumbled into darkness again.
When he next opened his eyes, the girl hopper was gone, but Tad could tell he was better. The old toad who’d been there e
arlier had a boy hopper with him now. They gazed at Tad solemnly.
Was it day or night? Where was Buuurk? Where was the queen? He had to kiss the queen! He tried a hop.
“Easy now. You got a dose of evil snow,” the old toad said. “But you’re going to be okay. Evil snow makes the yellow flowers die. It makes the toads die sometimes. Thank the Toad-in-the-Moon you’re still here! We thought it was snake eyes for you.”
“Where’s my friend?” Tad asked. Where was the queen?
“He got you back here,” the old toad answered. “Then he went to get the queen.”
The young hopper who had sat silently until now said, “Your friend was very brave.”
It took Tad a few heartbeats to begin to make out the meaning of those words. He didn’t fully understand until he heard Seer’s voice in his head. A coward dies a thousand deaths. A brave toad dies but one.
Tad wished he had the pain of the burning evil snow back, so it could twine with the pain in his heart. He shut his eyes and sat very still. He wanted the old toad and young hopper to go away.
After a while, they did.
He sat in the darkness. He could still smell the sweetness of the rose petals they’d used to wash him. He felt the earth quiver a little beneath his belly as the toads of Toadville-by-Birdbath went about their business.
As soon as he could carry the weight of his sadness, he set out for the rock. The sky was turning from dark to light. A mist was falling.
When he scrambled up onto the rock and perched in his old place, he felt like the world had been cleaved in half and he had been left standing unbearably lonely on the edge. And the queen was gone.
A crow, cawing at the roaring stinky things that threatened its breakfast, was making a meal of Buuurk. A few times, the crow flew angrily away, then returned with a flap of black wings and hovered over the remains of Buuurk’s body, taking it up into the Great Cycle.
When the crow was gone, Tad sat for a while in the drizzle before he made his way back to Toadville-by-Birdbath.
The next evening, they feasted in Buuurk’s honor. The Head Toad led them in the ritual of remembering that was much like it was at home. Tad’s heart felt crushed by his longing for Seer and Shyly and Anora. If they were still living and if he made it home alive, he would tell them Buuurk had given his life to try to catch the queen.
“Remember the things that we have eaten,” the Head Toad croaked.
Tad had eaten very little today, but he remembered the aphids.
“Remember the things that have eaten us.”
Tad remembered the crow with gratitude. The big black bird had quickly taken up his friend into the eternal cycle of life.
“And remember those who have been eaten. Especially the brave young hopper, Buuurk.”
Tad felt the pain squeeze his heart until he thought he might faint. He had to get some air.
He hopped into the darkness.
He nearly fell over the praying mantis standing in the pouring rain. It gazed at Tad. With a slow movement of its long arm, it pointed. And it pointed away from the RENO shape.
What should he do?
Seer said to follow the direction the mantises pointed.
Feeling like only half a toad, he hopped through the night, trying to keep his bearings. Did he have the courage to go on alone? Mother Earth was so much bigger than he’d ever imagined.
Tad almost crashed into the second mantis. Its bridgework body dripped. It gazed at Tad and pointed. Tad veered off that way, but his heart wasn’t in it. Alone, he would never find the queen. Next spring, the toads wouldn’t come back.
Tad came to another covering, which was streaming with roaring stinky things. But there was a third mantis. And he was pointing at something.
It was a roaring stinky thing only a few hops away across the grass. It was very big and, like a turtle, it carried its shell on its back. It was sleeping. Humans were carrying things into its shell.
The mantis moved its arm around in a circle and, once again, pointed to the home on the thing’s back as if to say, How many times do I have to show you?
Tad was supposed to get in it.
Chapter 16
TAYLOR HEARD RAIN running in the downspout outside her bedroom windows as she packed. Her wish for rain had come true, but it wouldn’t last forever. And she wouldn’t get to march with the protesters. When she got home, the pond would probably be gone.
How would she be able to look at the space where everything had once been?
Her mother stepped in and dropped some clean laundry on her bed. “Did I see your bike outside in the drive?” she asked.
“Sorry.” Taylor rain downstairs and out the back door, through the open garage.
The wet concrete felt cool beneath her bare feet. She hoped she didn’t step on any night crawlers. She righted her bike and rolled it into the garage, and then she went back out. Taylor liked standing in the rain. It was salamander weather.
A van with Ryan and the Rompers painted on the side stopped in front, reversed, and backed into their drive.
“Hi,” a man said, getting out of the van and smiling at her. Raindrops blossomed on the bill of his baseball cap. “You the lead singer?”
What was he talking about?
Her dad came out the back door carrying parts of his drum set. “Hey, Ron. You know Peggy Sue?”
“Don’t believe so,” the man said, sticking out his hand. “Ron Waters. Guitar.”
Taylor wondered if she should tell him her name wasn’t Peggy Sue, but she didn’t want to embarrass her dad. “Hello,” she said, shaking the man’s hand.
The men opened the van and Taylor saw sound equipment, boxes, tripods, and all kinds of musical stuff. Her dad wrapped his drum set in blankets and wedged it into place.
“See you in Reno,” he said, sliding the door shut and clapping Ron on the back.
As the van pulled away, her dad’s cell phone chimed, and to Taylor’s surprise he didn’t answer or even look to see who was calling. He just pushed a button and it went quiet. She’d never seen him do that.
“You ready to rock and roll?” he asked Taylor.
She stared at him. He looked different. Fluffier. His face wasn’t scrunched up.
And he was gazing at her as if he were counting the petals on a flower. “So how come you’ve never come with us before?” he asked.
Didn’t he know the first thing about her?
“I like to stay here.”
He nodded. “Right.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “But here will still be here when we get back.”
Not all of it. That’s what was so terrible.
Maybe it was just the misty clouds making the light weird, but Taylor felt something scary brush her heart.
She’d begged to stay home. Just this year, she’d promised her parents. She’d go next year and every year for the rest of her life if she could just stay home this year. But her grandmother was in the hospital for a few days. “To get built back up a little,” she’d told Taylor. Nothing to worry about. And Kia was at camp. So there was nobody for Taylor to stay with.
She followed her dad back inside. In the kitchen, on the island counter was a pile of laptops, BlackBerrys, pagers, and iPods. Her dad put his cell phone in with the rest and called upstairs, “Meg? You ready?”
As her mother’s footsteps moved overhead, her dad said, “You’ve never witnessed The Great Turning Off.”
Taylor’s mom came into the room wearing an old pair of sweats, her hair still damp from the shower. Her parents high-fived, bumped each other’s hips, and began turning off everything on the counter. With a series of dying notes, beeps, hums, and sign-off ringtones, all the lights went out and the lids went down.
“There,” Taylor’s mom said with a sigh. “Isn’t that nice? We’ll just bring along our personal phones so we can call each other and Eve.”
Her parents linked fingers and swung their hands kind of like Taylor and Kia did sometimes at the mall when they were
having a lot of fun.
It was extremely weird.
A while later, when she was supposed to be finishing packing, Taylor sat on her bed and opened the scrapbook that her grandmother had given her when they’d said good-bye. Some of the photos were cracked, and the newspaper clippings were yellow with age.
The first page had a formal portrait of a fat, bald, toothless infant in a little ruffled dress. Me as a baby, Eve had written below the picture. And now I’m bald again. She had made a smiley face.
Then there were a few snapshots of Eve growing up. One when she was about Taylor’s age, standing on the sidewalk with a girlfriend. One in front of a Christmas tree with a young man in hippie clothes. The first Christmas Ryan and I were married, the caption said. Taylor had to peer at the picture of the woman with the long, wavy hair and bell-bottom jeans to find any trace of the grandmother she knew.
Then there were pages and pages of clippings about the bands her grandfather had played in. Local papers with stories about their own Ryan Murphy going to Nashville. His band—Ryan and the Rompers. Places they’d played. Clippings from newspapers in Detroit and Dallas and Shreveport. A clipping about a recording contract.
Then a picture of him in a uniform with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He had his hand up to shield his face from the sun, and Taylor couldn’t see his eyes.
Then his obituary.
Now Taylor knew why her grandmother had cried. And how she knew about protests. And why she understood about people and things going away forever no matter what you did.
Then there was a picture of Eve, her long hair half hiding her face, gazing down at a baby in a pink blanket. Megan Ryan Murphy, born November 15, 1965.
“What are you up to?” Taylor’s mother asked.
Taylor wished her mom wouldn’t sneak up on her.
“Oh, that’s me,” her mom said. She dropped a stack of folded towels on the foot of Taylor’s bed. “Let’s see,” she said, sitting down.
The Hop Page 6
