by Mary Knight
“Sorry, sir, we’re doing homework here!” I yell in reply. It’s a stall tactic, but, hopefully, it will buy us some time.
“Homework? In a tree?” The guy chortles at his buddies. “Kids these days, eh?” They all laugh. “Reminds me of that song we used to sing in school. ‘Susie and Johnny sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!’ ” He sings off-key. “Sure it’s homework you’re doing?”
Jules flashes him a big smile. “Yeah, we’re making a little movie here for a class project. We need about half an hour. Can you give us that?”
He looks up at us and shrugs. “Aw, I guess there’s no harm in taking a break.” He looks over at JD. “Hey! Aren’t you Tiverton’s kid?”
“Yes, sir. At least on the days he claims me.” The men laugh. JD’s got that good-old-boy thing down pat. “We’re on the same science team,” he adds, motioning to Jules and me up in the tree.
“I see.” The boss studies JD for a minute, then waves at the bulldozer guy to shut off his engine. “Hey, Gordy. Stay here and keep an eye on things, would you? When we get back in half an hour, kids, you’d better be gone. This is no place for playing around.” Then he signals the rest of his crew to follow him back to the county road, where a line of trucks is parked.
Gordy is a big man with a head as bald as a buzzard’s and biceps the size of cows. He might be as nice as your Aunt Sally, but he looks like he’d just as soon grind you up as say “Excuse me” if you got in his way. Papaw’s wood chipper comes to mind.
“Don’t worry about me,” he shouts over at us. “I’ll just be hanging out here admiring the view.” He stretches his arms up and folds them under his head, leaning back in his seat. He’s wearing one of those jean shirts with the sleeves ripped out. The dragon tattoos on his arms look like they’re breathing, ready to torch anything in their path.
“Ignore him, you guys,” JD says. “As long as you talk in a normal voice, Curley, he won’t be able to hear what you’re saying. This camera has a super sensitive mike that will pick you up just fine.” JD looks through the viewfinder and says, “Ready?”
“Hold on, JD.” I’m breaking out in a cold sweat. “Give me a minute to check my notes.” As I shuffle through my cards, Jules arranges the stack of signs on her lap.
This video we’re about to make? We’re going to post it on the Internet to tell the world what’s happening to our mountain. Mr. A says we’re tilting at windmills, an expression that comes from a novel about this crazy guy, Don Quixote, who wages battles against imaginary foes. Quixote is just a character in a book, but he became so famous they named a word after him—my q word for the week, quixotic. I figure Papaw was inspired by Mr. A himself, now that the two friends are talking again.
Mr. A says he’ll do anything he can to support our project, regardless of how idealistic it sounds. “I’ll even commit a subversive act or two, if it’ll help the cause,” he said. We considered asking him to cut the ribbons off the trees, but we knew he’d do it, and we’re trying to keep everyone out of jail.
As the self-proclaimed director, JD has the whole project mapped out in his head. The only change he made to my script was to replace my with our when I’m talking about Red Hawk Mountain. “It’s Jules’s mountain, too,” he said, “and people will want to know you’re in this fight together. They’ll look at the two of you up in that old tree and think, ‘How cute,’ ‘How sweet,’ ‘I wonder if they’re in love.’ And we want them thinking that, see? Love sells.” Jules and I both blushed when he said that.
I’m blushing now just thinking about it, when I notice her smiling at me.
“You’re going to do great,” she says, and there’s that dimple again. I tuck my notes out of sight. She’s right. I have everything I need.
“Okay, JD. We’re ready up here.”
“Okay, then … Action!” JD slices his arm through the air and I begin.
“Curley Hines here. This is my best friend, Jules. And this is our tree.” I hear the camera zoom out, probably from a close-up of me and Jules to a wide shot of the tree. “We call our tree Ol’ Charley, after a horse. And that up there is Red Hawk Mountain.” I point behind me. “We’ve lived here all our lives.
“We’re coming to you from Wonder Gap, Kentucky, and as you can see, we’re in a bit of a pickle.” JD pans from us to the bulldozer. Good old Gordy is glaring in our direction. Maybe it’s just the sun, but fortunately for our purposes, he looks as mean as a junkyard dog.
“That bulldozer wants to run right over Ol’ Charley here—a tree that is important to the Cherokee and over three hundred years old. For once in my life, I refuse to acquiesce.”
Jules holds up her first sign: ACQUIESCE: GIVE IN. She cocks her head, and her dark, curly hair loops over one corner of the poster board like a parenthesis, and I almost forget everything I’m about to say. I clear my throat.
“My papaw’s been giving me a word a week for as long as I can remember, and he’s taught me to use my words for good. So if you think I’m being belligerent, well, then … I’ve got a reason to be.”
Jules holds up: BELLIGERENT: AT WAR, READY TO FIGHT.
“You see, I’ve been working on a conundrum that I need your help to solve. This is no time to dillydally, so I’ll come right to the point.”
Jules looks over her DILLYDALLY sign and winks at me, like she’s shooting me the memory of that time with the elk. I grin at that wink—I can’t help myself, even though I’m supposed to be all serious about what comes next in my speech. I hope like heck JD can cut out these pauses and tighten up the speech like he says he can. I take one look at Gordy the dozer guy and drop my smile.
“That bulldozer there belongs to Tiverton Coal. Not only does Tiverton Coal want to run over Ol’ Charley, but they want to eradicate every living thing on Red Hawk Mountain. That’s right. After they put in this mining road, they’re going to burn down all the trees, which will kill or scatter all the critters, of course. And then they’re going to blow up our mountain. That’s right, blow up our mountain. I’m not kidding. Right here in our backyard. This is what it would look like.” Jules holds up a picture of the mountaintop removal site JD clipped from the video I shot on the elk tour.
“They used to call this kind of mining mountaintop removal. Now the industry calls it Appalachian surface coal mining.”
Jules’s next sign says: HUH?
“Now, I’m as fallible as the next guy, but I’m not gullible. Surface is one thing. This mountaintop is GONE.”
“Can you imagine Mount Everest without its top?”
Jules holds up a picture of a topless Mount Everest, photoshopped by JD.
“I’ll say this: It takes a lot of hutzpah to blow the top off a mountain, but mountaintop removal is irrevocable. When a mountaintop is gone, it’s gone for good.” Jules rests her chin on the edge of the IRREVOCABLE sign. There’s no denying the sadness in her eyes.
“Papaw says that sometimes, when you juxtapose two things, you can see something you didn’t see before. So just in case I haven’t been clear: Here’s our mountain as it is today.” Jules holds up a photo of Red Hawk. “And here’s what used to be a mountain.” Jules puts the mining site picture and our mountain side by side.
“Can you imagine waking up one morning and seeing this?” I point to the mining photo. “Who was the kleptomaniac who stole my mountain?” Jules shrugs and flips the poster board, revealing: KLEPTOMANIAC: THIEF.
“Our mountain is the linchpin that holds our lives together. That’s a powerful metaphor, and it points to the truth. Blow the top off Red Hawk Mountain and life as we know it falls apart.”
The seriousness of the situation hits me real sudden-like, and I freeze. Jules grabs my hand, and I can feel this bolt of energy zing right through me, like a car battery getting a jump. I stare into the camera and try to concentrate on talking to that one person who will care enough to act. Papaw says that’s all it takes.
“So what can you do? Well, while Jules and I are sitting up here on Ol�
� Charley, you could be using your words for good. You could write a letter to your newspaper or representative. You could send a link to this video to your friends or your local TV station. Or you could come on down to Wonder Gap, Kentucky, and sit with us on our mountain. There’s nowhere in the world more beautiful to be.
“Can you feel it? You know, that finger in your gut that’s poking you to do something? Jules calls that a niggle.” Jules grins as she pulls up her next sign: NIGGLE: A THOUGHT THAT BUGS YOU. “If you’re feeling a niggle, then don’t just sit there, do something. Say something. Let us know you’re listening. We need to know you care.
“Tiverton Coal is not all-powerful. Only God is. That’s what Papaw says. But Papaw also says that when we come together for good, we can be powerful beyond measure. We’re not asking you to save the world, or Appalachia, for that matter. We’re asking you to help us save our mountain.” Jules nods, and I realize I have never felt closer to her in my life.
“A topless mountain is an oxymoron. But with your support, we will persist.”
After holding up OXYMORON and PERSIST, Jules lets the cards fall from the tree, leaving her empty-handed and looking a bit lost. This time I’m the one offering her a hand, and she takes it. I guess we’re selling that love thing. I look at JD and wonder what he sees.
“With your support,” I say to the camera, “we can save our mountain.”
A distant slamming of doors punctuates my final words. Jules and I look out from our vantage point on Ol’ Charley. We can hear voices shouting at us from the woods near the road, one rising above the others.
“JD! What do you think you’re doing!”
Mr. Tiverton.
He’s practically flying through the trees. JD calmly moves the camera from its focus on Jules and me to his father and the angry men in orange crashing through the underbrush, heading our way.
“Looks like we’ve got company,” he says.
Whirrrr. The lens retracts as he fiddles with the camera then roots around his pockets like he’s looking for a place to hide it. Jules is holding my hand so tightly, her fingernails bite into my palm.
“Gimme that thing.” Mr. Tiverton yanks the video camera from JD’s grasp.
“Chill out, man. I’m not armed.”
“The heck you’re not. What do you call this?” His father shoves the camera an inch from JD’s face, then pulls it back, replaying our recent footage on the camcorder’s screen. “I’d say you’re armed and loaded.” Mr. Tiverton drops his arm to his side like the camera all of a sudden gets too heavy to hold. “For crying out loud, JD, you’re my son!”
Papaw says there’s nothing worse than watching a grown man cry, which is what I’m afraid we’re about to see when JD says the unthinkable.
“Not like I chose to be.”
Jules lets go of my hand and leans forward, as if she might jump. She could, too. I’ve seen her do it.
“Oh, that’s fine. That’s just fine.” Mr. Tiverton shakes his head and stares at the ground, like JD didn’t say what we thought he said, like he told his father to “have a nice day.” But then, with absolutely no warning, Mr. Tiverton cocks his arm like he’s going to land a punch and slams the camera against our tree.
Jules and I cringe. I expect to see the camera break into a million pieces, but only a few go flying. The bulk of it ricochets off Ol’ Charley like he’s some kind of rubber tree and lands at the crew boss’s feet.
JD snickers, his father lunges, and I’m afraid we’re about to witness a murder.
Mr. Tiverton pulls JD forward by his jacket collar to within an inch of his face. Their noses are so much alike—long and straight to the tip—they look like mirror images of each other, except for JD’s nose ring, of course.
“You, you …” Mr. Tiverton’s mouth is all scrunched up, like he’s trying to find just the right word to call his son.
Gordy the dozer guy coughs. Still holding JD in his grip, Mr. Tiverton looks around at his men. “Get out of here, all of you,” he yells over his shoulder. “You can take this tree down first thing Monday when these kids are in school.”
Mr. Tiverton gives JD one more look of disbelief before he opens his hand and lets him drop. His fingers remain curved and stiff like claws until the foreman hands him the dinged-up camera.
“And you, Mr. Hines.” Mr. Tiverton shakes the camera at me like a fist. “You’re making it awfully hard for me to think kindly toward you. I think you know what I mean.”
“I do.” My voice is trembling so bad, I’m not even sure he hears it.
Mr. Tiverton turns to follow his men out of the woods, but then stops as if he’s forgotten something. “JD? You coming?” he snaps.
“Naw,” JD says, waving him off like he’s some kind of afterthought. “I’ll get a ride from Mrs. C.” His voice sounds casual, even cheery—as if his dad didn’t almost kill him, as if our only chance to tell the world about our plight hadn’t just been smashed to smithereens.
“Suit yourself.” Mr. Tiverton trudges off, leaving emptiness in his wake.
“Good thing Papaw also gave me resilience this week,” I grumble to Jules as we climb down from Ol’ Charley. “I think we’re going to need it.”
“So … what’s plan B?” Jules breaks the silence as we arrive back at her trailer.
JD’s grinning like a sack full of possum heads, as Papaw would say, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. He reaches into his pocket.
“Plan B!” he announces, whipping out this itty-bitty square thing about the size of a postage stamp and waving it over his head.
“My hero!” Jules shouts, yanking on his arm.
“Would someone please fill me in on what just happened?” My brain still feels a bit addled (a word, fifth grade), what with losing the video and all.
“It’s called a memory card, Curley, my boy.” JD holds it in front of my face between his thumb and index finger. “Before the old man got to the camera, I saved our movie on it. It’s a backup to the one that’s still in the camera. My old man has no clue there were two.”
When it finally dawns on me that all is not lost, we high-five each other until our palms are sore, and then we start chanting, “Plan B! Plan B! Plan B!” while jumping up and down all in a bunch like we’re basketball stars who just won the national championship. I’m thinking about my word for the week—how resilience is a memory card—when JD sinks that little puppy into the palm of my hand.
“Now all we need is a subversive act,” he says. “Know where we can get one?”
Quixotic—adjective
: like Don Quixote; romantic to extravagance; absurdly chivalric; apt to be deluded
Resilience—noun
: an ability to be flexible, to recover or adapt after a difficult change or experience
You might think subversive is my word for the week, but it isn’t even close. I seriously doubt if Papaw would consider it a helpful word, much less approve of the activity, which is why Mr. Amons says it would be best not to tell him.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve pretty much been a good kid all my life. I get good grades, I do my chores, and I address my elders with respect. Yet here I am—prowling through the halls of Blue Ridge Middle School on a Saturday night, my heart pounding, my armpits sticky, taking part in a covert operation with a subversive science teacher and my two best friends.
As JD would say, what’s not to like about that?
Never mind that Mr. A has keys.
“Okay, you guys. You’re here for extra credit, right?” Mr. A unlocks the door to the computer lab and switches on the lights. “If anyone finds out what we’re really doing, I could lose my job.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. A. We’ve got you covered.” Jules gives him a thumbs-up as JD and I rush to the closest computer and turn it on.
I’m flabbergasted at how simple it is. We’ve already decided not to make any changes to the footage. “Leaving it raw keeps it real,” JD says. So we click on the website You2CanChan
getheWorld.com, enter some basic information about the video, insert the memory card, and we’re ready to post.
My words.
Into the universe.
Like scattered stars.
“W-w-w-wait,” I stammer.
“Wait for what?” Jules whispers, so close her breath tickles my ear.
“What if no one sees it?” I say. “Oh my gosh, what if they do?”
“That’s what we want.” JD puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go ahead, Ketchup, hit POST.”
The resulting click barely makes a sound at all.
“Congratulations!” the screen announces. “You, too, can change the world!”
“Move over, Curley.” Jules skootches me over and grabs the mouse. I can feel the warmth of her hip against mine. She closes out of the site, only to click back in. She says she wants to get a feel for what it will be like for “our people,” as she calls them, to view our video for the first time. She searches for our title.
“There it is!” She clicks on it. Topless in Wonder Gap.
Okay, so that was JD’s idea. He’d come up with it right after we celebrated plan B.
“A title is everything,” he said. “It’s the hook. Trust me, it’ll grab people’s attention.”
Trust him?
“Okay,” I said, “with one condition. We add a subtitle: Help Us Save Our Mountain.”
We all watch our video together, huddled around the computer screen. “Oh my gosh, Curley, you’re brilliant,” Jules gushes. It’s like the fifth time she’s said that.
“Watch this, Mr. A.” I can feel JD nudge our teacher behind my back. It’s the part near the end where I offer Jules my hand. “Curley really drives it home here.”
“Aha …” Mr. A says.
I glance over at Jules, who has become perfectly still. The computer screen casts a bluish light on her face, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I desperately want to take her hand. I mean, it’s right there under the desk, but JD’s standing behind us and, well, he’s my friend.
