Deadwood (18 page)

Martin felt himself getting dragged in by her reasoning. “Maybe a plant with something important to say.”

“Yeah! And the right people paying attention. Being a scientist means that you open your mind to what you observe.” She flipped her notebook to the page with the transcribed messages. “And my mind is blown wide open. I
know
that tree texted us. Maybe you'd rather believe we're living in
Dragon Era
. I say there's science behind it. What's the difference, if we're both trying to do the same thing?”

Martin threw his arms up. If she wanted to believe there was a logical explanation to this mess, she could.

“This timeline is just the start of it,” Hannah said. She launched into a description of Jake's connections to the tree—the football team, the carvings with his name, the beech leaf in his company logo, his plan to cut the tree down. How Jake had cursed the Spirit Tree so that he—and his dumb football team and his stupid landscape company—could benefit. Martin felt himself getting angry.

“That guy gave me the creeps the first time I saw him,” he said, a bit too loud. Waverly and Libby glanced up from their project, whispered something and giggled again.

Hannah shrugged her shoulders at them. Then she leaned in toward Martin, her voice low. “So you agree that Jake is the bad one the tree told us about,” she said.

“I don't doubt that he's
a
bad one. Anybody can see that,” Martin said. “But is he
the
bad one? If he set the curse, why? Isn't he one of those hooray-for-everything-Lo-B types?”

“Maybe he didn't know what he was doing when he cursed. Or maybe he didn't realize that one person's gain is another's loss. And—whammo—disaster. When you do bad things, you don't always get what you expect.”

“Same as when you do good things,” he said, doodling the bare silhouette of the Spirit Tree on his notebook. He knew the shape by heart.

“So? It's better to do good things. It's not enough to hope. We have to try.” She grabbed the pencil out of his hand so he had no choice but to look at her. “Did you know that Jake was quarterback of the Lo-B Squirrels the last time they won the championship? Heck, it was the last time the team had a winning season, period. Jake never lets Nick and A.J. forget it.”

“You're saying he started the curse to win the championship, and ended up draining all the luck from Lower Brynwood?”

“I don't know.” She shrugged. “Maybe it's like the law of conservation of energy. Like luck is a kind of energy—it can't be created or destroyed. It's science. For one person to gain it, it has to come from somewhere.”

“Luck isn't energy,” Martin said.

“Isn't it?” She looked at him with her stormy gray eyes. “You know how the tree got struck by lightning?”

“I was there.”

“Maybe the tree is kind of like a lightning rod for, I don't know, luck or karma—whatever it is that's gone missing from Lower Brynwood.”

“Life force,” Martin whispered, thinking of how power was measured in the
Dragon Era
game.

“That's it. Life force. It's not just jobs and sports victories that disappeared from town. Except for Jenna's yard and those old woods, nothing grows here anymore—not lawns, not tomatoes, not African violets—unless Laughlin Landscaping has something to do with it. The town's dying, and Jake's the only one who benefits by picking up dead tree branches and dousing grass with chemicals. The only green spots in town are your aunt's lawn and the football field…” Hannah trailed off, studying the bare skeleton of the tree Martin had drawn.

“Do you remember when Chase got hurt during the football game?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed again. He nodded. “The grass where he fell turned brown, like all of the life had been drained out of it.”

“The tree's dying because of a curse,” Martin said. “Now Jake is going to finish the job with a chainsaw.”

“It's not just the tree, Martin. I think the bad one is sucking the life out of people, too.”

Martin thought of the coffin holding the empty husk that had looked like his grandmother. He remembered flag-draped coffins at the Army base, too—how everyone fell silent when someone's husband, mother, son, aunt, or friend came home as a thing, not a person. The world stopped for a moment, and he felt how fragile life was. His life with his mother. Her life in a hostile country. Even the tree.

Martin began penciling leaves onto his drawing. The Spirit Tree was still alive. And he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

26

Big Game

H
annah felt as if she were walking into the stadium for the first time. Everything looked sharper, and not just because this was a Saturday afternoon game in bright sunshine instead of under Friday night lights. She noticed more because she was with Martin. She heard every note the band played, every shout rising above the general din, even smelled the scent of rubbery hotdogs coming from the snack stand, because she knew Martin hadn't been here before.

She'd had to talk him into coming, but she suspected his reluctance was a show of principle, a little protest against organized sports. Because he had to be dying to know what Libby and Waverly had planned, just like she was.

Hannah scanned the stands, but she didn't spot them. Then again, the stands were more full than usual—a sea of red, partly because fans of the Radnor Red Raiders spilled out of the visitor grandstand and into Lower Brynwood's. But there were more Lo-B fans than usual, too. Something was happening today, and it seemed like everyone was waiting for it, not just her and Martin.

Lunch the day before had been tense. Martin and Hannah tried to pump Waverly and Libby for information about whatever surprise they had planned, but the gossip sisters had turned close-mouthed. Libby acted triumphant, but Waverly was more tentative, and that made Hannah nervous. The two of them had never kept secrets from each other before, but Hannah had to admit that she had started it. She had introduced the space between them, allowing Libby to squeeze her way into the gap. Libby had mighty sharp elbows.

Hannah headed for her usual spot near the thirty-yard line, but Martin put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged off his touch, as if it were electric. She thought of how silly they must look together, Nick Vaughan's gawky little sister with this curly-haired boy, half a head shorter and twenty pounds skinnier. Did it look like they were on a date? She felt a flutter in her chest, and she wasn't sure what it meant.

“Let's sit here,” Martin said, pointing at the end of the bleachers by the entrance.

“I always sit near the middle,” she said. “We can see the game better.”

“We can see the field fine from here, and nobody can come in or out without us seeing them first.”

They climbed to the highest bench, which gave them a view of the pothole-pocked parking lot. Plus, the top row was the only one not covered in muddy footprints.

“Look,” Martin said, “you can see through the trees now.” He pointed to Jenna's house.

The cottage's peaked roof and ornate chimney poked through the low trees. The brush had thinned enough that Hannah caught a glimpse of laundry on the line.

She turned back to the stadium, where Rocky, the Lower Brynwood mascot, wandered in the stands, shaking the hands of children with his furry black mitts. Up in the top row, Hannah was grateful to be out of his range. The black squirrel costume looked mangy and worn even from here, suspiciously resembling a discarded Chip costume (or maybe it was Dale) that had been spray-painted black.

Hannah saw A.J. with his buddies, then located her parents. She'd recognize the backs of their heads anywhere—her mom's short blonde hair, her father's pink scalp reflecting through his thinning hair under the early-autumn sun. There was still no sign of Waverly and Libby.

The marching band traced figures on the field, the flag team waving banners that looked heavy enough to tip them over as they gyrated to their well-worn approximations of “Louie, Louie,” then “Hey Ya.” And was that a Lady Gaga song in the rotation? Hannah winced at a sour note. The band needed more practice on that one.

But something else was new. A microphone stood on a small dais on the sidelines. An announcer came on as the band stood at attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Assistant Coach Jake Laughlin, member of the Lower Brynwood Hall of Fame and former captain of the State Champion Black Squirrels!”

Jake strode out onto the field and climbed onto the dais. He was wearing a suit instead of his usual polo shirt. Hannah and Martin exchanged worried looks. If Jake was involved, this couldn't be good.

The Black Squirrels cheerleaders filed out behind the platform, shaking red and black pompoms under their chins. Hannah's stomach felt like one of those pompoms.

Jake pulled the microphone off the stand and tapped it once, the note reverberating through the stadium. He began. “Good evening, students, teachers, parents, friends, and guests. This is the sixty-fifth meeting of the Lower Brynwood Black Squirrels and the Radnor Red Raiders in Lower Brynwood Memorial Stadium.” He paused awkwardly, as if he had rehearsed. “I hope it will be the last.”

The buzz of the crowd silenced for a moment, and then resumed louder than before.
The last?
Did he just say what they thought they heard?

“This will be the last meeting in this facility, because by this time next year, a new stadium will have risen in its place!” Jake glanced at the notecards in his hand, fumbling with his speech. “The school board and superintendent have already made a bond resolution, and I've been chosen as the chairman to raise ten million dollars to make it possible. You know we need a new scoreboard.” He pointed to the dead hulk of the old one, black and burnt beyond the end zone. “That's only the beginning. The aluminum bleachers will be replaced with concrete. New locker rooms will support the athletic teams. And most importantly, the grass field will be replaced with artificial turf.”

He paused again, and the cheerleaders lifted their pompoms above their heads as a cheer rose up like thunder. “We've already lined up corporate sponsors, starting with Horizon Network Communications. But this is a big project, and we need the whole community to make it happen. You've all heard of the Spirit Tree.”

Hannah froze, and Martin clutched her arm. She was too stunned to shake him off.

“The Spirit Tree has been a symbol of Lower Brynwood pride for generations. Now, like this stadium, it's at the end of its life,” Jake said, reading straight from the notecards now. “Fittingly, the tree will be honored in the first fundraiser to support the stadium. Next week, I personally, as owner of Laughlin Landscaping and Tree Care, will donate my services to cut down the Spirit Tree in an appreciation ceremony. Then, the tree will be sectioned and varnished so that the carvings are preserved. One section will be enshrined in a time capsule set in the stadium foundation. The remaining sections will be auctioned off for use as coffee tables, wall hangings, or trophies. All money raised will go toward the new stadium.”

The crowd roared louder, but Hannah felt herself trembling. It was monstrous—killing the Spirit Tree, chopping it to bits, and selling the pieces as souvenirs. The stadium wouldn't hold a time capsule—it would hold a tomb. That majestic tree—older than the town itself—would be murdered to buy concrete and plastic grass. She felt her eyes fill with tears. Martin gripped her arm, hard enough now that it hurt. She put her hand on his, which loosened but didn't move.

Jake quieted the crowd again. “Souvenirs from the tree start at twenty-dollar personal donations and go right up to a corporate platinum level, which buys a tree section big enough for a lobby showpiece. Sales will begin at halftime by the snack bar.”

He gestured toward a red-draped table, which had materialized as he spoke.

Libby and Waverly preened behind the table, waving to the crowd along with the members of the high-school Spirit Club. Their new project was selling the Spirit Tree.

Hannah felt sick. Waverly and Libby looked like little Spirit Club mascots, so proud to be part of the tree's destruction. Hannah's stomach lurched, and she wondered if she could throw up off the top of the grandstand without hitting anyone below.

Then Waverly caught her eye and grinned even more widely, signaling to Hannah with both hands. Hannah could only imagine the grim look on her own face, but when Waverly saw it, her smile vanished. Well, what did she expect? Did she really think Hannah would flash a big thumbs-up?

Jake saluted the crowd by holding up both hands, one of them with only two fingers raised. V for victory, Hannah guessed, something Jake had little experience with since his own high-school days. He walked off the field as the two best cheerleaders cartwheeled behind him, while the others punched the air with their pompoms.

Hannah hardly noticed the announcer introducing the teams until Head Coach Schmidt jogged out, pumping his fist, his belly and neck flab in full motion. Clearly he didn't want to be overshadowed by his assistant Jake, who retook the field modestly, clapping for his boss but looking like an Academy Award winner applauding the losing nominees.

Nick ran out last, his hair shining yellow in the light. Hannah's heart flipped. No matter what Jake threatened to do, she had to root for Nick. She wanted Lower Brynwood to win. The town and the Spirit Tree had suffered together because of the curse, and she and Martin were going to stop it.

Nick couldn't have known any of this. The game began, and Nick was on fire, passing bullets, marshaling the offense. Hannah knew that feeling. He was spurred by the crowd's energy, by the sea of red jerseys and hats (even if some of them were worn by their rivals), the thought that his senior season would be a fitting finale for the stadium.

By the end of the first quarter, Nick had one hundred fifteen yards passing on eight completions to six receivers, including a twenty-five-yard touchdown pass. Hannah had told her brother earlier, “You throw enough touchdowns, you've got to win some football games.” She meant he needed to do his own job, and everything else would sort itself out. And at least in the game, it was happening. The Lower Brynwood Black Squirrels led, twenty-one to three.