Girlwood (12 page)

"I know everybody in it leaves."

"Carly!" Mrs. Finch said. "Stick to the topic, please."

The bell rang but no one moved. Even the boys who would have ordinarily called out "Catfight!" were silent.

"This is all because of your sister," Carly hissed at Polly. The kids in the back row practically fell over their desks to listen. "I heard that you think she's out there somewhere, living off the land. Give me a break! Brianna Greene couldn't survive a day without a roof over her head and a needle in her arm. She was a drug addict, and everyone knew it. She was going to die anyway."

A boy from the next class came in as Polly's face went pale. He looked at the shell-shocked students in the room, then at Mrs. Finch.

"Is this third period or what?"

Carly snatched her notebook and flounced out of class.
Just don't cry,
Polly told herself again. It could be her own slogan.
Just don't cry.

Joy Lanerson might have touched Polly's arm as she left, though it was over too quick to know for sure. Olivia, Mandy, and Bridget surrounded her.

"She is so cruel," Mandy said.

Polly's tears had backed up, creating a logjam in her throat, but she squared her shoulders and turned to her friends.
Her
friends. She wasn't alone anymore.

"Meet me by the creek after school," Polly said. "There's something I want to show you."

Thorny, invasive elk thistle has been called the curse of the earth, yet thistle has extensive edible and medicinal uses. Found in wet soil in meadows and gardens, the plant has tender spring stems that have a sweet taste and can be eaten raw after the spiny covering is peeled away. Thistle treats respiratory congestion and infections.

After school, Polly met Olivia, Mandy, and Bridget by the swollen creek. A few days of mild, sunny weather had turned the snowy streets to slush. The steep hill behind Baba's was now slick with mud, so Polly and the girls put on their light jackets and boots and headed the long way around, past the mushy, tangled banks of Sheep Creek and out toward the future entrance of Mountain Winds. Workers were there installing a massive rock waterfall, and chain saws
buzzed in the distance. Occasionally a tree thudded against the earth, sending shock waves beneath their feet.

Polly hoped to creep past the double-wide trailer unnoticed, but something about the figure huddled on the stairs caught her attention. Not the blond hair or blue sweater, but the slumped shoulders. Carly Leyland, with her head in her hands.

"Is that—"

Carly lifted her head when Olivia spoke. Polly froze, unable to walk away from the sight of Carly Leyland
crying,
but not about to help her either. Carly rushed inside the trailer, only to be escorted back out a moment later by a stocky, square-faced man.

"For God's sake, Carly," he said, manhandling her down the stairs. "I told you to go home and talk to your mother. I've got
buyers
here."

Carly blushed furiously, but what really surprised Polly was the way her aura shrank when her father leaned in and, at one point, disappeared. It was like getting a glimpse of something she shouldn't see—the way a family treated each other when they thought no one was looking.

"Excuse me?" Polly said, hurrying forward. "Mr. Leyland? Do you have a minute to talk? We had a debate at school about Mountain Winds and we thought—"

The look of scorn on his face stopped her.

"Do you really think I've got time to talk to a bunch of kids?" he asked. "Run away and play, would you? I'm selling lots here."

He went into the trailer and slammed the door.
This
was the dad Carly gushed about and admired? A salesman in a cheesy plaid sport coat?

"This is private property." Carly sniffled. "Didn't you see the signs?"

Indeed there were
NO TRESPASSING
signs nailed into a dozen trees now. so much for a development that would be open to the whole community.

"Carly," Olivia said, "we were just—"

Carly brushed back a tear and extended her arm like a traffic cop. "Talk to the hand, Liv."

She looked so ridiculous with her hand out that Polly almost felt sorry for her.

"Let's go," Polly said softly to her friends, leading them past
THE NO TRESPASSING
signs, knowing Carly couldn't rat on them. Her father was with his buyers. It might be hours before he gave his own daughter the time of day.

***

The chain saws were a distant hum by the time they reached the devil's club.

"Weird," Bridget said, looking like an explorer in her cargo pants and khaki jacket. "Like barbed wire."

Despite the mud and slush, Polly got on her belly and slithered into the opening.

"I'll never fit through there," Mandy said.

Polly hadn't thought about the narrow tunnel and Mandy's size, but now it seemed like a test. Was this place magical or wasn't it? "Just follow me."

"Polly!"

Polly crawled through the tunnel and into the larch grove, where even the jars of green beans had disappeared. She smiled, imagining Bree's puckered face when she ate them. Next, Polly would bring peas, which Bree hated even more. She'd find that cabin Baba had talked about and set out the jars like a trail of bread crumbs. Baba wasn't the only one who could help Bree now.

Olivia came next in her rumpled beige coat, then skinny Bridget, but there was no sign of Mandy. Polly was just crouching down to go back for her when a round face poked through the vines of the devil's club.

"I fit!" Mandy said.

She got to her feet and brushed the dirt off her pants, not realizing that she was skimming her fingers through an aura as sleek and iridescent as a mermaid's tail. Outside of Girlwood, Polly hardly noticed Mandy's aura at all, but in the grove it
was a deep ocean blue. As the girls gawked at the towering larches, Polly decided that magic was not rare at all, but so common people overlooked it. It was everywhere, in everything, all the time.

Mandy leaned back to see to the top of Baba's favorite tree. "I didn't notice these trees when we were walking up here."

"You didn't see them," Polly said. "You can't."

The girls looked at her. "That's impossible," Bridget said.

"Yeah, well, go out there and tell me if you can see them."

Bridget did just that. She slithered back through the thorny tunnel and marched around outside the devil's club. A few minutes later she came back, looking mystified.

"Double weird," she said. "Maybe we're on a downslope and don't realize it."

Polly didn't answer. She picked up the bow and drill she'd left by the fire pit and went through the same steps she'd followed with Baba—setting up the firewood in the ring, gathering any dry grasses and needles she could find for tinder, then sawing the bow back and forth in a steady rhythm. Everything was still wet from last week's snow, but Polly knew the worst thing she could do was give up too soon. Twenty minutes later, she was still sawing despite the ache in her arm and the girls' complaining of boredom. Finally, she drew back and found the ember on the fireboard. Transferring it carefully to her tinder, she blew until the smoke turned to flame.

When Polly looked up, Bridget's aura had deepened to the darkest purple, the color of a raven's feathers.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Bridget asked.

Polly shrugged, but she was flushed with pride. She could keep her friends warm. It wasn't beauty or popularity or Baba's gift with plants, but it was still a kind of power.

"They haven't tagged these trees for thinning," Bridget said, wandering through the grove.

Polly smiled. "I don't think the Leylands know about this place."

"But it's in the middle of Mountain Winds," Bridget pointed out. "They have to know."

Mandy stood close to the fire, her cheeks still rosy from the cold but the rest of her bathed in a watery blue light. Polly wouldn't be surprised if she slept on silk sheets or could hold her breath for longer than was humanly possible. She wouldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

"Well," Polly said. "They don't."

Olivia looked around nervously. "Do you think this place is haunted?" she asked.

"Not haunted," Polly said. "Alive."

They all went quiet, then Mandy said, "I've got goose bumps."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Me too."

"We call it Girlwood," Olivia said.

"You can't tell anyone about this place," Polly added. "Not even your parents. If anyone else finds it, they'll ruin it."

Bridget and Mandy looked at the larches as if they were listening in, then nodded solemnly.

"That's settled then," Polly said. "Let's find something to eat."

The pickings were slim. Polly found only a few mealy serviceberries, along with black lichen and elk thistle roots.

"You mean eat this stuff?" Mandy asked, looking skeptically at the plants Polly put in her hand.

"We learned about elk thistle in Girl Scouts," Bridget said. "This guy survived on the roots for a month when he was lost in Yellowstone without his glasses."

"He survived on
this?
" Mandy poked at the dirty root as if it were a dead bug.

Olivia bit into the root and managed to swallow. "Not as bad as broccoli," she said.

Polly laughed. Bridget ate the root whole, while Mandy took a polite bite and tried not to gag. They devoured the berries and sampled a few strands of the lichen.

"Ugh," Mandy said. "Tastes like dirt."

"How do you even know what dirt tastes like?" Bridget asked.

Mandy blushed as Polly piled more wood on the fire.

"Won't someone see the smoke?" Olivia asked.

They stopped for a moment and listened. They'd forgotten about the chain saws and now had to strain to hear them.

"I don't think they can see it," Polly said. "I think the larch trees are hidden, and everything and everyone in here is safe."

Polly braced herself when they all went quiet. She knew how crazy and impossible it sounded. The girls watched the fire, then finally Bridget said, "Cool."

Polly could have hugged her, but instead she offered a secret. "Bree's out here," she said. "I leave food for her on that boulder over there. Elk thistle, elderberries, sheep sorrel, whatever I can find. People think she can't survive, but she can." Her friends stared at her and she struggled to catch her breath. "The magic's in her, too."

They all looked around the grove. When no one said anything to refute her, Polly thought that maybe the greatest kindness friends can offer is their silence. Whole minutes, hours, or even lifetimes when they don't laugh or call you a fool.

"Food is one thing," Bridget said, "but what Bree needs is shelter."

She began braiding her long hair. Her fingers were deft, and when she was through, she looked like another person—with high cheekbones Polly had never seen before and glittering, raven eyes.

Bridget kicked at the slush, looking for fallen branches. "We can make a hut," she said. "If we position it between two of the larches, we can use their trunks as our side poles and their branches to support a ridgepole. That's the top of our ceiling."

"Girl Scouts again?" Polly asked.

Bridget smiled. "It was a good troop."

They all searched for branches and followed Bridget's directions for a simple lean-to. First, they chose two larches, eight feet apart, to serve as their side poles, then the four of them dragged over a ten-foot-long log. It was eight inches wide and soaking wet, but Bridget was already thinking ahead, using their jackets like slings. With a little tree climbing and more muscle strength than they'd ever shown in gym class, the girls hoisted the log seven feet up into the forked branches of the larches. With the trees as their side poles and the ceiling beam in place, their shelter began to take shape.

Bridget did most of the work, gathering dozens of support poles—branches about twelve feet long—and laying them at forty-five-degree angles from the ridgepole. She stepped back to inspect her progress. The lean-to would be a simple inverted
V.

"We'll leave this part open for a doorway," she said. "We can strengthen everything later, but right now it's more important that Bree has a roof."

She instructed them to gather moss, boughs, and bark. As they brought her the materials, she began layering them from bottom to top over the support poles. Boughs first, then bark and moss, overlapping every section as if she were laying shingles. By the time dusk arrived, their lean-to was covered and snug.

After a final inspection by Bridget, the girls went inside the makeshift hut, which turned out to be big enough for all of them. Their heads didn't even hit the ceiling. Rain couldn't get to them, the walls broke the wind, and no one spoke. It was almost too much to believe that four twelve-year-olds, four
girls,
could make fire, find their own food, and build a shelter.

They squeezed one another's hands the moment they realized it: they were the girls of Girlwood. There was nothing they couldn't do.

The black poplar was used as a funeral tree by the ancient Greeks, and in Christian lore, the aspen was the wood in Christ's cross. The catkins and leaf buds are edible but bitter, and high in vitamin C. The leaves and inner bark contain salicin, the active ingredient in aspirin, while the tree's sticky resin has been used for centuries to aid in the healing of wounds.

Bridget told her parents there was a new afterschool chess club, Mandy and Olivia pleaded choir, and Polly pretended she was at Olivia's every day until five. None of them wanted to lie, but somehow they got used to it. They had to protect Girlwood. They had to collect food for Bree and build a bed of leaves and dried grasses in their shelter and make sure the Leyland Corporation never discovered their secret grove.

They were rarely alone in the woods. The storms in early
December were often more rain than snow, and every time the skies cleared the bulldozers and graders raced in to cut roads before the hard freeze. Even when the heavy equipment sat idle, the men trampled through the woods with chain saws, downing all the tagged trees. The girls went quiet when the workers got close, but Polly began to wonder if they could have sung and danced and still remained hidden—as invisible and fairylike as Bree behind the wall of devil's club.