Deadwood (7 page)

Not for the first time, Hannah wondered if she was, either. When she was little, her mom had tried to dress her in pink dresses and bows, but as soon as she could refuse, she chose hand-me-downs from her brothers—jeans and discarded Thomas the Tank Engine knock-offs. Her mom offered her ballet lessons at the Lo-B rec center, but she chose soccer and tee-ball, just like her brothers did. And she was good. With two brothers to coach her, she never threw “like a girl.” She never even understood what that expression was supposed to mean.

But when she became friends with Waverly in second grade, Hannah realized she had a lot to learn about being a girl. It seemed like Waverly had been born knowing how to layer T-shirts, pair shoes with jeans, apply lip gloss, and toss her head so that her hair caught the light.

“If you're going to play soccer with the cutest boys in school,” she always said, “try to look good while you do it.” Hannah suspected Waverly was a little jealous, but she didn't need to be. The last thing Hannah wanted was a boyfriend.

Mr. Michaelson walked into class, looking young and watery-eyed as he cleaned his glasses with the tail of his tie. He replaced his eyeglasses on his high-bridged nose, regaining his authoritative look as he signaled the class to quiet down. “It's time for us to begin planning our required community service projects. I'm asking you to pair up, draft proposals next Friday, then present the final project to the class in four weeks.”

Martin's hand shot up.

“Do you have a question, Martin?”

“No, Mr. Michaelson. I just wanted to say that Hannah Vaughan and I will work together.”

Hannah's jaw dropped. How dare he speak for her? She always worked with Waverly. Waverly finally looked at Hannah, narrowing her eyes as if she wanted to shoot laser beams out of them. Her best friend thought Hannah had planned this—that she deliberately paired with someone else! She tried to signal to Martin, but he waved her off, apparently under the impression that she was thanking him for his brilliant move. He didn't even know the trouble he'd caused.

“Very good,” Mr. Michaelson said. “I take it you have a project in mind, and I can't wait to hear what you have planned.”

Martin smiled. Hannah and Waverly did not.

They still weren't smiling as they pushed their way through the throng toward the cafeteria. At least, Waverly didn't smile at
Hannah
—she passed out generous, beauty-queen waves and greetings to a group of girls they passed, then dropped back into stony silence with Hannah.

Finally, Waverly said, “It's cool if you want to work with that weirdo, Hannah. You always did like pathetic little strays, like that sad cat of yours.”

“Martin's not a stray. He's just new. And my cat isn't sad or pathetic.”

“Okay, I take it back,” she said. “I mean, the part about your cat.” Waverly held her giant handbag in front of her like an expensive leather battering ram and beat a path through the hall for them both. “I'm working with Libby Cho-Johnson now, and her parents are both lawyers. They'll help us on the project. We're going to work on it at lunch. Hey, there's your new partner. Maybe you and Marvin should sit together.”

“It's Martin, with a T. And yeah, I kind of do have to talk to him.”

Waverly's stony demeanor crumpled. Hannah could see that she was hurt at being left out, not just mad.

“I'll tell you about it later, Wave. We're going to the game, right?”

Waverly puffed her glossy lips into a pout. She didn't nod, but she didn't say no, either. Hannah figured that was as good an answer as she was going to get.

Martin huddled at a long lunch table, crowded except for the empty seats on either side of him. Hannah sat down, but he seemed absorbed in his iPod and the huge amount of food on his tray. It looked gross to her, but he shoveled it down with obvious relish.

She tapped him on the shoulder. “Haven't eaten in a while, huh?”

“What?” He dislodged the white buds from his ears.

“You seem to be enjoying your lunch.”

“Yeah, the food here is great, isn't it?” he said with his mouth full. He eyed the brown bag clutched in her hand and hunched protectively over his tray. “If you want to try something, okay, but I don't have enough to share.”

“I'm not going to steal your lunch! I just want to know what you were trying to pull in social studies.”

“Oh, that,” he said, swallowing. “That was lucky, wasn't it? Now we have a perfect excuse.”

“For what?”

“For being together.”

“Nobody's going to think you're my boyfriend, if that's what you're worried about. If you think people will think we're together, you don't know how Lower Brynwood Middle works.”

He reddened for a moment, then recovered, raising his voice after every few words as if talking to a very small and stupid child. “The Spirit Tree? Our community history project? We can find out about the carvings? Try to figure out how to heal it? Ask as many questions as we want? Nobody will think anything of it?”

“Oh.” Hannah sighed. It did fit. Maybe she
was
a stupid child. And Martin was pretty smart, after all. “Good thinking. But Waverly's mad at me. We're always partners.”

“Who's Waverly?”

“Only my best friend.” At least she was, Hannah thought. “And the seventh-grade class president at Lower Brynwood Middle.”

“What an oxymoron.”

“What did you call her?” Hannah said, bristling. She had just spoken up for Martin—now she had to defend Waverly, too.

“Not moron. The school name is an oxymoron—Lower Brynwood Middle.
Lower Middle
. Like jumbo shrimp. Didn't you ever notice?”

Hannah felt even dumber, and she didn't like it one bit. Despite her lifetime of study, she was beginning to realize there was a lot about Lower Brynwood she'd never noticed. Instead she said, “I can't work on the tree project after school today. I have soccer practice, then the game.”

“What game?”

Hannah looked at him as if he were insane. “The opener for the football season. Lower Brynwood against Methacton. My brother Nick is team captain. Maybe you remember that ceremony the other day?”

“I don't like high-school sports, and I'm not going to cheer on the bullies who cut the tree.”

“Actually, that's why you
should
care. If the ceremony started the curse, then the game matters. Maybe the curseworker will be there.”

“So
you
go,” he said. He used a French fry to mop up the ketchup on his plate and popped it into his mouth.

“Wouldn't miss it. I'm supposed to be going with Waverly, if she's talking to me by then.”

She almost stood to return to her usual spot next to Waverly, until she glanced over to see her best friend deep in conversation with Libby. Libby caught Hannah's eye, then looked away as if she hadn't.

Hannah sighed. She might as well sit with Martin. She took a soggy fry off his tray and ate it without asking, just to tease him.

He didn't seem mad—just pushed the dish closer so she could reach it. “Good, huh?”

And actually, it was.

10

Third Wheel

“
O
h, it's just you. Come in.” Waverly left the door open and turned away. Hannah felt anything but welcome, but she stepped into the foyer before her friend changed her mind and slammed the door in her face.

“I would have called to make sure we were still on, but well, you know,” Hannah said.

“No phone time. A convenient excuse, as always. So, you were off serving the community with your special friend?” Waverly kept walking, and Hannah trailed her into the sunken family room. She had looked forward to this game for weeks, and this wasn't the way she had pictured it.

“No, I had soccer,” she said, pretending everything was normal between them. Hannah knew that, if she defended herself, the argument would escalate. Once, Waverly had refused to speak to Hannah for a week after Hannah had protested a rule change in the middle of the Game of Life. “But we got a lot done yesterday. A.J. came, too. He's helping us. See, we're trying to document the history of the Spirit Tree. It doesn't look so good, and A.J. knows a lot about trees.”

“A.J. is helping?” Waverly's pout deflated. “You should have told me. Is he going to the game, too?”

Hannah nodded, then jumped to clarify. “He's going with his friends. We might not even see them. His girlfriend will probably be there, too.” Waverly could be positively embarrassing the way she fawned over A.J., and Hannah found it best to keep them apart.

Waverly's expression turned sour again. “Well, I sure hope your buddy isn't coming to the football game with us.”

“No. He doesn't like watching sports.”

“I guess he'd rather dress up like a dwarf and play video games or something cool like that.”

Hannah decided not to mention Waverly's addiction to the video game
Project Catwalk 4
, or the fact that she and Hannah had dressed up to match the fashions they designed more than a few times.

Waverly scowled, and Hannah wondered if she was remembering the same thing. Then Waverly said, “Well, I invited Libby. I wasn't sure you were coming. So if we talk about our project, I hope you don't feel left out.”

Dr. Wiggins peered around a doorway. “I thought I heard your voice, Hannah. How's soccer going?”

She shrugged.

“Do you have any ideas for the science fair yet? I think you'd be really good at it.”

“Not exactly,” Hannah said. “But I do have a town history project I'm working on. Have you ever heard of the Spirit Tree?”

“Spirits in trees? Or ghost trees?”

“No, a real tree. The one in the park the high-school seniors carve mottos into.”

Waverly lifted her perfectly arched eyebrows. “You two talk about trees. I'm going to let Libby know when we're picking her up.” She texted furiously, thumbs flying. Hannah was sure she was writing something more than just the pick up time. Probably something not so nice about Hannah or Martin. Hannah turned her back on Waverly.

“Dr. Wiggins, would you look at something that was written on the tree?” Hannah pulled the project notebook out of her bag and flipped to the page with the strange symbols. “Is this an eye chart?”

He studied it. “Are you sure you copied this exactly?”

She nodded.

“Then it couldn't be an eye chart.” He pointed at the rows of letters. “See, all the Es are facing the same way, not in different directions.”

“Oh.” Hannah frowned and reached for the book, but Dr. Wiggins didn't give it back. Waverly was still jabbing at her phone with her thumbs.

“Where did you say this was written?” he asked.

“The Spirit Tree.” ‘

“Doesn't ring a bell.” Then he squinted and ticked off the letters, counting under his breath. A light came into his eyes. “Six Es! I remember something.” He walked over to the built-in bookcases and pulled out a black leatherette book stamped in silver. “My old high-school yearbook.” He flipped to the index, and then opened to a grainy black and white picture. “Here it is. Six Es: Environment, Ecology, and Energy Efficiency for an Enlightened Earth. It was a club.”

He pointed at a short kid in the front with glasses so big they must have needed windshield wipers. “That's me,” he said. The younger Dr. Wiggins stood next to a curly-haired girl with long earrings like chandeliers. The image was blurry, but something about her face seemed familiar.

“Who's that next to you?” Hannah asked.

“An old friend. Jenna.”

Hannah looked up in surprise, then back at the girl in the photo. She was the only kid in the group not smiling. “Jenna Blitzer? The same Jenna Blitzer who lives in that old cottage?”

“Sure is. She founded the Six Es. The only reason I joined was to be close to her, but she was serious about ecology. Everyone else thought it was just hippie talk, but Jenna was all about the science behind the environment.”

“Do you think she took part in the Spirit Tree ceremony?”

“I don't remember any of that—sounds like something the Spirit Club would have cooked up. Rah-rah stuff wasn't my thing. Wasn't Jenna's, either. The only way she'd get involved would be to stop it. Save the trees, save the whales.”

Hannah checked the date stamped in silver on the cover—1989. She felt electricity run through her body, like when the lightning struck the tree. That was the year of the oldest carving they had found.
Forever young, 9/15/89
. She flipped back to Jenna's stern face. She looked like a girl with a mission—but what kind of mission?

“Can I borrow this book, Dr. Wiggins? I might need it for my social studies project.” She hugged the book to her body.

“I don't know how it would help, but sure. I haven't looked at it in years, anyway,” he said, looking wistful. “Haven't thought much about high school, either. You and Waverly have a lot to look forward to.”

Hannah gasped. “The game! We're going to miss Nick being announced.”

“Let's get going, then.”

In the Vaughan family, everything stopped for football.

Hannah packed the notebook and yearbook away, thinking of the Spirit Tree, ancient but dying, the record of the town's triumphs and failures, and she knew that the game wouldn't be the most important thing that had happened that week. But she still wanted to see it.

“Wait a minute,” said Waverly, just as Hannah and Dr. Wiggins headed to the attached garage. She ran back upstairs and came out with a crinkled black scarf shot with silver threads.

“There,” she said, stretching from the back seat into the front to drape it around Hannah's neck. “You look so cute.”

“It's not cold,” said Hannah, plucking at the fabric selfconsciously but smiling back at her. Waverly gave no higher compliment.