The Hop (3 page)

A TINY CURVE OF NEW MOON hung in the sky. Tad found Buuurk waiting under the leaves of the bleeding heart. As the last of the sun slipped below the edge of the earth, leaving only a dusky glow and the lights from the humanville on the hill, Tad watched all the toads gathering in the dewy grass. On First Night, they celebrated their own newness, although some of the old toads resting under the fern heads were very old.

Seer had finally awakened, and two hoppers were helping him settle just outside the entrance to Tumbledown. His eyes—like marbles that might fall out and roll away in the grass—seemed to rest on Tad and Buuurk. Earlier, when Tad had left his friends to go back and talk to Seer, he had found the old prophet in a deep, jerky sleep and had been afraid to disturb him.

Anora and Shyly were sprinkling dogwood petals in the customary circle just as if Rumbler wasn't out there waiting in the darkness.

“Do you think Anora is pretty?” Buuurk asked.

Anora had large bumps behind her eyes that weren't quite the same size, so Tad thought she was more
cute
than hop-toad gorgeous. But what really made her special, in his opinion, was the large cluster of warts on her back, each one ringed in dazzling white.

“I think Anora's really pretty,” Tad said.

“I'm going to invite her to sit by me on the bank tonight when we sing.”

“Whoa!” Tad said. Usually it took a few sunsets before the girl and boy hoppers sat together on the bank.

“No time to waste,” Buuurk said.

“I know. I just—” He just wished a pretty hopper would sit by him too.

“This year you stick by me,” Buuurk said, reading his mind. “If any crawdads come around, I'll take care of them.”

Tad tried to puff out his singing sac and look like he didn't know what Buuurk was talking about. But last year a crawdad had chased Tad off the bank. And he'd had to watch the singing from the tall grass. Seer had come by and talked about how a coward died a thousand deaths, but a brave toad died but one. Tad hoped he could stare down the crawdads this year. He was already worn out from winter's sleep and didn't want another lecture.

Seer's blind eyes turned to the sounds. He knew what was going on even though he couldn't see, and he was glad the toads were enjoying life while they could.

Seer remembered being young and brave once. And memory was a comfort, though it was a burden too. Sometimes Seer felt like just one big memory. An old, barely-able-to-hop memory box of all that had ever been.

He remembered singing on the pond bank as a young hopper until he woke up the sun. He remembered feasting on bundle-of-yummy until his belly nearly burst. He remembered winning at ladybug shells. In many ways he had been a lucky toad.

But he knew things from before there was anything. He knew about Mother Earth and Father Pond finding each other in the darkness. And he knew that Toadville-by-Tumbledown might soon not even be a memory because there would be nobody to remember it. The toads would be dead.

In his dream visions, Seer saw many things. Some things were connected and clear. He dreamed of the past and how the toads came to be. He dreamed of the future and how things would be. In his second winter's sleep, he had dreamed the great flood of Tumbledown, for example, but nobody had listened to him that time because he was young and not trusted as a Seer. Many newbies had died when the halls collapsed.

But sometimes the dreams were like moonlight broken by swaying tree branches. He dreamed shapes and faces that shifted in the darkness. Those he had to wrestle to make them give up their meaning. Some of the shapes and faces just seemed puzzling. Others seemed terrifying.

He was pretty sure the last toad to straggle into the Hall of Young Hoppers this morning, the one they called Tad, had dreamed during his winter sleep. When Seer had put his hands on Tad's head to give him the blessing, he'd felt a jewel of dreaming, hot and fiery, just starting to grow under the skin.

Poor young hopper. Dreaming was hard on a body. After Seer began telling the other toads his dreams, the sight had gradually left his eyes. Yet the more blind he became, the more he saw, in a way. And that's when the toads in Toadville-by-Tumbledown had begun calling him Seer.

The young hopper with the jewel beginning to grow in his head didn't seem to amount to much. Small. Soft voice. Terrified of crawdads. Often late. Had Mother Earth and Father Pond really chosen him, of all toads?

A while later, when everybody had gathered inside the circle of dogwood blossoms, the old toads carried out the delicious-smelling night-smacky-goo. The stuffed slug (because that's what night-smacky-goo was—slug insides creamed with honeysuckle and stuffed back in the slug skin) glistened and wobbled when it was set down in front of Tad.

He took a big serving and forgot everything except the joy of being home. The new moon, because it was only a wisp, made the image of the Toad-in-the-Moon look more like a tadpole.

A glistening blue beetle, so pale and bright it might have been a jewel, was put at Seer's place. It had a pink petal in its mouth, and its antennae were bound with a twist of new clematis vine. The blue beetles, shy, lived in a piece of rotten wood that leaned over Tumbledown. There were only a few, so only Seer was allowed to eat them, and only at the great feasts.

When everybody was served and seated, and the stars were winking, the Head of Old Toads, a leader chosen each spring for his strong voice and many years of life, puffed out his wrinkled throat and asked for a moment of remembering.

“Remember the things that we have eaten.…” he began.

Tad thought of the first stinkbug and the luscious night crawler he had eaten on his way back to Tumbledown and how much perkier they had made him feel.

“Remember the things that have eaten us.…” the Head went on.

Tad remembered the red-tailed hawks and crows, the hognose snakes and racers who often ate the inhabitants of Toadville-by-Tumbledown, taking them up into the Great Cycle of life.

“And remember those who have been eaten.” The Head named the newbies, hoppers, and old toads who had been eaten since the last First Night Feast.

Tad remembered one of the young hoppers he'd hopped with last year—Bump was his name—who had been eaten by a snake near the mulch pile. Perhaps that snake had died and his body returned to the earth. Perhaps a big hosta had taken nourishment from that earth. Perhaps the very tray of night-smacky-goo inches from Tad's hand was made of a slug who had chewed that hosta. Tad liked knowing that every living thing was part of the great circle.

He was just beginning to feel supremely toadly and content when the Head's voice went all thready and he said something that Tad didn't hear. Then the Head croaked his throat and said it again more loudly. “And remember those who may be
covered
.”

The very dome of the night sky shivered, and a few stars fell. Tad felt as if he had been stabbed with an icicle. That had never been part of the Ritual of Remembering before.

A tremor passed through the toads. The darkness suddenly seemed colder than night. It felt like true, eternal death.

Somebody murmured, “Deliver us from Rumbler,” and it echoed through the gathering until it finally died out in fretful silence.

After a while, the youngest hoppers who had been newbies just last year, began to sing, their voices high and sweet,
breeep, breeep, breeep,
and the stars were calm again.

Buuurk nudged Tad and said, “Eat, toad. No reason not to keep up our strength.”

TAYLOR'S DAD WIPED HIS MOUTH, crumpled his napkin, and stood up.

“I'll be late,” he told Taylor's mother. “Midnight, probably. See
you
tomorrow, Peggy Sue,” he said, pushing Taylor's nose like it was a button.

Taylor licked the salsa and cheese off her fingers and looked away, embarrassed. That's what he'd wanted to name her. Peggy Sue, after an old song by someone called Buddy Holly. Her dad loved old rock-and-roll music and, on the weekends, drummed in a retro band. And her mother sang in it. But her mother had nixed Peggy Sue. She said people didn't give children two names anymore, and Taylor was a nice non-gender-specific name.

As her dad disappeared through the door, Taylor had a shocking thought. Was it possible he didn't even know her real name?

Her mom chewed quickly, taking little sips of water. Her eyes signaled to Taylor that this was no time for conversation. The goal was to eat and get going.

But Taylor charged ahead anyway. “You're a lawyer, Mom. Can people just go around filling in ponds and mowing down flowers when they're not
their
flowers?” She had to ask. Because what if some weird fact could change things?

Her mother made wait-until-I-finish-chewing motions with one hand and dabbed her mouth with the other.

Finally, she spoke. “Not without the owner's permission. Who owns the pond and the flowers?”

“Eve owns the flowers, and I don't know who owns the pond.”

Her mother gave Taylor an
oh, that
look. “It really is too bad, honey. But I'm afraid the new owners can do whatever they want.” She did some texting at the same time she signaled for the bill and found her charge card.

“But it's not
fair.
It's supposed to be ours forever.”

Her mother stood up and slung her purse over her shoulder. She was headed for the door into the mall, checking her voice mail, before Taylor even finished wiping her mouth. Taylor grabbed her book bag. “You're not listening,” she cried, trotting to catch up.

Her mother turned with her best well-I-am-giving-you-my-full-attention-now look. “I'm listening, sweetie. I just can't do anything about it. Change happens. Real estate is booming out by Eve's place. She could probably sell her house for a small fortune if she wanted to.”

Taylor gasped and stood riveted until she was almost run over by a baby stroller. “Eve would
never
sell her place,” Taylor said, running to catch up with her mother. It was
home.
The center of the universe. The place where Taylor's heart lived.

“Sweetie, I grew up there too. And I'd hate to see her sell it. But it's a lot for her to handle. Especially now with everything else.…” She shrugged and looked at her vibrating phone.

Taylor wanted to yank the phone out of her mother's hand and throw it into the fountain at the foot of the escalators. Where would she go
if her grandmother didn't live there? Who would she be?

“I wish things were different,” her mom said, putting the phone back in her pocket.

A little kid walked in front of them with a shiny helium balloon tied to his wrist.

“Balloons,” Taylor said, remembering. “I need to get a present for Kia's birthday party Saturday.” Not that she was in the mood to shop, but a friend was a friend.

Kia liked stamping, and had about a million stamps, but there was a craft store upstairs that had maybe two or three million.

Taylor's mom glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”

“But I can't look at all the stamps and pick anything in ten minutes!”

Her mom tugged her out of the flow. “Taylor, I wish I could just hang out at the mall, but I can't tonight. I've got to leave the office at noon tomorrow to take Eve to the treatment center.” Her mother's voice was pinched. “And I'm writing a brief that has to be on a judge's desk before then. So here's the deal: we can run up to the stamp shop for ten minutes—” She broke off to glance at her watch. “Okay, fifteen. But no more.
Or
we can stop at the concierge desk and buy Kia a nice gift card. Then she can choose her stamps herself.”

A or B. How about
none of the above
?

“Maybe Eve could bring me here after school.”

Taylor's mom sighed. “This is Wednesday. The party is Saturday. Eve has her first chemo tomorrow. She's not going to feel like it.”

Taylor could tell her mother's patience had expired. “Fine. A gift card.”

Five minutes later, on the way to the car, her mother stopped to dig through her purse for her keys. “So will you be okay staying by yourself tomorrow after school?” she asked. “I'll try to be home by six or seven.”

Was that what her dad had meant by
we'll work it
out
?
What would she do there all by herself?

Her mother handed her a key. “I had this made for you today. You'll be responsible and not lose it, right?”

Taylor put it in her pocket, not meeting her mother's eyes. Was absolutely
everything
going to change?