Staring up at one of the square, pockmarked trunks, Milton wondered how long it had taken the Enmity-Amity Trees to develop their survival adaptation of shooting poison thorns at contentious, would-be climbers. He knew that explorers and pirates and settlers and armies had been trying to make the island their own for many, many years. Had some of them wanted to hurt the lemallabies perhaps? Had they planned to harvest all the SunBurst Blossoms? Had they wanted to chop down the trees?
Whatever the Enmity-Amity Trees had been through, it was clear that they, like the Truth-Will-Out Vines, had figured out a way to protect themselves. The vines had adapted to detect lies and open only for truth-tellers. These trees had adapted to detect hostility and allow only friends to ascend.
Four friends, to be exact. If Rafi and Gabe hadn’t followed them, Milton realized, he and Fig would have had to find some random Lone Island fauna to assist them like Dr. Paradis wrote about in the field guide. What a task that would have been!
… or maybe it would have been a hundred times easier.
A few Restarts would really come in handy about now.
“Listen, the guide says that we all have to touch the tree at the same time,” he said, turning from the trees to his expedition mates, “one on each side of the trunk. If there’s only amity between us, then the branches will pop out, and we can climb up.”
“But if there’s enmity,” Fig said, “then this tree’s super–sixth sense is going to know.” She gazed pointedly at Rafi.
Rafi immediately averted his eyes. “We don’t have to worry about me and Gabe,” he said. “We’re pretty good friends, even though he’s kind of nuts.”
“We’re not friends!” yelled Gabe, who was scaling a big boulder next to them.
Rafi stared up at his brother. “What do you mean? Of course we are!”
“No, we’re not!” Gabe insisted, his face fierce. Then, grinning, he launched himself off the rock and onto his brother. “We’re best friends!” he screeched.
Rafi looked a little embarrassed, and then even more embarrassed when Gabe gave him a smooch on the top of his curly head, but he still smiled.
“That takes care of you two, then,” Milton said. “And Fig and me are friends. Right, Fig? We are, aren’t we?”
“You know we are, Sea Hawk,” Fig replied.
Milton beamed at her. “I do indeed.”
Milton’s happiness only lasted for a moment though. He and Fig were amicable, and Gabe and Rafi were, but now Rafi and Fig were staring anywhere but at each other, and, truth be told, he wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to hash things out with Rafi either. Gabe was just flinging sticks at the Enmity-Amity Trees and smiling expectantly at everyone.
Uncle Evan had said Dr. Paradis wanted him to go out to meet the island. Well, Milton was pretty sure that he, Fig, Rafi, and Gabe had done that. They had spoken their truths, and the vine, in turn, had shown them the true island. But it seemed to Milton that they had done quite a lot of coming out to meet one another too. They had hiked and sung and paddled and talked and watched the stars together.
Now it was time to speak truths again. If they didn’t finish working out their enmity, they were going to be jabbed in the spleen.
Milton didn’t want to be jabbed in the spleen. He wanted to see what was at the top of the Enmity-Amity Trees. He wanted to find the treasure. He wanted to save the island.
So he took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses, fluffed his peacock feather, and said, “Rafi, I believe there is some enmity between us. You made fruit fall on my favorite hat, you filched the field guide, and you called me names. You almost called me a name today, in fact.”
Before Milton had even finished speaking, Rafi opened his mouth, as if he was ready to deny everything. Then he whipped around as one of the Enmity-Amity Trees made a decidedly sinister FWING!
Triggered by Gabe’s stick throwing, a few holes had opened and foot-long, razor-sharp, green-tipped thorns had shot out.
They were really, really, really scary-looking.
“I know I did those things,” Rafi said, eyeing the thorns. “And I know”—he turned his eyes to Milton now—“I know I wasn’t exactly friendly when you first got here. I think maybe all that Triple F nature survey stuff made me feel like I had to, I don’t know, prove that you weren’t smarter than me. Anyway, I’m sorry.”
Milton blinked his bespectacled eyes in surprise. “That is most unexpected,” he said. “Prove something to me? You’re the one with the tree ship and entomologist parents. And I’m—I’m not—” He paused. “What I mean to say is I accept your apology, and I’m sorry if I appeared to be a braggart. My intention was to befriend you.”
The thought he’d had at the vines came back to him—maybe this was the time to tell everyone the truth about himself—but his stomach recoiled at the thought and he was relieved when Gabe, who was now pelting the trees with rocks, yelled, “I like you, Sea Hawk! You have a really nice hat!”
“Thank you, Gabe,” Milton said. “That means a great deal to me. And I am very impressed with your WordSmithing skills.”
“I like you too, Fig!” Gabe continued. “You might even know more than me.”
Fig had been leaning against the boulder, watching Milton and Rafi with that jumbly expression she’d been wearing lately. “You’re totally kooky,” she said, “but I like you too, Gabe.”
Rafi was eyeing Fig warily now. “Remember how I apologized to you yesterday?”
Fig’s eyebrows went from jumbly to Maximum Arch Capacity in an instant. She shook her head, her somewhat bedraggled buns bobbing back and forth. “I do not remember that at all,” she said.
“Yes, I did!” Rafi cried. “Last night. I said, I’m sorry. You all heard me, right?”
“That was a very unspecific apology,” Milton said. “I don’t think it counts.”
“Me neither,” Fig said, folding her arms.
“Me three-ther!” Gabe shouted, chucking a pine cone the size of a watermelon.
FWING! went the Enmity-Amity Tree.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Rafi said, holding up his hands. “I meant it last night, so I can say it again. Fig, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been mean and stupid. But maybe we can be friends?”
As Milton watched Rafi and Fig facing each other, he thought of Fig’s own words: Everyone makes mistakes, don’t they? and he thought about how he’d hidden in video games and how Fig had hidden in books. Maybe Rafi had been hiding in prickliness and fruit throwing.
Fig didn’t reply for a few seconds, and Milton was sure she’d been listening to her own words of wisdom when she finally nodded and said, “I accept your apology, Rafi. And I’m sorry for my part too.”
“Does that mean there’s amity between us?” Rafi asked uncertainly.
“I think so. On a temporary basis,” Fig said, with the beginnings of a smile. “Let’s hope the tree agrees.”
They approached one of the great, holey, sky-scraping trees (Milton tiptoed because he didn’t want to trip and, you know, kill everyone). They each took a side of the square trunk. Milton tried to find a hole-free space to put his hand, but there wasn’t one.
If this didn’t work, they would all be dead.
Some adventure!
“On the count of three,” Fig said. Hands reached out. “One. Two. Three!”
Everyone pressed their palms to the tree trunk. Milton squeezed his eyes shut and let out a high-pitched “Eeeee!” He heard the holes click open—
And something came popping out, pushing his hand away.
But it wasn’t a sharp something. Milton was intact and ungored. He cracked his eyelid (a tiny bit at first, in case there was a thorn waiting to de-eyeball him).
The Enmity-Amity Tree was covered not in thorns but in branches—hundreds of small but sturdy-looking branches up and down every side of its long trunk. Each one had five twigs sticking out of its end, like miniature wooden hands.
“Onward!” Milton yelled in victory (and serious relief). “Well, upward, actually.”
It was time to talk with Little SmooshieFace.