In Milton’s mind, this declaration should have been met with three cheers and a standing ovation. It had been (in his opinion) extremely inspirational.
Gabe’s reaction was satisfactory. He shouted, “Aye, aye, captain, my captain!” and did a celebratory somersault through the mud.
But Rafi only said, “I hope so, Sea Hawk,” and Fig just gave a weary nod. When she rose to her feet, she moved like she was still weighed down by her now-lost-at-sea backpack.
Milton tried not to take it personally. He shouldered his pack and as they set out, he led the way.
Well, he led the way for about five minutes. He had zero idea where they were, and his whole body felt like it was filled with slime instead of bones and muscles, so he contented himself with bringing up the rear on the much subdued and very damp trek.
The sun was beginning to set when, at long last, they reached the wall of Truth-Will-Out Vine. Fig led them to the place that she and Milton had come through yesterday morning (how could it only be yesterday morning?). Even though everyone was beyond exhausted and even though it was not the triumphal return they had imagined, the thought of being almost home was as sweet as the scent of a SunBurst Blossom.
Rafi was leading the pack, and he only hesitated for a moment before stepping up to the shining green vines and wrapping a strand around one hand.
“I didn’t want to move to this island,” he said, “but now I’m kind of glad we did.”
Just like last time, the hanging vines separated, pulling back to allow the four jungle explorers to move forward.
Gabe danced up next, a gap-toothed grin on his face. “I eat my boogers,” he confided cheerfully as he threw his arms around the vines. “All of them. Always. Because they’re delicious.”
“Seriously, Gabe?” Fig said, and Milton was glad to see a tiny smile on her face again.
“That must be why the lemallabies liked you so much,” Rafi said with a sigh. “You’re basically one of them.”
The vines seemed satisfied with Gabe’s revelation. They parted again, and the four strode farther into the wall of vegetation.
When they reached the next layer, everyone paused. Milton knew they needed one more secret to get through, and he knew he should speak up because Fig probably wasn’t in the mood to share.
But he didn’t. As brave as he’d been on the riverbank, he was feeling decidedly less so now as he thought of everything his friends didn’t know, everything he needed to tell them.
He felt both very relieved and very guilty when Fig moved forward. She twirled a green tendril in each hand. “For a while, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted friends again,” she said, “but now I know that I just needed to find the right ones.”
She smiled at Gabe, then at Rafi, and finally at Milton. Milton beamed back at her, and the vines rustled and drew aside and the friendly leaves waved and the little flowers opened, tiny bursts of white, like stars coming out in the evening sky.
Then Milton saw that ahead of them were more vines.
Inside, his stomach was shriveling like a Menu-You Bush fruit in the sun. A teeny-tiny part of him whispered Fig’s words: What’s the point of friends who only stick with you when you’re happy and doing everything right? Maybe she would stick with him, even though he’d done a lot of things wrong.
But another part of him was 99.99 percent sure that he was about to be flung back into Bird Brain territory.
Either way, the time had come to tell this truth. His friends had reached out their hands, and it was time for him to reach back, come what may.
“I have some very shocking news to reveal,” he announced, his gaze fixed on the vines and only the vines. “And I hope we can still be friends after I share it.” He took a long, shuddering breath. “I am not actually employed by the Triple F. And my name isn’t really Sea Hawk. It’s Milton.” He lifted his chin and declared, “My name is Milton P. Greene.”
Behind Milton P. Greene, there was silence. Then there came a pshaw.
He swung around to see Rafi shaking his head and smirking. Gabe was grinning too, although he looked mostly confused. Milton didn’t know what kind of face Fig was making, because he was very intentionally not looking at her face. He wasn’t ready for her verdict yet.
“What’s so funny?” Milton demanded. “Aren’t you shocked? Aren’t you furious? I have revealed myself to be a liar. A charlatan. A fraud.”
“I knew it!” Rafi cried. “I knew you were way too young to be employed by—well, by anyone. Plus, your binoculars are neon green with little cartoon seagulls on them.”
“I didn’t know,” Gabe piped up. “I thought you were a pirate this whole time.”
Milton finally got up the nerve to meet Fig’s eyes. “Did you know, Fig?” he asked, wondering if this was the moment his Restart would finally end. Before she could answer, he rushed on: “I didn’t mean to lie! Well, I did mean to lie. It was very much on purpose, and I know that was wrong. But it’s just—it’s just that I had the absolute worst year. It was the Most Totally, Terribly, Horribly, Heinously Rotten Year of All Time, and I wanted—I wanted to be someone else for a while. And it worked out extremely well. Sea Hawk found the field guide and sang to the centopus and climbed the Enmity-Amity Tree and saved you and everything!”
Fig’s eyebrows were arched, but only a little. She put her arm around Milton’s shoulders.
“Sea Hawk didn’t do any of those things, you kook,” she said, tipping her forehead toward his. “You did. This was your adventure, Milton P. Greene.”
Inside, Milton was all ajumble, but that jumble didn’t feel quite like it used to. He was achy and tender. He was nauseous and happy. He was rotten and spectaculous. He was, somehow, everything at once.
“Perhaps you speak the truth, my good friend,” he said.