THAT EVENING we were gathered in my living room, glued to the television. Britt, Dad, Kevin, a very happy Ashley, Marc (who couldn’t stop grinning), me, and a boatload of popcorn. I was tucked into Kevin’s arms, Ashley into Marc’s, and Britt into Dad’s. As always, Ashley had her feet in my lap.
“The middle toe,” Ashley sighed. “Do that one. Do it harder.”
“Ashley!” I told her, faking a frown. “I thought that’s why you got back together with Marc. So I could retire from chief foot rubber. Marc the Mountain, you’re dropping the ball here. You got to step it up!”
“No way!” Ashley said. “No one does it better than you! That’s why you’ll always be my best friend. My tootsies would shrivel up and wither away without that magic touch of yours. Anyway, Marc needs to pay attention to more important things.” Ashley snuggled closer to him and kissed his neck.
“Cover your eyes, Dad,” Britt said, putting her hands over Dad’s face. “These teenagers and their hormones. It’s like a minefield out there. Anything can happen.”
“How old are you again?” Dad asked Britt.
“Twelve going on twenty,” Kevin said. “But not a tween much longer—right, Britt? Don’t you turn thirteen the same week Cyndie hits the sweet one-six?”
Dad let out a long sigh. “Two teens,” he said. “What am I going to do then? How am I going to survive?”
“No worries!” Kevin said. “I’ll be here to keep Cyndie in line.”
“Yeah, right!” Ashley said, whacking him with a pillow. “Without us girls to watch over the two of you slackers, the place would go to holy hell!”
“You mean the three of them,” Britt said. “Don’t leave out poor old Dad. He may be old but he’s still just a clueless guy.”
“Shhh!” I shushed. “We’re on!”
It was 6:00. Time for the local news.
If the camera crew hadn’t been sympathetic to the Children’s Crusade before the ambush they certainly were after. I got that they were supposed to be unbiased, present the news as it happened, and keep their own feelings in check. But the fact that the newswoman’s enormously high mountain of a hairdo had been drenched flat by a water bomb had most certainly helped our cause.
“Look!” Britt yelled. “There I am!”
Sure enough, the segment opened with Britt and the Twirling Tweens leading the Crusade, twirling their batons and grinning away.
“I’m famous!” Britt screamed. “Do you see me? I’m on TV! I’m famous!”
“Shhh!” I told her.
There I was, addressing the crowd, sounding reasonably intelligent. The way the camera framed it, you couldn’t tell whether there were two hundred kids or two thousand. It was awesome.
There was Marc, flinging down his miner’s helmet, popping his shovel, and strutting his stuff.
“I still cannot believe you did that!” Ashley sighed, snuggling even closer to him. “And I am so happy you did!”
There was the march, zooming in on the cutest little ones waving their polar bears. Zooming out on the God Squad with their What Would Jesus Do? signs.
There was the ambush, with a water bomb exploding in the middle of the camera lens. Boom!
There was KABOOM duct taping the Save Mount Tom petitions to the door of the American Coal Company office.
There was a brief clip of a mountaintop removal site in another part of West Virginia, a bombed-out, moonscaped crater of total devastation. Then there was a scene from afar of our mountain: beautiful, green, glowing, sacred Mount Tom.
“Whether you agree with them or not,” concluded the newscaster with her mountaintop hair flattened, water still dripping down her collar, “these kids have certainly shown they’re out to make a difference.”
End of story.
We all applauded. Kevin hugged me and fist-bumped Marc. Britt was bouncing up and down on the couch and couldn’t stop screaming.
“I’m famous! Did you see me? I was on TV! I’m famous!”