ulian woke up early the next morning to beat Popo to the Chronicle. He checked the main news section and the Bay Area section, but there was nothing about IPX or Big Tree Grove. Sunday’s paper had nothing either.

He called Danny at home.

“Do you think the story will run tomorrow?” he asked.

“Stop worrying about it,” said Danny. “I, personally, am trying to block the entire incident from my mind. That way, I won’t fail the lie–detector test.”

“Maybe somehow the e–mail was never sent.”

“Could be. Maybe there was some other level of security we didn’t get by. Or maybe it just didn’t make the news.”

“I’ll check again tomorrow.” Julian couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“Hey, look on the bright side! At least we’re not in jail.”

But Monday, there was nothing either, and by Tuesday, Julian had given up. When he got to the breakfast table, Popo was already in her regular spot, sipping her coffee and flipping through the paper. She’d set a place for him with a glass of orange juice and his favorite kind of bagel, sesame with cream cheese. Julian sat down sleepily.

“All’s quiet in the world,” she said, turning a page. “Oh, this is interesting. A story about IPX.”

Julian dropped his bagel so fast it skidded off the plate and onto the floor. Popo gave him a look, and he bent down and tossed it back onto his plate, while she lay the newspaper flat for him to read.

On page A8, near the bottom of the page, the headline read IPX TO HACKERS: NO CHANGE IN LOGGING POLICIES. Julian felt his heart start to sink.

Last Friday evening, unidentified hackers issued a fake press release purporting to signal a change in logging policies for the San Francisco—based IPX Investment Corp. Controversy over IPX’s plan to clear-cut a rare stand of old-growth redwood in Mendocino County seemed to be over when formal appeals by neighbors and environmental groups failed. Apparently, however, the environmental community has not lost interest. The fake press release, purportedly issuing from IPX headquarters, declared that IPX would preserve the stand of redwood permanently.

Skeptical reporters immediately contacted IPX spokeswoman Myrna Gonzalez, who stated that the document was a hoax. “Our proposed timber plan has been reviewed by all relevant state and local agencies,” she said in an interview yesterday morning. “It has their stamp of approval. It helps meet the enormous demand for valuable timber and complies with all applicable environmental laws.”

No suspects in the hoax have yet been identified, although Gonzalez suggested that radical ecoterrorism groups could be responsible.

Julian felt his insides turn hollow. He had failed. He had thought up the most brilliant scheme possible to convince IPX not to log Big Tree, and they hadn’t even come close. Nobody had been fooled for a minute.

Big Tree Grove was doomed. His dream of returning in triumph was shattered.

When Julian told Danny the terrible news, he wasn’t even that upset, just relieved that IPX had placed the blame on ecoterrorists.

Julian, on the other hand, felt like he was under a dark cloud. Why couldn’t something turn out right for a change? Some invisible mechanism seemed to keep him rooted in his own life, while Huckleberry Ranch receded farther and farther into the distance.

At journalism camp, Danny had moved on from press releases to restaurant reviews. Julian lay sprawled on Danny’s bed while Danny considered the most diplomatic way to critique a new Vietnamese café Popo had taken them to.

“How’s this?” Danny finished typing and read with a flourish, “‘Fried tofu on French bread, while not for everyone, has an East–meets–West appeal perfect for San Francisco.’”

“How about ‘Fried tofu on French bread, while not as horrible as it sounds, is pretty horrible,’” Julian suggested.

The computer beeped and Danny clicked on his e–mail. “Robin Hood’s back!”

Julian sat up to see the screen:

“Even Robin doesn’t suspect us,” Danny said with a sigh of relief.

“We should tell her it was us,” Julian said. “At least somebody would appreciate all our hard work.”

“Of course! What we need’s a written confession!” Danny turned away from the screen and glared at Julian. “You know, the police can confiscate your computer and find out everything you ever wrote. Even if you erase it.” He leaned back in his chair. “At least Robin hasn’t given up hope.”

“Danny, Operation Redwood is not going to happen.”

“Aww, don’t be such a pessimist. Operation Break–In was a long shot! It would have been a miracle if it worked!” Danny started typing:

Julian glanced at the e–mail and said, “Robin’s not going to change her father’s mind. You should have seen his face. He basically called me a liar. He called me that boy. He didn’t even say good–bye.”

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Danny agreed. “What if you did apologize? I mean, not that you did anything wrong, but maybe it would soften him up.”

“What am I going to say? ‘Sorry I lied to you. Please let me and my friend come back because we have this plan to do more things behind your back. That you definitely wouldn’t approve of. If you knew about them. Which you don’t.’”

“Jeez! You don’t have to say it like that! Don’t you remember when we had to write ‘the persuasive essay’? Mr. Orlovsky? ‘Poot your best foot forward’?”

“Forget it, Danny. Finish your review.”

“Julian! Two weeks ago you were a prisoner. You were at Quantum. You didn’t even have a phone. Now you’re with Popo, free as a bird.” Danny gave Julian a searching look. “Operation Redwood is going to happen. Have a little faith!”

The fog never seemed to lift now. The whole city was socked in, but out near the ocean, it was especially damp and windy. It was like living inside a giant cloud. In the mornings, Popo would tighten her bathrobe and turn up the heat. “I told your mom not to move out here,” she grumbled over breakfast. “I grew up in this neighborhood. It’s cold all summer long.”

“I like it by the ocean,” Julian said. “Especially with global warming. I think we’re better off here.”

“Maybe you’re right.” She looked at him fondly. “You know, I only have another week of vacation left,” she said, pouring them both another cup of tea. “Whatever happened to that plan you were telling me about? To go back to Huckleberry Ranch?”

“Nothing,” Julian said. “Robin’s dad was pretty angry. With the sheriff coming and everything. It’s not going to happen.”

She gave him a searching look, then said, “I’m afraid you’ll get bored just hanging around with me all day. Though I’m enjoying it so much, I’m starting to think I should retire early!”

“Mom said you’ll never retire,” Julian said. “She said you’ll work ’til you drop.”

Popo set her cup carefully in the saucer. “All my life, I’ve worked hard. There weren’t so many women journalists when I was starting out. Or Chinese reporters. You had to work hard.” Her eyes looked sad. “I made mistakes, maybe. When Cari was little . . .” She paused. “I can see things now I couldn’t see back then.”

Julian pulled out the comics section from the newspaper.

“You know, your mom just sent me an e–mail. She’ll be back before school starts. She can’t wait to see you.”

He looked over at her doubtfully.

“When you were a baby,” Popo said, “your mother carried you everywhere in a beautiful flowered sling. She sang to you all the time.” She stared into her cup. “It hasn’t been easy for her. Losing her father, and then Will. And she had you before she was really grown up herself.” Popo seemed absorbed in her tea leaves, then looked up and scrutinized Julian through her little round glasses. “She needed some time on her own. But you know she loves you more than anything. And she’s not the only one.”

Then she laughed and started to clear the dishes. “What a sentimental old lady I’m becoming!” she said. “Soon I’ll be crying at the commercials on TV!”