I had to wait until lunch at school the next day to discuss the tree-climbing situation with my best friend Sarah. During the week she lives with her dad and stepmom in a townhouse complex near Cedar Grove, but she spends weekends at her mom’s house in Surrey. Even though Surrey’s only an hour from Vancouver it feels a lot further because Sarah’s mom is really strict about Sarah’s phone and computer use.
As we were eating some disgusting thing the cafeteria cooks had tried to disguise as food, I told her all about the letter from the Neighborhood Council and how Tyler had told everyone that the new bylaw was my fault.
Sarah ran her tongue over her braces and then said, “It’s not your fault that you’re good at climbing trees.” That’s why Sarah is my best friend. She sees things the same way I do. And when I’m not sure about something, she makes it all seem clear.
“Do you think there’s anything I can do about it?” I asked her.
“I don’t know, Bree. It’s gonna be tough,” Sarah said thoughtfully.
“But I have to try, right?”
“Of course.” Sarah stuffed a spoonful of slop into her mouth before continuing. “Remember when my dad went to battle with our council over clotheslines?”
I nodded. How could I forget? It had been a big deal in Meadow Park, Sarah’s townhouse complex, for a long time.
“He made a presentation.”
“Presentation?”
“Yup. In front of the entire council. A PowerPoint presentation. He practiced on me ahead of time. I forget most of it because it, was so long and boring—all ‘environmental statistics’ and ‘technical details.’”
Sarah’s dad and stepmom were always trying to reduce their carbon footprint. A while ago, they got on a kick about hanging their clothes outside to avoid using the dryer. Problem was, there was a bylaw against clotheslines in their townhouse complex. And there still is a bylaw against clotheslines in Meadow Park because people who live close together don’t want to see each other’s underwear flapping around in the wind. Or something like that. Obviously, the presentation hadn’t done much good.
“I don’t know if I could do a presentation,” I said. “Not in front of the entire council. That’s like, what? Six or seven grown-ups?” The thought of it made me feel sick to my stomach. I pushed away the rest of my so-called lunch.
“So what are you gonna do then?” Sarah asked, digging into her chocolate pudding.
“Maybe I could just talk to the president of the council?” I said, thinking about Ethan’s mom, Ms. Matheson.
“Worth a try,” Sarah said as the bell rang. “Let me know how it goes.” She gathered her stuff and darted away to class.
I headed off to homeroom, happy to have a plan. I knew I had to do something about the bylaw, but I was a bit nervous. Talking to Ms. Matheson would certainly be easier than giving a presentation to the entire council. She was a mom, after all, and she worked hard to give Ethan a good life. Extra hard because there was no Mr. Matheson. Still, I was just a regular eleven-year-old and Ms. Matheson was a president. Even if she was only president of the Neighborhood Council, she was still a president.
I decided not to put it off. As soon as my homework was finished, I summoned up all my courage and knocked hesitantly on the Mathesons’ front door, Unit 49.
When Ethan answered, he was holding something against his elbow. It took me a moment to realize that it was one of those Magic Bags. According to the ads, they have some kind of grain inside that can be cooled in the freezer or warmed in the microwave. Relieves pain, helps you relax, takes away stress…blah, blah, blah. As soon as Ethan saw me, he tried to hide the bag behind his back. I made a mental note to ask him about it after I finished talking to his mom.
“Oh, hi, Ethan. Could I, uh, speak to your mom?” I stammered.
“Sure, Bree,” Ethan replied. “Do you wanna go out and play catch after?”
“Maybe,” I said, trying to look past Ethan into the house. I’d been here lots of times. I’d probably been inside every townhouse in Cedar Grove. The ones with kids anyway. But I’d never felt nervous about it. Until now.
Ethan gave me a funny look and then yelled up the stairs, “Mom!”
“Don’t yell at me, Ethan!” Ms. Matheson yelled back.
“Bree’s here and she wants to talk to you!” Ethan yelled again, louder this time.
“Who?”
“BREE!”
“Okay. I’ll be right down.”
Ms. Matheson clomped down the stairs, wearing her work clothes—a suit and uncomfortable-looking high-heeled shoes. Poor Ethan. Not only was his mom the president of the council, she was also the principal of the local high school.
“Hi, Brianna,” Ms. Matheson said. She didn’t look very welcoming, but she didn’t look like she would bite either. “What can I do for you?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, Ms. Matheson, it’s about the, um, ban on tree climbing?”
“Yes?” As she lowered her chin and narrowed her eyes, Ms. Matheson suddenly reminded me of our school principal, Mr. Lee. How she managed it, I don’t know. There could not be two people on earth that looked less alike than Ms. Matheson and Mr. Lee.
“I’d really like to talk to you about the, um, the tree-climbing bylaw,” I mumbled.
“Okay, Brianna,” Ms. Matheson replied with a sigh, “but I don’t have time right now. Why don’t you come and speak to the council? Our next meeting is on Tuesday night at seven thirty. I’ll set aside ten minutes to address your concerns.” And with that, Ms. Matheson turned and clomped back up the stairs.
I stood there in silence. An image of me standing in front of a huge crowd of grown-ups, giving a PowerPoint presentation full of statistics and technical details, flashed through my head. What had I gotten myself into?
Ethan’s voice brought me back to earth. “Can we play ball now, Bree?”
“What?” I looked at Ethan, who was still standing by the door. At some point, he must have dropped the Magic Bag. Now he was holding his ball glove and looking at me expectantly.
“Ball. Do you want to play ball?” Ethan said loudly.
“No baseball, Ethan!” Ms. Matheson yelled down the stairs again. “Your elbow hasn’t healed yet!”
“Elbow?” I looked at Ethan, my eyebrows raised.
“It’s no big deal, Bree,” Ethan said quickly. “Guess I gotta go.”
And before I could say another word, he shut the door in my face.