Leland, in his prize bowler hat, is at the front door handing out tickets as the girls arrive. Silas organizes the clothes into piles and stacks the books on the dining-room table. I’ve arranged my bedroom as a change area. I set up Mom’s full-length mirror in the living room.
I’m serving Moroccan-style mint tea. I stuff loads of mint from our yard into tall glasses, add a tablespoon of sugar, pour in boiling water and stir. Silas yells that everything’s ready, and we head into the living room. I’ve strung Christmas lights for ambience and put out chairs.
The floor is covered in clothes. Finally, there’s a knock at the door. Olive thinks we’re going for a bike ride. I open the door and stand there grinning.
“What?” she asks.
Then everyone yells, “Surprise!” Olive looks into the living room and screams.
After the shock wears off, she sets down her helmet and examines the piles. She chooses a pair of skinny jeans and a striped T-shirt—a complete outfit. Then she chooses a book, Island of the Blue Dolphins. It is based on a true story of a twelve-year-old girl who survives alone on a California island for eighteen years. She builds a house of whale bones and sealskins, and she hunts birds at night. She even makes a skirt out of cormorant feathers.
My heart lurches when Olive chooses it. I want to read it again. Later, when Lizzie tries on my old jeans, I get the same feeling. I realize it isn’t about the things—I’ve read that book a hundred times and those jeans don’t fit me—it’s about saying goodbye.
Mom says that in giving, we get more. She doesn’t mean more stuff or money. I’ve asked. She means we feel more goodness. I get it. I watch my friends light up over their new clothes and books, and I feel good. I get some great scores too, which helps. I choose jean overalls with just the right bagginess and a T-shirt silk-screened with the image of a dragonfly breathing out fire. On my second round I take a cool wool kilt with silver clasp pin and a fantastic pair of slightly scuffed Oxford shoes.
We didn’t waste our afternoon in a mall! And we had tons of laughs, especially over a padded bra that each of us tried on—as earmuffs, knee protectors, bunny ears. As the party winds down, Melissa and Emma T. head outside to play. They quickly return, shocked and unhappy.
“What happened to your tree house?” Melissa asks.
“What happened to your tree?” Emma T. moans.
I tell everyone about honey fungus, and how the tree had to come down. They don’t cheer up much. So I tell them about the scions that we’ll graft onto a living tree in the spring. That helps, but they’re still glum.
So I tell them my idea. I talk about “food miles” and the great taste of local food. And I tell them about the patch of dirt at school that’s about to get “paved over” with grass.
“Why don’t we go out one evening and plant it with food?” I say.
Three girls yell, “Yeah!” Everyone else is thoughtful.
“Wouldn’t we get in huge trouble?” Afareen asks.
“For what? For planting food?” I ask.
“For going against the principal.”
“The principal goes against us every step of the way,” I say. “She doesn’t care about the Earth. But we don’t have time to not care. The ice caps are melting, and we’re losing plant species every day. The time is now.”
“We have to be able to look after it,” Deirdre points out. “To water it and weed it.”
“There’s a water tap right there,” I say. “My mom has an extra hose in the basement. We could schedule work parties.”
“We could invite people to help,” Deirdre muses. “Put up a sign, like, If you eat this food, please give back by doing twenty minutes of weeding.”
Everyone starts talking at once. Well, a few are quiet.
“No way,” Olive finally says, shaking her head. “No way, no how. I’m not doing it.”
“Come on, Olive,” I urge. “We’re making a point.”
In the end, half of GRRR! likes the idea, a few are undecided and four, including Olive, are against it.
“If you do it, you can’t claim it as a GRRR! action,” Olive says. “We aren’t all on board.”
“Fine,” I shout. I’m furious. I look out the window at the emptiness where the apple tree had been. I feel that a garden is owed to me. “Or maybe it means you aren’t part of GRRR!”
The room goes silent. A few girls start gathering their clothes and books. When everyone is gone, I stomp to my room and give the lovers’ telephone a yank. I mean to pull it out of Olive’s window and back to my house, but it snaps in two.
That evening Olive and I don’t talk. And we certainly don’t meet in the tree house. I snap at Mom at supper and ask to be excused before dessert.
“You’re tired,” Mom says soothingly.
I’m tired, all right. I’m tired of Olive always being so careful and good. Also, I think furiously, I organized the clothing exchange for her, and she never thanked me.