Nature Girl (8 page)

It’s time for bed.

I carefully fold up the drawing and put it in my backpack. Then I put my backpack on the platform so it can
be a pillow. Arp jumps up to give it one last sniff. Then he sighs and plops down in the middle of my bed.

“Arp! Where am I supposed to sleep?”

He doesn’t make any suggestions.

I curl myself around him so he doesn’t have to move. I put my head on my backpack. And do you know what I see when I look over at the post that holds up the roof in the opposite corner?

A clear plastic grocery store bag dangles by its handles from a nail just a little below the ceiling. And even though it’s seriously getting dark now, through the bag I can just barely make out the letters O R E O S.

Oh, Oreos, dear Double Stuf Oreos. The dark chocolate cookie, the creamy white double fluff. Oh, Oreos, dear Double Stuf Oreos, now I’m truly saved.

I’m so tired, I don’t get them right away. I fall asleep with them floating up there above me like a beautiful dream.

Do you think I sleep peacefully the rest of the night?

Boy, are you wrong.

Lots of things keep waking me up. In the first place, I’m not lying on a thick mattress that’s covered with a soft purple flannel sheet. In fact, I’m lying on the COMPLETE OPPOSITE of that. An anti-bed. There’s nothing harder than wood and nothing scratchier than pine needles. Even the rain poncho that seemed like such a good idea before is sticky and useless. So you can forget all about being comfortable.

Still, I’m so totally exhausted from all my hiking that I shouldn’t care that I’m on an anti-bed. But every time I shut my eyes, I hear a whiny buzzing sound that means a million mosquitoes are coming to attack. I know you think, How can that be? She put on lots of insect repellent. That’s right, I did. Only maybe next time I hike the
Appalachian Trail, Mom won’t try to be so environmentally correct and will give me some spray that actually kills.

After the mosquitoes move on because there isn’t any blood left in me to suck, Arp starts having doggy dreams. The rabbits are just in his head, but his little legs are running for real.

Just as I’m about to push him off the anti-bed, I hear this
whooo-whooo
sound. I think it’s probably an owl, since going
whooo-whooo
is what owls are famous for. However, I don’t want to take any chances. Believe me, in the dark Woods, I feel a whole lot better keeping my arm around my Loyal Dog, even if he hasn’t had much practice fighting wild animals.

So I don’t sleep. That’s kind of a problem, because as you know, the worst thing about not sleeping isn’t being tired. The worst thing is the worrying.

I’m not worrying about starvation. Those yummy Double Stuf Oreos are still hanging from the roof. I’m not worrying about how much Mom is worrying about me. She doesn’t even know I’m gone. She thinks I’m sleeping in a cider mill. (Which proves how little she cares about me!) I’m not even worrying about Alison that much. She’s got doctors and nurses and Mrs. T. and Lucy all taking care of her. Everybody always says she’s got the
good
kind of cancer, so she’s going to be fine. Her hair will grow back.

But I am worrying a little about Lucy being mad at me. Lucy hardly ever gets mad, so I don’t have much experience with that. And then as I lie there in the dark
Woods on my anti-bed, I remember another time when Lucy and I had a fight.

It was last November, right after the Halloween when we wore different kinds of costumes for the first time ever and Patricia Palombo made Lucy walk with her. I wanted Lucy to come over after school. In fifth grade, we spent almost every afternoon together. But once middle school started, Lucy said she was too busy. I kind of understood that. We did have more homework. And since her mom was tired all the time, Lucy had to do lots of chores like she was a farm girl or something. I guess I should tell you that Lucy’s parents are divorced and her dad lives in a foreign country so he is never around. Anyway, I asked her and asked her until finally she came home with me after school.

We did our homework. We ate a snack. And then we just sat there.

“What do you want to do?” I said.

“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”

I didn’t understand. Lucy and I NEVER had trouble figuring out how to have fun. We always just had fun. I hoped it wasn’t because we were sixth graders. “Do you think we’re so old that we can’t have fun anymore?”

Lucy sighed.

Then I thought, Oh no, we ARE old. Lucy was just sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.

Then suddenly she sat straight up. Her eyes flashed
like the good old Lucy. She said, “I know what to do! I can be Joan of Arc!”

When we were younger, we always used to act out stories. Once we got to middle school, I figured we were too old for make-believe. But I was so relieved that we were going to DO something that I said, “Great.”

Lucy had been reading this book about Joan of Arc, so she got to be Joan because she knew all about it. She said I could be the King of France. I agreed, since I didn’t have a clue about who he was. But then she started explaining how he was a big crybaby. And the whole point of the story was that I had to be a total loser so she could save me.

I didn’t like that. In the past, we had been equal partners in the adventures. So I said, “Maybe I could be somebody else and we could save the King together?”

“No. It’s really important that
I
be the one who does the saving.”

She was so determined that I said, “Okay.”

But being a whining loser was boring. So when she acted out how those dead saints told her to save me, I said, “If you hear voices, maybe you should go see a shrink.”

Then she said, “Watch it or I won’t save you.”

“I don’t need to be saved,” I said.

“Yes you do. I have to practice.”

Of course, NOW I know why she said that. NOW I know why she thought she needed to practice saving people. But back then, all I knew was that I didn’t like
how she was talking to me, so I said, “Can’t we play something without any whining losers?”

Then she said, “You shouldn’t complain about my idea since you never have any ideas AT ALL!”

So I shut up. I clenched my teeth so tight they started to grow together. I squeezed them even tighter because my lips were wobbling. There was a little leaking from somewhere near my eyeballs, so I squeezed my eyelids shut too. But I couldn’t do anything about my ears.

By the way, someone should redesign people’s ears because there’s no way to shut them. I don’t think I could ever SEE anything that was as awful as HEARING Lucy say I never had any ideas at all.

Then it got worse, because Lucy said, “Now you’re getting upset.”

Well, wouldn’t you get upset if your best friend said horrible things about you?

But Lucy wasn’t sympathetic. Lucy, who was usually the nicest, most caring best friend in the whole world, said, “You see? You are just as whiny as the King of France. Only I can’t worry about saving you. I can’t save everybody!”

“I didn’t ASK you to save me. I didn’t WANT you to save me. That was my whole point. But you weren’t listening to me. You’re just being SELFISH!”

She looked at me like I hit her. Then she grabbed her books and went home.

The next morning, I was still mad. By lunch, I was ready
to forgive her. But she sat next to Patricia Palombo instead of me. So I got mad at her again and didn’t even wait for her after school. And so it went. For a hundred years.

Two days later, Mom finally noticed how upset I was. She tried to make me feel better. But obviously she hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t five years old anymore. Having a snuggle and tickling me with the tail of my orange tiger did NOT help at all. I didn’t even feel like drawing one of The Best of All Possible Worlds. Those were pictures we made of places we wanted to be. But I didn’t want to pretend anything with her. I wanted my best friend. So Mom suggested I call Lucy.

Only that was the problem. “I CAN’T call Lucy!” I yelled at Mom.

Then Mom started her speech about HORMONES and EMOTIONS and how easy it is for girls my age to get overwhelmed by their feelings. As if being my age was a crime or something.

I went in my room and slammed the door.

I heard Mom call Lucy’s mom. They had a long conversation. Then Mom hung up and I didn’t hear anything for a while.

Finally Mom knocked on my door and came in. She sat down on my bed like we were going to have one of those talks. I was really worried that Mom was going to yell at me for calling Lucy selfish. But she didn’t. She gave me a big hug. And then she said Alison had cancer.
Lucy didn’t want to talk about it, but Alison wanted me to know so I would understand what was going on.

I guess I nodded like I understood because I didn’t want to look stupid. Only I should have asked Mom questions, because I didn’t understand.

I still don’t. To tell you the truth, cancer totally confuses me. After all, Ginia’s birth sign is Cancer the crab (which is totally appropriate). Back before all this happened, Lucy and I laughed about that every time we read Ginia’s horoscope in the
Daily News
. What’s going to happen to the Crab today? we would say. Obviously Alison didn’t have that astrology kind of cancer. But even the cancer sickness was different for whoever had it. When Grandpa had cancer, everybody made jokes like, Don’t sit on Grandpa’s lap because it’s radioactive. No one ever explained where the cancer was. They said I was too young to know about stuff like that. For a change, I was actually glad to be too young, because I didn’t want to know about it. It seemed so totally gross. After a while Grandpa got better and I could sit on his lap again. So I figured that would happen to Alison. Still, I knew Lucy had to be worried.

The next day, I tried to give Lucy a hug. But she said, “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Then I didn’t know how to feel. Because I did feel sorry for her. It must be awful to have your mom have cancer. Even if her lap wasn’t radioactive, there were
probably lots of reasons you couldn’t sit on it. Like once you’re in middle school, you’re not supposed to need to do that anymore.

Then Lucy said, “Did you do the math?”

And I nodded.

After that, we both pretended like nothing had happened. Like we had never argued. Which seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Only while I’m lying here on the anti-bed, I remember that I never really told Lucy I was sorry for calling her selfish.

So that means that maybe Lucy never forgave me for that either.

The dark is a misty gray now. I guess the sun’s getting ready to come up. I’m hoping that it’ll be easier to sleep when it’s daylight.

Then I hear a noise I haven’t ever heard before.

Outside the shelter, something is snuffling and rustling in the dead leaves.

It’s probably Arp. Sure, my good old Loyal Dog must have gone outside to pee. The reason the noise is so much bigger than a little dog is because all noises sound bigger when you’re lying by yourself in a shelter with only two walls to keep out what’s in the Woods.

Then I hear a little growl right by my feet.

It’s Arp, getting all tense and bristly. So he isn’t the one outside. And obviously I’m not imagining the sounds, because he hears them too.

Arp barks. I grab him and hold his mouth shut. I hope
if we’re really quiet, whatever is snuffling and rustling will just snuffle and rustle right past us.

The sound gets closer and closer until it’s a few yards away from the walls. My heart jumps up and down like a person on a trampoline.

There are cracks between the boards. Some are big enough for me to put my finger through. I could lean over and peek at whatever is snuffling and rustling. Do I want to see what’s going to eat me? Are you the kind of person who watches the needle get closer and closer when the doctor gives you a shot? Or are you the kind who covers your eyes because what’s the point of looking when it’s going to happen NO MATTER WHAT?

Well, I don’t look. What can I say? I’m a coward. I pull the poncho over my head and scrunch up in a ball with my arms locked around Arp and my knees.

The rustling noise gets closer and closer.

Then something knocks against the side of the shelter with a huge THUMP!

The thump isn’t a bump, like an accidental excuse-me bump. The thump has claws that scratch along the wall.

What can it possibly be?

But I still don’t peek. I hope that if I don’t look at it, then it won’t look at me. I know, I know, that’s an incredibly stupid hope. But basically that’s all the hoping I have left. And anyway, if I see the thing see me, I think I’ll die of fright. Maybe you think dying of fright is just an expression. But if you’re huddled under a flimsy
piece of plastic, and if a THING WITH CLAWS is on the other side of a wall just a few feet from your head, and if your heart isn’t even beating anymore, it’s just quivering in your chest, then maybe you’ll realize that dying of fright is not only possible but probable. The more I think about it, dying from fright is better than getting eaten alive.

I stop thinking all these thoughts when I hear the THING WITH CLAWS walk into the shelter. I guess it finally figured out it didn’t need to rip through the walls, since most of those walls are missing.

Arp is really going wild now, but I keep a tight grip on him.

My eyes are still shut tight, but I can’t shut my ears or my nose. Now I can actually hear the THING WITH CLAWS breathing. It makes a strange wheezing whistle when the air goes in and out of its nose. And it has a very strong smell. Much worse than wet dog. Plus, it’s a bigger smell, so it must be a bigger animal.

The THING WITH CLAWS snuffles around over by the post that holds up the roof. I’m a little puzzled about why it isn’t bothering with us, but not too puzzled, because I have very little brain available for wondering about stuff, since it’s mostly paralyzed with fright.

Then I hear the THING WITH CLAWS grunt. The grunt noise moves higher. Did it grow taller somehow? Or just stand up?

Then I hear the rustle of plastic. That’s right, plastic.
You know that sound. When Mom’s driving to the farmhouse with me in the backseat next to all the groceries, if I slip my hand into a bag to sneak a cookie, no matter how careful I am, the bag goes
rustle rustle crinkle
. Then Mom says, “Megan, what are you doing?” even though it’s obvious because I’ve been busted by a plastic bag.