The Tanglewood Terror (22 page)

“What if the mushrooms die before then?”

“That would be bad for the Foxfire Festival,” he admitted.

When I emptied my pockets to get undressed for bed, I found the thing that had whacked me in the leg. It was a carving of a little man, similar to the one that Brian found and I broke. This one had a broad hat, his hand raised up high, and his mouth open. He looked like a preacher. In fact, he looked exactly like the kind of preacher who’d go on and on about devil’s fire, the wrath of God, and the seeds of redemption being in the people.

A head injury is a great way to get back in good with people. I don’t mean you should bang your head on a post in front of the whole school if you’re not popular, but it helps.

“Hey, great game,” everyone said, and “How are you doing? How’s your head?”

“Better,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

Most of the day went normally, but we had another all-school assembly at the end of the day.

First the principal welcomed everybody back to school.
He said that the mushrooms weren’t a big deal and we should feel safe, and launched into a talk about fund-raising. We were also going to sell Foxfire Festival commemorative buttons, and he said kids who could draw mushrooms and/or operate a Badge-a-Minit could skip one class on Friday to help out.

“That’s wonderful,” Ms. Brookings said after she grabbed the mike from him. “And now I’d like to say a FEW WORDS.”

She started off by saying, “The Foxfire Festival sounds like GREAT FUN and a chance to show your school SPIRIT.” Something told me her heart wasn’t in it. “I’m not familiar with the music of AKRON HAT STORE,” she said, “but it will be SO MUCH FUN.”

She segued into a different topic.

“You know, while I’m up here, I really want to thank our football team, who showed some real HEROISM. I don’t mean by winning a championship, because they DIDN’T.” Thanks for reminding us, I thought. “They did play a very good game and we should APPLAUD them.” She patted one palm with her fingers, and there was a smattering of applause from the bleachers. “But one of the boys on that team, you know, had a bad injury, but he still saw a GOOD CAUSE and showed LEADERSHIP in getting his peers to help clean up the woods, so please give him a big ovation. Thank you, RANDY WEAVER.”

Everyone clapped and turned to look at Randy. I clapped right along with them. It was my idea, but he really was the one who made it happen. Besides, he loves that kind of attention, and I don’t.

•   •   •

I didn’t even go into the house when I got home. I went straight for the shed, grabbing a shovel and a heavy-duty rake. I was going to dig up the fungal core before I did anything else.

“Where are you going?” Mom called from the back door.

“I got stuff to do.”

“It seems like you’re never home anymore, especially when
I’m
home. Why don’t you come inside?”

“But …” I was going to save the town from a mushroom monster. Didn’t she understand that?

“I have your shoes,” she said. “Pumas?”

“Oh.” I’d last seen those shoes in the library at Alden. Somebody had turned them over to Mom, and she knew that they were mine. She paid more attention than I thought. I came inside and found the Pumas sitting there in the family room, with bright white new laces sticking out against the black canvas. They were supposed to have black laces.

Brian was on the couch, putting on his own old shoes and new laces. He looked up just long enough for me to tell that he was as confused as I was.

“You should take better care of your things,” Mom said. “Oh, wait … I also have something for Brian.” She dug through her purse and came up with a library card. “You’re not supposed to lend it to anyone,” she told him, tossing it on the coffee table.

“I won’t anymore,” he said. He must have given it to Mandy so she could use the computers, maybe the first time
he met her. I was beginning to think he knew her better than I did.

“Do whatever you want until dinnertime, but don’t wander off. We’re going to have dinner at the table like a family. We have something important to talk about.”

Brian looked at me and mouthed, “What’s going on?” I shook my head.

“Your father’s picking up Firelight,” said Mom.

Firelight was my favorite restaurant. Barbecue pork ribs that fall off the bone, only—

“He’s getting the rotisserie chicken,” Mom said.

“Sounds good.”

Dad not only got the chicken and all the sides, but brought enough for a family of eight. I took three pieces and a huge scoop of mashed potatoes, two corn muffins, and a forkful of coleslaw for show.

“This is great, thanks.” I ladled gravy over the potatoes.

Mom and Dad nibbled at their own food, but Brian was hungry for once, eating two pieces of chicken, skin and all, and lots of potatoes and slaw. I had the uncomfortable feeling that they were warming us up for some bad news, but I ate anyway. I couldn’t think of any news that would make me less hungry.

“There’s apple pie, too, so save space,” Mom said.

Firelight sells pies, but usually, even the rare times that Mom or Dad got takeout from Firelight, they didn’t get the pie. It was especially weird because Mom had found our shoes and probably knew we’d helped Mandy. Maybe this
was our last meal? I hoped Mom would wait until after the pie to tell us what our means of execution would be.

“Your father and I have been talking,” Mom said. So she wasn’t going to wait. The lump of food in my stomach turned into cement as I waited for the verdict.

“Well, we decided it’s time to call it quits,” she said.

I traded looks with Brian. Suddenly Mom’s casual attitude about us breaking and entering at Alden made a little bit of sense. She didn’t want to bring the hammer down when she knew a bigger, heavier hammer was about to come down on both of our heads.

“You mean you’re getting divorced?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “No more living apart but still being married. No more living together and feeling like we live apart anyway.” She was doing all the talking. Dad was looking off into the distance.

“Okay,” I said. Dad would move back to Boston and try to be a rock star, and I’d go on with my life. I had a fungus to kill, and I would have to go to court for the incident at the museum, but eventually things would go back to normal—or as normal as they were a few weeks ago, which was normal enough for me.

Brian was less accepting. He glowered, dropping his fork and crossing his arms. He looked back and forth from Mom to Dad to me, and I knew that he hated all of us.

“That’s not all,” Dad said. He shoved his plate aside and leaned in, putting his hands on the table and interlocking his fingers. “I want you both to come live with me in Boston.
I’m excited about it, and your mother also thinks it’s a good idea. We’ll need to have a lot of work done on this house, and it’ll be easier if nobody’s living here. I mean, nobody but your mother.”

I lost all interest in the pie.

The conversation went on for a while. Dad would have to get a bigger apartment, of course, and he’d look into schools.

“I’ll try to find an apartment in Jamaica Plain,” he said. “Or at least nothing too suburban. Brookline would be okay. We’ll find a cool neighborhood close to the action. You’ll love it.”

“I’ll miss you both so much,” Mom said. “I can’t even tell you how much. But the house really does need major work, and living in the city will be a great opportunity.”

“You’re going to love it,” said Dad. “There’s so much to do. Eric, we can go see the Patriots! And the Red Sox!” He went on and on, trying to tell me everything there was to love about Boston.

“We thought it would be a good time for both of you,” Mom said. “Eric especially.” She meant that I’d been in so much trouble here, I guessed. I couldn’t think of any other reason it was a good time for me to move to another state. I’d have to try out for a new team, and compete against guys the coach already knew.

“Can we go to the zoo?” Brian asked. He was acting like it was only a trip to Boston, not like his whole life was changing.

“Of course,” said Dad.

“Yay!”

I wanted to get excited about Patriots games and everything else Dad liked about Boston—the music clubs and sushi restaurants—but the truth was that my favorite thing was getting dragged into the woods at the crack of dawn, even if I grumbled about it, because the world was perfect then. I liked dew on the grass and the occasional raccoon, the sun breaking through the trees, the peace and quiet. I didn’t want to live somewhere with a bunch of cars whizzing by and people hurrying everywhere. I didn’t want to live in an apartment building with a hundred thousand other people. I especially didn’t want to live across the street from a neon sign.

Mom had gone off to the kitchen to get the pie. I heard the oven clicking—she’d been warming it up.

“Are you cool?” Dad asked.

“Sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t cool. I was upset. Also, I felt guilty because I wasn’t thinking about people. I wasn’t thinking about Mom or my friends, because I figured there’d be people in Boston, too, and Mom wasn’t around much anyway. I was upset because I would miss Maine. I didn’t think I could live without it.

Mom came out with the pie, and there was a scoop of cinnamon ice cream on every slice. She really was trying to make this easy on us. I ate mine without another word.

I felt like a zombie as I walked from class to class, saving my button-making break for last. A lot of other kids had the same idea, so there was a total mob scene outside the art room. There were way more people than could fit in the room, but nobody volunteered to go back to class.

“You could make a banner” was the art teacher’s idea. She gave us a big roll of paper and some colored pencils. We unrolled it in the gymnasium and set about lettering
WELCOME TO TANGLEWOOD!
and decorating it with mushrooms and other stuff all around the margins. I drew a football guy passing a ball to another football guy, both of them wearing Owls colors.

“Everything is way out of proportion,” said Heidi. She was down at the other end, but her voice carried. “The people are the same size as the mushrooms.”

“So what?” Monica asked. Heidi didn’t have an answer, so she plopped down and started coloring in the first
W
.

“We’re number two!” Tony joked. He was drawing some owls (some regular bird owls) roosting in the second W.

“Hey, those are really good,” I said.

“Thanks. Hey, you owe me an apology.”

“For losing to the Oxen?”

“No, for making fun of me in science class.”

“I made fun of you?” I didn’t have any memory of it.

“You laughed at me for asking if those mushrooms would turn red. You said that only happened in video games. Well, now they are turning red. They’re getting ripe.”

“Come on.”

“Go see for yourself. Check out the football field.” He went on drawing his owls.

I put my colored pencil down and went to see. Nobody was keeping track of who was really there anyway. I went out through the locker rooms and saw what he meant.

Over by the home team’s bench, the field had gone from blue-green to a flaming orangey red. The cones were even pointier, and when they rustled in the breeze, they looked like fire.

Whether or not they were going to blow up or turn into monsters, Tony was right—they seemed to be ripening.

Brian was so excited for the show, he wanted to leave as soon as we both got home from school.

“It doesn’t start until seven,” I told him. “It’s not even four o’clock yet.” I was going to dig up the core and be done with it, and I didn’t care about ruining the Foxfire Festival. It was a race against time.

“I want to get a good place,” he said. “Come on!” He was jumping up and down. He’d never seen Dad perform before, at least not in front of an audience. Actually, neither had I.

“You really want to stand around for three hours before the show even starts?”

“Yes! Come on!”

We picked up Allan and took our bikes and headed to the park downtown, locking them up behind the pizza place. It didn’t look like any of the mushrooms at the park had turned red like the ones at the school. Maybe it would take a few days for the fungus to finish getting ripe, or whatever it was doing.

There were already a lot of people standing around waiting for the show, but we were able to weave our way to the front. About half of them were in costumes, because tomorrow was Halloween—there were a lot of mushroom hats, made out of papier-mâché or green stocking caps stuffed with newspaper. There were also a lot of zombies and hoboes. A few glared at us as we cut in front of them. I’d never been to a rock concert before, but my feeling was that when there were no seats, it was every man for himself.

I saw the school booths off to the side—a couple of eighth-grade girls were selling buttons and baked goods, and the Friends of Keatston were right next to them, pointing people to the haunted house a few blocks away. Papa’s had a booth set up, too, and the line didn’t look too bad. Most people don’t eat dinner at four-thirty in the afternoon.

“Hey, do you guys want food?” I asked them.