any solid bones or anything. They aren’t streamlined like birds. They aren’t strong. They can’t even fly in a straight line. They flutter. They flutter by. But that little thing that seems like it won’t make it from a tree to a bush, that little thing flies all the way from Mexico to Vermont. They really do. Dad told me that when I was still paying attention to his lectures. They don’t have maps or trails or food or shelters. But they do it. Every single year. Then, like that wasn’t hard enough, they fly back again! And they don’t have bathrooms either.
So I decide I better get a grip. I mean, do I have to be such an idiot? No, I don’t. Sometimes I pretend to be dumb to make Lucy laugh. But I’m really sort of smart. At least that’s what Mom and Dad and my teachers always tell me. They say, “Come on, Megan, you’re smart enough to know better.” Well, guess what? Maybe I really can figure out what I’m doing. I solved the bathroom problem, didn’t I? So now all I have to do is clean the shelter.
“Come on, Arp. We’ve got work to do. I’m not sleeping in mouse poop!”
Kicking those little turds doesn’t work very well. But a pine branch makes a pretty good broom. I sweep the platforms and the floor and pick up all the trash. There sure are a lot of beer cans. I practically cry when I see theempty potato chip bags. But I don’t find any Double Stuf Oreo wrappers. There isn’t a garbage can or anything, so I dump the trash over where other people had built fires. When the shelter is as clean as I can get it, I pile up pine needles on the platform for my bed. They smell just like Christmas. But when I sit on them, they’re really scratchy.
“Too bad we don’t have something to put over them.”
Then I remember the poncho Mom packed in my backpack. It’s so dorky that I wouldn’t be caught dead in it, no matter how hard it rained. For one thing, it’s the color of old-lady underwear. But it can cover the pine needles. I also find a sweatshirt and insect repellent. I put the sweatshirt right on because I’m getting cold. Then I spritz insect repellent everywhere because darkness brings out mosquito vampires who suck your blood.
Of course, when Arp sees me go in the backpack, he runs over with his tail wagging.
“You ate all your dog biscuits.” But I give him a carrot. After I eat the rest of the peanut butter sandwich, he’s glad to gobble up the crusts. Then I drink the rest of one water bottle. And he finds a nice muddy puddle.
I’m still hungry, but I decide to save the other sandwiches for tomorrow. And no way will I eat anything with nuts in it. I look deeper in the backpack. Maybe there’s a candy bar or something. I would have gladly eaten old Halloween candy. But instead I find a folded-up piece of paper.
It’s a note from Lucy. It has my name written on the outside in her handwriting. She used her pen with the purple ink that she saves for special occasions.
I just hold it for a long time with both hands. “Arp, this is from Lucy.”
He isn’t very impressed. He just gives it the smallest sniff when I hold it under his nose.
“Don’t you realize how amazing it is? It’s like Lucy is here with us right now telling us something very important.”
I stop trying to get him interested. After all, she’s my best friend, not his. I slowly open up the letter.
This is Lucy’s message to me as I continue on my journey:
Well, okay, really the note is from last November, when Lucy was deciding whether or not to let her hair grow. I wanted her to keep it short because that was how it always was. But Patricia Palombo and some of the other girls thought it would look cuter long. Lucy was torn, even though she shouldn’t have listened to them, since they weren’t her best friends. So I had drawn a picture of her to show her how fabulous short hair could look.
It was a cartoon, since I can’t draw people that look like people. Still, I got her smile the way it is when
So I decide I better get a grip. I mean, do I have to be such an idiot? No, I don’t. Sometimes I pretend to be dumb to make Lucy laugh. But I’m really sort of smart. At least that’s what Mom and Dad and my teachers always tell me. They say, “Come on, Megan, you’re smart enough to know better.” Well, guess what? Maybe I really can figure out what I’m doing. I solved the bathroom problem, didn’t I? So now all I have to do is clean the shelter.
“Come on, Arp. We’ve got work to do. I’m not sleeping in mouse poop!”
Kicking those little turds doesn’t work very well. But a pine branch makes a pretty good broom. I sweep the platforms and the floor and pick up all the trash. There sure are a lot of beer cans. I practically cry when I see theempty potato chip bags. But I don’t find any Double Stuf Oreo wrappers. There isn’t a garbage can or anything, so I dump the trash over where other people had built fires. When the shelter is as clean as I can get it, I pile up pine needles on the platform for my bed. They smell just like Christmas. But when I sit on them, they’re really scratchy.
“Too bad we don’t have something to put over them.”
Then I remember the poncho Mom packed in my backpack. It’s so dorky that I wouldn’t be caught dead in it, no matter how hard it rained. For one thing, it’s the color of old-lady underwear. But it can cover the pine needles. I also find a sweatshirt and insect repellent. I put the sweatshirt right on because I’m getting cold. Then I spritz insect repellent everywhere because darkness brings out mosquito vampires who suck your blood.
Of course, when Arp sees me go in the backpack, he runs over with his tail wagging.
“You ate all your dog biscuits.” But I give him a carrot. After I eat the rest of the peanut butter sandwich, he’s glad to gobble up the crusts. Then I drink the rest of one water bottle. And he finds a nice muddy puddle.
I’m still hungry, but I decide to save the other sandwiches for tomorrow. And no way will I eat anything with nuts in it. I look deeper in the backpack. Maybe there’s a candy bar or something. I would have gladly eaten old Halloween candy. But instead I find a folded-up piece of paper.
It’s a note from Lucy. It has my name written on the outside in her handwriting. She used her pen with the purple ink that she saves for special occasions.
I just hold it for a long time with both hands. “Arp, this is from Lucy.”
He isn’t very impressed. He just gives it the smallest sniff when I hold it under his nose.
“Don’t you realize how amazing it is? It’s like Lucy is here with us right now telling us something very important.”
I stop trying to get him interested. After all, she’s my best friend, not his. I slowly open up the letter.
This is Lucy’s message to me as I continue on my journey:
Well, okay, really the note is from last November, when Lucy was deciding whether or not to let her hair grow. I wanted her to keep it short because that was how it always was. But Patricia Palombo and some of the other girls thought it would look cuter long. Lucy was torn, even though she shouldn’t have listened to them, since they weren’t her best friends. So I had drawn a picture of her to show her how fabulous short hair could look.
It was a cartoon, since I can’t draw people that look like people. Still, I got her smile the way it is when
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