Girlwood (6 page)

Mother mine, to the wild forest I am going,
Where upon the champa boughs the champa buds are blowing;
To the koil-haunted river-isles where lotus lilies glisten,
The voices of the fairy folk are calling me: O listen!

Polly listened until she couldn't hear anymore, then looked toward the woods again, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

***

Polly chose the sheer face of Battlecreek Peak as her marker and kept it on her right as she climbed. She retraced Baba's path to that magical grove, stopping twice to make sure she was going the right way. She sprinted when she finally saw the wall of devil's club.

This time she rose on tiptoes to try to see beyond the eight-foot-high shrub, but there was nothing there but the green tops of pine and fir trees—not a single golden-needled larch in sight. Someone else might have tried to solve the mystery, but Polly merely savored her goose bumps, certain that this place would be just as magical as she allowed it to be.

She walked the length of the devil's club, searching for the opening in the thorny wall. The shrub seemed thicker and pricklier than it had been when Baba was here, as if the tunnel had sealed itself up. Polly made a second pass, and a
third, but the harder she looked, the thicker the devil's club seemed to be. Finally, she stepped back, glaring at the green light that bristled around the plant like a beast's spiky fur.

Then she saw where that fur parted, and a few pinpricks of white poked through. Polly quickly dropped to her belly and slithered into the small, thorny opening. It had grown thicker than last time, tearing up her arms and legs. She endured the cuts, along with a few more lost curls, and crawled to the end of the tunnel. The larch grove was there just as before, resplendent in gold, with light pulsing around every branch and needle. She hadn't noticed it with Baba, but even the air in the grove was different. Charged. It smelled of fire, but also of honeysuckle, a plant that Polly knew for a fact hadn't bloomed since July.

The fire pit had more charred blond hair inside it, along with two moldy, wet logs that had only smoldered.

"Bree?" Polly said.

There was no answer, not a breath of wind through the silken boughs of the larches. But Polly didn't feel alone. She removed her backpack, carefully taking out the goldenrod leaves along with the mittens and long johns and the blue turtleneck she'd picked out of Bree's dresser, and left everything on a boulder beside the fire pit.

"These are for you, Bree," she said. "Okay?"

Though she got no answer, Polly felt satisfied. She turned her attention to the moldy logs and decided that Bree needed
tinder and dry branches. Searching the grove for the right wood, Polly built a fire house inside the pit the way Baba had taught her—the needles and bark first, like a floor; medium branches for the walls; and a solid, dry log for the roof.

All Bree would need was a spark. Something had burned here recently, but it was hard to picture Bree starting a blaze. Despite Baba's lessons on how to start a campfire with nothing but sticks and a shoelace and a bow-and-drill technique, Polly had never been able to produce more than a whiff of smoke, and Bree had called the whole thing stupid and struck a match. Reluctantly, Polly reached into her pocket and slipped out the book of matches she'd brought from home. Maybe this time Bree had waved a wand to spark a blaze, but Polly couldn't take any chances.

She thought about sparking up a campfire now, but before she could strike a match, she heard howling on the other side of the devil's club. She froze, her heart racing, as something or someone thrashed around. Polly was less afraid of bears or wolves than she was of some person discovering where Bree was hiding. Of course she wanted her sister to be found, but now that Polly had seen this grove, now that she'd felt the magic here, she thought that maybe Bree didn't want to be found
just yet.

The howling came again. "Get off, you dumb plant! Get off!"

Polly straightened. That was no monster, or, if it was, it
was a familiar one. She crawled back into the tunnel and poked her head out the other side to find Olivia struggling against a giant spiny leaf that had attached itself to her arm.

Olivia, with her sporty new haircut. Olivia, the traitor.

***

Olivia didn't notice Polly creeping out of the tunnel and covering up the entrance in the devil's club. In another life, Polly would have shown Olivia the grove and made it their own special hideaway, but not anymore.

"What are you doing here?" Polly asked.

Olivia jumped, and the giant leaf tore loose from her arm, taking some flesh and a few drops of blood with it. Olivia's eyes welled up with tears.

"Oh!" she said. "That thing is vicious."

Polly tried not to smile. At least the plants were on her side.

"I waited for you after school," Olivia went on, checking the rest of her body for damage.

"I wasn't going home."

"No kidding. I could hardly keep up with you." Olivia rubbed her arms and looked at Polly through her tears. "I know you're mad."

Polly scoffed. "You don't know anything."

"I know I should have been there for you. That first day. I'm sorry, Polly."

When Polly didn't respond, Olivia continued. "I know how you feel about Carly, but maybe you two could talk. You know, work things out?"

Polly squared her shoulders. "There's nothing to work out. Carly's evil."

Olivia shook her head. "She's not, Polly. She's just on a different side. I mean, her dad
is
trying to clean up the woods. Make it healthier, prettier. You could still—"

The look in Polly's eyes stopped her. "I could still what?" Polly asked. "Walk on a paved road between their perfectly trimmed pines? Swim in Carly Leyland's new swimming pool instead of Sheep Creek? You really think it's right to put houses up here? To tear out the trees and blow up wolf dens so people can have a better view? Why don't you just put in a shopping mall?"

Olivia would no longer meet her gaze. "It's not like that. I mean, when I talked to Carly, she made sense too."

Polly shook her head. Ever since they'd met, in first grade, Olivia had let Polly decide everything, from which movie they'd watch to what game they'd play. She'd always seemed content to follow Polly's lead, and though that had pleased Polly before, now it seemed like the scariest thing in the world—a friend who could be so easily swayed.

"You know what?" Polly said. "Go ahead and take her side. Maybe her dad will let you ride the bulldozer when they take down the first trees."

"Polly—"

"And you can tell Carly this isn't over. The woods don't belong to them. I don't care what papers they signed. And as long as Bree is out here, they can't do anything."

Polly expected Olivia to cry, but instead she reached for Polly's arm. It could have been the iciness of her fingers, but all the electricity and magic Polly had felt in the grove suddenly vanished.

"That's why I wanted to find you," Olivia said. "There are rumors, Polly. People are saying Bree isn't in the woods."

"Oh no? Then where is she?"

Olivia squeezed her tighter. "In another town, trying to figure out what to do. Polly, people are saying she left because she was pregnant."

Polly could only stare at her. "No," she said at last.

"Carly heard it from Joe. You know how his brother and your sister ... Well, everyone knows how they were. It's not so hard to believe."

"Carly's lying," Polly said.

"Look, I just thought you should know. I thought—"

"Don't think anymore, okay? Just ... don't."

Olivia looked close to crying again, but instead she turned and retreated down the mountain. Polly watched her go, thinking,
It's a lie. Carly always lies.

This plant is found near rivers and on moist, wooded hillsides; the ripe berries are sweet and excellent eaten raw or made into jams. The inner bark is used in anti-inflammatory eye and ear drops, and the berries relieve constipation. According to American folklore, the plant will bloom when the ground is ready to bury the winter's dead.

"I found more hair," Polly said.

Polly sat at the kitchen table while her mom put out cereal for dinner. Her mother was still in her work clothes; she'd had no choice but to go back to the office full-time. There were bills to pay, and it had been ten days now. Some people had already stopped asking about Bree first thing.

Polly had never thought much about her mom's job. It had been nothing but a bunch of big words—
ecosystem management, environmental regulatory compliance
—until her mom came home
one day with a fat report labeled "Environmental Impact Analysis: Mountain Winds Development." Then everything made sense. Her mother was the one who had to decide when, or if, the Leyland Corporation could break ground in the woods.

"Please," her mom said, massaging her forehead. "You have to stop."

"But it's proof."

Her mom slammed her hand down on the table. "The police won't even test that lock of hair you gave me! What good would it do them? They say Bree could have been in the woods anytime, and they combed the forest. I've been out there too, Polly. What do you think I do during my lunch hour and after work?" Her eyes got all buggy, and Polly leaned away. "I go out there and leave things for her! Food, clothes, her winter boots. If there's even a chance that you were right..."

Polly nearly told her mom to ask Baba what she knew about Bree, but all of a sudden she wasn't sure if either of them really wanted to know the truth. If Baba wasn't watching over Bree, then what chance did her sister have to survive?

"I want you to come straight home from school every day," her mom said. "I can't worry about you too."

Polly stared into her bowl of bran flakes.
Why not?
she almost said.
Don't I count?
But by then her mom had gone up to the Crying Room, and conversation was done.

***

Jenny Gardner and Kate Eardly, two members of Bree's Fab Five, showed up Tuesday after school. Polly opened the door and got a scare, as she always did, at the sight of their black-rimmed eyes and pale faces. They used to be pretty, but now they were ghouls dressed in black boots, white makeup, and AC/DC T-shirts. Polly couldn't even tell the color of their auras, yet they were smiling, something they'd rarely done before.

"Polly," Jenny said. "You mind if we come in a minute?"

Polly did mind, actually. Her mother was at work and her dad a half-hour drive away. What if one of the Fab Five took out a knife? She had no idea what they were capable of.

"Um."

"Look," Kate said, "we know it's, like, not exactly Disneyland at your house these days, but we left some things in Bree's room."

They slipped into the living room like shadows. Jenny walked to the fireplace, where she smirked at an outdated family photo—Polly's mom and dad with their arms around each other, Bree and Polly pigtailed and smiling in front. Jenny had vampire eyes, so light green they were almost clear.

"My mom will be home soon," Polly said, hoping that would make them leave.

"We'll just be a second," Jenny promised.

They headed upstairs, and though Polly knew she ought to stop them, she wasn't sure how. In the past, they'd always played deaf when she spoke to them, or pretended they couldn't see her. She followed them into the Crying Room, where they began pawing through Bree's dresser drawers.

Polly knew what they were looking for: pot, cocaine, the latest pills. Jenny went to the closet and grabbed Bree's suede jacket. After rummaging through the pockets, she tossed the coat on the floor and yanked at a blouse.

"Hey!" Polly said.

Neither of them listened. Kate spilled out the contents of jewelry boxes while Jenny overturned the desk drawer. Polly could have told them that the police had already gone through all of Bree's things and so had her mother and father, but her throat felt swollen shut.

They turned the room inside out, finding nothing, then Jenny stomped to the open window. When she reached into her pocket for a tightly rolled joint, Kate made a grunting noise, like an infant growing hungry in her sleep. Jenny lit the joint and inhaled deeply, then turned her eerie gaze on Polly.

"Want some?" she asked.

Polly had been moving away; now she froze. She was shocked, horrified, and strangely, terribly thrilled. How many times had she put her ear to the wall to try to hear them? How many times had she loitered outside Bree's room, hoping
they'd ask her to come in, hang out? They were revolting and fascinating, everything she didn't want to be, yet so daring and indifferent she couldn't help but admire them. If Bree were here, she'd chase Polly out of the room and tell her to get her own life. But Bree was not here. The Fab Five hadn't even asked about her.

She glanced over her shoulder. Kate watched her with a smirk, as if this were everyday stuff. Another twelve-year-old converted. Polly would never be like Bree, but what harm could it do to take one puff? Just to see what all the fuss was about.

She watched the smoke rise like a genie out of a bottle and felt her heart hammering in her chest. But the moment she stepped forward, Jenny shrieked. A dragonfly had flown in the open window and buzzed past her lips.

"My God!" Jenny said, jumping away from the sill. "What is that thing?"

Kate put her hands over her head as the red-bellied creature whizzed toward her. Maybe it wasn't a dragonfly at all, but a colorful, shapely moth. As it circled Kate's head, Polly saw long, tattered wings and pinprick eyes of blue.

Polly stepped back, startled, as Jenny flailed her arms. The dragonfly—or whatever it was—pirouetted and flew out the window.

"Did you see that?" Jenny asked. "It looked almost like..."

She paused, and Polly held her breath, waiting for her to say it. Waiting for someone cold and cynical to admit that if awful, vile things happened in the world, then magical, wonderful things must happen too. But Jenny merely shook her head, as if shaking off the vision.