The Pumpkin War Page 11

  Standing on my tiptoes, I grabbed the old shoebox I’d jammed way in the back on the top shelf. When I opened it, I found my red ribbons.

  One by one, I pinned my red ribbons to the bulletin board.

  I scooped up the blue ribbons, put them in the box, and gently covered them with tissue paper before I put the box back in the closet.

  * * *

  Lugging the telescope, I headed across the meadow on the old deer path, wading through giant drifts of yellow goldenrod and ragweed, the wispy leaves tickling my bare legs.

  When I made it to the top, I leaned the telescope against the picnic table and walked over to Sam. He was adding the finishing touches to a new square.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  “Painting.”

  “I can see that.”

  A silence sat between us, but it wasn’t a heavy silence, like before a storm. It was the silence of early morning, when the day is full of possibility.

  “Some scientists just discovered two new elements,” he said.

  “Real elements?” I asked.

  That used to be one of our big debates. Was an element real if it only existed in a lab for half a second before it changed into something else?

  “What do you want?” he said quietly.

  “I want to talk to you,” I said.

  Sam sighed, then dropped the paintbrush into the bucket at his feet.

  “I lied,” he said, looking at me. “I caught a swell and I hit your pumpkin.”

  I almost couldn’t believe it. He had cheated me out of my win.

  I slowly walked over to the picnic table and sat down.

  “Did you even try to miss me?”

  “No,” he said. “I mean, it happened really fast. Even if I’d tried not to, I probably would’ve hit you. But I didn’t. Try, I mean.”

  He sat across from me.

  The anger that had wedged itself in my brain since last summer began to bubble.

  But then I looked at Sam.

  I saw he had his own agajiwin.

  His own shame.

  He’d wanted to win. Just like I’d wanted to win.

  “There’s more,” he said. “You know ants really like peanut butter, right?”

  “Yeah?” I said. “So?”

  “Have you ever wondered why you can’t seem to get rid of those ants in your tree house?”

  “Sam! What did you do?”

  “I put peanut butter behind all the baseboards,” he said quietly. “I got tired of you ignoring me. I kept thinking you’d figure it out and we could laugh about it.”

  “Do you know how many times we had the exterminator out here?” I demanded.

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You will.”

  Our eyes locked.

  “That might be your best prank yet,” I finally said.

  “You think?” He grinned, like he couldn’t help himself.

  “Definitely a top contender.”

  We kept looking at each other across the picnic table.

  At first, I couldn’t read his expression. Then his eyes began to change, and I saw it.

  The look he used to have just for me.

  I smiled at him. He smiled back.

  “What’s that for?” he said, looking at the telescope.

  “Remember why you got it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s set it up tonight,” I said. “Maybe we can see the universe expand.”

  Was that even possible?

  Maybe we couldn’t actually see it happen.

  But right then, I could feel it.

  Rob “Flashingbird” Goslin was an incredible guide through the world of the Ojibwe. Rob is an Ojibwe leader and a historian of the Red Cliff Reservation, which was established under the 1854 treaty with the Chippewa. As Rob explained to me, the Ojibwe refer to themselves as the Anishinaabeg people, which means “the original people.” Madeline Island is sacred to the Anishinaabeg. They first arrived on the island around 1492, after a great migration that began five hundred years earlier, at the mouth of the St. Lawrence River in Canada. They were indeed searching for a place where “rice grows on water.” While I am so happy and grateful that The Pumpkin War is now out in the world and in your hands, I will miss being immersed every day in this magical world.

  “Thank you” is the best prayer that anyone could say. I say that one a lot. Thank you expresses extreme gratitude, humility, understanding.

  —Alice Walker

  And so I truly and deeply thank…

  Mollie Glick and Bruce Vinocur for believing in me. For reading my manuscript in three days. For making me do three rewrites. For selling it in three days.

  Wendy Lamb for her editing pencil. And to the amazing team at Random House I was lucky enough to work with: Dana Carey, Colleen Fellingham, Alison Kolani, Bara MacNeill, Tamar Schwartz, and Bob Bianchini. And to Jen Bricking, for her beautiful cover.

  Loch Gallagher, Tom Marine, Nadia Shields, Laura Bickel, Merywynne Ruggirello, Sharon Lee, Laurie Anderson, Cecilia Falk, Kate Cushman, Pat Yahnke, and Tim Kusserow at Carlthorp School in Santa Monica, California, and Eric Mandel, Ken Asher, Camar Robinson, Kevin Kloeker, Daniel Koh, and Bruce Eskovitz at Windward School in Los Angeles for being incredible and inspiring educators who nurtured a deep love of learning in my children.

  Dee Menzies for being an amazing elementary school principal and for giving my daughter the Alison Menzies Award, to honor girls everywhere who love to read.

  Marcia Burkhart, Nicky Meyer, Sachi Hillson, and Sarah Defrance for being inspiring librarians who shared their passion for middle-grade books with my daughters and me!

  Keldi Merton Leigh for sharing all your knowledge as director of the Madeline Island Museum. Whether the question involved the flowers, trees, geography, archeology, weather, or the history of Wisconsin, you always had the answer.

  Lynda Lyday, Karen Gaul, Karin Aurino, Hilar Kaplan, Jean Pintarelli, and Millie Wilson for the laughter and the tears. And for being there. Just for being there.

  Elizabeth Twaddell, Tana Reagan, Jennifer Small, and Terry Levy: you know why.

  My fellow writers Jim Thomas, Marissa Moss, Shirin Bridges, John Sacret Young, John Wells, David Shore, Ali LeRoi, Hart Hanson, Justin Rubin, Holly Goldberg Sloan, David Hudgins, and Robin Swicord for hiring me, firing me, teaching me, and encouraging and inspiring me when I needed it most.

  Karl Steinberg, Sandra Wolfson, Leslie Easton, and Deborah Steinberg for being my oldest friends. You are dear to me in ways you can’t even imagine.

  Bob Harrington, William Olvis, Alan Delameter, Frieda Ashendouek, and Jamie and Judy Dimon for your love and friendship.

  Mary Sean Young and Donald Young III for being my sister and brother. Without you, this book wouldn’t exist.

  My mother, Lee Guthrie, for her fierce intellect and ambition.

  My father, Donald Young, for always, always being proud of me.

  Like Billie, Cathleen Young grew up among storytellers, and she often went fishing all around the Badger State with her father. After writing for magazines and newspapers, she moved into television. She has over a dozen television movies to her credit, including the award-winning A Place for Annie, which she wrote with her mother and mentor, Lee Guthrie. Young is now the executive director of HUMANITAS. She lives in Santa Monica, California, with her twin daughters, Gemma and Shaelee DeCarolis; her husband, Patrick DeCarolis; and Butch and Rexxy.

  Visit Cathleen online at CathleenYoungBooks.com and on Twitter at @CathleenWrites.

 

 

 
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