“But we talk all the time at school,” protests Jason.

“Games?” Finn sounds like a cat coughing up a hairball. “Assuming that you don’t mean night basketball, what kind of games do you have in mind?”

“There are tons of games we can play,” says Maya. “Charades… Pictionary… Chickenfoot…”

“Don’t we have to be able to see to play games?” asks Mallory.

“These nachos aren’t bad,” says Brion. “What’s the cheese? That’s not that stuff in the jar, is it?”

“No,” says Maya.

Jason bites into a nacho. “Hey, this is pretty good. What is the cheese? Jack?”

Alice stuffs some chips into her mouth.

“It’s kind of like cheddar,” says Maya.

Mallory sniffs at a nacho, taking a tentative nibble. “It doesn’t smell like cheddar.”

“I said kind of.” Maya pours herself some soda.

“Kind of how?” asks Shelby.

Maya raises her glass to her lips. “Kind of like vegan cheddar.”

Everyone looks at Maya in the dim, shadowy light.

“Vegan?” repeats Mallory. “You mean like it’s not really cheese? What’s it made from? Bean sprouts?”

“Ew…” Brion spits his sixth nacho into the dishtowel. “I knew it tasted funny.”

“And what about this?” Shelby is looking at his nugget as if it’s about to bite him. “Has this ever had a beak?”

Maya shakes her head.

“And the dip?” asks Finn. “Is that sour cream?”

“The dip’s vegan, too,” admits Maya. “I told you, it’s Be Kind to the Planet Night. Vegan is much better for the planet than dairy or meat because—”

“So what is in this stuff?” Brion looks like he still wants to spit.

“Tofu.”

“Brother, it’s going to be a really long night,” says Shelby.

As it turns out, the night isn’t long at all. The candlelight proves to be inadequate for playing either Monopoly or Pictionary, so because everyone seems to feel that they need the stimulus of a movie they’ve seen before to have anything to talk about, they end up playing charades. After only one round the chip bowls are empty – though the abandoned nachos have solidified and the nuggets are cold – and Maya goes off to refill them. When she finally comes back, having unearthed a jar of salsa as well, the light in the entrance hall is on and the others are all getting ready to leave.

“Where are you guys going?” Maya holds out the jar of salsa like an offering. “Look, I found this.”

“We’re going over to my house,” says Shayla. “You know, where we can actually see each other and can turn on the TV?”

Maya finally notices that Alice has also put on her coat. “You too?”

“I’m really sorry, Maya,” says Alice, looking at the wax spill on the carpet. “But if I don’t go with them, I won’t get a ride, either. And my mother sai—”

“Yeah, right.” Maya sighs. “You have to get home.” She turns to Shayla. “I don’t get it. I thought you said that the candles were cool. You know, beat. Way out, man.”

“They are. It’s very atmospheric.” Shayla shrugs. “But not for hours. And only if you’re listening to music or somebody reading poetry or something like that.”

“Not for more than ten or fifteen minutes, if you want to know what I think.” Jason gives Maya a wink. “Unless you’re making out. That’d be different.”

“I think ten or fifteen minutes is my limit, too,” agrees Brion. “This sitting around in the dark is pretty dead. Especially when you can’t see what you’re eating.”

“In this case, that’s probably an advantage,” says Finn.

Maya, however, is still having trouble taking in what’s happening.

“But— But I thought we were having fun. We were all laughing. We were having a good time.” No one responds. Maya looks from one face to another but it is difficult to tell whether the blank expressions are due to lack of interest or poor lighting. “Weren’t we having fun?”

“Yeah, sure we were,” says Jason. “But, you know, Mr Tovar’s giving me a ride.”

Followed by Finn saying, “And I really have to get something to eat. Something real.” Finn’s face is screwed up as though what he’s eaten is something rotten. “I’ve got this yucky taste in my mouth.”

“But I have plenty of chips.” Maya waves the jar of salsa. “And this. Look! Regular salsa.” She doesn’t mention that, of course, it’s vegan.

“You know we love you, Maya,” says Mallory, “but you’re really starting to wander off the road.”

“You’ve just gone so bizarro,” chimes in Shayla. “I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything…” Maya can tell from the way eyes are shifting that what Shayla means is that she wasn’t going to say anything to her – she’s already told everyone else. “But my mother said she saw you in Foodarama dressed as a plastic bag.”

“I wasn’t dressed as a plastic bag,” explains Maya. “I represented the billions of bags and bottles that are thrown into landfill every year. I—”

Shayla shakes her head, sadly. “You used to be so cool…”

“The curse of Clemens,” says Finn.

“Or someone,” mutters Jason.

You can lead your friends to tofu, but you can’t make them eat, thinks Maya as she watches them drive away. She feels more deflated than angry. More disappointed than hurt. Though, really, there is no one to blame but herself. Shayla was right. She should have told them what she’d planned. But, of course, she didn’t do that because she knew if she did that they wouldn’t have come.

Maya sits in the living room, watching the shadows move across the room as if they’re dancing. Maya is rarely completely alone, without the TV on or music playing, or the computer calling to her from its corner in her room. But tonight she is alone, and undistracted – the house is so silent…

Moonlight spills across the wooden floor. Maya’s never seen moonlight in the house before. Getting to her feet, she leaves the living room and steps out on the front porch. It’s a clear, cold night, the moon white bright. She walks out on the lawn, standing in the moonshine, looking up at the spangled sky.

Maya had a hard time with her eighth grade project on what Clifton Springs was like before white people arrived. She could imagine the woods and the animals because she’s seen them in wildlife programmes. She drew some pretty good pictures of otters, skunk, beaver, deer, bears and possum, and even one of the river when it was full of salmon rather than beer and soda cans. But she had a lot of trouble with the Lenni Lenape themselves. She stared out the window of her classroom, trying to picture a hunting party or group of wood gatherers, but all she saw was the football field. She sat on the riverbank, trying to picture the village – the children playing, the women gathering reeds and grasses, a canoe gliding on the water, silent as a dragonfly – but all she saw was the highway behind the river, the smokestacks of the electric plant on the other side. Even she knew that the one drawing she managed of a Lenape owed a lot to a picture book about Hiawatha that she had when she was little.

But tonight she can see them. The houses fade, the road disappears, the sky grows glassy with stars. And it is as if the people who were part of this land walk through the night, soft-footed, laughing to themselves, whispering stories as they go.

Maya leans against the tree in the middle of the lawn, ears sharp, eyes open.

And time loses itself in thoughts and dreams that may, in fact, be memories.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Joy Marie drinks flowers and Waneeda plants them

Joy Marie is sitting on Waneeda’s bedroom floor, reading over the final list they’ve made of the Earth Day activities and events. She looks up as Waneeda backs in through the door, carrying a tray.

“It’s incredible how everything’s coming together,” Joy Marie says. “Do you know that we have nearly fifty different things happening? Fifty! Half the town’s participating. This really has to be the biggest thing the school’s ever done.”

Waneeda’s smile has a little more acidity in it than you might expect. “So I guess the club’s safe for the rest of the year.”

“Are you kidding? Dr Firestone couldn’t shut us down now even if he still wanted to. Which he doesn’t.” Joy Marie leans back against the bed. “Ms Kimodo says that Dr Firestone says that the school’s going to recommend us for an Environmental Youth Award. How good would that look on our college applications?”

Waneeda sets down the tray next to Joy Marie. “You mean that it’ll look good on Cody Lightfoot’s college applications. He’s the one Firestone always makes the big deal over.”

Joy Marie puts a hand to one ear and cocks her head as if listening. “Hark!” she cries. “Is that a note of bitterness I hear?”

Waneeda plops down across from her. “It’s you and Clemens who should be bitter. You’re the ones who did all the work getting the club started, and now Cody’s getting all the credit.”

“Get you!” Joy Marie laughs. “If it wasn’t for Cody, you would never have joined in the first place.”

Waneeda squashes her mouth together and shrugs. “I might have.”

“Yeah, sure you would’ve. You and all the others.”

“OK,” concedes Waneeda, “so maybe it would have taken me a little longer…”

“And anyway, that’s not the point, is it?” There are two mugs on the tray. Joy Marie moves the nearest one closer. “The point is that Cody completely turned the club around. You can’t deny that.”

“That doesn’t make it right that Cody’s become the spokesperson for the club, though, does it?” Waneeda picks up the second mug. “Everything’s all about him. Cody this and Cody that… What does Cody think? What does Cody say? Like he’s the only one who does anything important. Like nothing counts unless Cody says so or it was his idea.”

“We’re talking about the trees again, aren’t we?” says Joy Marie.

“Yes, we are.” Waneeda plunks her cup back on the tray. “We’re talking about the trees.” While Cody Lightfoot’s been getting his picture in the paper and being patted on the back by Dr Firestone, Clemens and Waneeda (through sheer stubbornness) have got enough signatures on the petition to postpone the clearing of the oaks until May, when their fate will be decided by a second, public vote. “But no one says anything about that, do they? Nobody cares that we’ve actually managed to stop them from going ahead.”

“And you’re surprised?” Joy Marie makes a face. And where have you been for the last sixteen years? “You have to be realistic, Waneeda. The Earth Day celebration has a way bigger profile. People just don’t get excited about a handful of trees.”

“But it isn’t fair.”

“Fair schmair.” Joy Marie lifts her cup. “Cody’s the driving force behind Earth Day, so that makes him high profile, too.”

Indeed, just as Clifton Springs has started to emerge from the dark and bare-branched days of winter, Cody has emerged from being the new kid in school to being a campus star. Cody has only to be seen bringing his own ceramic cup to the coffee bar to have half the school doing the same. If his profile were any higher, he wouldn’t be able to leave his house without a bodyguard.

Joy Marie sniffs her tea. “What is this? It smells like flowers.”

“It is flowers. It’s chamomile.”

“Chamomile?” Joy Marie’s smile is bemused. “I thought you were addicted to Coke. When did you start drinking herbal tea?”

Unblinking and unsmiling, Waneeda gazes back at her as if this is an unreasonable question. “Since I found out about the dangers of sugar and artificial sweeteners.”

Rather graciously, Joy Marie doesn’t point out that Waneeda could have made this discovery a year ago if she had ever listened to a word that Joy Marie said.

“Anyway, it’s Cody who’s done all the schmoozing, isn’t it? Getting Dr Firestone on our side and buttering up the faculty and getting all the big sponsors on board and everything.” Joy Marie takes a sip. It is definitely chamomile tea. “It stands to reason that he’d get most of the credit.”

Schmoozing, like delegating, is one of Cody’s great talents. If Sicilee is someone who could talk a turtle out of its shell, Cody could probably talk it out of its skin and into a soup pot. Not only has he persuaded the local radio station to plug the Earth Day celebration every hour for the next two weeks, he is going to be interviewed about the club on “The Morning Show”, the most popular breakfast radio show in the county.

“While everybody else does all the real work,” grumbles Waneeda. “Let’s be honest here. It’s all the girls who joined because of him who are making Earth Day happen. Like Sicilee and Maya with their popular supergirl powers – look how much money and donations they’ve raised! Half the workshops are down to them.” And most amazing of all, they’ve stayed in the club, even though they must have figured out by now that Cody has no real interest in either of them. “I just don’t think it’s right,” persists Waneeda. “Clemens is the president. And you’re the vice-president. You’re both really smart and dedicated. And you’re the ones who did all the hard stuff. How come you and Clemens aren’t being interviewed?”