Dyan Sheldon - The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

“There is no such thing as ‘just trees’,” contradicts Sicilee. “Trees store carbon dioxide. Every time you cut one down you release those emissions into the atmosphere. You—”

“Don’t you kids hear right? They’re going to plant more trees. More trees than we’re taking down.”

“But these trees are special,” snaps Waneeda. “They’re living history.”

“Not for much longer they aren’t,” says the foreman.

All the other men laugh in a way that even those who love them most would call unkind.

Although Dr Firestone may see Clemens as a hotheaded activist, in reality he has always been more of an eco-worrier than an eco-warrior. He watches the documentaries and reads the books and articles; he makes T-shirts and writes letters and instigates petitions. But, except for joining one climate change march last spring (carrying a sign that said: THERE IS NO PLANET B), that’s all he’s done. Until now.

“Oh, yeah?” What’s the sense of only talking if all your talk is going to get you is lies or laughter? “We’ll see about that.” And Clemens turns and hurls himself at the nearest tree, wrapping his arms around it as far as they’ll go.

The crew erupts in whoops of laughter.

“Whoowhee…” shouts one of the men. “Looks like we got ourselves a real tree hugger here.”

“Too bad you can’t get your arms around it!” shouts another.

“Ah gees…” The foreman groans. “Don’t start with this crap, sonny. We can pick you off that tree like you’re no bigger than an ant.”

Waneeda takes a step forward – a step that might seem more menacing if she didn’t look as though she should be carrying a crystal ball or a tambourine. “We know our rights,” says Waneeda. “You lay a hand on him and we’ll have you for assault.”

“Christ…” The foreman pushes his hat back on his head and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, as though he already knows just how long and difficult this day is going to be. “Look, girly girl, we don’t want no trouble. Just come away from the trees and go to your classes and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Forget what ever happened?” asks Sicilee.

“Nothing’s happened – yet,” adds Maya.

The foreman pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’m gonna have to call the cops, you know.”

“What are they going to charge us with?” asks Clemens. “Trespassing on school property?”

It isn’t the police who are called first, but Dr Firestone.

He marches across the campus in his dark grey suit, brightened by a tie that is a tumble of flowers startlingly similar to the pattern on Sicilee Kewe’s linen suit. As this is a serious matter calling for all his years of professional experience, Dr Firestone isn’t smiling, but he looks no more worried than a man whose breakfast has been disturbed by the buzzing of a fly. Dr Firestone doesn’t want to call the police. Police at a high school never make parents or school boards feel good about the school or the way it’s being run. And now, of course, is an especially delicate time, with the new budget coming up for a vote. Dr Firestone, however, is sure that there’s no need for law enforcers. It is, after all, only Clemens Reis, born troublemaker, going off at the deep end as usual – once more disrupting the smooth running of the machine that is Clifton Springs High School (as well as the machines that have come to bring down the small grove of oaks). Clemens, though a thorn in Dr Firestone’s side, is a thorn he feels he can pull out by himself.

The foreman walks out to meet him, and he and Dr Firestone stop together some distance from the target of trees, the yellow hard hat leaning towards the principal’s greying head as they discuss the situation in low voices.

By now, of course, the situation is a little more complicated than it was originally. Instead of one scraggly boy plastered against the trunk, Clemens has been joined beneath the ancient oak by Waneeda, Sicilee, Maya and Maya’s bicycle. Dr Firestone had assumed from what he’d been told over the phone that Clemens was by himself. A lone voice crying not in the wilderness but at the tennis courts, easy enough to drown out. Still, although he hasn’t looked at them closely, Dr Firestone can see that the three other figures under the trees are all girls. Girls, in Dr Firestone’s opinion, do not lead rebellions; they do the cooking for them. So no problem there.

Nodding, Dr Firestone straightens up, pats the foreman’s shoulder in a don’t-worry-I’ll-take-care-of-this way and walks calmly but authoritatively towards the tree and its protectors.

“Well, well, Mr Reis, fancy seeing you wrapped around a tree.” Dr Firestone is not a man to waste a smile, but the corners of his mouth do twitch. “I was under the impression that your views had matured in the last few months. That you’d learned some moderation…” He shakes his head, as if sad to find that another illusion has been shattered by the hammer of time. “But I see we’re back to our old extreme methods.”

The corners of Clemens’ mouth don’t twitch at all. “I’m not being extreme, Dr Firestone. I’m employing direct action. You know, like the Boston Tea Party? Those guys didn’t have any sense of moderation either.”

Dr Firestone is not about to get into a debate about historic protest movements with Clemens. They could be here all morning. “I hope you’re not seriously comparing yourself to our founding fathers, Mr Reis.”

“Of course not,” says Clemens. “I have no intention of taking up arms.”

Dr Firestone shifts his attention to someone he considers easier to deal with. Maya Baraberra is just the type to think that wrapping herself around a tree is cool, but she is also the type who is more about image than principles. “I must say, Ms Baraberra, I’m surprised to see you here.” The shadow of a smile flickers across Dr Firestone’s face. “It’s not like you to break the rules. I’d expect you to be in class by now.”

“I would’ve been in class,” says Maya in a way that makes the principal wonder why he’s always thought of her as a model student. “Only they decided to chop the trees down today after promising that they wouldn’t, so I’m here instead.”

Dr Firestone blinks. “I see…” He shifts his attention once again, still hopeful that he’ll find someone who isn’t determined to give him a hard time. Waneeda has always been so much a part of the background in school life that he has no idea who she is, which makes her at least a possibility. “Well, well…” he says, his eyes on her. “I’ve never known you to cause any trouble before…”

“We’re not causing trouble.” Waneeda’s expression is the facial equivalent to digging your heels in the ground. “It’s the tree crew that’s causing the trouble.”

Dr Firestone isn’t listening. His gaze falls on the last protestor with a jolt of surprise. “Ms Kewe!” Finding Sicilee among the troublemakers, looking like she’s just stepped out of the pages of Teenage Vogue, is no less astonishing than finding the First Lady knocking down pins in the Clifton Springs Lanes would be. And she looks happy to see him! “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“I’m saving the planet, of course.” Sicilee’s hair swings over her shoulder like a beam of sunshine. “That’s why we’re all here.”

“Is it?” Lulled into a false sense of security because he isn’t aware that Sicilee smiles the way others breathe, Dr Firestone rocks back and forth very gently. “Well, I’m sure that’s very commendable … very commendable indeed. You know that I like to encourage our students to participate in the larger world… But I’m afraid that at the moment you’re not actually saving the planet, Ms Kewe. What you’re doing, I’m afraid, is causing a nuisance and an obstruction.”

“You have no right to cut down these trees,” says Clemens.

“But we aren’t just cutting them down, son.” Dr Firestone shakes his head at such a foolish misconception. “You may not be aware, but the council has promised to plant three trees elsewhere in town for every one tree that’s removed here.”

“Five-hundred-year-old trees?” asks Waneeda.

Dr Firestone chuckles as if he’s delighted to find that she has a sense of humour.

“But we presented a petition,” argues Clemens. “We’ve lodged an official appeal. We’re supposed to be waiting for the meeting in May to have a second vote.”

“Oh, I see…” Dr Firestone’s smile relaxes a little. All is clear. He understands. “I’m afraid there’s been a terrible oversight. I don’t know how it could have happened. You should have been informed that the appeal was rejected after all. The decision was made to go ahead in a special session of the town council.”

A connection exists between Clemens, Waneeda, Maya and Sicilee, due to the fact that they all belong to the same club. But up until this moment it has been a superficial connection at best – no more significant, really, than the connection between a random group of people, all of whom like root beer or peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Now, however, thanks to the hypocrisy and deceit of the town council, the school board and the administration, it takes on a new depth. Clemens, Waneeda, Sicilee and Maya all exchange the same look. Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? Such is the power of flagrant injustice to forge bonds.

“But that wasn’t the deal,” says Maya.

“Oh, but I think that if you look back at the records, you’ll find that it was.” It is one of Dr Firestone’s natural gifts that he always sounds reasonable and right – even when he is actually being neither. “Everything was agreed months ago. Long before your little petition.”

“No, that’s not true,” says Waneeda. “The deal was that there was going to be public consultation and debate.”

Dr Firestone shrugs – helplessly. Don’t blame me, his expression seems to be saying. “Well, I’m afraid that the opportunity was there, but no one availed themselves of it. And now it’s too late. The council’s decided to go ahead with the sports complex. As planned and previously agreed.”

Even Sicilee is looking serious by now. “And?”

“And I would like you all to get out of the way and let these men do their job.” Dr Firestone bestows on them one of his PTA smiles. P-r-i-n-c-i-p-a-l, as he likes to say. The principal is your pal.

“What if we won’t?” asks Waneeda.

As if by some unspoken agreement the girls all move closer to one another.

“Yeah,” chorus Maya and Sicilee. “What if we won’t?”

“Ladies…” purrs Dr Firestone. “I’m sure that you don’t want any trouble at this juncture in your high school careers.”

“But what if I do?”

The principal frowns at the three girls in front of him. And then he looks up. He never noticed Clemens scrabbling into the tree.

After Dr Firestone (muttering threats and promising to make Clemens regret his rash behaviour) storms off to confer with the foreman again, Clemens climbs a little higher, demonstrating a physical agility of which only Mrs Huddleston, who has seen him scamper over her back fence on more than one occasion recently, was aware. He’ll never get back down without help or breaking a leg, of course, but that’s a small price to pay for the annoyance he’s causing. Serves them right for being so untrustworthy. From his perch, Clemens can see Dr Firestone and the foreman, standing side-by-side, both holding their cell phones as if they’re grenades. Dr Firestone has been on and off his phone any number of times since he took up his position next to the foreman. Who did he call? The police? The National Guard? Mr and Mrs Reis? Come and get your son out of this tree or the only college he’ll get into will be in Peru?

It isn’t long before a crowd starts to gather. People walking past stop to see what’s going on. Neighbours, noticing the groups of onlookers, come out to see what they’re looking at. Passing cars slow down and then pull over. Within mere minutes, the number of people with dogs, toddlers, their bedroom slippers still on or leaning against vehicles on Greaves Road could be in the Guinness World Records. Clemens looks down through the lacework of leaves on the growing throng and smiles. An audience is what he needs. Publicity. Witnesses. Complications. It’s too bad he didn’t think of this before.

Clemens leans against the trunk, more being held than holding on, enjoying the feeling of being in the sky – wondering who else has sat up here to think or dream and what they saw. Not someone arriving with a tray of coffees in paper cups and a box of doughnuts for the men determined to destroy this tree, that’s for sure.