The Great Treehouse War

by Lisa Graff

  TRANSCRIPT

  The following is what was said during a walkie-talkie conversation between Lyle and Winnie that took place late in the evening of Wednesday, May 3rd.

  Winnie: Hello? Hello? Who’s this walkie-talkie from? The note said “Press to Talk,” so I did.

  Lyle: Winnie! It’s me, Lyle! You got our package! Do you like all the stuff we sent you? Over!

  Winnie: Hi, Lyle! I’m going through the box now. Ooh, Cheetos treats! Nice.

  Lyle: [after a pause] Were you done talking? When you’re done talking, you’re supposed to say “over.” Over!

  Winnie: Oh yeah, I was all done. Over!

  Lyle: Cool. Yeah, so the Cheetos treats are from Aayush, obviously. We all wanted to put something in there for you—me and the other Treehouse Ten, I mean. To say thanks and stuff. Over!

  Winnie: Wow, this is awesome. A friendship bracelet, a new travel Scrabble, some books. Ha, dental floss. Nice, Lyle. Oh, this stuffed lizard is great. Tabitha’s getting really good at those. [pause] This is really nice, but what are you guys thanking me for? Over.

  Lyle: Winnie, for someone so smart, sometimes you’re really dumb. You think we wouldn’t figure out you were the reason Greta and Tabitha get to go to Craft Camp? The reason Joey is touring Nolan Blight’s studio? Our parents told us, Winnie. We know you’re the one who did all that for us. I can’t believe you didn’t say anything. It was really nice. So, thanks. Over.

  Winnie: Oh. Well, you’re welcome. I mean, you’re not mad? Over.

  Lyle: Why would we be mad that you did a bunch of nice stuff for us? Over.

  Winnie: I don’t know, just . . . You guys had all these demands, when you came up here. And you didn’t end up getting any of them. Over.

  Lyle: Oh. I didn’t think about it that way. You know what? I am mad! Over.

  Winnie: You are? Over.

  Lyle: No, dummy! Sheesh. You didn’t get us what we asked for, but you got us stuff we needed. That’s even better. You’re a good friend, Winnie. Over.

  Winnie: You really think so? Over.

  Lyle: Floss my teeth and hope to die. Although you’d be an even better friend if you’d go see the giant tooth exhibit with me. My moms are taking me after school tomorrow. Wanna come? Over.

  Winnie: I think I’m gonna stay up here a little longer. Just until . . . Well, I don’t know. Over.

  Lyle: I get it. [pause] Hey, so, Winnie? I have to tell you something. You’re not going to like it. Over.

  Winnie: What is it? Oh, there’s a whole pack of water balloons in here! Nice! And a brand-new Super Joey! Over.

  Lyle: Yeah, so, Squizzy overheard her dad on the phone with this historian guy, and it turns out there’s some old dumb law about embassies and consulates and . . . Okay, I didn’t understand everything. But it turns out your treehouse really isn’t its own country anymore. Your parents can make you come down anytime they want. Over.

  [Long pause]

  Lyle: Winnie? Winnie? Did you fall out the window? Do I need to call an ambulance? Over.

  Winnie: [sigh] I’m here. Thanks for telling me. About the treehouse, I mean. I guess maybe I should . . . I don’t know. Do my parents know already? How come they haven’t come to get me down, do you think? Over.

  Lyle: I don’t know about your parents, Winnie. But I didn’t tell you the other thing yet. The other thing is that I overheard my mom Dana on the phone today, too, talking to Logan and Brogan’s dad. You know, the fancy lawyer? And get this. He said that, if you want, you can sue your own parents. Did you know that’s a thing you can do? Over.

  Winnie: Why would I sue my own parents? Over.

  Lyle: Because then you can live all by yourself! Mr. Litz said you have a good case. You’d be an “immaculate minor,” or something like that. He said if you wanted he’d work on your case pro bozo. Over.

  Winnie: Huh?

  Lyle: You didn’t say “over.” Over!

  Winnie: Oh, sorry. Huh? Over!

  Lyle: That’s better. Over.

  Winnie: [sighs again] Lyle, what are you talking about? Over.

  Lyle: I’m talking about how you can live in your treehouse forever! Even if it’s not your own country! None of your parents’ weird schedules or crazy holidays or anything anymore. You can do whatever you want, never worry about failing anything ever again. Isn’t that great? Over.

  [Another long pause]

  Lyle: Winnie? Over?

  Winnie: Yeah. Yeah, that’s great, I guess. Over.

  Lyle: You don’t sound very happy. I thought you’d think it was good news. Over.

  Winnie: No, it is. I mean, that’s what I wanted from the beginning, right? Getting away from my parents being so weird all the time? Over.

  Lyle: Hey, look, Winnie, I should probably go. It’s pretty late, and no way I can be tardy tomorrow, because Mr. B is so mad that we all missed, like, two weeks of school. You know he gave us a pop quiz in lit today? Everyone failed, obviously. But he said he’s coming up with some huge project for us all to do to make up for it. Something about a memoir? I asked him and he said there might possibly be enough for you to do to pass fifth grade, even without turning in your local history report, if you worked really hard. I don’t know all the details yet, but . . . Well, it’d be cool to get to hang out with you in middle school. Don’t you think? Over.

  Winnie: Yeah. Sounds good, Lyle, thanks. Oh, and tell everyone else thanks for all the nice presents. The stuffed lizard and everything. Over.

  Lyle: Of course. And, Winnie? Is there anything you need? Besides, like, water balloons and dental floss, I mean? ’Cause if there is, I’ll totally help. Over.

  Winnie: [pause] Actually . . . Maybe there is something. If you don’t mind staying up just a little bit later. Over.

  Lyle: What is it? I’ll do anything. Over.

  Winnie: How good are you at forging notes? Over.

  Dear Mom,

  It’s me, Winnie! Can you come to the treehouse to talk to me? Come at exactly 9:00 a.m. tomorrow (Thursday!), and don’t be late! I’m just inviting you, not Dad!

  Love,

  Your daughter,

  Winnie

  P.S. If my handwriting looks different, it’s because I have a cold.

  Dear Dad,

  Hey, Dad, it’s Winnie, your daughter! I’m only writing to you, not Mom! I’m officially inviting you to come to the treehouse tomorrow morning exactly at 9:02 a.m. (Just you! Mom won’t be there at all!) THE TIME IS REALLY IMPORTANT! 9:02.

  (So you know, my writing might look weird because I sprained my hand eating Froot Loops.)

  See you on Thursday! At 9:02!

  Love,

  Winnie

  The Most Remarkable Thing

  20 days after what happened happened

  Winnie’s parents weren’t exactly thrilled that they’d been tricked into visiting the treehouse at the same time. But they stayed to talk anyway—because Winnie spun the lock on the trapdoor so quickly they couldn’t escape.

  “Winifred,” her father said with a frown, “this subterfuge is beneath you. I have no intention of discussing anything with your mother present.”

  Winnie didn’t know what subterfuge was, but she didn’t care. “Well, then I hope you like Froot Loops,” she said. “Because that’s pretty much all there is left to eat. And I’m going to make you live here until you finally do decide to talk to me.” She turned her gaze on her mom, who seemed about to protest just as loudly as Winnie’s dad had. “You, too, Mom. And don’t even think about using the zip line.”

  Winnie’s mom harrumphed. Her dad scowled. But they remained in their seats on the daybed, with Winnie standing before them, her arms crossed over her chest, like she was the parent and they were the bratty children.

  “I’ve been very worried about you, you know, Winifred,” her dad said. “I took several days off work, and stood at the kitchen window, just watching, to make sure you were okay in here. And you know, I h
ardly ever saw your mother watching out her window.”

  Winnie’s mom slapped her hands on her knees. “You think you were more worried than I was?” she shouted at Winnie’s dad. “I kept a worry journal. You want to see it? Winifred, let me out of here, I’m going to go on home and get my worry journal, so Varun can see which of us was more concerned about you.”

  “I don’t care who was more concerned!” Winnie shouted. It seemed like a good time for shouting. “You think that matters? So you were worried about me? Great! You’re supposed to be worried about me! You’re my parents. That’s your job!” Once the words started coming, Winnie found she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d wanted to. “But you should’ve come up here. You should’ve tried to get me down. That’s all I asked for, and you couldn’t even do it.”

  “But—” her mom started.

  “But—” her dad said.

  Winnie cut them off. “You’re here now,” she said.

  Both of her parents in the treehouse together—that was the only thing Winnie had demanded when she’d climbed up into her treehouse and refused to come down. But once she’d turned her Artist Vision on herself and really examined things in the shifted light, she’d realized that what she needed was something more.

  “I need you to listen to me,” she told her parents. “Like, really listen.”

  It was not an easy conversation. Winnie’s parents did not want to listen. What they wanted to talk about was holidays and schedules and who loved whom more and all sorts of ridiculous things. But Winnie didn’t give up.

  “I want.”

  Winnie said that a lot.

  “I need.”

  Winnie said that, too.

  “I don’t like.”

  Winnie’s mom frowned. She brought up her plans for World Fish Migration Day at least twice, but Winnie scooped up Buttons and petted his soft fur and took his good advice and kept talking.

  “I want.”

  “I need.”

  “I don’t like.”

  Winnie’s dad growled. He mentioned the time when Winnie was five and her mother had lost track of her in the grocery store and Winnie had cried. (“I’ve never lost you in a grocery store,” he said.) But Winnie tucked her chin into Buttons’s orange neck and listened to his comforting purrs and kept talking.

  “I want.”

  “I need.”

  “I don’t like.”

  And eventually, a remarkable thing happened. It was, Winnie realized, the most remarkable thing that had happened since Winnie had first climbed up into her treehouse and refused to come down.

  Winnie’s parents began to listen.

  They pinched their lips and they looked at their hands and they nodded their heads while Winnie spoke.

  Buttons raised his kitty eyebrows at Winnie. She could tell he thought the development was pretty remarkable, too. Winnie scratched at his favorite spot and kept talking.

  “I want.”

  “I need.”

  “I don’t like.”

  When Winnie had said all the words she needed to say, she set Buttons down gently and she went to her parents, sitting there on the daybed, staring at their hands. And she hugged them. She didn’t worry about who she was hugging first and who she was hugging second. She just hugged.

  “I love you,” she told her parents.

  They sniffled up their tears.

  They smoothed out their frowns.

  Then they said the words that they needed to say.

  “We love you, too.”

  That’s what they said.

  “We’re sorry.”

  They said that, too.

  And after all of those remarkable things, there was only one thing left to do.

  “I think,” Winnie told her parents, “I’m ready to leave the treehouse now.”

  Visit http://bit.ly/2hEkBua for a larger version of this image.

  A Big Win

  49 days after what happened happened

  After Jolee won first place in the semiregional Scrabble tournament in May, she’d gone on to compete in the regional tournament. And then the statewide competition. And then, one week before the last day of fifth grade, Jolee and all the Treehouse Ten (and all their parents, too) found themselves at the Junior National Scrabble Championships.

  Jolee blew everyone out of the water. Her first play in her final game was the word equinox, which earned her 116 points,and things only got better from there. Her grand-prize trophy was taller than she was, so when it came time to snap her photo, Jolee asked her little sister, Ainslee, to sit on top of her shoulders to help make things even. (Jolee said later that Ainslee could still be super annoying, but most of the time she didn’t mind having her around as much.)

  Winnie and her friends and all the parents cheered Jolee from the audience. Winnie’s parents sat in separate rows and didn’t speak much, but Winnie was pretty proud of their behavior. Afterward, the Treehouse Ten were invited to join Jolee at her table at the winners’ reception dinner, while the parents sat at a separate table. (Winnie could tell that her parents really didn’t want to sit at the same table, but they did it anyway, without even grumbling, and Winnie was proud of them for that, too.)

  It was while they were working on their salad course that the Treehouse Ten turned to the question of what they should call themselves. After all, Lyle pointed out, they didn’t live in a treehouse anymore. “And we can’t exactly go back to being the Tulip Street Ten, either, since we’ll be in middle school.” He speared a tomato on the end of his fork and added, “I mean, if Mr. B accepts our memoir and doesn’t fail us. But I bet we’re probably gonna pass fifth grade, don’t you think?”

  “How about Ten Kids Who Used to Hang Out All the Time?” Squizzy suggested, devouring a bread roll.

  “Ten Kids Who Still Hang Out All the Time, Even Though They Go to Different Schools,” Joey said. “Pass me the butter.”

  “How ’bout the Lizard People?” Tabitha piped up, and Greta offered her a high five for her great suggestion.

  “Dragon Destroyers!” said Logan.

  “Dragon Destroyers Destroyers!” said Brogan, which Logan thought was even better.

  “Maybe,” Winnie said thoughtfully, chewing on a bite of lettuce. She paused to swallow, and the others waited to hear what she had to say. “Maybe we should just stick with the Treehouse Ten? I mean, I know we don’t live there anymore, but I bet that’s what the world will always remember us by.”

  Lyle raised his water glass. “I like it!” he said, and they all clinked their glasses together.

  “Hey, Winnie?” Squizzy said. “What would you say to a slumber party in the treehouse sometime? With all of us, I mean? We’ve been talking and we sort of miss it. Now that it’s in the United States again, I bet our parents would actually let us go. And I promise not to make any timetables or anything.”

  The very thought of another slumber party with her friends—a real one, not a two-week-long one—made Winnie happy all over. “That would be fun,” she said. She took another bite of salad. “Plus”—she paused to chew—“you guys could help me work on a project I’ve been thinking about. Something to do with the treehouse, so it doesn’t just sit there so empty all the time. But . . .” Winnie added up that month’s calendar days in her head. “It would mean taking away one of my mom’s days with me this month, and she’s gonna get way less than my dad anyway, because of us going to Kansas. And I know my dad’s sort of bummed about me coming back early, to spend the rest of the summer with my mom, so . . .” Winnie spun her blue-and-gold friendship bracelet around her wrist—the one Greta had made her special at Craft Camp. At last she nodded. “All I can do is ask, right?” she said to her friends. And when the Treehouse Ten agreed, Winnie stood up, took a deep breath, and went to talk to her parents.

  Her parents, when she ta
lked to them, took pretty deep breaths, too.

  But they listened, which was all Winnie could ask them to do.

  “I think that sounds reasonable.” That’s what Winnie’s mom said, after thinking about it for a few seconds. She didn’t even frown, either. “It’s fine with me, if your father agrees.”

  “I bet you’d have a lot of fun, wouldn’t you?” Winnie’s dad replied. “Why don’t you go ahead and put it on the calendar?”

  Winnie hadn’t used her Artist Vision in a while, but she turned it on then, just for practice. She squinted her eyes, observing her parents in the shifted light.

  The twitch of her mom’s lip, just before her mouth morphed into a smile.

  The smirk in her dad’s eyes, as he watched his daughter.

  Winnie’s dad pulled a notebook out of his back pocket then and flipped a few pages. “Do you have a moment, Winifred?” he asked. “I wanted to go over the plans I’ve been drafting for Hug Your Cat Day. How do you think Buttons would feel about wearing a full-body cat suit?”

  Winnie’s mom slapped a palm to her forehead. “Oh, Varun,” she groaned. But then she let out a laugh, thick and cheerful.

  Yep, Winnie thought, after giving her mom and dad each a quick peck on the cheek and scuttling off to rejoin her friends. Her parents were still her parents—always would be.

  But for the first time in what felt like ages, Winnie found that she didn’t mind too much.

  How to Be a Scrabble Champ

  by Jolee Watson

  #1: Memorization

  If you want to win big at Scrabble, you need to start memorizing uncommon words that will score you lots of points! Some good words are JUKEBOX, for a minimum 77 points, or SQUIFFY (“slightly tipsy”), for a minimum 75. And don’t forget about two-letter words! You can do a lot of damage with a word like XI (the fourteenth letter of the Greek alphabet).