“Driving across the country?” Zedediah said. E.D., whose head was spinning, thought he sounded admirably calm. “In school buses?”
Jeremy waved a pamphlet with a photo of the Art Bus on the cover. “The details are all in here. It’s an adventurous quest—a kind of monumental field trip—that each group will document with video logs that will get national coverage. They’re even working with a producer to make it into a television show!”
Sybil groaned. “Oh, Jeremy, not television again. . . .”
E.D. winced. It had been Jeremy who arranged for the television crew to come film the Applewhites’ production of The Sound of Music and interview the whole family. That experience, with the horrible perky television personality, had been a disaster none of them would ever forget!
“This is ridiculous,” said Randolph, standing up. “I don’t have time for field trips, and I have no interest in television; I’m a theater director!”
“The winning group’s educational plan will be showcased nationally, and it will serve as the foundation for a national charter-school franchise,” Jeremy continued quickly, as Randolph rolled his eyes and started out of the room. “And the winners will also get quite generous funding for their own work.”
Randolph stopped in his tracks. “Funding?” he asked, turning back.
“Generous!” repeated Jeremy. “In the form of a grant and individual fellowships for the artists!”
The room was quiet for a moment. “Not to be crass,” Randolph said at last, “but can you give us a dollar amount—or at least a general neighborhood. . . .”
Jeremy grinned. “The grant will be somewhere in the mid six figures.”
“The mid WHAT?” hollered Randolph, incredulously.
“Six figures,” said Jeremy. Six figures, E.D. thought. Hundreds of thousands of dollars. She worried her father might faint. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, before finally squeaking out a strangled “And fellowships, you say? Individual grants for each artist?”
“Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty thousand dollars. Each! The Rutherfords are extremely wealthy and extremely generous.”
Randolph sat down at the table again.
“Doesn’t that make the whole program a competition?” Zedediah asked. “I mean, if we decide to participate—”
“For that kind of money, we’ll participate, all right,” Randolph said.
“It would be like the Creative Academy, on wheels,” Jeremy said, his eyes flashing. “You’d need to buy buses—you’ll probably need two!—and outfit them. The Rutherfords will provide funding for that, and each group will fix them up in their own particular style. Then you take to the road, making your way to the Rutherford Art Center on the coast of California, north of LA. Learning and teaching as you go!”
“Will they provide some kind of curriculum?” E.D. asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “No, no, no! They believe life itself is the true curriculum. The whole point is for each group to creatively use what they find along their particular journeys to craft their own!”
This sounded like E.D.’s worst nightmare and everything that had always worried her about the Creative Academy. If nothing was planned, and nothing was required, how were you going to be sure anybody was actually learning anything? Or learning something that would one day get them into college?
Jeremy’s cheeks were pink with enthusiasm. “Plus, you can show how art really can turn a life around, just like you did with Jake! The timing is almost miraculous. My brother and his wife were at their wits’ end with Melody, but I’ve promised them that what happened for Jake will happen for her. Being with all of you, how could it not?”
Melody! E.D. wondered what that girl and Jake were doing out at the pond right this minute. If those short shorts and that skimpy halter top were what she considered fully clothed, what must her bathing suit look like? E.D. found herself imagining a massive snapping turtle grabbing Melody’s toes.
Jeremy was passing out brochures with glossy pictures of the Rutherford Art Center around the table. “Who would we be up against?” asked Randolph, his eyes glinting.
Jeremy squeezed his eyebrows together as he thought about it. “So far the competitors are a charter school for the arts in Florida, an arts colony slash commune in Maine, a co-op school in Brooklyn, and a group of homeschooling visual artists based in San Diego—they’ll make a big loop around the western states. I’m still working on getting this really interesting mime group from the Midwest and a music camp in Idaho. But if you do this, I can’t see anybody else beating you. Not that I can make any promises, of course. I have to stay completely neutral.”
“You’re talking about a great deal of money,” Zedediah observed. “But it’s also a massive undertaking, and extremely disruptive to our lives. . . .”
E.D. tuned out the conversation. She was the family’s designated organizer, the only member of the clan who could be relied on to hold things together in times of crisis. She had overseen the transformation of their barn into a theater and stage-managed The Sound of Music. She had been the main planner of the art camp and practically single-handedly kept it going. The responsibility of organizing a roaming school, which the family was sure to hand over to her, made her dizzy. The thought of how much chaos the Applewhites could create, all traveling across the country together, made her palms sweat. And with Melody Aiko Bernstein along? That made her want to throw up.
Chapter Four
Jake had never been more grateful for Destiny’s ability to talk endlessly without interruption or encouragement. Because every time Jake tried to talk to Melody Bernstein, it all came out wrong.
“This one is Wisteria Cottage, which is named for the flowering vines,” Jake found himself saying as they toured Wit’s End on the way to the pond. “Wisteria is an invasive species, actually, that was brought over from—” Stop talking, Jake, thought Jake.
Destiny galloped past them and onto the porch of the cottage, tottering under the pile of towels he was carrying. He already had his life jacket on. He dropped the towels and pulled open the door. “Come in, Melody, come in! You gots to see Uncle Archie’s coffee table and Aunt Lucille’s meditation corner and Jake’s room and everything!”
Melody followed him in and looked at each thing Destiny pointed out, as Jake attempted to explain it. “Come down here, come down here!” Destiny yelled, bouncing off down the hallway. “Come see Jake’s room! It’s my favoritest place to be in Wit’s End except for my room, and the goatses’ pen, and the pond and the woods and the theater.” Melody followed him and stared in through the door at Jake’s room, which Lucille had painted and decorated entirely in lavender. Jake wished he hadn’t left a pair of underwear lying right there on the floor next to the laundry hamper.
“Lavender?” Melody asked, looking at him.
“It’s supposed to be calming, I guess? Lucille left it lavender when I moved in, you know, because I was . . .” He trailed off.
“Because you were a troubled kid,” she said. Her head was tipped to the side and her hair fell across one eye. She stared straight into his eyes, and his heart went bump-thump against the inside of his chest.
“Okay, now let’s go meet the goatses,” Destiny cried, and banged back out through the cottage door.
Melody made a sound that could have been a cough, or could have been a laugh, and walked out onto the porch. Winston went out after her and Jake followed, picking up the towels Destiny had left there.
“So,” he said, as he fell in behind Melody on the path Destiny had taken toward the goat pen, “how old are you?”
“Older than you,” Melody called back over her shoulder.
“Are you in high school or middle school or, well, there aren’t any grades or anything in the Creative Academy, you know—nothing like eighth or ninth or—of course, it isn’t really a school. Or it is, sort of. But—” Jake, thought Jake, seriously, just stop talking. He stopped talking.
Destiny had reached the goat pen and was
yanking handfuls of the weeds that grew just outside the fence and holding them out for Hazel, the female goat. She chewed at them thoughtfully. “This is Hazel, short for Witch Hazel,” said Destiny. “She’s the lady goat and Wolfie, short for Wolfbane, is the boy goat, but he’s in their little house right now, which is good because Wolfie can be kind of mean sometimes. My aunt Lucille says it’s from being abused before she rescued them.”
Jake hadn’t thought that Melody Bernstein would have much interest in the goats, but she went straight over to the fence and knelt down directly in front of Hazel. Destiny had to scramble out of her way. Melody tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Cool eyes,” she said. “Scary.”
Which was exactly what Jake had always thought about the goats’ eyes. They were wide, and dark, with glimmering golden irises and rectangular pupils. It was those pupils, Jake thought, that made them look scary. Blank, somehow, or empty, like a shark. Or a devil.
Melody leaned toward Hazel, staring into her eyes, her forehead an inch or two from the gate.
“Um,” said Jake, “you might not want to get so—”
He was too late. Wolfie exploded through the open door of the goat hutch and charged straight for Melody, head down, his whole body at full stretch. His horns smashed into the gate just inches from Melody’s face with a terrifying crack. Destiny shrieked and dove out of the way, Winston started barking, and Jake flinched even though he was standing several feet back.
Melody, however, barely moved. Wolfie rebounded from the impact and stood, glaring at her, his front feet a little bit apart, his haunches tensed for another battering attack.
“Oh yeah?” said Melody, so quietly Jake could barely hear. Then, to Jake’s utter astonishment, she pulled her head back and smashed her own forehead into the gate. The crash wasn’t quite as loud as Wolfie’s, but it made a significant bang. She tipped her head forward and stared straight at Wolfie, totally unfazed.
The big goat slowly began to back away. Keeping an eye on Melody the whole way, he slipped back into the hutch and out of sight.
“Whoa!” breathed Destiny, from where he was still sprawled in the grass.
Melody uncoiled herself smoothly from the ground. “So,” she said. “Where’s this famous swimming pond?”
Destiny darted off ahead. Melody followed him, but not before Jake saw a red spot growing into a welt on her forehead. She didn’t even seem to notice. Her long legs sliced easily through the tall grass of the field, which was starting to turn brown and smell like hay under the baking late-summer sun. Grasshoppers scattered, buzzing, in front of her, and Jake, towels clutched to his chest, trailed along in her wake.
They reached the pond and Destiny began a well-practiced recitation of the rules for swimming. “You gots to wait half an hour after you eat before you swim,” he said, “and you can only dive off the end of the dock where it’s deep—” Melody didn’t even pretend she was listening. She shrugged out of her flimsy shirt and slid off her shorts, revealing a simple blue bikini underneath. She ran the length of the wooden dock and dove, knifing into the water and out of sight.
“She didn’t wait for me to finish telling her the rules,” said Destiny.
“No, she didn’t, buddy,” said Jake, dropping their towels onto the grass. “No, she didn’t.”
Melody broke the surface and struck out across the pond with smooth, clean strokes. She paid no attention to them at all. Jake shrugged at Destiny, and the two of them ran, whooping, off the end of the dock.
Destiny’s favorite pond game was to make Jake jump off the diving platform in the middle of the pond in various funny ways. As Jake pulled himself up onto the platform, Destiny shouted, “Do a new one! Jake! Jake! Do a new one!”
Melody was doing a lazy backstroke around the edge of the pond. Jake couldn’t tell if she was watching, and wouldn’t let himself look to see.
“All right,” said Jake. “I’ve been saving this one—crisscross applesauce!”
Destiny giggled and clapped, bobbing up and down in his life vest. Jake took a running start and leaped as high as he could over the water, pulling his legs up so it looked like he was sitting cross-legged in midair. He crashed into the water butt-first and made an excellent splash, but then the water slammed in on his head, driving quite a lot of the pond straight up his nose.
He came to the surface choking and laughing, and swam back to hang off the side of the platform and cough it all out. Destiny was shouting with laughter and saying, “Again! Again! Crisscross applesauce again!” and then suddenly Melody was hanging on the side of the platform next to Jake.
“Race you back to the dock,” she said, and started swimming.
Jake swam after her.
“Where you going, Jake?” Destiny hollered. “Aren’t you gonna do it again?”
Melody got to the dock well ahead of Jake and began climbing the ladder. “Hey, little kid,” she called.
“My name’s Destiny,” said Destiny.
“Yeah, yeah. I bet you don’t know what kind of plant that is sticking up by the bank,” she said, pointing over Destiny’s head at the other shore of the pond.
Destiny turned around to look where she was pointing. “That tall one with the brown tops? That’s a cattail. Cattails are my favorite because when they dry out you can break off the little puffs and let them blow away.”
“You know any of the other ones?” Melody asked as Jake, who had finally caught up, climbed the ladder.
Destiny was launched now, showing off what he knew. “Jake and me knows just about all of ’em! Those big flat ones floating by the cattails are lily pads, and the green stuff near those is duckweed, and . . .”
“Come on,” said Melody, heading toward the shore.
“Um, where?” asked Jake, but she was already off the end of the dock. She stooped to grab her shorts. “Mel—Melody?” called Jake, as she pulled a cigarette pack out of her shorts’ pocket and waggled it at him. She winked, jammed her feet into her flip-flops, and headed toward the woods. “Um, hang on,” said Jake. “I can’t leave Destiny; he’s not allowed to swim alone.”
Melody stopped just at the edge of the trees. “He’s fine,” she said. “Anyway, that dog is there to watch him.” Winston was lying on his back next to the dock, sound asleep. “We’ll be right over here and back in like two seconds.” And she stepped behind a tree.
Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest. I really shouldn’t, he thought. He looked back at Destiny, who was still conducting a solitary nature tour of the pond and didn’t even notice they had gone. He’s fine, Jake told himself. He’s got his life jacket on. And I’ll be back in like half a minute. Barefoot, he headed after Melody into the woods.
She was lighting the cigarette with a Zippo that looked a lot like his old one, and held it out to him seriously. “There he is,” she said, blowing a lungful of smoke out of the side of her mouth. “I was starting to think all this bad-boy-from-the-city stuff was a big fake.” Jake took the cigarette, and her fingers brushed his. He couldn’t tell if it was on purpose.
It had been almost a year since Jake had smoked. Smoking wasn’t allowed at Wit’s End. Come to think of it, it had also been almost a year since Jake had broken the rules. Any rules. And right now he was breaking a couple of big ones. He was supposed to be watching Destiny. He wasn’t supposed to be smoking, especially while hiding in the woods with a stunningly gorgeous girl. He had forgotten how exciting it could be to break the rules. He took a drag on the cigarette. It tasted great.
Then he took another drag, and his head spun and the forest floor went all spongy under his feet, like a trampoline. Suddenly the cigarette didn’t taste good at all. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and he couldn’t tell if it was wind, or his own heart racing, but either way he couldn’t hear Destiny anymore.
“I’ve got to go check on Destiny.” He handed her back the cigarette, and turned and headed for the dock.
Destiny was still paddling happily in th
e middle of the pond. He had finished identifying the freshwater flora and had moved on to the clouds. “That one there is a cumulus, and those feather ones are cirruses, and way up there . . .”
Jake sat down on the dock and watched him, and tried to catch his breath. His fingers were tingling the way they did when he was about to go onstage.
Tingling the way they used to when the old Jake Semple used to break rules.
Eventually Destiny had enough swimming, and they both dried off with the towels that were warm from sitting in the sun. When they looked for Melody, she was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Five
E.D. Applewhite was on strike.
The whole family, she thought, had always been so quick to turn to her. To organize all the things they didn’t want to think about. To do the things they didn’t want to do. Or find out how to do what they didn’t know how to do. They just assumed E.D. would handle it. And handle it she had, holding everything together in times of crisis.
But now how did they thank her for all the times she’d done just that? All the times she’d saved them from catastrophe? They completely ignored what she had to say about the Education Expedition.
When the family met to discuss whether they should go, E.D. had pointed out that Wit’s End needed tending, the goats needed feeding, the whole place could fall into disrepair while they were gone. But then Govindaswami agreed to stay and host his annual yoga retreat there and look after the place. She reminded Hal that he would have to live and travel and eat and sleep in close quarters with the whole rest of the family just after he—a total recluse!—had spent the summer living in a cabin with a bunch of campers. And Hal, clearly already under Melody’s spell, said that was all right. All right! Even Zedediah, the one person she could always count on to be sensible, was so burned out from building and selling his handcrafted wood furniture to support the family and their camp that he was suddenly willing to just toss everything aside and rush off across the country in some rattly old school bus!
Applewhites Coast to Coast Page 3