“Fine, then. This is your home school. So what grade do you give yourself?” E.D. blinked again. “Come on,” Melody insisted, “I know you grade yourself, because you’re a gigantic nerd. What’s on your own report card right about now?”
E.D. swallowed hard. She hadn’t done any of the work she would have already done—notes, reports, presentations, outlines—in a regular school year. All she’d done was make some plans about the Great Dismal Swamp, and they might not even end up going there. She squelched a ridiculously childish impulse to stick her tongue out at Melody.
“Okay, okay. Point taken,” she said at last. “I’d give myself a C, too.” She paused and her stomach sank. “Maybe a C minus.” She groaned. Never in her life had she had a grade that low.
“Okay, then,” Melody said. “There’s a whole lot riding on this Expedition, for a lot of people. We all win. Or we all lose. Think about what you really want.” She turned, whipping her long black hair in E.D.’s face as she went. “And then come to the kids’ table in the restaurant and let us know what you’ve decided. We want to make this happen and we’ve gotta know where you stand.”
E.D. smacked a mosquito that landed on her arm, and wondered if the smear of blood it left behind was her own. She remembered how she’d felt at the beach, how it felt to be in a new place with the prospect of a trip across the whole continent, with new places all the way. And new stuff to learn about in every one of them. She could learn, and she could probably even organize it so that everyone else did, too. It’s the kind of thing she could do, and do well—and give herself a good grade for it when she did. All she had to do was give up her strike.
She sighed a deep sigh, waited a bit to make the point that Melody couldn’t order her around, and then followed her, aware that the tingly feeling in her stomach could only be excitement.
Cordelia had already settled at a table in the small dining room at EAT and the other kids were joining her, taking all the chairs.
From the adjoining bar came the sound of Applewhites arguing and a general background hum of other voices.
“Here’s the thing,” Melody said after the waitress had taken their order and left. “Your dad is really smart.”
E.D. was so surprised she wondered if her mouth actually fell open.
“Dramatic structure. Arc. Story. That’s how we’re gonna win this competition.”
“I hate competition,” growled Cordelia.
“Only when you lose,” Melody said. “You are really, really good! Do you want to keep dancing, alone, in a shack in Bumblebutt, North Carolina? Or do you want the whole country to notice you? Money and attention and offers pouring in from all over the place to dance, do your choreography, compose your music, paint—whatever.” Cordelia opened her mouth, then shut it again. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“Do you really think the Expedition is such a big deal? I mean beyond the prize money,” asked Jake.
“Uncle Jeremy’s told me all about these guys—the Rutherfords. They have so much money it’d make your eyes water. And they get their kicks out of giving it away to make the world ‘a better place.’ Their way, of course. Through art. Believe me, this is a very big deal! Nationwide television exposure. A chance to be stars!”
“Your uncle Jeremy is a flake,” huffed Cordelia.
“Says the Crown Princess of the Flake Empire,” Melody shot back. “So, what’s our motivation here? Do you want to do this Expedition? Do you want to win this Expedition? The only ones who’ll get the big-deal TV thing will be the winners. Nobody cares about the guys who lose.”
Jake looked at his fingertips. The front of his floppy Mohawk fell into his eyes, and E.D. had a sudden impulse to reach out and brush it away. She caught herself with a shiver.
“I want to go,” Jake said at last. “I want us to do it.”
“Yeah,” said Melody. “Me, too.” Jake looked up at her and smiled with what looked like gratitude.
That smile went into E.D.’s heart like an icicle.
“What about the rest of you? Do you want to do this Expedition?”
“Oh, my gosh, yes I do,” said Destiny, his eyes big and wide. “I wants to see that other ocean. And mountains! This is the greatest thing that’s ever happened in my whole life ever.”
“Noted. Princess?”
Cordelia sighed dramatically. “I’d be willing to give it another try.” Hal was nodding along with her.
Just then the waitress brought their food and everyone’s attention shifted. When they’d finished eating, Melody turned her most evil-queen look on E.D.
“So. How about you, Professor? This is it. The moment of decision. You gonna go for an A plus?” Melody reached out, then, and touched her lightly on the arm. “Honestly, my plan needs you most of all.” She smiled a smile so warm and infectious that E.D. had to concentrate to keep from smiling back. “This whole Expedition, this whole competition—it’s just a story, like one of your father’s plays. Whoever tells the Rutherfords the best story is going to win. I’ve been telling stories my whole life, making everybody—parents, teachers, boys—think what I want them to think.”
“Your parents think you’re a delinquent,” E.D. objected. “They pulled you out of school and sent you to us.”
“Bingo, genius. They pulled me out of school. Do you think school is where I wanted to be? If we’re going to win this thing we have to tell the Rutherford Foundation the story they want to hear.”
“So what is that?”
“I’ve got that part, don’t even worry about it.” Melody waved her hand dismissively. “Think arts and education. The adults in your family are into the art part. What happened here shows how much we need you for the education part.”
Everybody was looking at E.D. hopefully.
“I . . . I’ll consider it.” She would have said yes—wanted to say yes—but it was Melody asking. It felt as if she’d be working for Melody. Then she thought about the Great Dismal Swamp. If she took over, that could be their next stop.
“Okay, moving on,” Melody said. “Our intention is to get this Expedition back on track and win it. Our obstacles? It looks like the adults might be just about to quit the whole thing. Will they? Won’t they? Suspense!”
Jake shook his head. “But how do we keep them from quitting?”
“If you believe dear Aunt Lucille and her guru, we don’t have to. We just set our intention and turn it over to the Universe. This disaster here was just ‘the spice before the sweet.’” Her eyes were twinkling but she didn’t sound entirely sarcastic. “This is going to be our story. Agreed?” The others all nodded.
Destiny was talking now, and E.D. tuned him out. She was near the doorway into the bar, and she scooted her chair closer, hoping to hear what the adults were saying. But they seemed all to be talking at once, and she couldn’t make out the words. Her eyes drifted to the television over the bar, which was showing a newsperson doing an interview. It took her a minute to realize the person being interviewed was Jeremy Bernstein.
She jumped up from the table and ran into the bar. “Everybody, look!” she shouted, pointing up at the television. The bartender and the other patrons turned around to see what the fuss was about. “Can you turn the sound on?” On-screen, Jeremy was still talking, with a caption below him that read, “Education Expedition.”
The bartender got the sound turned on. “. . . instead of a bus taking you to the school,” Jeremy was saying, “the Rutherfords propose that the bus can be the school!”
The camera cut to an older couple, with the caption “Larry and Janet Rutherford.” E.D. didn’t know what superrich people were supposed to look like, but whatever it was, the Rutherfords didn’t look like it. They looked like they worked at a health food store.
“Education in America is dying,” said Larry Rutherford forcefully, “and it needs a radical plan to save it.”
“As we speak,” said Janet Rutherford, “teams of world-renowned artist-educators are preparing to set off ac
ross the country with their students, in a competition to see who has the best new ideas to revive American education!”
The shot cut back to the reporter, a tall young woman with elegant hair and a nice suit. She was standing in front of Jeremy’s Art Bus. “We’ll be following this Expedition for the next two months,” she said. “Keep an eye out in your town for buses like this one.”
The story ended, a commercial started, and the bartender muted the TV again. “Hey,” he said, “is that what those funky buses parked out there are about? Are you guys famous?”
Randolph cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said. “And yes.”
The bartender nodded and smiled. “Cool,” he said, and went back to cleaning glasses with a rag.
Melody had been right about everything after all, E.D. thought. Even the Universe seemed to be on her side. After that there was no doubt that the Expedition was on!
Half an hour later, on the way back to Brunhilda, E.D. asked her grandfather about stopping at the Great Dismal Swamp to start the education part right away. “We could get some great video logs.”
“That would be an excellent plan,” he said, “except that they’ve started handing out assignments. We just got our first one from Jeremy,” he said. “Your mother is going to run the next stop. She’s making plans with a library there already. There’s no time for an unnecessary side trip.”
E.D. stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Her grandfather had called the swamp an unnecessary side trip. Suddenly, she didn’t care one bit what Melody’s plans for the kids to take over the Expedition were. She was all in.
Chapter Eight
They managed to get on the road by eight thirty the next morning, with Archie driving the roaring Pageant Wagon in front, Randolph driving Brunhilda behind. Destiny wanted to ride in the Pageant Wagon this time and was perched precariously on the rolls of cable on Lucille and Archie’s bed. He insisted that Jake sing songs with him until Zedediah asked them to please stop.
At the first rest area, Melody came bursting out of Brunhilda with E.D. in tow. She grabbed Jake by the hand and led them back into the Pageant Wagon’s bedroom, pulling the curtain closed across the doorway and wheeling around to face them with conspiratorial zeal.
“Okay,” she began without any preface, “what do we know about this next stop?”
E.D. squinted at her for a moment and then spoke up. “Clayton, Tennessee. Grandpa said the assigned art form is literature, which is why my mother said she’d organize it. I think she’s been on her phone with a librarian there.”
Melody nodded. “I did some eavesdropping on that call, and as far as I can tell, her workshop isn’t anything but her reading the chapters of Petunia Possum, Detective that she’s written so far, with some time for the children to tell her how wonderful they thought it was.”
E.D. sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Not a winning program, and boring as death on camera,” Melody agreed. “So now what?”
Jake looked from one to the other, both of them totally wrapped up in planning and paying no attention to him whatsoever. The sun at Haddock Point had brought out E.D.’s scattering of freckles and her eyes had the intense look they got when she was focused. Melody was tucking a long, sleek strand of black hair behind her ear, and her linen shirt was hanging loosely around her. Jake suddenly noticed E.D. staring at him over the pencil she was chewing on, and yanked his eyes away from both of them to peer innocently out the window.
“I mean,” E.D. said after a while, “I do have one idea, but it feels risky.”
“I like the sound of this already, Professor,” said Melody, grabbing E.D.’s shoulder. “And I like the look on your face. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’ve got some mischief in mind.”
E.D. just smiled and pulled out her phone. She punched in a number, and while it was ringing she took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was deeper and more grown-up-sounding than usual. “Hello, Clayton Public Library?” she asked. “Yes, hello. This is Sybil Jameson’s executive assistant. . . .”
Later that day, as they pushed on toward Tennessee, Jake just stared out the window as the North Carolina countryside rolled back the other way, and thought about Melody. Then E.D. Then Melody again. His life, he thought, had become very complicated.
It was their first night in a proper campground, and E.D. had (of course) taken care of everything. It was very good to have her back in gear, Jake thought. She had spoken to the lady at check-in about switching their sites to the kind you can pull a big RV straight through, so that Archie and Randolph didn’t have to back them into place. (“They’d knock down every tree within a mile,” E.D. had said). It was already getting dark when they pulled in. There were water, sewer, and electrical hookups, and they had to start working with flashlights, everybody bustling around to get set up—everyone, of course, except Melody, who brought out a portable light bar from the video equipment storage and wandered around recording everything with her camera.
At one point Randolph opened Brunhilda’s black-water tank—which held what Destiny cheerfully called the “poop water”—before Archie had gotten the hose into the campground’s sewer pipe, and Archie got a flood of poop water all over his feet. Melody recorded all of it, including when Sybil and Lucille rushed in to pull the brothers apart.
Melody had figured out how to strap together two of the wheeled trunks that they carried sound equipment in, and hung up a curtain to cover it, so she was now sleeping in the very crowded Pageant Wagon with Jake, Zedediah, Archie, and Lucille. “The professor is all elbows and knees,” she announced, rolling out her sleeping bag and hopping happily onto her new bed that night while Jake tried very hard not to notice how short her nightshirt was. “If we had to keep sharing a bed, one of us was going to die. Good night!”
As he lay awake well into the still, quiet night, Jake learned that Melody Aiko Bernstein snored, just a little bit, in her sleep. It was kind of adorable.
They woke to a brisk and cloudy morning. Except for Randolph, who was still sleeping, they all gathered and ate the scrambled eggs Archie had made at the campsite’s picnic table. “Almost civilized,” Zedediah observed.
Melody helpfully pointed out that the coffee tasted burnt, and E.D. noted that the eggs were overdone in some spots and runny in others. But everybody looked oddly content.
“Perfectly splendid,” Lucille decreed.
Jake was chilly, and some Haddock Point mosquito bites still itched, but he stared up into the leaves overhead and drank burnt coffee and ate runny eggs, and somehow had to agree. Yes. It was pretty splendid.
One downside to living in their buses, Jake thought, as everyone climbed down from the Pageant Wagon onto the tree-lined downtown sidewalks of Clayton, Tennessee, was that everything had to be packed up and all the hoses and plugs disconnected from the campsite before they could go anywhere. All the adults, except Sybil and Zedediah, who drove, had decided to stay behind in Brunhilda, but even so, it had been hard to fit everyone and everything into the Pageant Wagon for the ride into town.
The library was an old brick building with a stained glass window over large, carved wooden double doors. As they went inside, a small, eager young woman with very short hair, dyed bright red above dark roots, hurried over to them.
“You’re here! You’re here! I was afraid you might have difficulty finding us. Come right on in. Sybil Jameson, in our little library! I can hardly believe it! I’m Marianne Quintana, the librarian—we have everything set up in the children’s room, just as your assistant requested.” Sybil looked puzzled and opened her mouth to say something, but Marianne Quintana went right on talking. “We have every one of the Petunia Grantham novels! They’re big favorites here in our paperback-lending area. I’m so excited to have an author of your stature visit us in person!”
“Well, of course, I’m not here to focus on myself,” said Sybil, smiling proudly, and Jake felt E.D. let out a long-held breath by his side. “I’m here
for the children of Clayton.”
A young man stepped up next to the librarian. He reminded Jake of the boys on the swim team at one of his old schools. “This is Michael Lyons, my assistant,” said Ms. Quintana. “He’s been setting things up for you.”
Michael Lyons, Jake noticed, was looking not at Famous Author Sybil Jameson, but at Melody and Cordelia, who were following Hal. “Can I carry anything for you?” he asked the girls, each of whom was carrying a roll of electric cable in one hand and a small device in the other while Hal staggered under two bags full of heavy equipment.
Melody handed Michael Lyons the tiny wireless microphone she was carrying. “Oh, thank you so much, that’s so sweet,” she said, and he beamed at her.
He ushered them forward, past Hal and through a door marked CHILDREN’S ROOM, into which the librarian and Sybil had already disappeared. Destiny went in behind them. Jake saw that E.D., briefcase in hand, was glowering at the young man, who had taken no notice of her at all. Jake wasn’t surprised, given that E.D. was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt while both Cordelia and Melody were dressed to be noticed, Cordelia in a flowing skirt and snug tank top, and Melody in very short shorts and a linen shirt.
Inside the room, Destiny had already dropped his heavy backpack on one of the low tables with small wooden chairs that were scattered around the edges of the room, and was pulling out his drawing pad and markers. The librarian was showing Sybil the rocking chair on the far side of the room, and Michael Lyons was asking Melody and Cordelia what he could do to help set up for the video recording, oblivious to the fact that it was Hal who was getting out the camera and setting up a tripod for it. “We’re fine,” said Cordelia, with a sly smile.
E.D. put her briefcase down on a table next to a stack of notebooks and a cluster of pens. Jake waved toward the tables, which also held notebooks and pens, all set up for a nice, educational workshop with the kids. “I’m sure glad the librarian paid close attention to Ms. Jameson’s assistant,” he said.
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