The Battle of Junk Mountain

by Lauren Abbey Greenberg

  I sigh. “I have a bad feeling about this. What if nobody stops?”

  “They will. Be patient.” Linc takes a swig from his canteen, and the water dribbles down his chin. “Look, here comes someone now.”

  I squint into the morning sun at the person walking toward us. As she gets closer, I recognize her. It’s one of the locals I’ve seen over the years, the lady who always wears a flower crown in her hair, even when it rains.

  “What do we have here?” She stops at our table and eyes the bracelets. “These are so pretty! Who is the artist?”

  Linc points to me. “She is. Wanna buy a bunch?”

  “Linc!” I feel my cheeks warm up.

  “Well, how else are you going to raise money for Bea?” he asks.

  The yellow petals in the lady’s crown flutter in the breeze. “Bea? You don’t mean Bea from the Cod Café?”

  “Yes. She’s my grandmother.” My voice falters, but I force myself to stay strong. “She got sick and has a lot of bills to pay. If you buy a bracelet, the money will go toward helping her.”

  She presses a hand over her heart. “That is so sweet. I’d love to help Bea. Whenever my girlfriends and I meet at the Cod Café, we always ask to sit in Bea’s section. She’s our favorite waitress.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a five-dollar bill. “I’ll take the pink one with the yellow hearts, please.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say as she hands the money to Linc.

  Flower-crown lady turns to leave, but something holds her back. She returns her gaze to the remaining bracelets on display.

  “Would you like to buy another?” I ask.

  “How long are you going to be here?” she asks.

  I look at my watch. “A few hours, maybe?”

  “Got it.” She whips out her smartphone. Her thumbs move fast over the keyboard, and I hear the swishing sound that means a message was sent. “Don’t go anywhere. We’ll be right back,” she calls over her shoulder as she hurries away.

  Linc and I look at each other.

  “What was that all about? And who’s ‘we’?” he asks.

  I wring my hands together. “I don’t know. I’m not doing anything wrong, right? Am I going to get in trouble?”

  He leans back in his chair. “I doubt it. But I promise I won’t run away this time if you do.”

  “Ha-ha. Thanks.”

  Turns out I didn’t have to worry at all.

  Flower-crown lady had texted her friends about my fund-raiser. And they told their friends. And before I knew it, word spread all over town like melted butter. Most of my bracelets sold within the first hour. Then the funniest thing happened: people started bringing stuff from their homes for me to sell, all in the name of raising money for Bea. Ray showed up with a box of last season’s Cod Café sweatshirts; a neighbor from down the street brought ten tennis rackets; and even Gio stopped by to contribute an old guitar. Then something even funnier happened: some of the people who bought Bea’s things from my doomed yard sale brought them back. I tucked those items away, knowing that I shouldn’t have sold them behind her back in the first place.

  Later that afternoon, with almost everything sold, I decide to call it a day. Linc and I quickly box the few remaining items from our roadside stand. I’m about to fold up my cardboard sign when one last customer stops by.

  Poppy.

  She looks like she rolled out of bed in her rumpled gray sweatpants and navy hoodie. An unfortunate acne outbreak speckles her normally smooth forehead.

  Linc avoids eye contact with her. “Do you need me for anything else?” he asks. I can tell he’s itching to leave.

  “No, I’m good, thanks for your help.” I hold up my palm and he slaps me a high five.

  As Poppy and I face each other, I swallow away the thickness in my throat. After our wicked fight the other night, I thought we’d never speak to each other again, and now that she’s standing in front of me, I don’t know what to say. Her words still sting, and I’m not sure I’m ready to make up.

  She gnaws on her thumbnail and stares at the tin box overflowing with ones, fives, tens, and twenties.

  “Make a lot of money?” she asks.

  I peer inside. “I hope so.” I haven’t counted it yet, but in my mental calculations, I’ve banked at least a few hundred dollars.

  Poppy nods. “Looks like there’s nothing much left to sell.”

  “Except for this broken toaster.” I hold it up. “Interested? I’ve also got a couple of bracelets left.”

  “Really? I… uh…” Air blows out her lips. “I could use a bracelet. Mine broke.”

  My eyes narrow.

  I pull the two remaining friendship bracelets out of a Ziploc bag. “All I have is rainbow and blue-and-purple stripes.”

  “Blue and purple, please.”

  I hand it to her, and in exchange, she gives me a twenty- dollar bill.

  “Keep the change.”

  My nose crinkles. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, this is all for Bea, right? Consider it a donation.”

  “Gosh, thanks.” I add her twenty to the cashbox.

  She sniffs as her eyes drop. “I thought you’d want to know, I gave the earrings back.”

  My eyes widen. “You did?”

  “Leanne heard us fighting that night, and she went straight to my dad. I’ve never seen him so mad. He marched me to the Cod Café and made me apologize in front of everybody.”

  “Wow.”

  “It was so humiliating. Ray’s not going to press charges, but my parents still grounded me for the rest of the summer.”

  With my finger, I trace a figure eight on the checkered tablecloth. “That sucks.”

  “Totally.” Poppy rubs her nose with the back of her sleeve and blinks to hold back the tears. “I want you to know I wasn’t going to do anything with the medal, I swear.”

  “You can’t go around stealing things.”

  “I know that,” she snaps. “I was jealous. You two seemed to be together all the time, having fun without me.”

  I throw up my hands. “You were never around, and when you were, you always acted like you wanted to be with someone else.”

  She looks at me briefly before her eyes slip back to the ground. “You’re not perfect, either. You worked on Cranky’s boat and never told me.”

  That stops me in my tracks. “You knew?”

  She meets my gaze and raises an eyebrow. “I told you people talk.”

  “Well, it was no secret you hated the guy, and I figured you’d make fun of me.”

  “So, I can’t tease you anymore, is that it? Man, you’ve changed.”

  Poppy tries to laugh like it’s a joke, but her voice trails off when she sees I’m not amused.

  Awkward silence hangs in the air between us.

  “So… you’re leaving tomorrow, huh,” she finally says.

  “Yep.”

  “Cool. I mean it’s not cool that you’re leaving, I just…” Her cheeks redden as her voice trails off again. “I wanted to give you something before you left.”

  She opens a fist to reveal a triangular piece of mint-colored sea glass with a dip in the middle that makes it almost look like a heart. “I thought maybe for Shoppy, or at least something to remember me by.”

  She explodes into tears. Longtime friends often know what the other’s thinking, and this time I’m positive we’re both thinking the same thing: our friendship has hit a major wall.

  My eyes well up. I reach for her arm. “Look, I’m sorry. I should have told you about Cranky.”

  She hiccups. “I’m sorry, too. About everything.”

  We lean across the table to hug, but it’s loose and tentative, not the tight squeezes we used to do. I mean, she’ll always be a part of Thomas Cove, but I have to stop relying on her to make or break my summer. I spent so much time and energy trying to recreate the memory of us, but being stuck in the past only made us both miserable. It’s pretty ironic. We’ve all tried to stop Bea from hanging on t
o her things. I guess I need to stop hanging on so tightly, too.

  The truth is that both of us have changed. I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends the exact same way we used to be, but no matter what happens with Poppy, I will always have amazing memories: swims in the cove, searching for sea glass, gorging on lobster rolls—the stuff that’s worth remembering.

  • CHAPTER 34 •

  IN HIGH OR LOW TIDE, I’LL BE BY YOUR SIDE

  Back at the house, Mom and Bea sit at the kitchen table while Cranky stands over a bubbling pot on the stove. Ever since Bea’s return home, Cranky has doted on her like a mother hen.

  “How’d your sale go?” My mom rubs the back of her neck while stretching it from side to side. I know she doesn’t like sleeping on the couch, but amazingly she hasn’t complained. It’s funny how it only took a couple days for her New England accent to creep back in, especially when she talks with Bea about old times and old friends.

  Bea adjusts the white cotton blanket draped across her lap and pats my hand. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details.”

  A buzzer goes off, and Cranky removes a batch of muffins from the oven. Streaks of flour cover his black T-shirt. I cover my mouth to hide the giggles.

  “Cut me some slack, Lobster Bait. Someone’s got to keep the food flowing around here. I’ve got a bunch of fat lobsters in the fridge and corn on the cob that needs shucking. So, make yourself useful.” He plunks a pile of ears on the table.

  I pull out a chair and settle in to my shucking station. My mom ties her shoulder-length chestnut hair into a short ponytail before she takes a few ears; together we peel away layers of green husks to get to the golden kernels underneath.

  “I think the whole town showed up,” I tell Bea. “Even Ray bought five bracelets.”

  “Psshh,” Bea says, “he’s trying to get on my good side. Knowing him, he probably wants me back at the lunch shift tomorrow.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” I retrieve the wad of money from my pocket and slide it across the table in front of Bea.

  She looks bewildered. “What’s this?”

  “I made three hundred and fifty dollars. It’s for you,” I say.

  My mom’s eyes shine with pride, but Bea’s not smiling at all. Suddenly, I feel like a shell-less hermit crab, naked and without protection.

  Bea sighs. “Honey, your heart is so big, but I can’t accept this money.”

  “You have to,” I say, sounding desperate. “This was a fund-raiser for you. Please! I know it’s not a lot, but you can use it to pay a bill or something. You don’t understand. She’s going to make you sell the house.”

  Bea frowns at my mother. “Over my dead body.”

  Mom holds up her hands. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. Everybody calm down. Shayne, Bea and I have had a long talk. It’s been hard on everybody with Grandpa gone, and maybe I expected too much too soon. But Bea understands that she can’t keep living this way and is going to have to make some serious changes.”

  “You’re not selling the pheasant,” says Bea.

  My mom looks to the ceiling. “I didn’t say we were. Anyway…” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Bea’s going to come home with us for a little while. It’s not permanent, but for now it’s not healthy or safe for her to stay here. I also have a friend I want Bea to meet, someone she can talk to.”

  “Like a therapist?” I cut in.

  Bea sits up straight and her jaw tightens for a few seconds before she looks me in the eye. “Yes.”

  “What will happen with the house?” I ask.

  My mom surveys all the piles around us, the clutter, Junk Mountain as tall as ever. She bites her lip. “Nothing for now. When Bea’s ready to return home, we’ll hire a professional cleaning crew to help us sort it out.”

  Bea closes her eyes, stressed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  My mom squeezes her hand. “It’s going to be okay. Bea? Mom, listen to me. We’ll go slowly, I promise. We’ll be with you every step of the way.”

  Bea breathes through her nose until the panic subsides. She opens her eyes and focuses on the wad of money I placed in front of her. She picks it up and weighs it in her palm as if it were a scale. “Shayne, you did good today. I’ll take the money, even though you’re the one who really deserves it.” She tips her head toward Cranky. “Working on his boat for free all this time.”

  Cranky hands her some pills and a glass of apple juice. “Whatever you say, darlin’.”

  Bea blushes and takes a sip.

  Mom and I exchange bug eyes. Darling?

  Later in my room, I pack up my suitcase with some of the things I’ve collected from my stay: the Civil War bullets, some sea glass, even the Welcome to the Nut House sign Bea gave me. Out of habit, part of me still wonders if Poppy will show up to say good-bye. We used to stage these big, dramatic departures. We’d hug and pretend to wail, and when my car pulled away, she would run after it like a madwoman. I can’t imagine that happening this time.

  There’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say.

  It’s Linc, dressed in full reenactor regalia. His eyes scan every inch of the room as he steps inside hesitantly, like he’s time-traveled into the twenty-first century. He extends his arm, offering me a little package wrapped in a familiar blue cloth. “I brought you a good-bye present.”

  I throw him a funny look before taking his gift and removing the safety pin at the top. My heart practically stops when I see his great-great-great-grandfather’s Medal of Honor in the palm of my hand.

  “You… You’re…” I stammer. “You’re giving this to me? Wait, what?”

  The corners of his mouth turn up. “Well… it’s not real, if that’s what you think.”

  “Oh.” I bust out laughing, part embarrassed, part relieved.

  “It’s that fake one from the Soldier & Saber. Grandpa and I went there again last night, and when I saw it, I knew I had to buy it for you.”

  I scrunch my face. “Why?”

  “Because you deserve it. You saved Bea’s life. You’re a hero.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I say shyly.

  “You were like a colonel out there. If I ever went into battle, I would definitely want you with me. You’re the bravest of the brave.”

  “You were brave, too,” I say. “If I was a colonel, then you were like… a general.”

  He shakes his head furiously. “No, NO! General ranks higher than a colonel.”

  “Then, you were like a sergeant.”

  He looks disappointed. “That low?”

  I grab his shoulders and give him a gentle shake. “How about we both did a good job?”

  He stuffs his hands in the front of his coat pockets and rocks on his heels. “Okay.”

  I rub the smooth ribbon of the fake medal between my fingers. I used to think the best thing about Thomas Cove was that nothing ever changes, but I don’t think that anymore. Like Linc said, sometimes change can surprise you in a good way.

  “So… see you next summer?” Linc’s voice is full of hope.

  I don’t hesitate to answer. “Yes. Definitely.”

  I unzip the small front pocket on my suitcase and dig out a bracelet, the first one I made when I got here. The pattern’s a little uneven, but the colors are perfect. Blue and gray. The colors of Cranky’s lobster buoys. The Union and Confederacy living in harmony. I offer it to Linc. “You don’t have to wear it, but… something to remember me by.”

  He gives a sheepish grin and sticks out his arm.

  I tie the bracelet around his wrist.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Deborah Vetter for your tutelage during first drafts; Lisa Tillman for your great input over many revisions and cups of coffee; Amy Jameson for being an awesome agent and support system; Adrienne Szpyrka for being a wonderful, caring editor; Teresa Bonaddio for creating a beautiful cover; and finally, my family for letting me drag you along fact-finding missions up and down Mid-Coast Maine for many
years.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Lauren Abbey Greenberg is an award-winning writer/producer and a graduate of the Institute of Children’s Literature. She lives in Maryland with her husband, two children, and fluffy dog, and has spent summers in Maine for the past twenty years. This is her debut novel. Visit her online at www.laurenabbeygreenberg.com.