by Dyan Sheldon
“Don’t look at me,” says Joy Marie. “I have enough to do already.”
“Why us?” asks Waneeda. “Why can’t the geniuses do it themselves?”
“Well, you know, they have pretty full agendas already. They’re both on a bunch of committees for Earth Day.” He flashes a smile that is a heck of a lot less disarming now than it used to be. Now, it always accompanies something Cody wants them to do. “Anyway, you ladies are so good at that stuff.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said?” asks Joy Marie. “I already have enough to do.”
“Me too,” lies Waneeda.
“There’s no big hurry for it,” Cody assures them. “Why don’t you think about it? You can let me know later in the week.” He falls into step beside Clemens.
Despite this slight setback, Cody is still as happy as a bear in salmon season – or, possibly, even two bears – talking excitedly about the awesome meeting and Sicilee and Maya’s mind-blowing ideas, while Clemens walks beside him, silent except for the occasional “yeah” or “um”, and Waneeda and Joy Marie walk a few paces behind.
“Man, I can’t believe that I didn’t think of that stuff myself,” Cody is saying as they reach the road. “I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? People can’t know what they don’t know. I mean, there are things you know you know – like how to make spaghetti – and there are things you know you don’t know – like how to build a house – and then there’s all the stuff you don’t know you don’t know – like—”
“What happens after we decimate every old-growth forest on the planet?” mutters Clemens.
Cody seems not to have heard him. “I guess that I’ve been so wrapped up in Earth Day, I totally shot past the exit,” says Cody, more or less shooting past an exit again. “You know, I was concentrating on one tiny detail and I missed the big picture.” He laughs in his easy, good-natured way. “There’s none so blind as he who will not see, right?”
You can say that again, thinks Waneeda.
But it is Clemens who says, “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Cody raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Clem?” he asks. “You seem a trifle ponderous.”
“I’m not ponderous,” says Clemens. “I’m just agreeing with you. You’re right, there’s nobody as blind as someone who refuses to see.”
“We’re talking about me now, right?” Cody stops walking. “What is it I’m not seeing, bro? What’ve I missed?”
“What aren’t you seeing?” Clemens stops as well. “The trees, Cody. There aren’t any woods left around here, but you still don’t see the trees. We were supposed to be trying to save the trees, remember? That was going to be our big push this year. But you’ve completely ditched them. All we talk about now is Earth Day.”
“Man…” Cody sucks in his bottom lip. “Earth Day’s important.”
“So are the trees.”
Waneeda and Joy Marie have also come to a stop, deliberately not looking at each other, but standing shoulder-to-shoulder just close enough not to miss anything.
“Look, I know you’re irked that the trees are off the agenda.” Cody makes an it’s-not-my-fault gesture. “But I thought you understood that we have to focus. The trees aren’t in our frame.”
“Well, they’re in my frame.” Clemens stares at a point to the left of Cody’s head. “We can’t just abandon them. They need us. They’re prisoners of time.”
“Be reasonable, Clem. You’ve tried your best. You wrote all those letters. You gave your tree speech at Christmas. You spent a week trying to get people to sign your petition.” This is true. Clemens and Joy Marie sat outside the office every morning and afternoon for two weeks, attracting the disapproval of Dr Firestone, but little else. “And what did you get? Fifty signatures? Fifty signatures aren’t going to persuade anybody.”
“Then we have to try harder, not quit,” insists Clemens. “We have to cut our losses, forget the school and expand our efforts into the community.”
“You don’t get it, do you, bro?” Cody shakes his head sadly. “It’s a done deal, Clem. The town council’s OK’d it. The planning permission’s gone through. It’s going to be the last word in sports excellence – the biggest facility in the state. Plus, the school gets a sports scholarship to make it even sweeter. There’s nothing anybody can do.”
“You’re wrong,” says Clemens. “Firestone and the developer railroaded it through. If we get enough signatures, we can stop them before they start. Launch an appeal. Let everybody in the town vote on whether the trees should go or not.”
“And you’ll still lose.” Cody’s voice has lost some of its usual lightness. “Get real, man. You can’t stop progress.”
“But we have to. That’s the whole point of this. We can’t just keep burying the planet in asphalt and concrete. We have to draw a line somewhere. Enough is enough. We’re murdering the earth, for God’s sake. We don’t need progress – we need sustainability.”
“Clemens…” Cody’s sigh is soft but heartfelt. “It’s just a couple of trees. And they’re going to plant more trees for the ones they cut down. Three times more. So where’s the pain? Nobody thinks it’s a big deal except you. We need to concentrate on things people can get really excited about.”
Clemens pushes his glasses back into position. “Like using bags that say I AM NOT A PLASTIC BAG for shopping?”
“Why not? What’s wrong with that?” Although seemingly unaware that he and Clemens aren’t alone, Cody suddenly turns to Joy Marie and Waneeda. “Mary Jo! Juanita!” He holds up his hands in mock despair. “Help me out here. What do you ladies think?”
“I wish you’d stop calling me Mary Jo,” says Joy Marie. “My name’s Joy Marie.”
As if she just agreed with him, Cody shifts his charmingly imploring smile to Waneeda. “Juanita?” he prompts.
Waneeda’s voice has yet to be heard this afternoon – or any other afternoon, for that matter. At the first meeting, when the other new members stood up to talk about themselves and their love of gorillas and tofu burgers and walking twenty miles a day, Waneeda stayed in her seat, chewing. At the next meeting, when everyone else was shouting out ideas for the Earth Day celebration, Waneeda unwrapped another candy. And so the weeks have passed, with the other new members all bursting with enthusiasm and bubbling with suggestions, and Waneeda eating and listening. Today, while just about every other girl in the room only had eyes for Cody, Waneeda found herself watching Clemens, slumped in his chair with his usual bad posture, fiddling with the paperclip on his glasses, not saying anything either. Like the last polar bear on the last ice floe, floating off into oblivion.
Waneeda looks over at Clemens. She feels sorry for him. “I’ll help you with the trees, if you want,” she says.
Chapter Twenty-eight
How to lose friends and not influence people
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Sicilee puts her lunch bag on the table and slides into the empty chair next to Ash. “I left something in my locker and I had to go all the way back for it.”
“Oh, that’s where you were.” Kristin smiles over her slice of pizza. “We thought you were outside hugging a tree.”
Ash and Loretta giggle in a way that has never irritated Sicilee when aimed at people who have a bad haircut or are wearing the wrong shoes, but that, now that it always seems to be aimed at her, irritates her quite a lot.
“Oh, right.” Sicilee’s laugh is short but sharp. “And get bark all over a five-hundred-dollar jacket?”
No one laughs along with her.
“Or, you know,” Kristin drawls on, “we thought that maybe you were just too awesomely busy to eat lunch with us today.” Her smile is made no more endearing by the smudge of tomato sauce at the corner of her mouth.
This, of course, is a pointed remark. A dig at Sicilee who has been too awesomely busy for quite a few things in the past couple of weeks. Where before the four of them were inseparable – the teenage girl equivalent of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, united
by a single purpose – lately there have been only Three Horsemen making their rounds. Suddenly, Sicilee always has a meeting to go to, or something vague and unspecified that she absolutely has to do. She’s taken to spending a lot of time “studying stuff ”. But worst of all, and possibly beyond forgiveness, Sicilee has actually missed not just a couple of shopping expeditions, but an important Diamonds meeting as well. Loretta, Ash and even Kristin are justifiably sceptical and suspicious. What’s up with that? They used to be what she was busy with, and now she’s too busy for them. They would very much like to know what’s going on. What happened to the part where she was only pretending to join the geeks’ club? When did Sicilee Kewe start worrying about schoolwork? When did she become casual about shopping? When was there something more important than her friends? Exactly what planet are they supposed to be on?
“Sweet Mary, what’s wrong with you guys? Excuse me, but the last time I missed lunch was months ago when I got a run in my tights and I had to go home and change.” Because now they always make her feel defensive, Sicilee gives them all a generous smile. “I’m only late because I wanted you to see this.” Her eyes widen with sincerity. “You know, because you’re my closest friends and I value your opinions?” She pulls a green folder from her backpack and puts it on the table. “It’s my own idea.” Her smile brightens. “To make people aware.”
Loretta shows all the enthusiasm of someone presented with a piece of cold toast. “Aware of what?”
Sicilee sighs. Merciful Mother, what does she think? Aware of the spaceship sitting out in the parking lot? “You know… Aware of how easy it is to be Green.” She turns the folder around so Loretta can see the words written across the front.
Loretta reads as if this is a skill she has just acquired, “Twelve Easy Ways You Can Save the Planet.” She looks at Sicilee. “Is this what you’ve been doing instead of hanging out with us? Writing a self-help book?” To accompany the irritating laugh, she’s developed an irritating grimace. “I thought you’re supposed to be getting a date with Cody Lightfoot, not a degree in environmental studies.”
“Um, duh, Loretta… That’s what I’m trying to do, isn’t it? Get a date. I mean, I’m obviously not doing all this for my health, am I?”
“Well, I’m sure I wouldn’t know, would I?” Loretta snaps back. “Since we hardly ever see you long enough to have an actual conversation any more. You know, because you’re always so busy.”
Sicilee’s mother says that the best way to avoid an argument is simply to refuse to engage in it. Don’t bite the bait. Don’t reply. Just step away. So, although Sicilee rarely follows her mother’s advice, instead of sniping back, she removes two sheets of paper from the folder and carries on as if Loretta hasn’t spoken. “Everybody in the club thought it was a great idea.” She also ignores the sour, ooh-everybody-in-the-club looks on their faces. “You know, except for Maya the Barbarian. So now I feel that I need some feedback from the general public.” She hands one page across the table to Kristin and Loretta, and the other to Ash who is sitting beside her. “I’d really like to know what you guys think.”
Kristin stares at the paper with her mouth all screwed up as though it shows something gross and revolting – one of Clemens Reis’s photographs of tortured animals, for example. “What is this thing?”
What Kristin is glowering at is not Sicilee’s beginner’s guide to going Green, but page 110 of the annual report of the company Sicilee’s father runs.
“Revitalizing the existing infrastructure…” Loretta reads over Kristin’s shoulder. She looks over at Sicilee as if she must have lost her mind. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, Sweet Mary, not that side.” Sicilee snatches the page from Kristin and turns it over. “You should always use both sides of a sheet and the backs of envelopes and stuff like that,” she explains. “You know, so you don’t waste so much paper?”
“Oh, of course,” mutters Kristin. “How environmentally incorrect of me not to realize that.”
“I don’t think this side is much better,” grumbles Loretta.
Kristin seems to agree. “My God, Siss,” she groans, “you don’t really expect people to do all this stuff, do you? There are, like, millions of things on this list.”
“Twelve.” Sicilee leans across the table, pointing at the heading on the page in Kristin’s hand. “See?” Sicilee can’t pinpoint the exact moment when Kristin started being so critical of her, but it’s already getting very old. “That’s why it says Twelve Easy Ways You Can Save the Planet at the top.”
“Twelve’s a dozen, Sicilee.” Kristin is speaking very slowly and distinctly. “And that’s a lot if you want to know what I think.”
“Well, I do want to know what you think.” Sicilee is starting to realize that she may have made a big mistake. “That’s why I’m showing it to you.”
“You know, it’s really not that bad,” says Ash. “I can do this stuff. Turn lights off when you leave a room… Don’t let the water run when you’re brushing your teeth… Recycle plastic bottles…”
“You see?” Sicilee gives Ash a pleased nudge. “I told you it’s easy.”
Loretta, however, has begun reading further down the list. “Ditch the car – it’s not that far?” squeaks Loretta. “For those short trips to town or school or to visit your friends, leave the car at home.” She turns to Sicilee, her eyes so wide you’d think she was putting on her mascara. “Are you for real? You expect us to walk everywhere?” She splutters with laughter. “Sicilee, God gave us cars so we don’t have to walk.”
“Oh, really?” Sicilee’s smile is far more pleasant than she feels. “Then what did he give you feet for, just so you’d have someplace to put your shoes?”
Loretta leans back, folding her arms across her chest. “And what about you, Sicilee? I haven’t noticed you wearing any holes in your shoes.”
Feeling as if she has turned down a deserted road by herself on a dark night in a bad neighbourhood, Sicilee sits up a little straighter. “I am going to be walking, Loretta,” she says very clearly. “I just haven’t started yet.”
Loretta gives her a bottle-of-vinegar-and-a-bag-of-lemons smile. “Yeah, sure you are. As soon as summer vacation starts.”
“Well, you can count me out,” says Ash. “I’m not walking anywhere. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s winter out there. Didn’t you see the snow on Sunday, Sicilee? What did you think it was? Global dandruff? I do not walk in the snow. Do you know what snow would do to my boots and my skin?”
Kristin taps a foot softly but restlessly against the floor, watching Sicilee as though she has never really seen her before. And maybe she hasn’t. Not this Sicilee, all in south-west tones again (brown and beige and terracotta) with her crunchy granola list of things she’s decided they should do. Kristin feels betrayed. All of a sudden, she, Ash and Loretta are in the wrong? Who does Sicilee think she is, telling them what they should do, like God’s gone on vacation and left her in charge? It wasn’t all that long ago that Sicilee would have been as likely to suggest to her friends that they walk to school as she would have been to suggest that they swap their lives with teenagers living in the slums of Lima, but now she’s changing into someone alien and unfamiliar right before Kristin’s eyes. If you were to tell Kristin that Sicilee thinks it’s Kristin who’s become critical, she’d laugh hollowly. It is Sicilee who has become critical. Critical and judgemental. Sicilee’s always pointing out that they’re doing something wrong. Sitting there every lunch hour with her organic salads and fake chicken sandwiches like she’s better than the rest of them. Just who does she think she is?
“Maybe Sicilee means that you should take the school bus,” suggests Kristin.
“Oh, yeah. Right!” Ash squeals. “The school bus! That’s a great idea!” The sparkly pink hearts dangling from her ears swing wildly as she laughs. “Are you serious? You think I’m going to take the school bus? Like some little kid? Are you nuts?” The idea of joining the poor un
fortunates on the bus whose parents won’t buy them cars or drive them to school makes Ash laugh so much she knocks her bottle of water off the table.
“That’s another thing you have to give up,” says Kristin. “Don’t drink bottled water. That’s number seven.”
“And drink what?” Ash wants to know. “Water from the tap? You mean, sewage? Water with everybody’s pills and crappola in it? Why don’t I just lap it up from the gutter like a stray dog?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sicilee begins. “The point is—”
“Holy Mother of God,” says Loretta. “What is this? Wear it more than once? Wear what more than once?”
“Well, what do you think? Heavy armour?” By now, Sicilee has not even thought of smiling for at least two minutes. “Clothes, Loretta. Wear your clothes more than once.”
“Are you sick?” Loretta makes a series of strangled, hacking sounds. It is either ironic laughter or an attempt to cough up a piece of tuna salad that has gone down the wrong way. “Wear the same thing two days in a row? What’s that supposed to do for the planet? Make it die laughing?”
“Sweet Mary, why are you all being so difficult?” At the moment, it looks as though Sicilee may never smile again. “It doesn’t mean wear the same thing on Tuesday that you wore on Monday, for God’s sake. It just means don’t wash everything after you’ve only worn it once. You know, so you save on energy and water and everything.”
“Even if you’ve got mustard on it? Or dirt?” Ash’s face makes it clear to anyone who might be interested that you don’t have to be threatened by killer mummies armed with Uzis and machetes to know what true horror is. “Oh, I don’t think so, Sicilee. Some of us have standards.”
“Here’s another interesting item,” says Kristin with what can only be described as demented glee. “Don’t dry clean.” She looks over at Sicilee. “What are you supposed to do instead? Beat your clothes on rocks?”