“It’s a chance we have to take,” Cam says matter-of-factly. She gives me a happy smile and says, “But I refuse to believe that anything will go wrong. We’re so close. We’ve got the ideal wheat field. We’ve got a full moon. You’re my good luck charm, and you and Josie are coming with me. Everything’s perfect.”
Her confidence is contagious. I’m ready. I can’t wait to get started.
Finally, when my watch says four-thirty, Cam says it’s time. We walk toward the field carrying our materials. I’m wearing my backpack containing the food and drinks for us and Josie, my clothes, and my soccer ball.
We enter the wheat, Cam in front, me behind. “Try to have Josie follow right behind you,” she tells me.
To Josie she says, “We can’t have you racing around making your own designs, Josie. You’d probably spell out something like DOGS RULE THIS PLANET!”
“Knowing Josie, she’d more likely write DROP FOOD HERE!” I say. Then, in my command voice, I tell Josie to heel and, I swear, it’s as if she senses this is important, because she does.
When we get to what appears to be the very center of the field, Cam stops, looks around, and, seeming satisfied, says, “Okay, we need to put the stick in the ground perfectly upright.”
We try. But even though it rained the night before last, we can’t get the stick to go into the ground deep enough to stand on its own.
I look at Cam, feeling anxious, wondering if this means the whole plan is doomed.
“I knew you were meant to be with me on this, Owen,” she says. “Since there are two of us, we don’t even need the dumb stick! You can stand here instead.”
“Oh, great. I get it. I get to be the dumb stick.”
Cam cracks up, then promises, “We’ll take turns. After you watch me do one circle, you’ll know what to do.”
She takes the board and hammers a large nail into one end. Then she ties the rope firmly onto the nail.
“Can you hand me the tape measure?” she asks.
I do. She carefully measures off twenty feet of rope and says, “Hold the rope right here at the twenty-foot mark.”
I say, “Yes, sir.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound bossy.”
“Since when?” I ask, smiling to let her know I’m joking.
“Okay, now watch! I’m going to start the first circle.”
“I just stand here and hold the rope at twenty feet, right?” “Right.”
Josie and I watch as Cam walks delicately through the wheat until the rope tightens. Then she puts the board on the ground, bends down, and starts pushing the board along. It takes me a few seconds to see what’s happening. The wheat bends over and gets flattened as the board passes over it. By keeping the rope tight, Cam is making a four-foot-wide swath in the wheat, in a perfect circle twenty feet from the center point: me.
“Stay right there, but turn with me,” Cam calls. “And keep your eyes peeled for anybody coming.”
I do. It takes a pretty long time to make the full circle, and when Cam returns, she is red-faced and sweaty from bending over and pushing.
“It is simple,” I tell her. “But it’s also very cool. I wish I could see it from the air!”
“You will, when we take off.” She hands me the board and smiles. “Your turn. Forty feet this time. I went clockwise, so you go counterclockwise.”
“So the wheat will be mashed down in the opposite direction,” I say. “That’s important, huh?”
“It’s a nice artistic touch. My parents will appreciate that.”
So I start my circle forty feet from Cam, pushing in the opposite direction. I’m afraid Josie will come after me, messing up my pattern, so I tell her to stay, and she seems content to sit by Cam.
It’s really hard work. When I get back to Cam I say, “No fair. My circle was twice as big as yours!”
“Yeah, but now I have to do sixty feet,” she says. She takes a big slug of water and then asks, “Did you see that plane?”
“What plane?” I ask with alarm.
“Another small one flew over, maybe about a quarter mile that way,” she says, pointing south. “It just kept going, though, and didn’t act suspicious.”
“I never even heard it,” I say. Which isn’t surprising, really. The wheat stalks make a pretty loud crunchy noise as they’re pushed over, plus I was facing down and concentrating on making my swath.
We measure off sixty feet, and Cam sets out into the wheat.
I’m standing there, holding my end of the rope and daydreaming about life on another planet. Cam told me her home is similar to Earth, but how similar? I have so many questions to ask her. I’ll have time after we’ve finished the signal, when we’re lying in the center of the circle, watching and waiting …
A sound snaps me out of my daydream. A car is coming up the gravel drive to the farmhouse, raising a cloud of dust behind it. I drop to my knees, grab for Josie’s collar, and desperately follow the line of rope with my eyes. I see Cam—or her bent back and rear end, anyway. I’m sure she hasn’t heard the car.
I jerk hard on the rope to get her attention.
“Hey!” she protests, standing up and looking in my direction. I point frantically toward the farmhouse. She doesn’t waste any time looking, just drops down out of sight.
I lie down flat on my belly, one arm around Josie, another on her snout, ready to clamp down if she makes a sound. Luckily, she seems to think this is a neat new game we’re playing and stays very still, her eyes locked on mine.
I strain to listen, and think I hear a car door slam, then another, and voices. Has Ray figured out where the old Davie place is? Or could it be the sheriff and a deputy, returning for another look around? The real estate lady and a customer? A furious farmer and his hotheaded, shoot-first-ask-questions-later hired man? A TV news van with a full crew? Did whoever it is see us? Is someone headed out into the field at this very moment, as Cam and I wait like sitting ducks? All the possibilities race through my mind until I can’t stand it anymore and poke my head up for a quick peek.
To my surprise, there are three vehicles parked outside the farmhouse: a silver pickup, a little green car, and a black jeep. There are a bunch of high school kids fooling around, laughing and hollering and chasing each other as they unload coolers and blankets and towels. It looks like they’re planning a party. I can’t believe it. Are they really going to picnic in the yard of the farmhouse?
Music blares suddenly. One of the guys hoists a big CD player to his shoulder, and two of the girls start dancing around the yard. Nobody is looking out at the wheat field, so I keep my head up. I see the very top of Cam’s head peeking over the wheat stalks, and I know she is watching, too.
To my relief, the kids head to the edge of the hill overlooking the trail and, one by one, disappear. They’re going to have their party down by the stream, maybe at the old mill site, not up here.
Whew.
There’s no telling how long the party will last, though. At some point, those kids will be back to load up their cars and go home. The good news, I guess, is that a bunch of teenage partiers aren’t likely to care what two younger kids like us are doing, even if they do happen to see us in the field. It’ll probably be dark by then, anyway.
I stand up and give the rope another tug and after a couple seconds Cam, too, is standing. Then she pulls the rope taut and continues her slow, circular movement around me.
This circle takes a really long time. When Cam returns to the center, her hair is messed up and wildlooking, filled with dust and bits of wheat and plastered to her forehead with sweat.
I hand her the water bottle and she gulps noisily. “Close call,” I say, “but it could have been worse.”
She nods and takes a final swallow.
“My turn,” I say.
“Have fun,” she tells me, with a tired smile. “And go the other way.”
“Right.”
Bending down in a crouch, keeping my butt low, I scooch along with little baby s
teps, knocking down wheat stalks with the board, sweating. Not really what I’d call fun, especially since, from my ant’s-eye view, the signal we’re making doesn’t look like much.
I do come across some interesting things, though, like a nest made from weedy stalks and leaves built in a little hollow on the ground. Inside are thirteen olive-greenish eggs. Judging from the size, I figure I scared off a momma pheasant. I move the nest over, out of the path of my board, and hope she’ll find it when she returns.
Farther along, I see a few smaller, songbird-size nests, a woodchuck hole, and a green-and-yellow striped snake that glides in front of my board for a while before it wises up and escapes sideways. There are all kinds of bugs, too: grasshoppers leaping every which way, spiders, ants, and I don’t know what other kinds of buzzing, crawling critters.
Suddenly I’m aware of a steady hum that isn’t coming from any insect. I look up and, sure enough, there’s another small plane flying almost directly overhead. I freeze until the hum fades. I’m about to start my circle again when the noise of the plane’s engine begins to get louder, and I see it’s making a second pass over the wheat field.
No! I think, wishing I could slap it away like a giant bug. Get lost! But the plane makes a third pass before droning off across the lake.
The eighty-foot circle seems to take forever. Finally I return to the center and fall down on my back in a sweaty heap. Josie whines nervously, but once she realizes I’m okay, she licks my face until I start to laugh.
I look up and see that Cam seems troubled.
“The plane?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says glumly. “It definitely acted suspicious.”
“I thought so, too.”
Cam shrugs. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, so I’d better get going on the one-hundred-footer.”
“How many circles are we making?” I ask, trying to remember the picture Cam had drawn.
“Six. Your next one will be the last, at one hundred twenty feet.”
The sun is getting lower and I glance at my watch. I’m amazed to see that it is almost seven o’clock. No wonder I’m starving. “Did you eat anything?” I ask.
Cam nods. “Josie and I both did. Don’t worry, we left some for you.”
“Thanks a bunch,” I say as she heads out into the wheat.
“And I didn’t even see those Tootsie Rolls in your backpack,” she calls over her shoulder.
At a couple minutes after nine, we’re finally finished. I’m lying on my back on the ground once again, feeling totally trashed, when another plane flies over, makes a second pass, and leaves.
Cam and I look at each other, then look away. Neither of us wants to say what we’re thinking, which is that all of our hard work will be for nothing if somebody comes to investigate the circles tonight.
“It’ll be dark soon. How about I make a daring raid on the tent,” I suggest, “and get the sleeping bags?”
She looks at me with her eyebrows raised.
“We might as well be comfortable while we’re waiting,” I explain.
“I wish we’d thought of it before,” says Cam. “But you’re right, it would be nice.”
“I’ll be super sneaky,” I say. “And super fast.”
After surveying the area, I run through the wheat, across the yard, and over the ledge to where the tent sits like an alien orange mushroom. I grab the sleeping bags and slide the tarp out from under the tent, fold everything up in a ball, and run back across the yard. Cam pops up quickly and waves me on.
We spread out the tarp and arrange the sleeping bags on top. Josie turns in her usual circles before making herself at home between Cam and me, and we settle in. Josie falls asleep, unaware that this could be her final evening on Earth.
17
CAM, JOSIE, AND I LIE IN THE DARKENED FIELD, i keep thinking, This could be the last time I’ll lie on the ground of Earth, this could be the last time I’ll see the sun set from Earth. These thoughts make my heart thump faster. At the same time, the idea of never seeing Earth again leaves an achy emptiness in my chest.
I concentrate on savoring each chewy, sticky mouthful of our last meal on Earth: Tootsie Rolls. In answer to my questions, Cam tells me that the animals and birds on her planet are just like ours, except that they’re not endangered or threatened.
“And soon you’ll see for yourself!” she says happily. “I’m so glad you’re coming, Owen. I’m not sure I could have left without you.”
This both pleases and embarrasses me, and maybe Cam is embarrassed, too, because she turns away, and we don’t say anything more for a long while. It feels okay, just being quiet.
Later, I nudge Cam. “Hey, are you awake?”
“Wide awake.”
“Look. The moon!”
It’s coming up over the wheat stalks, full and round. We lie quietly, watching it rise and slowly change color from orange to white.
You really can’t spend that much time looking up into the sky without imagining that there are other planets and other worlds out there. You can’t help feeling really, really small compared to it all, either. I guess billions of people have had the same feeling, but that just shows how true it is.
I don’t say it, but I’d feel even smaller if I were lying out here alone. I’ve never had a girl for a friend before, but that’s what Cam is.
“Well, we sure got the full moon we needed,” I say after a bit. “Guess we should be on the lookout for the ship, huh?”
“They won’t come until well after midnight, I’m sure,” she says. “The less chance of people being up and about, the better.”
“Makes sense.” I look at my watch. It’s only a couple minutes after eleven.
Josie lets out a sudden bark, and I grab her snout to silence her. There are far-off voices, and music. It’s the teenage kids coming up from the trail. We hear them talking, laughing, and finally getting into their cars and driving away.
Cam and I try to pass the time by telling jokes and playing word games, but it’s not easy to focus and, finally, we give up and just watch the sky.
Anxiously, I scan the moonlit darkness, trying to catch the first glimpse of the spaceship. I’m afraid to close my eyes for even a second, and they burn from staring upward with such concentration.
“Look!” I say, jiggling Cam’s arm and pointing skyward. “There! What’s that?”
After a couple seconds, Cam says, “A satellite.”
A while later I get faked out by a shooting star, and then by a faraway airplane. I decide to keep my mouth shut until I’m sure I see a spaceship.
If the real thing appears, I think, you’ll know.
The night stretches slowly on. Too slowly. I have a lot of time to think, and I begin to have second thoughts about what I’m doing.
I tell myself it’s not that I have a small view of things. I believe there are other planets out there that support life, and that Cam came from one of them. For her to return home is a no-brainer. From what she’s told me about her brief time here on Earth, she’s got no reason to stay.
It’s not the same for me.
Yeah, my relationship with Dad isn’t so hot. But compared to Cam’s problems here on Earth, ours don’t seem so bad. I’ve been moping and blaming everything on Dad, but lying here in the darkness I wonder if that’s fair. I ask myself what I’ve done to make things better, and the answer is … not much.
I think about the night when I came home late and Planet Dad and I broke out of our separate orbits and almost connected. I begin to wonder if I’m giving up too easily on something big. Something important. I wonder if, instead of heading toward something new, I’m just running away. I feel a little unsure now.
Then I tell myself, You have a chance to go to another planet! And I think, Of course you’re going. I remind myself that Cam said her parents will bring me back if I want. That settles me down a little.
I check my watch. It’s a quarter of one. The moon is directly overhead now. The next ti
me I check, it’s five after one. I try not to look for a long time. One-twenty-five.
Josie snores softly, and I envy her calm obliviousness. I feel Cam beside me, rigid with anticipation. I try to imagine what it’s going to be like for her to see her parents again after all this time.
I’m happy for her. But at that moment I know I won’t be going with her after all.
Her planet sounds beautiful, but I can’t help thinking of all the things I would miss about Earth if I left. There are all the animals and birds, the snakes and turtles and frogs and fish, the things Mom taught me to see, and to love. I think about packing the first snowball of the year, riding my bike, running on the trail, and playing soccer. Even mowing the lawn and raking leaves can be kind of fun when you’re in the right mood.
I think of the wood duck nest I saw this morning. Suddenly, I really want to be around to see those baby wood ducks grow up. They need people to care about them here on Earth.
I think of Dad. I said it would take a couple days for him to notice I was gone, but I know that’s not true— I’m sure he’s worried about me right now. I think of him here all alone, first losing Mom, and then me.
I peek over at Cam, lying next to me, staring intently into the heavens, waiting. I really, really hope her family gets here safely. And I hope she’ll be so glad to see them that she won’t mind if I stay behind.
I’m not going to tell her my decision until it’s time for her to go. Not because I’m chicken, but because I hope that then she might be able to understand.
Sometime later, I wake with a start. Someone is whispering my name. Cam. Something warm and furry is pushing at my hand. Josie. For a few seconds I have no idea where we are.
Then I remember! We’re waiting for the spaceship. I can’t believe I fell asleep.
Cam sits up. “Listen,” she says tensely.
Struggling to emerge from sleep, I sit, too, and strain to hear what she hears. After a moment, I do. Steady but stealthy, the crunching of wheat stalks and the swish of the stalks against fabric. Footsteps. Someone is walking toward us through the wheat.
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