I fluff his hair up. “That’s almost right,” I say. “But PH makes an F sound, too.”
He grins up at me, feeling proud. “Come on, Alexi. Let’s watch TV,” he says. Soon the noise of a cartoon and mindless giggling from the boys fill the living room. One card at a time, I fill up my project board.
Just after six, Toivo pulls up. I dab hot glue on the back of my last card, black currant, and stick it under PLANTS. There. All done. I grab the back of my neck and rub out a kink.
Toivo uses his boot to open the door. His face is hidden behind three large grocery bags. I dash to the door and grab the middle one from him. I try to recall the last time I saw him bring home groceries. I realize I have no memory of it. Once in while he’d stop and pick up a few things, like ketchup or seasoning salt, but he’s never, not once, purchased this many at one time.
I set the bag down on the floor and peek in. Crackers, cereal, chips, noodles, rice, canned soups.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
He sets his bags down on the counter. Keeping his back to me, he says, “Uh, just some stuff.” He reaches down and pulls out grapes, apples, pears, bags of carrots and celery. “Got my first paycheck.”
He turns to me. His head hangs low. His eyes hang down, too. I’m not sure what to say.
He turns back around and slowly removes the rest of the groceries. A canned ham. Pickled herring. Milk. Orange juice.
He shuffles his boots but then stands up a little straighter. He fiddles with his hearing aid.
“There won’t be much to find out in the woods until spring,” I say.
“Right,” he says. He opens a jar of mayonnaise. “Want a sandwich?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m starving.”
The boys sit at the table and stare up at my STEM fair project while they eat their sandwiches like gentlemen. Toivo and I stand near the table chewing ours, too. I jab my hand into the potato chip bag he holds and grab a handful.
“Looks good,” he says. “Looks very, um, organized.”
I crunch a bunch of chips. The salt and the oil taste like a magic concoction.
“Is it boring?” I ask.
“Yes,” says Alexi. “It’s all black and white. You could at least draw a zebra on it.”
“Or a skunk!” adds Mikko. “And a killer whale with a penguin on its back!”
“Shhh,” Toivo says to them. “No one asked you, pals. And… it’s not boring,” he says to me. “I think it’s great you thought of all this.” He licks his fingertips and shakes the potato chip bag. “I’m only buying these once in a while. They’re not good for you.”
Mikko and Alexi grab for the bag. “They are good for you. They have potatoes in them.”
Toivo holds it up above his head and says, “No way. Finish up. Let’s get your reading homework done.” The boys jump up and down and try to reach the bag. Toivo crumples it up and tosses it into the garbage. The boys groan and slump their shoulders, but they head-dive onto the couch and then pretend to melt off it. Toivo throws them their backpacks, which they unzip and dig into for their homework.
Upstairs I fill the tub with water, and steam fills the bathroom. Already my muscles ease up. When I get into the water, I lie back and stare up at the ceiling. I close my eyes.
When I open them again, the water has turned cool. I sit up and listen, wondering how much time has passed. It’s absolutely silent in the house. Which means one of two things: The boys are sleeping. Or they’re up to no good.
When I get down the steps, the first thing I notice is that the garage light is on. Toivo must be out there working on something. The next thing I notice is that my project is missing from the table.
My project is missing.
“Boys!” I shout.
Silence.
I decide then that my tone may have been too sharp and now they might be afraid of me. “Miiii-kkkkkkooooo?” I croon. “Alexiiiiii?”
No response.
The screen door opens. Toivo is wiping grease from his hands onto a dirty rag. “Hey,” he says. “I thought I heard someone yelling in here.” He scrubs the tips of his fingers with a corner of the towel.
“Yeah.” I twist the ends of my hair. “I’m just looking for my project. Did you move it?”
He glances at the table and then leans into the living room. “Where are the boys?” he asks. “They’re supposed to be reading their books.”
Two picture books lie open on the couch.
We look at each other. Then we take off in different directions to search the house. I skip every other step as I run up to their bedroom. Door’s closed. Light’s shining from beneath the door. “Toivo!” I shout. Then I turn the knob and fling open the bedroom door.
Turkey feathers fly up and float back down to the floor.
“What in the world—?” I begin.
Toivo appears behind me, looks over my shoulder into the room, and gasps. He slaps his hand over his mouth. “Oh my God,” I can hear him murmur. “I shouldn’t have trusted them alone for one minute.”
My project lies in the middle of the floor.
The boys sit in front of it, grinning from ear to ear. Mikko has a hammer, and Alexi has the hot-glue gun.
“We’re helping,” says Mikko.
“It’s not boring anymore,” says Alexi.
Chapter 22
Rows of card tables fill the gym, wall to wall. Some projects have flashing lights, some have colorful test tubes, some have flowering plants, some have sparkling crystals. All of them look better than mine. I see Alkomso already setting up. And she’s getting help from her dad. I can’t remember the last time I saw her dad. Every time I went over to their apartment, he was gone working.
The table next to hers and Mark-Richard’s is open. I hold my board up over my face and cut between and dodge around the other kids fast. When I get to Alkomso, I say, “Hey.”
“Hi!” she says. She’s all dressed up. She’s even wearing a little bit of lip gloss. If she’s still mad at me, she’s not acting like it. “Daddy, look,” she says. “It’s Fern.”
“Hi, Mr. Isak.”
He fixes a letter on Alkomso’s board. Then he turns and says, “Fern! I haven’t seen you in a long time. Too long!”
“Yes,” I agree. “Too long.” To Alkomso, I ask, “Where’s Mark-Richard?”
“He said he felt nervous and was going to go throw up in the bathroom.”
“That’s terrible,” I say. Alkomso and Mark-Richard’s project includes a toothpick apparatus that looks like a tower. I set my board down and take a good look at theirs.
“What does this do?” I ask.
Alkomso unscrews the top off a superglue tube. “It’s just a model.” She dabs a dot of glue onto a joint where two toothpicks meet. “That’s where the drill goes down into the earth, where they shoot water and chemicals down to break into the shale to release the natural gas.”
“Wow. You sound smart.” I tilt my head. “Does it cause earthquakes?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably. It depends who you ask. Depends which side they’re on.” She puts the top back on the superglue.
Against a black board, Alkomso and Mark-Richard have put white letters that spell out HOW FRACKING WORKS. The white letters are trimmed with gold glitter. “Your project looks awesome,” I say. “Really awesome.”
“Thanks.” She pulls out a lip gloss and smears it over her lips.
Her dad grimaces. “You don’t need that. It’s too shiny.”
Alkomso rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Dad, you’re so old-fashioned.”
He gives her a side hug with one arm and tells her “good luck” and that he’ll see her after the judging.
“Bye, Dad. Thanks for all your help.” Once he’s out of sight, she says, “It’s been so great having Dad around all the time. But I hope he loosens up a little.” She laughs. “He’s even driving my mom a little crazy because he’s got the radio on the soccer channel every night.”
; “I’ll bet she’s happy to have him around more, though.”
“Oh yeah. Definitely. Especially with the baby. Dad likes to hold her.”
I think about what the change in jobs has meant for Alkomso’s family, how it’s put them all back together. I think about how having more money around our house has made everything a bit easier for us, too. That seems like a good thing. Just a little bit, I’m worried I’m on the wrong side.
“Are you going to get set up?” Alkomso asks.
My cheeks get hot. “I guess so.”
I set my project on top of the table and take off the black garbage bag Toivo and I put over it to keep it protected.
“You better get a move on,” Alkomso says. “The judges are supposed to be coming around as soon as the principal gives the opening address.”
I stand up the display board, and I take a deep breath before I open it. I slowly open one side. And then even more slowly open the other.
I stand back. Alkomso comes over and tilts her head to one side as she stares at it. “Ahhh,” she says. I wait for something more.
“Um,” she says again, squinting now.
I pull on the gray hairs behind my ear.
“That is…” she begins.
My head heats up to a boil.
“Totally amazing!” She shakes my arm and jumps up and down. “You rocked it!”
“I did?” I ask.
Along with my identification cards, Mikko and Alexi glued seeds, nuts, spices, leaves, dried mushrooms, and a hundred turkey feathers all over my display. Lastly, Mikko hammered deer antlers to the top.
She nods her head and reads my display from top to bottom. “I’m amazed that all these plants and stuff are out in the woods.”
“You are?”
“Of course!” she says. “No way should a wastewater pond go there. No way. Kloche’s can put it somewhere else.”
“You think so?”
“Sure.”
“There has to be a place that’s less damaging to the trees, animals, and plants,” I say.
“Has to be,” she agrees.
Soon Miss Taft, the principal, pounds on a podium and asks for us to quiet down and pay attention.
“Sixth graders!” she yells. “Eyes up here!”
Binders close and chairs shuffle and coughs stifle.
“Sixth graders, judges, and teachers,” she says. “Welcome to the judging of the Colter STEM Fair for Sixth Graders!”
Everyone claps and cheers.
“Every year, our students demonstrate the brightest ideas in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics. Our teachers set aside precious instruction time to aid students in their research and questions. Our parents spend countless hours devoting time to helping their children. We are indeed proud of these students today.”
Alkomso and I swap glances and smirks. Just then, Mark-Richard opens the gymnasium doors and walks across the floor to where we are. His new shoes squeak the entire way. He slinks up and stands between us. Alkomso pats him on the back. I mouth Are you okay? to him. He nods, but his skin is pale and his eyes are red.
“Judging will begin in five minutes. Each student or pair of students will be questioned for the next two hours by experts in their fields. After the judging is over, the gymnasium will be opened to the rest of the Colter students and families and community members for viewing while the judges tally the results. Finally, the scores will be tabulated and each project will be awarded a white, green, red, or blue ribbon. One project will be chosen as Grand Champion of the STEM fair and earn a purple ribbon. That project will go on to represent Colter in the regional STEM fair in December. One other project will be chosen as Reserve Champion and will serve as backup to the Grand Champion.”
Mark-Richard sways back and forth, as though he’s about to faint. I lean over and move his chair, and then I tell him to sit down. He does.
“Put your head between your knees,” says Alkomso. “So you don’t pass out.”
“Additionally,” Miss Taft goes on, “the Grand Champion will receive a two-hundred-fifty-dollar prize. The Reserve Champion will receive a one-hundred-dollar prize.”
Even I clap now. I wonder if they give the prize money in cash or check. I wonder how you cash a check if you’re a kid like me, who doesn’t even have a checking account.
“Now,” Miss Taft says, “let’s begin.”
A hush falls over the gym. Miss Taft convenes with the judges. They nod and spread out in all directions.
“Good luck,” I say to Alkomso and Mark-Richard.
Mark-Richard lifts his head and says, “Good luck.”
“You’ll do great,” says Alkomso.
Every time a judge comes near, we watch anxiously while pretending not to. When the judge approaches a different kid, I immediately feel relief—which lasts about a millisecond, because I know that I’ll be judged soon enough. Then I feel even more anxious than before.
I’m about to excuse myself and go get a drink of water when Alkomso and Mark-Richard are approached by a man who says he’s a rural economic developer.
He says, “What a fascinating topic. Tell me all about it.” He taps a pencil on his clipboard. I decide to skip the water and listen to Alkomso.
At first she looks like a deer in the headlights. Her body is stiff, and her eyes are big and round. The first questions are softballs, so Alkomso loosens up and answers them easily. I wish I had those words, all those words that flow so easily from her mouth. She sounds like a teacher.
But then the judge asks, “Do you think reliance on fossil fuels is unwise? Do you think it contributes to serious pollution problems?”
“Um,” she says. “Well, I don’t…” Alkomso fidgets and clears her throat.
I feel sorry for her right now. I want to help, but I can’t. I want to know the answer, too.
Mark-Richard perks up. His face is still white and sweaty from being sick, but he stands up and crosses his arms. “Look, sir. I know one thing. I love living in a house that heats up with natural gas. From fracking.” He wipes his nose. “You ever have to chop wood to heat your house for the whooole winter? You know how much work that is? You know how much soot it creates? How kids like me are sick all the time and can’t breathe because of it?”
The judge steps back, looking surprised.
“I’d take fracking over that every day of the week,” Mark-Richard says. Alkomso and I lock eyes. She looks stunned, and I’m sure I do, too.
Finally, the man asks them if they have anything to add. Alkomso blurts out, “Fracking may cause earthquakes and contaminated water, so this project warrants more research.”
The guy drops open his mouth and smacks it closed again and again, like a dying fish. “Thank you,” he finally says.
I stare at my feet and practice in my head what to say when it’s my turn. Hi, I’m Fern, and my project is—
“Ah-hem,” someone says. A tall man with slicked hair stands in front of me. “Tell me about your project.” On his shirt is his name, MR. RADAR. Below that is COLTER COMMUNITY COLLEGE. I recognize the name; he’s a science teacher at the same school Mom taught at.
“Um…” I forgot how I was even going to introduce myself. “Um.” My ears ring. My mouth is dry. I take a deep breath. “My name is Fern, and my project is about food in the forest.”
He touches his ear with the eraser of his pencil. “You’ll have to speak up,” he says. “I don’t hear very well anymore.”
I nod. “That’s okay,” I say a little louder. “My dad is deaf in one ear, too.”
He chuckles. I start to feel a little better. “Food in the forest, did you say?”
“Yes. For my whole life, my family has foraged in the woods.”
“Can you define forage?”
I hadn’t planned for that question. “Forage means, like, looking or searching in the wild for your food, I think.”
He nods and writes something down on his clipboard. “Tell me what you’ve found.”
&
nbsp; I begin pointing to each category. “Most of the things that we find to eat can be categorized into these four areas. Plants. Roots. Nuts. And mushrooms, which are my favorite.”
“Hmm,” he says. “Why’s that?”
“Um, well… when there’s not a lot of meat to eat in the house, mushrooms are good for being filling in the same way that meat is.”
“I’ve never thought of that.” He looks over my display board. He pulls a pair of glasses out of his pocket and puts them on to read my cards.
“Yes, sir,” I add. “They’re very good. They’re dense and flavorful. And you even prepare them in the same way you would a lot of meats.”
He nods again, and he writes down some more notes on his clipboard. “Interesting. And you found all of this where?”
“In Millner’s woods,” I say. “Right outside Colter.”
“Just past the water tower?”
“Yeah. Pretty much there.”
“Okay,” he says. “One last question, Fern.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you related to Johanna?”
All my weight shifts to my heels. I might tip over. “Yes, sir. Johanna was my mother.”
“Thought so. You look just like her. Wonderful teacher. We miss her a lot.”
I steady up. “Thank you, sir.”
“Thank you, Fern,” he says. “I learned a lot.”
After that, I get interviewed by four more experts. One woman and three men. Each one gets a little easier. The most difficult question I get asked comes last.
“May I inquire what deer antlers have to do with foraging in the woods?” he asks.
I’m sure my cheeks are beet red. And I’m trying to keep my sweaty palms from touching my clothes. I decide to just go with the truth. “Well, sir, my little brothers wanted to help. And while I wasn’t looking, they nailed them on there.”
He blinks at me several times. Then he laughs his head off.
Finally, the judging is over. We’re allowed to roam around and check out one another’s projects before the doors are opened to the public.
One kid did his project on paper-airplane aerodynamics. He’s got six different shapes of planes. Another did hers on the effect of loud rock-and-roll music on houseplants. All the plants are dead. At least three kids did volcanoes. Lame, just like Mr. Flores said. Another kid has a carburetor torn apart and a diagram of how one works. His looks really good. Some kid did a project on bridge design. Another did his whole project on something called the golden ratio.
The End of the Wild Page 13