The Crazy Things Girls Do for Love

shattered by the hammer of time. “But I see we’re back to our old extreme methods.”

The corners of Clemens’ mouth don’t twitch at all. “I’m not being extreme, Dr Firestone. I’m employing direct action. You know, like the Boston Tea Party? Those guys didn’t have any sense of moderation either.”

Dr Firestone is not about to get into a debate about historic protest movements with Clemens. They could be here all morning. “I hope you’re not seriously comparing yourself to our founding fathers, Mr Reis.”

“Of course not,” says Clemens. “I have no intention of taking up arms.”

Dr Firestone shifts his attention to someone he considers easier to deal with. Maya Baraberra is just the type to think that wrapping herself around a tree is cool, but she is also the type who is more about image than principles. “I must say, Ms Baraberra, I’m surprised to see you here.” The shadow of a smile flickers across Dr Firestone’s face. “It’s not like you to break the rules. I’d expect you to be in class by now.”

“I would’ve been in class,” says Maya in a way that makes the principal wonder why he’s always thought of her as a model student. “Only they decided to chop the trees down today after promising that they wouldn’t, so I’m here instead.”

Dr Firestone blinks. “I see…” He shifts his attention once again, still hopeful that he’ll find someone who isn’t determined to give him a hard time. Waneeda has always been so much a part of the background in school life that he has no idea who she is, which makes her at least a possibility. “Well, well…” he says, his eyes on her. “I’ve never known you to cause any trouble before…”

“We’re not causing trouble.” Waneeda’s expression is the facial equivalent to digging your heels in the ground. “It’s the tree crew that’s causing the trouble.”

Dr Firestone isn’t listening. His gaze falls on the last protestor with a jolt of surprise. “Ms Kewe!” Finding Sicilee among the troublemakers, looking like she’s just stepped out of the pages of Teenage Vogue, is no less astonishing than finding the First Lady knocking down pins in the Clifton Springs Lanes would be. And she looks happy to see him! “What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“I’m saving the planet, of course.” Sicilee’s hair swings over her shoulder like a beam of sunshine. “That’s why we’re all here.”

“Is it?” Lulled into a false sense of security because he isn’t aware that Sicilee smiles the way others breathe, Dr Firestone rocks back and forth very gently. “Well, I’m sure that’s very commendable … very commendable indeed. You know that I like to encourage our students to participate in the larger world… But I’m afraid that at the moment you’re not actually saving the planet, Ms Kewe. What you’re doing, I’m afraid, is causing a nuisance and an obstruction.”

“You have no right to cut down these trees,” says Clemens.

“But we aren’t just cutting them down, son.” Dr Firestone shakes his head at such a foolish misconception. “You may not be aware, but the council has promised to plant three trees elsewhere in town for every one tree that’s removed here.”

“Five-hundred-year-old trees?” asks Waneeda.

Dr Firestone chuckles as if he’s delighted to find that she has a sense of humour.

“But we presented a petition,” argues Clemens. “We’ve lodged an official appeal. We’re supposed to be waiting for the meeting in May to have a second vote.”

“Oh, I see…” Dr Firestone’s smile relaxes a little. All is clear. He understands. “I’m afraid there’s been a terrible oversight. I don’t know how it could have happened. You should have been informed that the appeal was rejected after all. The decision was made to go ahead in a special session of the town council.”

A connection exists between Clemens, Waneeda, Maya and Sicilee, due to the fact that they all belong to the same club. But up until this moment it has been a superficial connection at best – no more significant, really, than the connection between a random group of people, all of whom like root beer or peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Now, however, thanks to the hypocrisy and deceit of the town council, the school board and the administration, it takes on a new depth. Clemens, Waneeda, Sicilee and Maya all exchange the same look. Who the hell does he think he’s kidding? Such is the power of flagrant injustice to forge bonds.

“But that wasn’t the deal,” says Maya.

“Oh, but I think that if you look back at the records, you’ll find that it was.” It is one of Dr Firestone’s natural gifts that he always sounds reasonable and right – even when he is actually being neither. “Everything was agreed months ago. Long before your little petition.”

“No, that’s not true,” says Waneeda. “The deal was that there was going to be public consultation and debate.”

Dr Firestone shrugs – helplessly. Don’t blame me, his expression seems to be saying. “Well, I’m afraid that the opportunity was there, but no one availed themselves of it. And now it’s too late. The council’s decided to go ahead with the sports complex. As planned and previously agreed.”

Even Sicilee is looking serious by now. “And?”

“And I would like you all to get out of the way and let these men do their job.” Dr Firestone bestows on them one of his PTA smiles. P-r-i-n-c-i-p-a-l, as he likes to say. The principal is your pal.

“What if we won’t?” asks Waneeda.

As if by some unspoken agreement the girls all move closer to one another.

“Yeah,” chorus Maya and Sicilee. “What if we won’t?”

“Ladies…” purrs Dr Firestone. “I’m sure that you don’t want any trouble at this juncture in your high school careers.”

“But what if I do?”

The principal frowns at the three girls in front of him. And then he looks up. He never noticed Clemens scrabbling into the tree.

Chapter Forty-Three Last man standing

After Dr Firestone (muttering threats and promising to make Clemens regret his rash behaviour) storms off to confer with the foreman again, Clemens climbs a little higher, demonstrating a physical agility of which only Mrs Huddleston, who has seen him scamper over her back fence on more than one occasion recently, was aware. He’ll never get back down without help or breaking a leg, of course, but that’s a small price to pay for the annoyance he’s causing. Serves them right for being so untrustworthy. From his perch, Clemens can see Dr Firestone and the foreman, standing side-by-side, both holding their cell phones as if they’re grenades. Dr Firestone has been on and off his phone any number of times since he took up his position next to the foreman. Who did he call? The police? The National Guard? Mr and Mrs Reis? Come and get your son out of this tree or the only college he’ll get into will be in Peru?

It isn’t long before a crowd starts to gather. People walking past stop to see what’s going on. Neighbours, noticing the groups of onlookers, come out to see what they’re looking at. Passing cars slow down and then pull over. Within mere minutes, the number of people with dogs, toddlers, their bedroom slippers still on or leaning against vehicles on Greaves Road could be in the Guinness World Records. Clemens looks down through the lacework of leaves on the growing throng and smiles. An audience is what he needs. Publicity. Witnesses. Complications. It’s too bad he didn’t think of this before.

Clemens leans against the trunk, more being held than holding on, enjoying the feeling of being in the sky – wondering who else has sat up here to think or dream and what they saw. Not someone arriving with a tray of coffees in paper cups and a box of doughnuts for the men determined to destroy this tree, that’s for sure.

Clemens sighs. It really is too bad that he didn’t think of it before. There are a lot of good things about spontaneity, but now he realizes that there are a few drawbacks he didn’t think about in the heat of the moment. There have been tree sit-ins that have lasted over a year, but those demonstrations were planned in advance; based on strategy, not impulse. Clemens, of course, acted on the spur of the moment. He’s made no preparations. He has no plan. How long does he really think his demonstration can last? It could get a little lonely, sitting in a tree – no matter what its age or how many its memories – not to mention uncomfortable. He has no food or water; no toilet; nowhere to sleep. What happens if it rains? What if, in this age of climatic uncertainty, the temperature