17
So, the bus ride from San Francisco to Mendocino? Totally brutal. The scenery is breathtaking, of course, especially if you choose to take the coastal route, as I did. It adds a few hours, but I figure I have the time. Still, I forgot how gut-churning those hairpin curves on Route 1 can be. I press my nose against the glass, staring at the ocean thousands of feet below, trying to concentrate on not throwing up.
I haven’t told anyone yet that I’m coming. For one thing, it’s impossible to get a hold of anyone at the RC. If you call the pay phone, usually no one answers it, and if someone does pick up, good luck getting that person to find the one you’re trying to reach.
The other reason is my grandmother. I’m sure the RC is the first place she’ll contact when she finds out I’m gone. (In fact, she probably already has checked.) If she gets on the phone with Big Jon and he doesn’t know I’m coming, well… there’s nothing to lie about, is there? Besides, I’m kind of liking this element of surprise. I mean, if Reggie showed up suddenly on the steps of my grandmother’s spooky Gothic mansion, I’d be so totally stoked.
I look at my watch. Eleven a.m., California time. Yup, she must definitely know by now. Yesterday, after buying my ticket, I grabbed my backpack, sneaked out of the house, and rode the seven miles to the airport on my bike. I didn’t take my phone; I’d never had one before I got to Savannah, so why bring it now? I boarded my $1,029, last-minute flight to California, and now I’ve spent five hours on this Willy Wonka joyride bus. When the driver pulls into Bodega Bay for a pit stop, I’m so thankful that I’m ready to hug him.
The other passengers file out into the parking lot, some lighting up cigarettes, others taking pictures of the coast and the elephant seals. Most of the people on the bus are retirees on vacation. We’re used to them in this part of California. They come in white-haired, plastic-visored herds, emerging from the cars and tour buses to get the views and spend money on postcards and T-shirts for their beloved grandkids. No rules, no ultimatums, no weird debutante societies. Just good intentions and tacky gifts. Watching them now, I feel a pang. I wish my grandmother were like that—proud of me, buying me a California snow-globe paperweight.
“All aboard!” the red-faced bus driver yells. “Leaving in two minutes!”
I get in line, determined to be the last one on this stinky gas-guzzler. Out of the corner of my eye, I see another girl approaching—a skinny hippie girl wearing what Billy always called “eco-hottie rags”: a tattered patchwork skirt, a tiny tank top with no bra, a tattoo around her ankle, and bracelets that jangle on her arms. I smile politely and shift a little. I don’t want to be rude, but she smells a little funny. She doesn’t smile back but instead pushes past me and hands the driver a handful of crumpled bills.
“Mendo,” she says.
He nods, not looking at her.
“You know Rain Catcher Farms?” she demands.
The driver shakes his head.
“Well, that’s where I’m paying you to take me. Can you handle it?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, not unkindly. “I just don’t know where that—”
“Isn’t this, like, your route? Rain Catcher, okay? It’s a pretty major landmark.” She puts her hands on her hips. I’d forgotten that a lot of the kids who come to the RC are really rude and forward. My mom always taught me to be polite, no matter what. She was super into manners. I guess that makes sense, now that I know where she came from.
“Hey, I know where Rain Catcher is,” I say to the driver. “That’s where I’m going too. I’ll give you the heads-up.”
“Thanks,” he says, looking at me gratefully. The girl turns her flinty, slightly bloodshot eyes at me.
“Cool. I’m Crystal. You going up to be a trimmer?”
“What? No, I grew up there. I’m going home.”
“Oh,” she says. “I hear they’ve got this huge new crop of weed up there. My boyfriend told me about it. They just planted last month. There’s enough work for a bunch of kids to do pretty well.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say, uncomfortable. “I mean, mostly it’s produce at Rain Catcher. Organic kale and stuff.”
She shrugs. “Whatever.”
We get on the bus. She follows me to the back, not noticing the yelps of the white-haired ladies she hits with her backpack. She plops down beside me. “So what were you doing in Frisco?”
Again, I wince. My mother hated it when people used that name for San Francisco. “I was just away for a while, visiting my grandmother. But I’m back now. My boyfriend’s here and everything.” It feels so good to say it. Boyfriend. Surely I can call him that now, can’t I?
“Nice,” the girl says, stretching out in the seat beside me. “Well, I’m psyched to smoke up and crash for a few weeks. Haven’t seen my boyfriend in a while. We sort of had a fight, and he took off. Can you say make-up sex, Batman? I just hope they won’t make me do too much crap.”
I frown. This girl is exactly the kind of worker Big Jon hates—a freeloader. “Everyone does their share,” Big Jon always says. “That’s community.” I hope the people at the RC won’t think I brought her with me.
As we get closer, I become a little fidgety. I’m going to see Reggie today! It feels like it’s been years. My stomach flops over like a caught fish as I wonder if Reggie will want to take me camping right away. Probably. The kids used to go camping together all the time, but the last night Reggie took just me. That was the surprise he’d arranged for my birthday. As usual, he wouldn’t let me tell anyone we were going off together. We had to leave at midnight.
When we got there, we put on our headlamps and played cards in the tent, and then Reggie pulled out a huge bottle of wine.
“I know you hate beer,” he explained with his easy grin.
Honestly, I wasn’t that into this wine either. It tasted a lot like vinegar. But he kept pouring me more and more, until I started to seriously suck at cards and feel the uncontrollable need to lie down.
“Is that stuff stronger than usual?” I asked. But he just laughed and lay down beside me on his old, smelly sleeping bag. Then he reached over and kissed me. We’d made out a ton by then, of course, but this was more intense. In fact, he was so serious that, of course, I burst out laughing.
“Quit it, dork,” he said, pinning my arms. So I tried my hardest not to laugh while he licked my neck—which, honestly, was kind of gross. Then he was breathing really hard and putting his hand under my shirt. He’d never done that before, but because he was so serious, I tried to get into it, even though he kept slobbering on my chest and face.
But then he tried to go further, fumbling at the waistband of my jeans… and even though I had done what my mom told me to do—I’d found someone “special”—it just didn’t feel right. He hadn’t told me he loved me. Also, why go all the way and then take off the next day?
“Stop, Reggie.”
“Don’t be such a tease,” he said, pushing me down again.
“Reggie, no.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, sitting up in frustration. “I mean, come on, Pudge. You’re leaving. When else are we going to do this?”
“Soon,” I promised. “I think we’d better be a couple first. You know… out in the open.”
Reggie groaned. “Are labels really that important to you?” he asked. “I mean, you know what I’ve been through. This is really hard for me, Pudge.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I did know. After all, I still woke up with a cold pit of sadness in my belly every day over my mom. Still, I wasn’t ready.
I passed out after that—we both did. When you’re not that used to drinking wine, a whole bottle is a lot. In the morning, Reggie was himself again, funny and goofy, throwing me in the water. But even now I can’t help remembering how weird he was that last night.
Well, I decide, I will go camping tonight if he asks. I’m so excited to see him, I’ll do anything. Anyway, I want to go all the way. At least, I think I do.
“Where the hell is this place?” the hippie girl says, waking me up from my daydream.
“It’s remote,” I say. “That’s kind of the point.”
“I heard it was out there, but how the hell are we supposed to get to San Francisco for parties? I mean, this is ridiculous.”
I shrug. The girl digs in her bag, fishes out a pack of Juicy Fruit, and throws me a piece. I can’t help smiling as I think of Madison’s disdain for my Bubble Yum.
Again, I shrug. “I don’t know. Sure. I mean, he’s cool. He’s, like, my best friend. My mom died last year, and he helped me pick up the pieces, you know?”
“Heavy,” she says, popping a huge, slightly veiny bubble. I notice that she has green under her toenails. I look away. What has happened to me? Why do I care about these things?
A few windy, truly nauseating miles later, we finally make it to the turnoff to the RC. My body sings as we round the last bend.
“Right here!” I call. The driver nods, obviously relieved to be rid of us. With a chorus of squeaking brakes, the bus comes to a stop. I can feel the curious and disapproving eyes of the other passengers as we make our way to the front. We hop off, and Crystal whoops as the bus rolls away.
“See ya, suckers!” she yells, flipping off the passengers.
So much for taking that bus again.
“It’s just a mile up this road,” I say.
“A mile?” She heaves her pack on. “That blows. Can’t you call your boyfriend and tell him to come get us?”
I shake my head and start walking. It’s annoying that I’m showing up with this girl. What if Big Jon thinks she’s with me? And what’s a trimmer, anyway? Still, I’m so happy to be here. The smell of eucalyptus cuts through the air, and the chill from the ocean is definitely refreshing after the swampy Savannah weather. As we trudge up the dirt road, she tells me about the shows she’s been to (127), the drugs she’s taken (I haven’t even heard of half of them), and the guys she’s “done” (twelve before her current boyfriend). By the time we reach the Main, I’m truly exhausted by her adventures.
“This is it,” I say, my voice shaking with excitement. I point her toward the kitchen, where the intakes happen, and run inside to find Big Jon.
The sense of familiarity is overwhelming. The smells of baking bread and moldy wood, the sound of trippy music pouring from the meeting room upstairs.
The first person I run into is Wendy, who comes stomping out, heavy braids swinging from side to side.
“Alex!” she cries out. “What an awesome surprise!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Good. So my grandmother hasn’t called ahead for me yet.
“Hey!” I say, accepting her bone-crushing hug. “Is Big Jon here?”
“Oh, sure,” she says, fluffing my dreads. “On the phone, I think. Give him a minute. Look at you! Still our healthy girl. Everything okay? Thought you were living in Georgia now.”
“I’m on vacation,” I say, not yet ready to tell her the whole story.
“Alex!” Big Jon’s voice booms from his office. “Hey!”
“I can see that. Savannah treating you well?”
“I don’t know. I don’t love it. And I figured you guys really needed me here, so… I convinced my grandmother to let me come back.”
“Huh,” Big Jon says.
“Has everything been going okay without me?”
“Sure, sure. It’s been tough, of course.”
“Is the Sanctuary doing okay?”
“Oh, you know. We’ve made a few adjustments. I’ll tell you about them later.”
“Maybe I’ll just go see—”
“Who’s this?” he asks quickly, nodding to the girl who has sidled up next to me.
“Crystal,” she says. “Here for the trimming round.”
“Oh, right,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “Wendy, can you take Crystal to the bunks? And Alex… why don’t you just chill while we see what’s up with your old cabin.”
“Is Reggie around?” I ask a bit too eagerly.
“Oh, I think so. Here, how about hanging in the kitchen while I send someone to tell him you’re here.”
“Well, can I just go see… the other kids first?”
Big Jon laughs. “I know you’re psyched to see the dudes, sweetie, but I think they could use help on soup duty. You know the drill. Community!”
“Okay,” I say. He pats my back, and I head down the dim, wood-floored hallway. And I really am going to help out. Seriously. But I figure a quick bike ride around the place before I cut carrots for an hour won’t hurt anything. I mean, forcing me to do KP without even seeing my friends first? That’s just pure torture—one of the issues Big Jon is always having us write letters to the White House about.
Quietly, I head out and grab a rickety community mountain bike off the rack, and then I take off down the path before anyone can call me back. I close my eyes briefly as I coast. It feels so good to be here! I bank right and do a quick tour of my favorite hill path, churning the pedals in the red dust of the south side of the valley. Beyond the green stretch of the main lawn, the Pacific Ocean crashes against the rocks of the RC beach. From the top of the hill, I have a great view of the whole place—the mismatched buildings, the gardens (other than my mother’s root garden, which is tucked away behind a thicket of trees), and the worn playing field, where some kids are playing a lazy game of soccer. I squint my eyes at them, looking for—who else?—Reggie. Yup, there he is, his gangly body knocking around like a rag doll’s as he runs after the ball.
My heart leaps into my mouth—I swear, I can taste it. I need to calm down before we talk. I take a couple of yoga breaths, the way my mom taught me, but that doesn’t really work. I’m dying to talk to Reggie, but if I go sit in the Sanctuary for a while, I’ll calm down enough not to make a total ass of myself. That’s definitely what Mom would say to do. I turn the bike around and bomb down the path, riding as fast as I can through the trees and over the fields, finally skidding to a stop outside the gate, causing a small rainstorm of gravel and dust.
Even through the thick slats of the fence, I can see that something is wrong. It’s too sunny in there. Too bare. The Sanctuary was designed to be a lush sylvan oasis. Where are the trees? And the tall plants and vines? I drop my bike and, after a moment’s hesitation, push open the gate. It gives a foreboding creaking sound that I’ve never noticed before.
It’s gone. The Sanctuary is gone. All the plants, the flowers, the vines my mother spent so many days and years tending. Instead, only mounds of fresh dirt are here, as if someone has planted rows of bodies.
I take a couple of breaths, trying to get a hold of myself. Pathetic as a dog who can’t find its owner, I do a couple of careful laps, searching for any sign of my mom’s plants. There are a few old seedlings of lavender and valerian, which I carefully put into my pocket. But other than that, every trace of my lovely mother’s presence has been eradicated.
What could have happened? Try as I might, I can’t imagine why Big Jon would want to get rid of my mother’s sacred place. There’s only one thing to do now: ask Reggie, the only person who will understand how devastating this is for me. Wiping the tears away, I bust out of the gate and run to the bike, then pedal back down the hill to the soccer field, riding so wildly that I lose control and fall into a pile of red mud. Billy, who is the first to see me, lets out a yelp of laughter.
“Pudgy Pudge!” he cries. “You’re back!”
I pick myself up, wiping off as much of the dirt as I can. Then I look over to the field to witness the worst scenario I could ever imagine.
It’s Reggie, with his arms around another girl. And it’s not just any girl. It’s Crystal, the girl from the bus. He’s kissing her in front of everyone. I watch as his hands move down her back, then lower.
My boyfriend told me about it. Boyfriend? That’s what she said.
The hair on my arms is standing on end. I feel like I’m going to throw up. What can I do? I should probably say something, but what is there to say? Hey, Reggie, flew about three thousand miles to visit you, but looks like you’re busy! Or, Wow, congrats! Guess you got over your girlfriend’s death enough to kiss someone in public. Too bad it wasn’t me!
The coolest thing to do right now, I suppose, would be to leave. But unfortunately, I’m never very cool in this kind of situation. So I get off the bike and walk to where Billy and the other kids are hanging out, so Reggie’ll see me. When he does, his eyes widen, and he drops his hands away from Crystal. At least he has the decency to do that.
“Alex?” he says, looking nervously from side to side. Hesitantly, he walks toward me. “What are you doing here? You should have told me you were coming.”
I stare at him, at a total loss for words to say. Crystal sidles up to us now, looking at Reggie questioningly.
“Pudge, I want you to meet Crystal. She’s… my girlfriend.”
“Your… girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” she says, snaking her arm around Reggie’s. “This is the guy I was telling you about. We’ve been going out since eleventh grade. Haven’t seen him for a while, but it’s on, man. On like Donkey Kong!” She glances around, obviously looking for the boyfriend I stupidly mentioned on the bus.
“Crystie, give me a minute, okay?” Reggie says. He puts his arm on my shoulder and leads me aside. “Listen,” he whispers, “that was—you know—a little fib I told you about losing my girlfriend and everything. I just felt so bad for you, and, you know, wanted you to feel better, about your mom and all. I felt sorry for you, you know?”
I look at him incredulously. “You mean the plane crash was a lie?”
“Not a lie, exactly. A story. For you.”
It takes me a moment to respond. “For me?”
“I wanted you to know I understood.”
“But you don’t understand,” I say. “You just wanted me to feel sorry for you. God. Did you lie about the other stuff too? Running supplies to Burma? Helping the orphans in Ghana? Are you even from Bolinas?”
Reggie looks nervously at Crystal, who is obviously straining to hear us.
“I’m from New Jersey, Pudge,” he whispers. “Cherry Hill. And, listen—I might not have done all of those things, but I did go to Mexico on a surf trip.”
“I can’t believe I came all the way back to see you,” I say, suddenly numb inside. “I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go camping tonight.”
“Camping?” And then, for just a moment, he treats me to that easy grin of his, and I think everything will be okay. “Oh, Pudge, come on. That was never a great idea to begin with.”
“But… why?”
Reggie looks uncomfortable. “You’re just not… I mean, you’re funny and all. But it was just a fling.”
My face is burning. “Is that why you wanted to keep us a secret?” I say in a small voice. “Because I’m not pretty enough?”
Reggie doesn’t answer, but his face definitely does.
“And what would Crystal think of your ‘fling’?”
“She won’t know.”
“What if I tell her?”
Reggie smiles sympathetically. “The thing is, I never told anyone about you. So why would she believe the pudgy hippie girl’s story?”
Just like that, the world opens up and swallows my heart whole. Suddenly, I hate his smile. I hate it more than anything I’ve ever seen.
“Reg,” Crystal calls over from where the kids have stopped the game to sit in a circle and smoke. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Pudge just had to tell me something.”
She looks at me suspiciously. “Okay. Cool.” She winks at him in a way that makes my stomach turn. “Hey, I hear that Big Jon guy has a new hot tub and a sauna in his house. Want to check it out?”
On like Donkey Kong.
“Sure,” he says. “See you, Pudge.”
“My name’s Alex, actually,” I say. “Alexandria Lee. Like the famous Confederate general.”
Reggie looks confused. “Okay. Whatever.”
“Wait, I came to tell you something else,” I say. Reggie turns and looks at me tiredly, as if I’m as annoying as a fly.
“What?”
“I don’t live in Florida.”
“Huh?”
“You e-mailed to say have fun in Florida.”
Crystal frowns and cocks her head.
“Okay, I—”
“I told you where I was going that last night we spent together. Remember? When you tried to get me to have sex, even though I didn’t want to?”
“Yeah, well. It’s Georgia. I live in Savannah, Georgia.”
Then I turn and ride away from them as fast as I possibly can.
The truth, which Wendy lets me in on, is that they cleared and burned the Sanctuary the week after I left.
First, the powers that be debated it for a little while, she assures me. There was some kind of committee meeting. But apparently my grandmother’s lawyer made good on his promise to get the Drug Enforcement Administration to skip inspecting the RC for ten years in exchange for my going to Savannah. And marijuana, it seems, is a lot more profitable than herbal tinctures. So in the end, urged on by Reggie, Big Jon decided to scrap the remedies my mother had used to make Rain Catcher Farms legitimate and famous, in order to use the space to grow pot.
“We had to use the Sanctuary,” Wendy explains. “It’s the most remote spot on the RC.”
“But that’s not what this place has ever been about,” I say. “I thought our mission was to be a community and to grow organic. We were never about money.”
She looks at me sadly. “I’m sorry, baby. Even Utopia has to pay taxes to the Man.”
I shake my head. “I need to talk to Big Jon. Is he in there?”
She nods. “Sure, hang on, I’ll just tell him.”
“I’m going in,” I say, shouldering past her and pushing the door open. Big Jon looks up from his desk, which is really an old door balanced on two sawhorses. The doorknob is still jutting up from the surface.
“Hey, Alex,” Big Jon says with an uneasy grin. “So, I guess you found out about your ma’s garden. Don’t get into a fuss, okay? We really needed to make some changes around here.”
“I guess I’m just really disappointed,” I say. “I thought this place was something different.”
Big Jon runs his big hands through his wild mass of gray hair. “It is, honey. And you helped make it special, and so did your mom. But time moves on. Reggie’s always been… knowledgeable about this kind of thing. And for the first time in thirty years, we’ve got extra money. Hell, I can actually send funds to stop those bastards from destroying the rain forests!”
“Well, have you sent any money to charities? World Wildlife Fund, maybe? Greenpeace?”
Big Jon turns red. “Alex…”
“You’re really loving that new hot tub, though. Am I right?”
I look out the window at the lush green valley and shake my head. I thought this place was a real community. A family. But it turns out we were all just working to make money for Big Jon. “So, you know, thanks—really—for selling me out within five minutes of my leaving.”
“Alex, she paid us a lot of money to let you go, okay? I’ve got to uphold my end of the bargain.”
“What do you think my mother would have said?”
“You’ve got your grandmother, kid,” he says grimly. “We all love you, but the lady is rich as a sultan, and she seemed to be hell-bent on keeping you. Although, that might not be true anymore. I just talked to her a few minutes ago, and she told me it’s up to you whether you want to go back or not. You’re welcome to stay here if you’d like.”
“Really?” I say, surprised. I’m a little taken aback. She doesn’t want me after all?
“It’s up to you, okay? But if you stay, you’re going to have to fall into the new program. In other words, no complaining about the new business. And you’ll have to learn to trim.”
“What does that even mean?”
“The pot leaves have to be trimmed when they’re dried. With tiny scissors. Pounds and pounds of leaves. It takes days.”
I try to picture doing this mind-numbing work. My mom and I spent our afternoons in the Sanctuary performing complicated cross-pollination and botany. Now I’d be doing this new job? And Reggie would oversee the whole thing, no doubt with Crystal draped around his neck.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t sound very rewarding.”
“I’m afraid it’s all we’ve got.”
“Okay,” I say. “I get it. No grudges. But can I just ask for one last thing?”
“I’ll give it if I have it.”
“How about a couple of quarters?” I say. “I just really need to use the phone.”
My grandmother picks up on the second ring. She pauses for a moment before answering my question. But when she does, I have to say, it’s the happiest I’ve ever heard her sound.
“Of course we’d love to have you back, dear,” she says. “Believe it or not, this is your home. All right. I’ll call Sybil directly. Use that credit card of yours and get yourself to San Francisco. No time for the bus—hire a car, darling. I’ll have her send Senator McPhillips’s plane today.”