Field Trip (7 page)

Atticus:
When my boy rolled out of the van—which I didn't like at all—and then came back and spoke to the boss, it wasn't a good thing.

The boss didn't say anything after my boy walked away. Then he said “No!” when the muffin girl tried to get out and follow my boy. She looked scared, and that's bad—the boss never scares people. So I barked at him and he apologized. But he didn't move, just sat staring at his phone. So I barked again. And again. And again. Until he finally looked up and said, “Oh, all right!” and went after my boy. I followed him and made sure he went in the building. I barked at the muffin girl and her boy and the boy who works for the boss until they went inside, too. I stayed outside, but I watched through the glass doors.

They all came out and got in the van, but things still aren't right; the boss and my boy aren't talking, but at least they're together.

Conor:
I bit the boss's elbow. There's a little spot on the back of the arm where, if you nip real fast and sharp, it's enough to make them move. My boy wanted the boss to follow him, and Atticus was barking and barking, but the boss still wasn't moving. I nipped him. He moved.

He can start talking to my boy any time now.

Dad hasn't said a word since we left the rink.

Which is A-OK with me because I'm not speaking to him, either.

He's sitting in the far backseat texting, so I can't see him, and I won't turn around to look. Conor crawled into the footwell of the front passenger seat next to Charlotte's feet, and Atticus is staring out the order window. Even the guys are too disappointed to look me in the eye.

I'm sure Dad's not going to get me a puppy now, if he was planning to. It's clear he and the guys don't think I'm worthy of a puppy after the stunt I pulled.

Charlotte gives Brig directions in a soft voice and pets Conor. She hasn't smiled at me, hasn't looked my way since I climbed aboard at the rink.

Jacob fixed, filled, and started the soft-serve machine and hands out cones to everyone. I can't taste mine, but the burning, twisting, stabbing pain in my gut settles down.

Brig passed on a cone and is slurping from a stinky thermos cup of haggis or kimchi or something made of pickled ears and stuffed hooves. I once saw a guy in the locker room eat a sandwich that had fallen out of his duffel and landed on the shower floor, and even that wasn't nearly as gross as what Brig is eating now.

I finally get up the nerve to text Mom what I did. But I don't have the guts to leave my phone on to see if she responds. I'm sure she's already heard Dad's version. She and I always used to shake our heads together at Dad's crazy ideas, but ever since she started doing the books for the business and digging the house remodeling, it's like I don't know her anymore.

I glance at the critique on my scrimmage—great comments about my skills and hustle from every judge. I'm a shoo-in. Just like I planned. But I'm not even relieved.

I pick at the small tear in the left knee of my jeans until it's a gaping hole.

In my worst dreams, I couldn't have imagined such a crappy field trip. Which, by the way, isn't even happening. I knew Dad would forget all about getting Charlotte, Jacob, and me to…what was it again? No one has said a word about it since yesterday. We're just driving aimlessly at this point. I'd like to catch up with the field trip or else hurl myself out the order window, land on the roof of a semi, hold on until the driver stops to get gas, and then hitch home. Anything is better than being stuck in the Ice Cream Truck of Doom under the Death Cone.

“So, uh, hey…” Everyone jumps like I set off firecrackers. Probably because the speaker on the dash that blasts the ice cream truck song has turned itself on and I'm sitting next to the mike. My voice is blaring through the truck and out onto the freeway. The truck driver in the next lane swerves and then regains control before flipping us the bird and roaring off. Brig pounds on the dash until the speaker shuts off with a squeak.

“I, um, kind of lost track of the whole field trip thing….” The tension in the truck is thick as we all think about why that is. “But, uh, what's the deal?”

“I was starting to wonder if anyone would ever ask,” Charlotte says, “or if Jacob and I were the only ones who remembered why we hit the road in the first place.”

“What's the field trip for, anyway?” Brig asks. “I just drive where you tell me. No one ever told me details.”

“The rest of our class is going to a bunch of museums and on a tour of the government center to observe democracy in action,” Jacob explains. “I know, totally dweeby. But you try arranging details for that many kids and finding enough chaperones and keeping the cost down and making it a cross-curriculum focus. Definitely not the best time ever. But it looks amazing on my resume.”

“Jacob and I figured out we were never going to catch up with the class once we started working on the house,” Charlotte explains. “So while I was emailing the foundation and the bank and waiting for their answers, I started brainstorming the independent study field trip Jacob suggested.”

“And how's that working out?” Dad asks.

“Well! The movie set was a way better example of ego-driven power-mongers than any visit to city hall. So Jacob wrote a one-act play starring the two of us about power structures and decision making on the set. Boom! We've captured the spirit of democracy better than the field trip ever could.”

“What about Ben? What'll he do?” Brig asks.

“Lie on the floor to reenact the pile of dead bodies. Teachers love visual aids and kids love dead bodies,” Jacob says. “I can even tell them about the gut-sucking tube I learned about at the funeral!”

“Good thinking.” I wish more school activities involved playing dead. Mom and Dad would never have anything to complain about, grade-wise.

“But that's not the best part!” Jacob says. “Tonight we fight for survival in the wilderness.”

“Oh, uh, wow, that's…” I wish I'd never said I thought the field trip sounded boring. I may be a brute on the ice, but I'm not what you'd call outdoorsy.

“It's a forest preserve. We're camping overnight.” Charlotte shoots Jacob a look. “We'll be there in a few minutes.”

“How's that like going to a museum?” I don't get it.

“Our experience will help us as the founding members of our school's Eco-Preservation Society,” Charlotte tells me. “We'll actively promote educational programs that advance environmental consciousness and facilitate public awareness with a call to action.” She smiles. At me. I can't look away. Or feel my legs.

“See? It's not just
going
to a museum, like any boring schlub.” Jacob bounces. “We'll
embody the spirit
of a museum. And then bring our knowledge back to school and share it with everyone. We'll save the planet, one middle-school student at a time.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We start by collecting examples of leaves and native grasses and flowers, identifying rocks and trees. Once it gets dark, we'll camp out, live off the land. I read a book about surviving in the woods; how hard can it be?”

I glance over at Dad; he's grinning. I've always thought he was waiting for a chance to see if he has what it takes to be one of those daredevil adventure guys. I guess I should be glad Charlotte and Jacob didn't think rappelling down the side of a cliff or skydiving was the perfect replacement for our field trip.

“Awesome. I've never been on a family campout before,” Brig says.

“Very…twinventive,” I say, trying to look and sound as jazzed, or gullible, as everyone else.

“Here we are! Just pull up to any open campsite, Brig.” Charlotte points.

“I'll go check in at the office.” Dad whistles to Conor and Atticus. “You get started on your foraging and whatnot.”

“I'll keep Mr. Duffy company,” Brig says. “See if we can figure out how to make a shelter from all the tarps in the back of the truck, maybe rustle up some grub.”

“No!” we all shriek.

“I'll drive back to the grocery store down the road while Brig sets up a shelter.” Dad winks at us. “Get some hot dogs and buns.”

I'm not sure how this counts as a field trip, but I don't mind walking with Charlotte in the woods. We let Jacob get a few feet ahead of us on the path and we walk side by side. Our hands brush against each other, and it's almost as good as stealing the puck. How did I never notice this girl before? Maybe Dad was on to something when he said hockey school would limit my options. Maybe having friends instead of just teammates could be fun.

Jacob picks up every leaf and pebble and stick he thinks is pretty and keeps dragging me next to him for pictures in front of bushes and trees and flowers. “I'll just Photoshop some more normal headshots of you when we get home,” he decides after scrolling through some images on his phone. “Because you still look like the undead from yesterday's zombie movie. A little dazed and out of it.”

“That's because we're lost, and I'm dehydrated and starving.”

Charlotte and Jacob argue about which way to head. “That's where we came from, Jacob. You are so wrong.” And “It's clearly west. We need to bear west to get back to the campsite.”

I'm about to lie down on the ground and expire for real.

“Arf.” One terse, ticked-off bark.

Atticus is standing right in front of me, having appeared out of thin air. He looks annoyed and makes sure I understand he's here to save me and I'm meant to follow him before he turns and heads back down the path that neither Charlotte nor Jacob thought we should take.

“Oh, good, someone who knows his directions,” Charlotte says, and starts to follow Atticus.

Jacob shrugs. “I'll follow Atticus anywhere.”

“Arfarfarfarfarf!!!!” Conor comes tumbling through the woods, his fur covered in burrs, a small branch stuck to his collar. He hurls himself at me and propels me flat on my back. I can't breathe because he's sitting on my chest, licking my face and rubbing his prickly head on my chin. He won't stop barking and, oh, no. He just peed a little.

“All right, all right. Good job, you saved me. Stop peeing on my chest and go find Atticus.”

He leaps off me and heads up the path Jacob wanted to take. I wait for a couple seconds and sure enough, a black-and-white blur comes hurtling back and zooms after Atticus. I follow more slowly. And find that Charlotte is waiting to walk with me.

When we finally stagger back to the campsite and spot the van, there's a line trailing away from our vehicle parked at the edge of the lot. Dad and Brig are studying the crowd. Jacob, Charlotte, and I walk up.

“Dad—what's going on?”

Atticus starts barking at the truck; he's looking up, barking at the Death Cone on the roof.

I laugh for the first time all day. “They're waiting for the ice cream truck to open.”

“Good thing I fixed the soft-serve machine,” Jacob says. “If we give the cones away, we can also add data about philanthropic efforts on the trip. No one on the official field trip will have done anything as cool as this. We rule!”

I scramble to find cones in the mess of boxes in the back. Then we take turns running the soft-serve machine to see who makes the best curlicue on top.

Jacob plugs the freezer in and does some tweaking to the motor and pretty soon it's humming away. “We'll fill it with frozen novelties later,” Dad says. “Obviously, we have an obligation to carry treats.”

“Obviously.” But I smile. It was just a matter of time before Dad started selling ice cream. Dad smiles back and the chill between us warms up a little.

After the campers have all gone back to their campsites, we make dinner. Then Brig hangs tarps and rope between a tree and the Death Cone, and we have a funky tent. He says it's big enough for the four of us and the guys, but Atticus snorts and jumps into the van, making a bed from himself on the front passenger seat. Conor follows him. I follow the guys because they have more sense than Dad, Brig, and Jacob, who throw themselves under the tarp. Charlotte climbs into the van behind me, but Conor is in the middle seat between us and we can't even see each other because of the tall backs. It's still awesome that I get to sleep a few feet away from her.

The ice cream, the forest air and exercise, and listening to Charlotte breathe help take away some of my confusion about tryouts and Dad.

I wonder what Jacob thinks about tomorrow being the best day ever, because I feel about due.