Slick (3 page)

“My what?”

“Boy-felon. Your boyfriend's company bullies poor farmers.”

“What are you talking about?” Mom asks.

I hand her the laptop. “Read it and weep,” I say sourly. “Isn't Guatemala where your fair-trade, organic, bird-friendly coffee comes from?”

“Hello?” It's Slick, calling from the door.

“I'll be there in a minute,” Mom calls absently. She continues to read, furrowing those nicely shaped brows. Finally, she hands the computer back.

“I've got to go,” she says. “We'll talk about this later.”

After a little more research, Olive and I make a mini air horn with a film canister, a straw and a balloon. We cut a hole in the bottom of the canister and slide the straw into it. Then we cut a smaller hole in the side of the canister to blow into. We stretch a piece of balloon over the top and snap the lid on. Get ready for 120 decibels!

Later, we brush glow-in-the-dark paint onto the propellers that Slick gave the boys. We stand on the back deck and send them spinning into the yard. They are a dizzy glow in the night air. Beautiful! I imagine one sailing all the way to Guatemala and being caught by a child in Las Angelitas.

Chapter Six

For breakfast, I make a huge pot of hot chocolate, adding half a teaspoon of cinnamon and a pinch of nutmeg. I'm using Rachael's recipe. Silas and I play chess while we drink from our mugs. Leland spins a Ninja Turtle in the new cheese grater. Mom is fixated on the newspaper.

“Incredible,” she says. “A curator's nightmare! Check this out: the Cleveland Museum thought they had a real hair from Amelia Earhart's head. But all these years, it was a piece of thread!”

“Who's Amelia Earhart?” Leland asks, spinning his Ninja Turtle more slowly.

“A famous aviator. Well,
aviatrix
is what they called the women. There were many female pilots during the world wars. When the wars ended, a few managed to keep flying. They ran deliveries, taught at flight schools and some did stunts at fairs.”

“Wing walking,” says Silas, who reads every nonfiction book that comes under his radar. “Barnstorming. One woman danced the Charleston on the wing of a plane at 2,200 feet.”

“That's right!” Mom says. “Amelia Earhart was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic. Then she tried to fly around the world. But she disappeared over the Pacific Ocean. Seventy-five years ago. She was never found.”

“But someone had one of her hairs?” I ask.

“They thought they did. Before setting off around the world, Amelia was a guest of President Roosevelt's. A maid at the White House plucked a hair from the pillowcase Amelia had slept on, as a souvenir. It eventually ended up in the museum's collection. But they just ran a dna test to see if it matched some bones recently found on a Pacific Ocean island. All these years, and it was just a thread!”

“She's good at vanishing!” Leland exclaims.

“I'll say!” Mom laughs and then looks at the clock. “Race time!” She upends all five of our egg timers. We leap from the table, brush our teeth, get our shoes and jackets and backpacks. We're out the door before the last grains of sand fall to the bottom of the crow-shaped, African Blackwood egg timer. It's our favorite, since it's the slowest, giving us a full fifteen seconds extra.

Ms. Catalla isn't surprised by what Olive and I discovered online.

“It would be hard to find an oil company that isn't running over people's toes,” she says. “Still, you need to find out whether Argenta is acting in bad faith. Do they know they're doing wrong? And, if they are acting in bad faith, what will you do? There is a common belief that if you know something bad is happening and you do nothing to stop it, you're part of the problem.”

“But what can I do?” I say, trying not to whine. “I'm not a lawyer. I don't live in Guatemala…”

“But you
are
someone,” Ms. Catalla urges gently.

“I'm a kid. A teenager. A student.” I feel stronger by the second. “I'm Canadian. So is Argenta Oil. And I've been owed money. It sucks.”

Mom drives us to the beach for a picnic supper. It's a cool evening. We pack sweaters and blankets. I also bring a cookie sheet so I can test for rattlebacks, also called wobblestones or Celtic stones.

Rattlebacks are ancient toys that can be made from pretty much anything. They're shaped like a twisted kayak and fit easily in one hand. You place them on a flat surface and spin them. In one direction, they spin as you'd expect, eventually slowing to a stop. But when you spin them in the other direction, they spin for a while, slow down, start to wobble, then,
on their own
, reverse in the other direction for a little spin! It's kind of eerie. I have a rattleback collection. Some are carved from wood, some are clay. I have one that is just a telephone receiver that happened to be weighted right, and one I made with a stick of gum in its foil, bent into shape. Five of the rattlebacks in my collection are stones I found on the beach.

After our supper of salmon sandwiches, I look for rocks that are long and curve upward at both ends. Mom stokes the fire with a piece of driftwood. Then she throws the stick toward two seagulls thrusting their beaks into the picnic basket. “Shoo! That's our dessert!” Silas and Leland are across the beach, building a driftwood fort.

After a while, Mom speaks. “So Argenta Oil's no angel.”

“That's right,” I agree.

“But how on earth did you find out? Why were you digging around?”

“Mom, that doesn't matter,” I say. “The point is, the company your boyfriend works for is evil.”

“That's a little extreme, Liza.”

“What's extreme is how poor the Maya are. They've been robbed, Mom, big-time,” I say. “Ooh! Got one!” We watch as my stone spins, slows, wobbles, then changes direction.

“Good one!” Mom cheers before turning serious again. “Liza, Robert is a good person. He has a good heart.”

“Well, if someone works for an evil— okay, bad—company, doesn't that make
them
bad?”

“Maybe he doesn't know,” says Mom. “Like that museum in Cleveland— they didn't mean to dupe anyone by displaying that hair. Or imagine one of the auction houses is selling stolen goods, but I don't know it. I appraise the goods and help the auction house sell them. Am I a thief too?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Robert needs a job—he's got a house and car to pay for,” Mom argues. “Anyway, probably every company has a bad record somewhere. No one's perfect, Liza.”

“Mom, stealing from poor people is a long way from ‘not perfect.' Couldn't Slick talk to his bosses? Get them to pay up?”

“
Robert
would probably be fired,” Mom shrugs. “Or moved to a lesser position.”

“For telling the truth? So he works at a place where he can't say what he wants?” I had a vision of Slick, crouched like a monkey, a hand over his smile.

Just then we hear Silas scream, “Leland's in the water! Leland's in the water!'

Mom and I leap up, but a woman walking her dog near the boys wades into the water and grabs Leland before we can get there. He is sobbing while the woman soothes him, “There, there, it's all right.”

Mom is crying. “Thank you! Oh, thank you. What if you hadn't been there? He would have been lost!”

“But I
was
there,” the woman says, calmly putting an arm around Mom. She is older than Mom and nicely dressed in a long coat and white leather boots. “Everything's fine.”

“You're wet,” Mom says to her. “Come, get warmed up by the fire. We'll gather our things and drive you home.”

“Thank you,” says the woman. “And thank you!” she says cheerfully to a chattering Leland. “I wondered how cold the water was, and now I know!”

“I'd really like to make it up to you,” Mom says as we drop the woman off.

“Don't worry about that,” says the woman. “Really. It's just nice to see a family that's so close.”

“I'm going to report her to the police!” Mom announces as we pull out of the woman's driveway. “For heroism!”

“No kidding! She was old!” Silas says. “And she just jumped into the freezing water, got her fancy boots wet.”

“Yeah,” I agree, darting a look at Mom. “It was about doing the right thing, not about
things
, like a nice house and car.”

“What are you talking about?” Silas asks, perplexed.

“It's just something between me and Liza, honey,” Mom says firmly. “A subject we're going to give a rest right now. Okay, Liza?”

“Okay,” I mutter. “But—”

“That woman was a mermaid,” Leland sighs. He is drifting off to sleep. “I'd walk the plank for her.”

Chapter Seven

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Dear OilWatch,
I'd like to help make Argenta Oil pay for drilling on Mayan land. I'm a grade 7 student in Victoria, where the company has its head office.

I watched a documentary about the Maya of the Ixcán, where Argenta Oil trucks plow through the kids' soccer games, choking the air with dust and exhaust.

Could you send me info about the court case and scummy Argenta Oil? I'm also researching the company for a school project.

Thank you,

Liza Maybird

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Dear Liza,
Totally cool to hear from you. You're right: Argenta Oil is scummy!

Our organization keeps track of oil companies in Central America. We alert politicians and the media—newspapers, radio and tv stations, bloggers—when people or the land get hurt. We also raise money to help with legal costs.

In community elections, where even seven-year-olds vote, over 90 percent of Mayans vote against oil companies using their land. But the government of Guatemala doesn't give two pennies about what the Maya want. Activists say the government kidnaps and even kills Mayans who speak out against oil companies.

When drilling, oil companies can ruin cropland, knock over farm buildings, pollute…The company is supposed to pay compensation for the damage. In Guatemala, they have ninety days to pay.

Fifty Guatemalan farmers have waited two years for $500,000 in compensation from Argenta. That may sound like a lot, but compared to what Argenta makes…let's just say that last year, the head of Argenta gave himself a $2 million bonus!

We want oil companies to leave the Maya people alone. Compensation is a small issue, but this campaign will introduce the bigger ones.

Attached is more info. We'd love your help!

In solidarity,

Jamaica Chappell

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Dear Jamaica,
Thanks for writing back so quickly and taking me seriously.

Two questions:

1. Is Argenta Oil breaking the law?

2. What's the bonus for?

Cheers,

Liza

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Liza!
Good questions!

1: If you held Argenta Oil to Canadian standards, they are breaking the law. Argenta pays its Guatemalan workers one-tenth of what it pays its workers in Canada. In Canada, Argenta Oil helps its workers if they get injured on the job. Not in Guatemala. In Canada, Argenta pays into a pension plan. Not in Guatemala. In Canada, they provide safety equipment. Not in Guatemala. In Canada, they follow environmental protection laws. Not in Guatemala.

In Guatemala, Argenta has to obey Guatemalan laws—and for the most part they do. But those laws are weak. In Guatemala, they don't have to take their workers or the Earth seriously. They make more money that way.

2: A bonus is usually a reward for good work. Sometimes it's a payout when a company's made a lot of money.

I've always wanted to visit Victoria. It's so close to Seattle, which is where I live.

In peace,

Jamaica

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Hi Jamaica,
I definitely want to help with the campaign.

But I have no idea where to start.

TTYS,

Liza

P.S. I've always wanted to see Seattle.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Hi Liza,
If you ever do visit Seattle, come see us at OilWatch.

There's a lot you can do to pressure Argenta. Your school project is a great start. Research and knowledge, along with compassion and justice, are the only true weapons.

You could write an article for your local newspaper. Write to the president of Argenta, and send copies of your letter to local newspapers, radio stations and politicans.

Draw up a petition: write at the top of a piece of paper something like:
We demand that Argenta Oil respect the law of Guatemala and pay farmers the compensation they rightfully owe.
Then gather signatures.

Or carry things further and mount a demonstration.

Just a few ideas.

In justice,

Jamaica

P.S. There's strength—and fun—in numbers: band with friends!

P.S.S. Speaking of fun: instead of being against, what can you be for?

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]

Dear Jamaica,
Thanks for the exciting ideas.

My friends and I have formed GRRR!—Girls for Renewable Resources, Really! We've already got a Facebook page, and we are writing letters to newspapers about Argenta's unpaid debt.

And—drumroll!—we're planning a demonstration at Argenta Oil's offices! We're calling it an Insistence, because we insist Argenta pays up.

GRRR! has its first official meeting this Friday.

In a hurry,

Liza

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]