The Littlest Bigfoot (6 page)

The sound of drums echoed through the humid air. Across the soccer field, a tall, stick-skinny man was banging on a set of bongo drums, and a short, plump woman whose face was painted orange was doing a kind of twirling, skipping dance beside him.

“Welcome to Eden! The Land of Love!” the woman was singing. No one seemed to find this unusual. Parents greeted each other with smiles and hugs, kids exchanged grins and high fives. Alice sidled up to Lee, who gave her a sympathetic look, then began unloading her bags and carrying them to a tree where a sign reading “12-Year-Old Learners” had been taped to the trunk.

“Learners?” Alice said.

“We prefer that term.” The short woman with the orange face paint had skipped up beside Alice. She had a wreath of flowers on her head and half-moon-shaped
stains soaking her T-shirt underneath her armpits. “We believe in lifelong learning, and that all of us are students. Students in the school of life!”

Alice pressed her lips together so this woman, who was obviously an authority of some kind, wouldn't see her laugh. Did the School of Life hand out diplomas? Could you graduate with honors?

“Instead of students and teachers, we use the words ‘learners' and ‘guides,' ” said the woman. “I'm Lori, by the way. Lori Moondaughter. My partner, Phil, and I are the founders of the Center.”

Alice frowned. “The website said the Center was founded by Lori Weinreb.”

The woman's smile wavered. “I changed it,” she said. “I'm renouncing the patriarchal practice of daughters always taking their father's names.” She stood on her tiptoes, bringing her painted face close to Alice's ear. “Also, I hated my old last name.”

Lori captured both of Alice's hands in her own. She pressed them together and squeezed. “We are so glad you're here! We're so glad to be part of your village and so glad that you're going to be part of ours. With all our hearts”—Lori dropped Alice's hands and placed her right hand on her chest, atop the organ in question—“we welcome you.”

“Thank you,” Alice said. She made herself smile at Lori, then looked over at her luggage, wondering if she could quickly empty out the clothes and books and photographs she'd brought with her, then fold herself up inside the trunk and get Lee to smuggle her back to New York.

“Now,” said Lori, “Miss Merriweather told me all about you. I'm afraid there aren't too many of you twelve-year-olds. Six boys and four girls, but just three of you now. In a few weeks you'll have a learner named Jessica Jarvis joining the village. Oh! Let me introduce you to Riya Amrit!”

Lori wrapped her arms around the shoulders of a slim, composed-looking girl with lush eyebrows and eyelashes and a graceful, contained way of moving. Her thick, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail—a neat one, Alice noted, and her teeth were very even and white.

“Riya,” Lori announced, “is one of the top-rated fencers in her age group.” She smiled at Riya, who smiled back.

“I'm Alice,” Alice said.

Riya nodded. “Welcome.”

Lori latched on to another girl.

“Oh, and here's Taley. Taley Nudelman, Alice Mayfair.”

“Hello,” snuffled Taley, who was tall and pale with freckles and curly blond hair tucked under a bandanna.
She wore an orange jumper, with pockets made of blue fabric with white stars. There were pink high-top basketball sneakers on her feet, and she sounded so congested Alice was surprised she could say anything. “Weldcombe dto our learning commbunity.”

“Can you two show Alice around?” Lori peered toward a pair of card tables whose metal legs appeared to be sinking into the lawn in front of the Lodge. One table held a trio of plastic bowls; the other a plastic platter of cut-up carrots and pita bread sliced into triangles. “I think we're running out of hummus.” She hurried away.

Taley rolled her eyes. “I hopbe you like hummus,” she said. “We eadt it, like, all the time.”

“The hummus isn't so bad,” said Riya. “The lentil loaf's the problem.”

“Oh, Godtb, don'bt mention the lentil loaf,” said Taley, and sneezed twice. “Allergies,” she said, and waved her hand at the woods and the fields. “Mold, dirtb, pollens, dander . . .”

“If you're allergic to all of that, then how come you're going to school in the woods?” Alice asked.

“Her parents are friends with the Weinrebs,” said Riya.

“Moondb Daughterbs,” Taley said, and blew her nose.

Riya nodded. “Right. So Taley's parents sent her and
her brother and two sisters, so Phil and Lori would have some students.”

“We were volunteerebd as tribudte. This will be my fourth yeardb atdb the Center. Lucky me.” Taley sniffled, and Alice followed her two classmates to a small and slightly tilted cabin with two sets of bunk beds and cubbies built into the walls. Raw sap oozed down one of the boards in the corner, and the floors looked uneven.

Taley saw Alice staring. “Yeah, the campus usedb to dbe on an old farm upstate, but there were zoning issues.”

“The neighbors complained about the compost heap,” Riya said. “Runoff. And smell.”

“So Lori and Phil found this spot. Itb was an oldb campgroundb.” Taley set her backpack on the bottom bunk of one set of bunks, then looked at Alice. “You candb pick your bedb.”

Alice claimed the second bottom bunk—big as she was, she could only imagine a top bunk sagging within inches of her bunkmate's face. “How about you?” she asked as Riya climbed on top of Taley's bunk. “How'd you end up here?”

“I fence,” said Riya.

“That's, like, all she dboes,” said Taley. “That and gymnastibs. Phil and Lori letd her do academics for an hour
in the morningb, thenb she just works with her coach.” She sniffled, blew her nose, and turned to Alice. “What's your thingb?”

Alice thought. “Does everyone here have a thing?”

“For the most part,” Riya said. She was pulling books out of her backpack,
The Noble Art of the Sword
and
The Inner Game of Fencing
and
A Basic Foil Companion
. “Kelvin Atwater—you'll meet him later—he does magic. Not actual magic,” she said, seeing Alice's face. “Magic tricks.”

“Sleightb ofb handb,” Taley confirmed, spreading a pink-and-purple comforter on her bed.

“What's your thing?” Alice asked Taley, who looked at her and frowned.

“I havbe allergies,” she said.

“Oh,” said Alice. She wondered if a thing could be a talent, or a problem, like Taley's allergies. Like her own hair. Like her own everything. Did “trying to disappear” count as a thing?

“And she's extremely creative,” Riya said. Taley gave her a look that was equal parts affection and exasperation. “She can sew,” said Riya in the same tone she'd use to announce that Taley could fly, and pointed toward an old-fashioned sewing machine and a bag of fabric in the corner.

Alice was quiet, hoping they would drop the topic of her own special thing. She made her bed with the fancy cotton sheets Felicia had packed, slipping her down pillows into their crisp cases, and set up her toothpaste, toothbrush, and family-size bottles of extra-strength conditioner in the bathroom.

Taley was there putting away a small ceramic pitcher that she said was called a neti pot. “Don'bt ever dringk outb ob itb,” she said, then considered. “Probably don'bt eben touch itd.” She filled the pot with warm water, leaned over the sink, tilted her head, and stuck the spout into her left nostril. “It's for congestiondb,” she said as Alice backed out of the bathroom.

Someone had slipped a daily schedule under the door. Alice picked up the piece of paper and started to read out loud. “Each morning begins with a choice of Morning Meditation, Sun Salutations, or Intentional Weeding.' ”

“It's regular weeding,” said Riya, who must have noticed Alice's confusion. “You just have to look like you're thinking about it.” She unzipped a duffel bag and pulled out a sword.
A foil,
Alice thought. She looked out the window and saw a few grown-ups—learning guides, she reminded herself—walking past. One of the men was wearing a floaty white skirt, and one of the women had a
bright red buzz cut and a ring through her septum.

“Like, you pull out a weed and look at it for a minute, like you're sorry you disrupted its experience,” said Riya. “Just be glad they got rid of Contemplative Canoeing.”

“Why?” Alice asked. She was beginning to get the idea that at the Experimental Center, there was a story behind everything.

“Last year Jared Cagan fell asleep in a canoe and floated, like, five miles downriver. Lori and Phil had to go into town and borrow a motorboat from one of the guys at the gas station . . . and you can probably guess how Lori and Phil feel about burning fossil fuels,” Riya said.

“Alsobd, the townies thoughtdb we were freaks,” Taley called from the bathroom.

Alice nodded, then wandered toward the door, managing to bump into another sword that was resting against the wall.

“Careful!” Riya snapped, as the sword clattered to the floor. Nimbly, Riya hopped off the top bunk. Alice mumbled an apology—the first of many she'd be making, she thought—and finally walked outside.

Except for the gloomy wooden lodge, the Center looked like it had been slapped together over a weekend, by people who had one saw, one hammer, and absolutely
no experience. The half dozen cabins for the learners, the coops for the chickens, and the goat pen all looked like they'd fall over if the wind blew too hard. She walked past the animals—a flock of clucking chickens, a few grumpy-looking goats—and toward the forest, where she spotted a dirt path that seemed to lead through the trees.

Alice began to walk along the packed dirt, her sneakers scuffling through brown pine needles. The leaves overhead were so dense that the sunshine was faint and tinted greenish gold. She could hear a frog croak, a bird chirp, a small something scampering away as she approached, first walking, then running. Faster and faster she went through the golden-green, swinging her arms, lifting her legs higher, scooting over roots, leaping over fallen branches. She'd never been in a situation or a place like this, alone in a forest, where she didn't have to wait up for her classmates or follow her teacher, where she could go where she wanted, as fast as she could. Her heart pumped hard; her soles slapped the dirt. Her hair burst out of its elastics and her braids unraveled until the Mane was flying out behind her. Alice pumped her arms and kicked her legs out hard, hearing the rhythm of her feet and her breath, her ears full of the thunder of her own heartbeat; feeling her blood-flushed face, the sweat streaming down
her cheeks and arms and back; smelling leaves and grass and growing things, the mineral tang of lake water, and faint notes of the approaching autumn.

She ran and ran, loving the sensation of her body at work, relishing the quiet and the solitude, pushing herself to go faster and faster until the path ended at the shore of the lake—Lake Standish, she reminded herself. Standish was the name of the lake and the name of the town and, she bet, the name of the town's main street or high school or both. Breathing hard, Alice cupped her hands in the water and rinsed her face, then let a palmful of water trickle from her crown down through her hair. Her shirt was plastered to her body, her shoes were filthy, her hair was already matted with branches and leaves, but she couldn't remember a time when she'd felt so wonderful.

Sitting by the water to catch her breath, she closed her eyes and listened. Little wavelets lapped gently at the toes of her shoes. She could hear the trill of a bird, the burst and flutter of wings . . . and, very faintly, voices.

Alice stood up, squinting across the lake. She didn't see anything but more trees . . . but she was sure she'd heard something, a girl's voice, singing. She sat down again, slipping off her shoes and planting her feet in the water, eyes shut, listening, feeling the Mane hanging warm and
heavy against her back, thinking that maybe this place would be all right, if she could run like this every day, away from the school and the students (the Center and the learners, she reminded herself), away from everything, even her own thoughts.

When Alice trotted back to the Center, she found tall, skinny, face-painted Phil standing in the middle of the soccer field, pounding a cowbell with a stick. “Village assembly!” he called in a high, thin voice. His beard waggled in time to the stick strikes. “Everyone meet at Mother Tree!”

Alice joined the crowd of kids moving toward the big tree Phil was pointing at. They were, she thought, a motley crew. Some of the girls had put on makeup and colorful woven bracelets and had painted their nails and dressed in outfits that looked both clean and planned; others, like Riya, just wore shorts and T-shirts and seemed unconcerned if their ponytails were crooked or their fingernails were bare. Taley was still in her orange, blue, and white jumper and pink sneakers, but she'd discarded her bandanna and tied hanks of purple yarn at the ends of the ponytails she'd fashioned. A few of the boys wore the cool-kid uniform of droopy, oversize basketball shorts, enormous sneakers, and baseball caps turned
backward that Alice had seen in New York City. But she also saw one boy dressed all in black—black pants, black shoes, black long-sleeved shirt—with his hair dyed black and styled in a Mohawk. A girl wore head-to-toe tie-dye, and another girl was all in white, with hair that hung past her waist and a skirt so long that its hem dragged on the grass . . . and nobody stared. There were
Doctor Who
T-shirts and acid-washed jeans, fringed boots and leather sandals, fingernails in shades from pearly white to inky black (both boys and girls had painted nails), pierced noses and pierced eyebrows, and no one was making a big deal about anyone else.

Alice followed the pack to Mother Tree and took a seat in the grass.