Where I Belong Read Free Page B

today is the rustle of leaves and now and then the creak of a branch. I unload the wood and go back to the construction site for more. After four trips, I’m sure I have enough boards.
    But before I can begin building, I need tools. I think I know where to find them.
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    After school the next day, I sneak into the basement and raid the late Mr. Clancy’s workshop. Nails, hammers, saws, drills—all the tools I need to build my tree house.
    I spot three plastic milk crates in a corner. No telling where he got them, but it’s my guess he found them behind the 7-Eleven. I also discover a pile of musty old tarps he must have used for drop cloths. I can use them for a roof until I come up with something more permanent. Last of all, I help myself to a long, thick coiled-up rope—perfect for hoisting things into the tree.
    Taking care not to be seen from the house, I fill the wagon, head for the woods, unload, and go back for more. After three trips, it’s time for dinner. For once I’m glad to leave the woods. I’m really hungry. And really tired.
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    The next day is Saturday. I wake up early, tell Mrs. Clancy a story about needing to use the computers at the library, and disappear for the day. First I rig up a simple pulley system by climbing the tree and hanging the rope over a limb. Back on earth, I tie a two-by-four to one end and pull as hard as I can on the other end. Up she goes. Slowly slowly slowly. The rope hurts my hands and breaks more than once. The two-by-fours crash down through the leaves and hit the ground hard. At last I manage to nail a framework to the tree, so high up that you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t know it was there.
    The whole time I’m working, I feel like somebody is watching me. I stop pounding nails every few minutes and listen. I don’t hear anything. I don’t see anything. But still the feeling persists. What if Sean Barnes followed me that day after all? What if he and T.J. and Gene are hiding somewhere, waiting to jump me? I expect them to step out from the bushes at any moment, jeering, cussing, making threats.
    My hands shake and it’s hard to concentrate on nailing down the boards. I tell myself it’s my imagination. It’s rabbits and squirrels I hear. Nothing more.
    Then another thought creeps into my mind. Maybe my hammering has gotten the Green Man’s attention. He’s watching me from the dense shade and thickets below. Am I a threat to his forest? Will I harm his tree?
    I clutch the hammer and stare down into the green world. Leaves stir in little gusts of wind and shadows shift their shapes, hiding whatever lurks in the tangled branches and vines. The Green Man—violent and unpredictable, like nature itself.
    I whisper to him, “Green Man, are you there?”
    No one answers. The shadows continue to shift and change and dance across the leaves. Something stirs in a thicket and then it’s gone and so is the feeling I’m being watched.
    I pick up a nail and place it carefully.
Bang bang bang
goes the hammer. It echoes through the trees.
Bang bang bang
. I hate making so much noise, but there is no quiet way to pound a nail into a piece of wood.
    By dinnertime, I’m so tired I can hardly walk, my arms ache from using the pulley, and my hands are blistered from the rope. Luckily Mrs. Clancy doesn’t notice the blisters, probably because her head is bent over the crossword. She looks up only to eat and to ask me for help. A five-letter word ending with
e
that means “furious.” A four-letter word beginning and ending with
o
that means “grab bag.” I mutter the answers and stagger off to bed. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, and my hands hurt so bad, I think I might cry.
    On Sunday I take some of Mrs. Clancy’s Motrin and cover my hands with thick white socks. Wincing with almost every movement, I saw and hoist and nail, saw and hoist and nail. Slowly the