apples, so we have hope.”
Leo grins at me. “If you promise not to laugh, we’ll show you how we help them grow.”
“Forget it, Leo, no way,” David says, crossing his arms.
“Why not? You do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s with you guys. Tara’s going to think I’m a total dork.”
“She probably already does,” Rory jokes. “So you might as well go ahead.”
He shakes his head and presses his lips together.
“Come on,” Leo says. “You’re going to have to do it next month in front of a hundred people. You can’t get shy now.”
He sighs. “Fine. But you know it doesn’t really help the trees grow.”
“Sure it does,” Amanda says. She touches a tiny leaf on a spindly branch. “I’m sure this little guy wasn’t here last week.”
David rolls his eyes. “All right. Assume the position.”
The other three immediately sit down on the grass, and to my surprise, keep going until they are fully lying down. “Come on, Tara,” Rory says, patting the ground next to her.
I hesitate. I don’t normally get too freaked out by bugs, but when I was seven we lived someplace where you couldn’t go onthe grass because of fire ants. Fire ants hurt. I don’t think I’ve lain in the grass in six years. I guess it must be safe in Willow Falls or they definitely wouldn’t be doing this. So I lie down next to Rory and try not to think of what might be crawling in my hair.
It’s late afternoon by now, so the sun is off to the side and not shining right in our eyes. The sky is completely blue and cloudless, and the smell of apples is stronger down here for some reason. After a few seconds, the heat of the earth rises up beneath me. It feels nice, and I relax into it. And then suddenly I feel like I’m moving. My fingers instinctively grab on to the blades of grass to either side of me. I know we’re not supposed to feel the spinning of the earth on its axis, but I swear I do. I have this flash of fear that if I let go, I’d go hurtling into outer space. I shut my eyes tight and try to catch my breath, which seems to be coming faster and faster.
Panting Like a Dog Around Kids You Just Met = Really Embarrassing.
Chapter Eight
“Are you okay?” David asks.
I open one eye to see him standing above me, looking down in concern.
I open my other eye, experiment with turning my head from side to side, then take a deep breath. I think I’m back to normal. “Sorry, go ahead and do the … whatever it is you’re doing.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I say quickly, anxious to have the focus be off me.
“All right.” David steps back until he’s next to the fountain. He clears his throat. “This is called ‘Shalom Rav,’ ” he says, then starts singing.
It’s a Hebrew song, that much I can figure out. But it has a much softer melody that the chanting I heard in the pool hole. His voice is really smooth and the song is actually really, really beautiful. Lying there, feeling the warmth from the earth below me and the warmth from the sun above me, and the warmth from David’s song in the air, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A sort of connectedness to everything. It still feels like the earth is spinning beneath me, but it’s not unpleasant now.
Then the song is interrupted by a different kind of singing.
Kreeee, kreeee, kreeee.
I lift my head and there they are, perchedon the edge of the broken fountain, legs entwined with each other. I push myself up onto my elbows and stare at them while David keeps singing. I’ve never seen a hawk in my entire life, and now they’re everywhere, and apparently they’re all friendly — well, with each other anyway. Unless … I’m no expert on hawks, but I would swear these are the same ones I saw at the train station. Could one of those hawks actually have been the one who visited me in my backyard at home? I immediately dismiss the thought. It’s hundreds of miles from here. Unless it hitched a ride on the
Leo grins at me. “If you promise not to laugh, we’ll show you how we help them grow.”
“Forget it, Leo, no way,” David says, crossing his arms.
“Why not? You do it all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s with you guys. Tara’s going to think I’m a total dork.”
“She probably already does,” Rory jokes. “So you might as well go ahead.”
He shakes his head and presses his lips together.
“Come on,” Leo says. “You’re going to have to do it next month in front of a hundred people. You can’t get shy now.”
He sighs. “Fine. But you know it doesn’t really help the trees grow.”
“Sure it does,” Amanda says. She touches a tiny leaf on a spindly branch. “I’m sure this little guy wasn’t here last week.”
David rolls his eyes. “All right. Assume the position.”
The other three immediately sit down on the grass, and to my surprise, keep going until they are fully lying down. “Come on, Tara,” Rory says, patting the ground next to her.
I hesitate. I don’t normally get too freaked out by bugs, but when I was seven we lived someplace where you couldn’t go onthe grass because of fire ants. Fire ants hurt. I don’t think I’ve lain in the grass in six years. I guess it must be safe in Willow Falls or they definitely wouldn’t be doing this. So I lie down next to Rory and try not to think of what might be crawling in my hair.
It’s late afternoon by now, so the sun is off to the side and not shining right in our eyes. The sky is completely blue and cloudless, and the smell of apples is stronger down here for some reason. After a few seconds, the heat of the earth rises up beneath me. It feels nice, and I relax into it. And then suddenly I feel like I’m moving. My fingers instinctively grab on to the blades of grass to either side of me. I know we’re not supposed to feel the spinning of the earth on its axis, but I swear I do. I have this flash of fear that if I let go, I’d go hurtling into outer space. I shut my eyes tight and try to catch my breath, which seems to be coming faster and faster.
Panting Like a Dog Around Kids You Just Met = Really Embarrassing.
Chapter Eight
“Are you okay?” David asks.
I open one eye to see him standing above me, looking down in concern.
I open my other eye, experiment with turning my head from side to side, then take a deep breath. I think I’m back to normal. “Sorry, go ahead and do the … whatever it is you’re doing.”
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I say quickly, anxious to have the focus be off me.
“All right.” David steps back until he’s next to the fountain. He clears his throat. “This is called ‘Shalom Rav,’ ” he says, then starts singing.
It’s a Hebrew song, that much I can figure out. But it has a much softer melody that the chanting I heard in the pool hole. His voice is really smooth and the song is actually really, really beautiful. Lying there, feeling the warmth from the earth below me and the warmth from the sun above me, and the warmth from David’s song in the air, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A sort of connectedness to everything. It still feels like the earth is spinning beneath me, but it’s not unpleasant now.
Then the song is interrupted by a different kind of singing.
Kreeee, kreeee, kreeee.
I lift my head and there they are, perchedon the edge of the broken fountain, legs entwined with each other. I push myself up onto my elbows and stare at them while David keeps singing. I’ve never seen a hawk in my entire life, and now they’re everywhere, and apparently they’re all friendly — well, with each other anyway. Unless … I’m no expert on hawks, but I would swear these are the same ones I saw at the train station. Could one of those hawks actually have been the one who visited me in my backyard at home? I immediately dismiss the thought. It’s hundreds of miles from here. Unless it hitched a ride on the
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