Backwater by Joan Bauer

mountain at a time, Breedlove.”
    Jack laughed.
    “Coming soon to a bookstore near you,” I groused.
    Mountain Mama took the knife from her pack, fastened it to her belt, and headed down the trail.
    We didn’t talk for the longest while, then Jack said, “When she comes back, Ivy, I’m going to have to go.”
    I steeled myself. I’d been expecting this. Two good-byes in twenty-four hours, but he was right.
    I had to travel this genealogical path alone.
    I couldn’t let romance muck up history.
    He took my hand.
    I caught my breath.
    “I’ll give you my number at school and as soon as you get back to town, we can get together. I really want to do that.”
    I said I really did, too.
    We sat there glove in glove, locked in the expanse of wilderness.
    Jack Lowden might not be major ranger material, but in the boyfriend department, he redefined the genus.
    *    *    *
    We waited.
    Mountain Mama had been gone for forty-five minutes.
    “Maybe your aunt’s off somewhere,” Jack said.
    “Maybe Mountain Mama’s ruining everything,” I said back.
    “I don’t think she’d do that, Ivy.”
    A bunch of birds was looking at me from an evergreen tree and it was irritating. Weren’t birds supposed to go south for the winter?
    “Time’s up,” I said to Jack. “I’m going in.”
    He grabbed my arm. “No you’re not.”
    I tried to shake his arm loose, but he held on.
    “Ivy, you have to wait.”
    “I can’t wait anymore.”
    “Sure you can.”
    “This is my future that’s ticking away!”
    “It might be dangerous.”
    “I don’t care.”
    “It’s not dangerous,” Mountain Mama said, appearing through the trees. “But I’m here to tell you—it’s
strange.”
    “You saw her?”
    “Oh yeah.”
    “What did she say?”
    “Brace yourself.” Mountain Mama unfolded a crumpled up piece of paper. “Her Honor the Mayor would like you to raise your right hand and take the following oath.”
    I laughed. “Is this a joke?”
    Mountain Mama looked at me square. “Not to her. Raise it.”
    I raised my faltering hand.
    Mountain Mama held the paper far out and read, “Do you solemnly swear not to reveal the location of this residence to any person known or unknown to you unless you’ve cleared it through the proper municipal channels of government? If so, say I do.”
    Jack and I looked at each other.
    “Well?” Mama demanded.
    “Uh … sure …” I said. “I mean, I do.”
    “And do you further swear to respect and uphold the lawsand statutes of the great town of Backwater, to protect its inhabitants and its boundaries, and be cheerful, courteous and honorable during your visit?”
    “I do,” I whispered, resisting the urge to grip the tree branch behind me for strength.
    “Her Honor will see you now.”
    It was too weird.
    I looked longingly at Jack. It was time to go.
    If Mountain Mama hadn’t been towering in the distance like some tight-lipped chaperone, we probably would have kissed.
    He handed me his number written inside a Hershey wrapper. “Just be yourself, Ivy. I’ll see you soon.”
    I mentioned I was hoping to be a bit more than just myself.
    Jack said that was all I needed and kissed me on the cheek.
    I touched the kissed spot, watched him head down the trail.
    “You be yourself, too!” I shouted.
    He turned back and gave me a smile of raw courage.
    If I hadn’t crossed that terrifying ledge, I never would have met him.
    It put the gift of fear in a whole new light.
    I turned to Mountain Mama with Breedlove pluck. “I’m ready.” I said this with significant gusto.
    “You’d better be,” she said, and started through the trees.

10
    The first thing I saw was a log cabin with a beautifully carved wooden sign that read “Town Hall.” Dozens of birds sat on the roof, chirping. It was as close to a field of trees as any building I had ever seen—small and boxy, neatly fitted with dark brown logs. A large picture window faced the front entrance, a chimney jutted from the