Some Kind of Happiness by Claire Legrand Page B

with the old gray house.
    The Bailey boy jumps onto its porch and yells back at us, “Come inside . . . if you dare !”
    He laughs, slams the door, and disappears.
    â€œWhat’ll we do?” Gretchen whispers. “We can’t go in there, not with the Baileys inside!”
    A dry summer wind sweeps across the field toward the house. I have to follow it. When the Everwood speaks, only fools choose not to listen.
    â€œYes, we can,” I say. “And we will. Right now.”

13

    I START WALKING TOWARD THE house before I can change my mind.
    The Everwood may be calling me, but I am not an idiot. Going after an enemy on his home turf is a huge risk.
    â€œAre you crazy?” Gretchen runs after me.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, I’m not going in there. You’ll have to go by yourself!”
    â€œFine.”
    Up close, the house looks even worse. A huge hole where the roof is missing opens up one half of the building to the sky. Dark stains cover the house like bruises. Black wooden beams stick out of collapsed walls, and the windows are either smashed or missing.
    There must have been a fire here.
    The summer wind blows past me again, and I imagine it is the heat of flames. It shouldn’t make sense to shiver when you’re hot.
    â€œThis place gives me the creeps.” Gretchen pokes through the grass with her foot. “Look at all this trash. God, it’s like the house threw up or something. Empty bottles, clothes,toys . . . ugh !” Gretchen kicks away a one-eyed doll wearing a faded red dress. “Get away, you freaky little monster.”
    â€œOh, wow , would you look at this awesome medal?” a voice calls out from inside the house.
    Gretchen and I both stare up at the second floor, where a tanned hand dangles Kennedy’s MVP medal out a window.
    â€œIt sure is shiny ,” the voice continues. A boy’s head pops out, grinning down at us. It’s the boy who brought us here, his bangs dark and wild. He slips the medal around his neck. “I think I’ll keep it! What do you think, Cole?”
    Another, older boy looks out the window. “I think you should keep that, and I’ll . . . keep this .” Cole waves around Gretchen’s stuffed dolphin, Echo, and kisses its nose. “Oh, what a cutie-wutie wittle dolphin!”
    â€œStop touching him, you gross . . . toe fungus !” Gretchen shrieks.
    â€œCome and stop me,” Cole suggests, which makes the other boy crack up. They disappear back inside.
    â€œI am literally going to knock their heads off,” Gretchen growls. She finds a stick and whacks the house with it. Faded green paint flakes off and blows away. “Either that or call the cops. They are so getting arrested. Do you have your phone? Hey! Where are you going?”
    I follow the trail of garbage behind the house. The backyard is a mess: overgrown trees, grass that comes up to my waist, piles of broken bricks and rotting wood. An old, rusty pickup truck sits off to the side, weeds grown up around its tires.
    In the corner, back where the woods start up again, is a giant oak tree with curved branches that hang so low you could walk right up and sit on them.
    I crawl inside the tree’s canopy. Above me the world is green and cool. The grass here is thin; it must not get enough sunlight. I place my hand on a nearby branch. The rough bark feels familiar, like this tree and I are old friends.
    â€œFin?” Gretchen barrels into the tree after me. “Do we have a plan here or what? Kennedy will flip if we don’t get back soon.”
    â€œHold on a second,” I say.
    â€œWhy? What’s going on?”
    I do not know how to tell her about the hot wind whispering to me, or the fact that I think I have fallen in love with a tree.
    â€œNothing’s going on—” My foot catches on a dip in the ground, and I fall.
    â€œFin? You okay?”
    I do not