Crossbow Read online

  He glared at me. “Look, Matt, I don’t have time for silly games. You said to forget it. You told me you’re hopeless. If that means you want to keep trying, then you need to work on your communication skills.”

  “Okay then, how about this?” I paused, considered and then plunged in. “I made a mistake. I’m sorry. I’d like to try again. Will you please show me how to hit the bull’seye?”

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Bull’s-eye? I’d be happy if you get within two feet of the target!”

  “Okay.” I grinned. “The target it is.”

  I watched carefully as Forrest took the first shot. His arrow thudded into the target, at the edge of the bull’s-eye. I listened to his advice, and paid close attention when he showed me how to hold the crossbow, how to stand, how to aim. Then I raised my crossbow, closed one eye, sighted in on the bull’s-eye, pulled the trigger and... Wham! Let it fly.

  The arrow shot forward, headed straight for the bull’s-eye, slipped down and hit the bottom of the foam target with a satisfying thwang. I threw my arms in the air and shouted like I’d just won a gold medal.

  Forrest grinned. “I knew you could do it, Matt!” He handed me another arrow. “Try again. Do what you just did, only better.”

  “I have to go,” I said a few hours later. By then I was slamming into the target every time, from twenty-five yards away. And I hit the bull’s-eye more than once. “I can’t come up tomorrow because of school, so I guess I won’t see you again. Anyway, thanks for the lesson.”

  “Listen, Matt,” Forrest said, “How would you like to go hunting with me?”

  “Hunting? Me? when? won’t you be gone by next weekend?”

  He rubbed his chin whiskers with his fingers. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He dropped his hand and looked at me. “Why don’t you take that crossbow home? It’s exactly the right size and weight for you. If you practice all week, you might be ready to head out with me next Saturday. But I want you to be accurate from at least thirty-five yards.”

  “You’ll still be here?” Didn’t Forrest have a place of his own? Didn’t he have a job?

  “If you’ve got my crossbow, I’ll have to stay, won’t I?” He grinned.

  I nodded, but at the same time wondered what he would do up here all week. Still, I was excited at the chance to try hunting. When I was younger and my parents took me hiking we always carried cameras, never crossbows.

  Forrest stuffed the crossbow, a cocking aid and four arrows into a cloth sack.

  “Wait here,” he said and walked away. He returned with something tucked under his arm. Something brown, about two feet high, with four paws and a little white face. “Meet Woody,” he said.

  I stared down at a life-sized foam woodchuck perched on its haunches. Its beady little eyes stared up at me. “What’s this for?”

  “Woody’s your target. Practice on him every day, and we’ll see if you’re ready for the real thing next weekend.”

  On the last slope of the old logging road, I paused to gaze down at our little town. Lights glowed in the windows of small houses. Beyond them the lake lay steel gray under a darkening sky. I hurried along the paved streets, hoping to get home before Mom. If she saw the crossbow she’d want to know where I got it. Something told me she would never approve of Forrest.

  When I saw a light in our kitchen window, I made a quick change in plans and headed through the garage to the basement. My father’s workshop was as cluttered as ever. The dry sawdust smell reminded me of better times. We used to build things together. When I was seven we made ten birdhouses in different sizes. we hung them all around the garden.

  I held my breath, darted in, stuffed the bulging sack on a shelf and ran back outside. Then I entered the house through the back door.

  chapter eight

  “Who can name two important things that have contributed to climate change over the last fifty years?” Ms. Petrie asked.

  Some of the kids put their hands up, and Ms. Petrie glanced around, searching for a victim. We were supposed to read a whole long, boring chapter about climate change on the weekend. I’m almost sure I took the book home on Friday, so it was probably still in my bag. I bent over to search through the bag near my feet. I pulled out the heavy book along with my science notebook, which I flipped open on my lap.

  The room had gone silent around me. A silence that spelled trouble. I risked a quick look, hoping Ms. Petrie’s beady little eyes hadn’t landed on me. You’d think I’d learn. If you raised your hand, she figured you knew the answer so she left you alone. Sneaky, but it worked every time. She always picked on someone who didn’t have a clue.

  Ms. Petrie crossed her scrawny arms over her flat chest and said, “Matthew, you’re busily studying your notes. Maybe you’d like to start us off? What’s one cause of climate change?”

  “Uh,” I mumbled.

  “Pardon me?” Ms. Petrie sauntered toward my desk, her feet huge in flat black shoes that stuck out below a long, shapeless skirt.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh,” I repeated, a little louder.

  Some of the kids laughed. Halfway across the room, Amanda rolled her eyes. She mouthed something, and I knew she was trying to give me the answer. Too bad they don’t offer courses in lip-reading at school, now that would be worth taking. Then I’d have four valuable skills: Stop, look, listen, lip-read. I’d be set for life.

  Ms. Petrie moved so close I saw every wrinkle around her dark little eyes. Whoa! Talk about a shock! She looked so much like Woody I almost choked. Then her lips parted and she bared her teeth, more like a wolf than a woodchuck. She didn’t speak, didn’t growl, but she had something green stuck between her front teeth.

  Green, I thought. It felt like a clue. I glanced back at Amanda. Her lips were pulled to each side, showing a row of white teeth. I could almost hear the word, Green. But then her mouth went round, like an ow. Green was not enough. My eyes fell to my notebook to consult my notes: two detailed drawings of my favorite race cars. That’s it!

  “Cars!” I shouted. “Emissions from cars and trucks create...” From somewhere deep in my brain came my final answer. “Greenhouse gases,” I said.

  Ms. Petrie showed her teeth again, this time smiling. I leaned closer, trying to decide if it was broccoli or lettuce stuck between them.

  “Good, Matthew, I see you’ve done your homework.” Her smile flattened and she went on. “Gases such as carbon dioxide create a greenhouse effect around Earth. They hold heat inside our atmosphere just like the glass of a greenhouse does. And you’re right, emissions from gasoline engines create that carbon dioxide.”

  Amanda winked and flashed me a smile. My eyes flicked back to Ms. Petrie, who loomed over my desk, a frown between her dark eyebrows. I knew she wanted to see my notebook.

  Behind her, Tyler spoke up. “Actually, according to the website I consulted, the tar sands are one of the biggest producers of greenhouse gases.” He glanced at all the blank faces staring back at him. “That’s where they extract crude oil from deep under ground,” he explained. “Like in Alberta?”

  Ahh—saved by the geek. Tyler might have been the closest thing I had to a friend in this world, but he was still a geek. Ms. Petrie swung around to face him. Tyler sat at the front of the class, his long legs squeezed awkwardly under a desk too small for his tall frame. His messy brown hair curled over thick eyebrows. He loved everything to do with science.

  Tyler flicked his hair back and went on quoting numbers and junk he’d learned from some big science website. I picked up my pen and added puffs of dirty exhaust at the backs my beautiful race cars. Then I turned the page and started drawing a crossbow.

  After that I sketched a deer half-hidden by bushes. Its big soft eyes looked right at me. Could I shoot it? Did I want to?

  “Hey, Matthew!” Tyler’s voice made me jump. I looked up to see him and Amanda place their chairs on each side of me and sit down. Amanda dropped her science notebook on my desk, opened it and scribbled something.

  That’s when I noticed that all the kids had broken into groups of three or four. I sat up straight, shut my notebook and tried to look like I knew what was going on.

  “It’s so cool we get to work together.” Amanda smiled.

  “Good choice, Amanda,” Tyler agreed. His lips curled up at the corners, the closest he ever came to a smile.

  I glanced from one to the other and back again, afraid to say anything that might give me away.

  Amanda frowned. “So, are you mad because I chose you and Tyler to work with me on our science report?”

  “Uh, no.” I cleared my throat. “Of course not. I can hardly wait.” I wondered what the report was about.

  Tyler rubbed his hands together. “I can pull loads of information from the Internet. I know exactly where I’ll go to get started.”

  No clues there.

  Amanda scribbled a note. “We need to consult books too,” she said. “I’ll start by going to the library after school.”

  They both turned to me. Obviously they wanted me to say what I would do to help with the report. I licked my lips and tried to think of something to say, something that would not make me sound like an idiot.

  “You don’t have a clue what we’re talking about, do you?” Amanda asked.

  I studied my fingernails. Short, clean and neat.

  “Matthew,” Amanda said, “why don’t you try paying attention once in a while? I thought you’d be all excited about working on this report!”

  “Me? Really? Why?”

  “Only because it’s about the forests you love so much. For your information, we need to do a report on how destruction of forests affects the climate, right here at home as well as around the world.”

  “Think globally, act locally,” Tyler said, dipping his
head wisely.

  What a geek.

  chapter nine

  This science report would be a snap, I thought as I walked home from the bus stop. Thanks to Amanda and Tyler, I’d get a good mark and make my mother proud. All I had to do was interview Paul Edwards, the forester who used to be friends with my father. That was Amanda’s idea. She said it was important to do research from all different sources and an interview with an expert was the best research tool.

  So, okay, I could handle that. Not a problem. I made a mental note to phone him the next day, right after school. I’d make an appointment to meet him and ask my questions. I thought about phoning him as soon as I got home, but the sun was shining and I couldn’t wait to get out to the woods.

  At home I dropped my schoolbooks near the door, grabbed a snack and clomped down to the basement. I found my father’s hockey bag and dumped all his stuff out. It smelled of sweat. It smelled like my father. I held my breath and stuffed his hockey junk into the sack Forrest gave me. Then I put the crossbow and arrows into the hockey bag and laid Woody on top. I rounded up a hammer and some nails, and then I set off.

  I walked quickly along the paved streets, glancing this way and that, hoping no one would notice me. Big surprise, no one did. Sometimes I felt like the invisible kid, as if I could walk right into people’s houses and no one would see me. Did I blend into the background like a chameleon or did everyone look the other way because they didn’t want to see me?

  I followed the logging road up and around the first bend. On both sides of the narrow dirt road evergreen trees grew tall and strong. It looked as if the forest went on forever. But I knew better. I ducked off the road and followed a path that cut through the trees. Minutes later I stepped into a clearing that looked like a war zone. As far as I could see, not one tree was still standing. Hundreds of dead trees lay scattered like giant matchsticks tossed on the ground. They crisscrossed over one another and made walking impossible.

  Ask a big logging company and they’ll tell you clear-cutting is the only way to go. Mow down everything in sight, take the biggest and best trees, and leave the rest lying where they are. Eventually the forest will renew itself. In a hundred years, who’s going to know the difference? It’s nature’s way. That’s what they say. But nature doesn’t use harvesters, skidders and loaders to destroy a forest. Nature never built roads.

  No one but me ever came up here, not even so much as a bird or a squirrel. Why would they? The place was as lifeless as the moon.

  I set Woody on a tree stump. Maybe I was wrong, but I was sure the first arrow that hit him would knock him flying, so I hammered some nails through his base into the top of the stump. Then I moved back about twenty-five yards and took aim. My first shot flew out fast and true, the arrow headed straight for Woody’s nose. But it swung left, missed him and whooshed into a mess of logs.

  I returned to the stump where Woody waited, grinning at me like I was some kind of idiot. Like a mini-Ms. Petrie.

  I had no idea where the arrow went. The forest floor lay four feet below a jumble of logs, and the arrow had disappeared somewhere into that mess. I had to get it back. I climbed onto a log and edged along one step at a time, trying to keep my balance on the slippery wet bark. Balancing on a log at the beach is easy. It’s not so easy when the log is suspended in midair. My foot slipped. I stopped, caught my balance, and stared down into a rat’s nest of twigs and branches. If I fell I might break a leg. I could get stuck and never be seen again. My bones would join the skeletons of these once proud trees.

  I gulped, swallowed, took a few more steps and stopped where a dead tree lay across the log I stood on. The tree was thick with brown lifeless branches, impossible to climb over. Beyond it the tangle of crisscrossed logs and branches went on forever. A person could search all day and never find an arrow. For all I knew it had buried itself in the soft dirt below.

  I turned around. One arrow gone. I’d have to be more careful.

  This time I moved closer to the target, maybe fifteen yards away. If I took my time and remembered what Forrest said, I couldn’t miss. I pulled another arrow into place, raised the bow, sighted in on the target and looked at the open spaces all around Woody. My second arrow could fly off anywhere and be lost forever. No, I could do this. Like balancing on a log, if it weren’t for the spaces behind, it would be easy. I raised the crossbow, took careful aim and fired. Poor Woody! He took one right in the chest. “That should wipe the grin off your face,” I shouted.

  After a few more shots I moved back five yards. But already the light was fading, and I could barely see the target. I had wasted most of the daylight, and it was time to head home. Tomorrow, right after school, I’d be up here again.

  We didn’t have science on Tuesdays, so I didn’t have to report on what I’d done so far, which was basically nothing. The minute I walked into the lunchroom, I heard Amanda’s laugh. She sat at a big table with friends all around her.

  I spotted Tyler at the back of the room, by himself as usual. If I pretended not to see him, he would know something was up because we always sat together. Sometimes we talked a bit, even if we couldn’t think of much to say. Mostly we ignored each other and ate our lunches, each thinking our own thoughts, me about the outdoor world and him about the virtual world, I guess.

  I walked toward him, carrying my lunch and planning how I would avoid discussing our science report. If they handed out marks for steering conversations away from myself, I’d get an A+ every time.

  “Hey, Ty.” I dropped into the chair across from him. “What’s new in the exciting world of computer games?”

  His eyebrows raised in surprise, his mouth full of ham sandwich. He chewed, swallowed and the corners of his lips turned up. “I didn’t know you cared,” he said. Then he launched into a big explanation of the latest game he was crazy about.

  Tyler talked. I munched my lunch, nodded once in a while and thought about target practice. I could hardly wait to get out there again.

  chapter ten

  The sky was a thick blanket of blackness above my head when I reached town that night. Silver streaks of rain sliced through the streetlights and soaked into my shirt, but I hardly noticed. I was psyched. I hadn’t missed the target once, even though I’d moved back to thirty yards. Woody had so many holes he looked like a sponge. Ha! Forrest wouldn’t believe it.

  Tires swished on wet pavement behind me, headlights swung across our front lawn and chased my long shadow across the grass. Car doors opened and slammed shut. But I kept walking and smiling to myself. If I practiced every day I’d be awesome by Saturday. Forrest would be so impressed he’d take me hunting for sure.

  “Hey, Matthew!” Amanda called. “Don’t you talk to me anymore?”

  I stopped in our driveway, stared at our dark house and thought about running for it. Clutched tightly in my hand, the hockey bag suddenly felt huge. I had to ditch it.

  “Matthew?”

  Of course I couldn’t run away from Amanda. That girl would follow right behind and demand to know what I was doing. I turned around. “Hey, Amanda, I didn’t see you in the dark.”

  I saw her now, though, wearing a hooded jacket to protect her from the rain. “I just got home. My dad picked me up from the library, and I’ve got stacks of books. Want to come over and help me with our science report?”

  “Uh, not now. I have too much to do.”

  “Oh?” She stepped closer, her face hidden in darkness with the streetlight behind. “Like what?”

  Why was she so nosy? She sounded like my mother. “Like help Mom get dinner and do my homework. You know, junk like that.”

  “Okay. So, did you talk to Mr. Edwards?”

  Oops, I’d been in such a hurry after school I completely forgot, but a lie slipped easily to my lips. “Not yet. I tried, but he didn’t answer his phone.”

  “Did you leave a message?”

  “Uh, no.” Why didn’t she just go away and mind her own business? With the street-light shining on my face Amanda could see me clearly, while she lurked in darkness, a hooded girl without a face.

  “I see.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “When did you take up hockey?”

  “Huh?”

  “The hockey bag? Since when do you play?”