KABOOM Read online

  •

  “Should I have criss-cross applesauced them?” I asked Ashley, referring to the Bert and Michael drama.

  “We could have taken them,” Ashley said. “Both of them.”

  “I know we could have,” I said, putting my arm through hers.

  “I wasn’t scared, you know,” she said. “I’m not putting up with their shit.”

  “I know you aren’t.”

  “I was not going to back down,” Ashley said.

  “You never do.”

  “We didn’t need a guy to defend us. We could have handled them on our own.”

  “I know we could have,” I said.

  There was a long pause.

  “I’m sure glad Jon Buntington was there,” I said, squeezing her arm.

  “Me too,” Ashley said. “Me too!”

  She gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  “Overall, though, what’d you think?” I asked.

  “I think he’s totally hot!” Ashley said, starting to pant again. “And he talked to me! Did you see it? Did you? He actually talked to me!”

  “I was talking about the meeting, Ashley. Not Marc!”

  “Oh, that. I think it went great. Really great. We done good, girl!”

  “We have,” I said. “We really have.”

  34

  “DAD,” I SAID. Britt and I were sitting at the kitchen table watching him cook. “If a boy calls me, I’d really like to know about it.”

  Dad looked up from making dinner.

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “I told you,” Britt said. “She has a boyfriend.”

  “Kevin is not a boyfriend,” I said. “He’s a friend who is a boy. Anyway, mind your own effin business.”

  “Dad!” Britt whined. “Cyndie used the F-word.”

  “Effin begins with E, not F, fool face!” I said, threatening her with a serving spoon.

  “I always get confused,” Dad said, ignoring us. “If the recipe calls for a tablespoon, which I can’t seem to find, how many teaspoons would that be.”

  “Whoa,” Britt said. “We’re going upscale. Dad’s using an actual recipe.”

  Dinner at our house was not what you would describe as a culinary event. On a good night, bon appetit meant unthawing a frozen pizza. By any stretch of the imagination, Dad was not a cook. Britt and I did our best, but with no mom around and a man who thought macaroni and cheese was the pinnacle of a gourmet extravaganza, meals were generally uninspired. Auntie Sadie would occasionally make an appearance, but there are only so many things you can do with Cheetos and goat-turd dressing.

  “I’m going to the cotillion with Kevin Malloy,” I said to Dad.

  “The cotillion?” Dad said. “The Civil War dance?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s not for a few weeks.”

  Dad stopped cooking, put on his glasses and turned to look at me.

  “How old are you again?” he asked.

  “Oh my God, Dad! I’m fifteen!”

  “I knew that,” Dad said. “Isn’t fifteen too young to date?”

  “Dad!” Britt said, “I’ve been going out with Taylor since I was nine!”

  Britt’s definition of going out with someone meant sitting at the lunch table with them. We both ignored her.

  “It’s the cotillion, Dad. It’s no big deal,” I said.

  “It is too a big deal,” Britt said. “It’s her first date. You better read her the riot act, Dad. The Three C’s.”

  “The three what?” Dad asked.

  “The Three C’s. Curfews, cars, and condoms. Please don’t make me do the parenting for you.”

  “Britt,” I said. “What part of staying out of my life don’t you understand?”

  “I told you,” Britt said. “She has a boyfriend.”

  “Tell me again,” Dad said, turning back to his cooking.

  “She has a boyfriend,” Britt said.

  “No,” Dad said. “Tell me again how many teaspoons make a tablespoon.”

  •

  I woke up with a start in the middle of the night, fragments of a dream still playing themselves out in my head. What had started off as totally hot, Kevin and me dressed in our Civil War garb making out in our mini-mine, had turned into a raging hell. Cannons and cave-ins and our mine collapsing.

  KABOOM! The dream faded to black but the idea light-bulb brightly switched on. Epiphany time.

  The mine. Our secret mine! How could I have been so dense that I didn’t think of this before? That must have been what my father was speculating to Kevin about. If our mine was in fact a historic site, if it was part of a Civil War fortification, then Ashley and I could be holding the trump card in our back pocket. American couldn’t just go and blow up historic sites to Kingdom Come without some sort of review. If we played our hand right, we just might be able to stop the whole mountaintop-removal project.

  But there was a catch. This was our mine. Ours. Ashley and I had vowed never, ever to tell anyone about it. Under penalty of death, we were sworn to secrecy. It was our sacred place. Telling the world meant it wouldn’t be our mine anymore. We might be able to save the mountain but we would lose our mountain.

  And what if we were able to stop American from blowing up Tom with our other tactics? What if our petitions and pastors and letters and children’s crusade actually did the trick? It was possible. It could happen. Then no one would have to know about the mine. It could still be Ashley’s and my secret. The mine and the mountain could still be ours.

  I could stay quiet, keep the historic card in my back pocket and let it go for now. See how things played out. But then again ...

  Somehow I managed to fall back asleep.

  35

  AFTER SCHOOL ON FRIDAY, Becky and Ashley came over to work on our Saving Mount Tom Petition. After an hour, this is what we came up with:

  We the undersigned urge American Coal Company to immediately cease and desist from its plans for mountaintop removal on Mount Tom.

  I loved the “cease and desist” language. It sounded so official. Becky had gotten that one from her parents.

  Mountaintop removal will cause irreversible harm to the Green River, put the lives of Greenfield citizens in danger, destroy the biodiversity of one of West Virginia’s most spectacular mountains, and contribute to catastrophic climate change. Mount Tom should be left alone and remain forever in its natural state.

  “Is Mount Tom really one of West Virginia’s most spectacular mountains?” Becky asked.

  “It is to us,” Ashley and I said in unison.

  We were psyched. It was a great petition. Not that I knew a thing about writing one, never having even seen a petition before.

  After we finished we sat around eating Cheetos and gossiping.

  “You’re a senior, right?” Ashley asked Becky.

  “I am,” Becky said.

  “What do you know about Marc Potvin?”

  “Get a grip, Ashley,” I said. “We’re trying to save the world here. Focus.”

  “I’m just asking,” Ashley said. “We can get back to saving the world in a minute.”

  Becky laughed.

  “I don’t know,” Becky said. “He seems nice. I was amazed he showed. I mean, being the mascot and all. That took balls. It’s actually pretty huge that he was there. I think his father works for American.”

  “Shit,” Ashley said.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What if he’s a spy?”

  “He’s not a spy,” I said.

  “His father works for American. He’s the Greenfield High Miner Mascot. He spells his name with a C and not a K. Maybe he’s a spy.”

  “Oh my God, Ashley. Don’t go paranoid on us. He’s not a spy.”

  “I’m going to call him,” Ashley said. “I’m going to call him and ask him if he’s a spy.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You can’t go calling someone and asking if they’re a spy!”

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause the
y’re not going to tell you, that’s why not!”

  “So you think he is one.”

  “Earth to Ashley: he is not a spy.”

  “He better not be,” Ashley said. “If he is, then I swear to God I’m never talking to him again. No matter how hot he is.”

  “You’re interested in him?” Becky asked.

  “Interested!” I answered. “Obsessed is more like it!”

  “Boy,” Ashley said. “Who would have thought saving the world would be so much easier than finding a boyfriend?”

  36

  “DID HE SAY ANYTHING ABOUT ME?” Auntie Sadie said.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Sammy Cooper. Did he say anything about me at your KABOOM meeting?”

  “Sammy? His first name is Sammy?”

  “Well, Samuel,” Sadie said. “But I called him Sammy when we were dating.”

  I choked on the Cheetos I had been munching on, spraying them all over my top.

  “What? You dated Mr. Cooper?”

  “Well, we didn’t actually date date. But I did ask him to a school dance once.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” I said, trying to wrap my mind around the impossibility of this. “You were in the same grade as Mr. Cooper? Here? In Greenfield?”

  “I was.”

  “And you asked him out? To a dance?”

  “I did,” Sadie said. “And I’m thinking of doing it again.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “The cotillion. The Civil War dance. The one in a few weeks. I’m thinking of asking him to it.”

  I inhaled three of the Cheetos without chewing. They shot right back out of my nose in an explosive burst of gooey orange Cheeto grossness.

  “Is this a joke?” I asked, sputtering and wheezing. “Are you serious?”

  “I am,” Sadie said. “I’m thinking of getting back in the game. It’s been years since your uncle died. I’m getting antsy. Time for this girl to strut her stuff!”

  Auntie Sadie pivoted sideways, pirouetted, and admired herself in the mirror. What she could see of herself. It would take at least three wall-to-wall mirrors to capture her entire image.

  “No!” I said. “No! No! No!”

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?” Sadie asked.

  “There is no effin way you are asking Mr. Cooper to the cotillion. Forget about it. Not gonna happen. No!”

  “What do you mean it’s not going to happen? Why are you so upset?”

  “I am not upset!” I said, throwing down the bag of Cheetos, scattering them all over the floor. “You’re just not going to the dance. No way, no how!”

  “And why is that?” Sadie asked.

  “Because Kevin Malloy asked me to the dance, that’s why.”

  “Lovely!” Auntie Sadie said. “We could double date!”

  •

  “What’s up?” I asked Dad. It was later in the day and he was standing at the sink, staring into space.

  “What do you mean?” Dad said.

  “You look like you’re off in la-la land.”

  “Just thinking,” Dad said.

  “About what?” I asked.

  Dad turned and sat down at the kitchen table and began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. He looked a little awkward and uncomfortable.

  “It’s been a long time since your mother died,” he said. “Ten years. How would you feel about me going out with someone?”

  “Like on a date?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t know. Yes. I guess you could call it that. A date.”

  “With who?” I asked.

  “You know Mrs. Yabonowitz? Ilene? She was the husband of Sid who did the reenactments with me?”

  “The man who died of cancer a few years ago?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Exactly. Well, this morning she asked me out.”

  “That’s awesome Dad,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Really great. I’m so happy for you. What’d you say?”

  “I said I’d need to talk to my daughters first but, well, yes.”

  “That is so cool!” I said. “When are you going? And where?”

  “It’s not for a few weeks. To the cotillion. To the Civil War dance.”

  I put my head in my hands.

  “Something the matter?” Dad asked.

  “What could possibly make you think something was the matter?” I said, banging my head against the kitchen table. “I mean, joy of joys, Dad! That’s the same dance Kevin and I are going to! I told you that already!”

  “Oh.” Dad hesitated. “Right. Is that a problem?”

  “Problem? How could that possibly be a problem? We can chaperone each other, Dad! Better yet, let’s go with Sammy and Sadie and make it a triple whammy. Wait a minute . . . epiphany here!” I got up on my chair, the way Mr. Cooper did in class sometimes, and whacked the side of my head. “Let’s invite Britt and Taylor and it could be an eight-date!”

  Dad looked confused. “If you think that it might be awkward, then . . .”

  “Awkward?” I interrupted. “How could it possibly be awkward? Maybe we could get a few more friends and relatives to sign up and we could march in as an effin brigade! That would be even more romantic!”

  “Actually,” Dad said, “it would more likely be considered a regiment. You see, during the Civil War a brigade consisted of anywhere between two and six regiments, but usually they were made up of ...”

  “Oh my God, Dad!” I yelled, leaping from the chair and storming out of the kitchen.

  •

  “Wait a minute,” Ashley said, dragging me by my arm and making me sit down on the curb next to her. “I have to catch my breath here. Tell me one more time what happened.”

  For the fiftieth time I explained to her the total shit-show of the cotillion chaos.

  “So,” Ashley said. “Let me get this straight. On your first date, on your very first date ever, at the same exact place and at the same exact time, your father, some random woman, your aunt, and our favorite teacher will also be having their first dates?”

  “It might be Sadie and Coop’s second date, separated by a few decades. God only knows. But basically, yes.”

  Ashley bit her lip. There were tears in her eyes. Her shoulders began shaking.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  Her whole body began shaking. One big quivering mass of shake. She took a deep breath and then let loose. Not just a normal “ha, ha, ha, that is so funny” laugh but a hyena howl that shook the trees and knocked off leaves and sent birds squawking and scattering to the winds. A full-body take-down, pedal-to-the-metal, hysterical hoot and holler.

  “Thanks!” I said, sulking. “So nice to have such a supportive bestie!”

  Ashley laughed so hard she got the hiccups. She sat there hiccupping away, gently brushing the leaves out of my hair.

  “Criss-cross applesauce!” I said.

  “For the millionth time that line does not work with me,” Ashley said, scooting even closer. “It never has and it never will. So drop it, girl.”

  Ashley put her arm around me, her body still jerking from the hiccups.

  “You’ve got to admit,” she said softly, squeezing my shoulder and leaning into me. “It’s actually pretty funny. Definitely one for the ridiculous jar!”

  “Shut up,” I said, trying my hardest not to laugh.

  37

  THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR began in 1861, when there was no state of West Virginia. Back then we were part of Virginia.

  When Virginia voted to secede from the Union in 1861 and join the Confederate States of America, the western counties of the state were pissed. While there was huge support for the South, most of the folks here were just not into the secession thing. They immediately began a movement to split off from Virginia, and in 1863, at the height of the Civil War, the new state of West Virginia was admitted to the Union.

  Believe it or not, the two states are still arguing over where the boundary between the two of them should be.
Go figure.

  West Virginia was the only state to be formed by seceding from a Confederate state. It was originally going to be called Kanawha but everyone realized what a loser name that was and they settled on West Virginia.

  “What a waste!” Ashley said when I told her this story. “Think of the names they could have come up with. I mean, really, ‘West Virginia’? How lame is that? Totally uninspired. After we stop them from screwing Mount Tom we should work on getting us a new name.”

  “That would be an excellent use of our time,” I said.

  “Duh,” Ashley said. Then she went quiet for a moment, deep in thought. “How about Crystalmethylvania?” she asked.

  “So respectful,” I said.

  “Or Coalorado.”

  “That’s even better,” I laughed.

  `“Or even Ashleyland after me. Mary got her state. Why can’t I have mine?”

  “That’s just mean!” I said. “It would have to be Cyndieashleyland.”

  “No way!” Ashley said. “I thought of it first. But because I love you so much I’ll settle for Ashleycyndieland.”

  “Done,” I said.

  Anyway, back to the Civil War. West Virginia, along with Maryland, Kentucky, and Missouri, was a border state. Border states were Union states that bordered Confederate ones, and, though technically part of the North, were still brutally divided between the North and the South. In those states it was total mayhem. Brother against brother, father versus son. One would be a Yankee, the other one a Rebel, and they’d shoot each other stone-dead at the drop of a hat. Blood ties be damned. It was just blood, blood, and more blood.

  And so it was, a century and a half later, as word had gotten out about American’s decision to blow the top off of Tom; it was fast becoming the Civil War all over again. Mountaintop removal were fighting words. By now everyone knew about American’s plans for Mount Tom. Battle lines were being drawn. Opposing camps set up. KABOOM had fired the first shot.

  A lot of people still didn’t seem to give a crap, but for others, one false word and boom, down you went. BFF’s were shouting at each other. Inseparables were splitting apart. One anti–mountaintop removal kid got sent to the principal’s office and suspended for three days for popping off and punching out his Coal-Is-King best buddy. I had never realized how polarized the school was.