Mabel woke and glanced at the alarm clock next to her bed, certain it should have gone off by now. She had a panicky feeling that she was about to miss her bus. Sitting up quickly, she squinted at the clock, attempting to bring her brain into focus. Slowly, the numbers began to make sense. It was early. The sun was just making the tiniest start of an appearance, and she hadn\u2019t set her clock to ring for another two hours. A dream about a math test, in a school which she\u2019d forgotten ever to attend, dissolved and floated away.<\/p>\n
\n\tMabel\u2019s room, in the corner of the brick house behind Eurus Press, was simply furnished, and rather neat as bedrooms go, except for several garments which could not decide whether they were clean or dirty, and which had somehow wadded themselves up between the bed and the wall. Additionally, a precariously piled collection of items threatened to avalanche off her dresser top, but the work area at her desk was orderly, and there she plopped herself, and flipped a computer on.<\/p>\n
\n\tA few hums and whirs later the screen lit up and a clipped voice said, \u201cFancy you, needing help. I thought you were quite satisfied with a pencil.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cGood morning Clemmy,\u201d croaked Mabel, in a voice not quite ready to be used. \u201cI don\u2019t need to use a computer for everything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cCan\u2019t you e-nun-ci-ate?\u201d responded the computer. \u201cYou are barely intelligible. So…which file shall we open this morning: letters to relatives, or perhaps your travel journal?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cI\u2019m starting an essay on town history,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cFor school.\u201d <\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cVery well, I shall create a folder straight away.\u201d A new folder icon appeared on the screen, bearing the title \u201chistory essay.\u201d<\/em> Then the desktop screen quickly changed to a blank word-processing page, and the voice said \u201cWell then, go ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel typed the words, \u201cLogjam; history essay,\u201d then sat staring at the screen for several minutes, wondering, as she often did, what it would be like to have a computer purchased at CompuMart instead of one of her father\u2019s hand-me-downs.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWhat now?\u201d said the computer, interrupting the silence. \u201cYou don\u2019t expect me to do it for you. I have no history software on my hard drive.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI don\u2019t know what to write about,\u201d responded Mabel, bracing herself for a reprimand.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWell, shoo, shoo, shoo then. Go do some research. I can\u2019t help you if you have nothing to write. I don\u2019t think there\u2019s a Logjam.com, after all.\u201d <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cIn town there\u2019s an empty lot, with a fireplace. I\u2019d like to find out what happened there,\u201d said Mabel. <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cMay I suggest,\u201d said the computer, \u201cthat you go to the library. I am told by my web acquaintances that they are quite full of information. Of couse, I wouldn\u2019t know, having spent most of my life on that beastly airplane. Rattles one\u2019s hard drive terribly. Had to retire me in favor of a more buffered model. Not a very personable machine, if you ask me. In the meantime, please turn me off. I\u2019m entirely tired of that tropical fish screensaver.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cOkay,\u201d said Mabel, hitting the off button. She felt awake now. Conversing with Clemmy was like a splash of cold water followed by a cup of coffee. Or maybe it was just the smell of her mother\u2019s coffee. Mom must be up. Hastily, Mabel pulled on a shirt and some overalls and headed for the kitchen.<\/p>\n \n\tMrs. Crockett was spreading marmalade on toast. Mabel helped herself to two slices of bread and popped them into the toaster. <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI might go to the library after school today, Mom,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cI need to do some research. Clemmy says so.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cClemmy\u2019s probably right,\u201d said Mrs. Crockett.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI hope I can find something about the empty lot at the end of the street,\u201d said Mabel. She briefly considered mentioning the strange man, Verdon Arbogast, to her mother, but even thinking about him was too creepy. In fact, if he was still going to be poking around there, Mabel felt she might prefer to find a different research subject for her essay. She swallowed the last of her hot chocolate and got ready for school.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t*******<\/p>\n \tMabel sat in front of Van in their last class of the day, U.S. History. The teacher, Mrs. Nebbins, who looked and acted as much like a hummingbird as a person could, was flitting about in the front of the classroom, filling them in on details for their essayss. Occasionally, she added a note to a list on the chalkboard and, invariably, the chalk squeaked and most of the class cringed. Mabel cringed too, but found her attention distracted by a potted fern, hanging from the ceiling in a macram\u00e9 sling right next to the American flag, by the chalk board. It was a pitiful little thing, completely overwhelmed by the colorfully glazed pot it lived in.<\/p>\n \n\tSeveral of its long fronds drooped over the side of the pot, and the ones managing to stay upright were bent in the middle. Several outer fronds had dried up and were ready to flake off.<\/p>\n \n\tThe bell rang, and students scrambled to collect their books so they could get caught in the clog of their classmates at the door.<\/p>\n \n\tMabel turned to Van who stood waiting for her. \u201cWait a minute,\u201d she said impulsively, holding up a finger. She approached the teacher. \u201cExcuse me, Mrs. Nebbins?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMrs. Nebbins paused momentarily between flits.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI can\u2019t help noticing your fern. It doesn\u2019t look like it\u2019s doing so well.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cOh no, it\u2019s not,\u201d replied the teacher, her face squishing into a sad little knot. \u201cMy niece Patty-Kate gave it to me, and made the hanger as well, so I wish I had a greener thumb.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tVan, who was accustomed to Mabel taking a special interest in plants, set his books down to wait.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI think,\u201d said Mabel, \u201cthat you need to move it to the back of the classroom. There\u2019s more sunlight, but the main thing is…well, this is going to sound weird.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMrs. Nebbins looked as if she were hovering expectantly. \u201cYes dear?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel continued. \u201cThat plant is really, really bothered by the chalk squeaking. It can\u2019t grow there. If you move it, it\u2019ll do great.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cOh, how odd,\u201d replied Mrs. Nebbins, smiling at Van with a sly wink. \u201cI had no idea plants had ears, but I\u2019ll try your suggestion and see how it does.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel and Van picked up their things and exited the classroom.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThat,\u201d said Van, shaking his head, \u201cis the kind of thing that has firmly established your reputation at Willibunk Middle.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel shrugged, and said \u201cYeah, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tThey headed down the crowded hallway, where throngs of kids banged locker doors and greeted each other with everything from rude comments to giggly enthusiasm.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHey, there\u2019s Ivy,\u201d said Van, gesturing toward the door of a science lab. Through the doorway, toting a backpack entirely too large for her tiny frame, strolled a girl who appeared to be eight or nine years old. In fact, she was an eleven year old whose scholastic abilities were so far beyond those of most sixth graders that she had been promoted two grade levels.<\/p>\n \n\tMabel and Van hurried to the end of the hallway. Ivy, who saw them coming, held her ground to wait for them, though it meant being buffeted by normal-sized middle schoolers in a hurry to get to their buses.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHow about kumbana?\u201d said Ivy to Van.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHuh?\u201d responded Van, though he and Mabel were accustomed to Ivy\u2019s peculiar way of opening a conversation. It frequently took a bit of questioning to determine just what she was talking about.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cThe fruit,\u201d Ivy continued. \u201cI helped Dad with that particular cross-pollination. It needs a good name.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cKumbana,\u201d repeated Mabel, recalling the delectable fruit Mrs. Peale had given her a taste of. \u201cI like it. Good name.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cSorry, can\u2019t help,\u201d said Van, with a shrug. \u201cI think Mom forgot to let me try it.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cDon\u2019t worry, Van,\u201d said Ivy, dodging a paper airplane someone had haphazardly launched. \u201cIt\u2019s a keeper. We\u2019ll grow more.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tIvy Halfslip hadn\u2019t a shy bone in her body which was a good thing for a middle schooler who didn\u2019t look the part. Not only was she young and small, but features were peculiar. Her hair was tan, growing in thick, fibrous strands which resembled the woody insides of a banana stem. She kept it braided in tight rows to counteract its tendency to curl awkwardly in every direction. Her hazel eyes seemed too large, and her complexion was the color of an acorn which hadn\u2019t quite made the transition from green to brown.<\/p>\n \n\tOutside of the school\u2019s main entrance, an oblong drive was lined with school buses. Mabel, Van, and Ivy lugged their overstuffed backpacks toward bus twenty-one, at the end of the line. Running alongside the sidewalk were several well-tended clusters of trees, shrubs, and flowers, where members of the school grounds committee waged an ongoing battle against the students\u2019 tendency to trample vegetation and strew unwanted papers about.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cOh great,\u201d muttered Van, in a voice meant only for Mabel and Ivy. \u201cIt\u2019s the Blunt-brain and his little band of hooligans.\u201d <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cJust nod, and ignore them,\u201d advised Mabel.<\/p>\n \n\tLeaning nonchalantly against a planter was Mitchell Blunt. Each time Mabel noticed him, he seemed to have experienced a new growth spurt. At present he stood six feet tall, but the rest of his proportions had not caught up. He resembled a lean weed with white-blond spiky hair, a black t-shirt, and green pants, striped vertically, which exaggerated his long frame. Surrounding Mitchell, in similarly indifferent poses, were several of his friends and groupies.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHey Peale,\u201d began Mitchell, as Van, Mabel, and Ivy approached his planter.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHello Mitchell,\u201d said Van, nodding, as the three of them attempted to walk by.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cHey Peale,\u201d Mitchell repeated in a sharper tone, stepping in front of Van with one move of his lengthy frame. His posture softened and he clearly expected his friends to laugh along with the funny comments he intended to make.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cI saw your little Martian friend\u2019s relatives on \u2018The Twilight Zone\u2019<\/em> last night.\u201d He rumpled Ivy\u2019s hair patronizingly. \u201cThey were from Venus.\u201d Chortles erupted from the gang at the edge of the sidewalk.<\/p>\n \n\tMabel groaned inwardly, knowing that Van could never let a stupid comment slide by.<\/p>\n \n\tVan looked at Mitchell with a combination of disgust and resignation, and said, \u201cMitchell, if Martians came from Venus, they wouldn\u2019t be called Martians.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tNot bad,<\/em> thought Mabel to herself, if we can just leave it at that.<\/em> But it was not to be. She grimaced as she heard Van open his mouth again.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cMaybe,\u201d Van said, \u201cyou should check out \u2018The Dummy\u2019s Guide to the Solar System\u2019<\/em> before you make any more attempts to guess someone\u2019s ancestry.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cOooh,\u201d chorused Mitchell\u2019s gang.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cMitchell,\u201d began Ivy, \u201cVan was trying to defend me, and it was very nice. But you\u2019re welcome to say whatever silly things you want about me. I really don\u2019t mind.\u201d She grabbed Van by the arm and moved toward the bus.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cWho asked you, you little freak?\u201d responded Blunt. A handful of cheese puffs hit Van on the back of the jacket. Mabel noticed Kendall Huffing, one of Mitchell\u2019s most loyal female friends, smirking, a bag of the snack food in her hand.<\/p>\n \n\tFor Mitchell, the flying cheese puffs were like the taste of blood. He grabbed Van by the front of the jacket and said, \u201cPeale\u2019s got to learn a little respect. Don\u2019t you Peale?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel glanced quickly around to see if a teacher could intervene before things got out of hand, but they seemed to be engrossed in a gab session near the front door. Ivy stood by looking more irked than frightened. One of Mitchell\u2019s friends was handing him a soda which he clearly intended to pour down Van\u2019s shirt.<\/p>\n \n\tVan was making vain attempts to throw a punch at Blunt\u2019s nose, but he was too far away at the end of Blunt\u2019s long arm. Mabel looked toward the sidewalk in resignation, her hand over her eyes, when what she saw through the cracks between her fingers caused her to drop her hand and stare. Just as Mitchell clamped his hand around the soda can, a shoot of ivy, followed by a thick, soily, hairy root wrapped itself around his foot. When he made a move to step backward and readjust his balance, he found his left foot rooted in place. Within seconds, his entire spindly frame went sprawling to the ground, while soda spewed out of the can like a fountain raining down on his face.<\/p>\n \n\tWhile Blunt spluttered and swore, and Kendall rushed to help him to his feet, Mabel grabbed Ivy and Van by the wrists and made a dash for the schoolbus. <\/p>\n \n\t\u201cJeesh,\u201d said Van, climbing up the schoolbus steps. \u201cWhat a klutz. I wonder what happened to him?\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel plopped into a seat and turned to stare out the window at the ivy which, to the chagrin of the grounds committee, was always trying to push its way up through cracks in the sidewalk, rather than staying in the planters where they wanted it.<\/p>\n \n\tIvy seated herself next to Mabel. \u201cYou know, ivy is such a helpful plant, I\u2019ve always found,\u201d she said reflectively. \u201cIt can be awfully tenacious, but it\u2019s always there in a pinch.\u201d<\/p>\n \n\tMabel looked quizzically at Ivy, then back at the ivy plant, as the bus pulled away from school. Ivy looked back at her, smiled and shrugged. <\/p>\n \n\tBus twenty-one creaked away from Willibunk Middle, and was soon discharging its West Logjam passengers. At stop after stop, students climbed off the bus and headed for houses in neighborhoods of split-levels. Then, neighborhoods of wood-sided contemporaries. After that, neighborhoods of large, brick-faced mini-mansions with arched windows. Whichever particular model of house a neighborhood featured, the common thread was meticulously well-manicured lawns. Grass was green and grew where it was meant to. Gardens were well-delineated, and well-mulched. Leaves were raked and neatly bagged, awaiting pickup by the curb.<\/p>\n \n\tThen the bus bounced onto the Willibunk River Bridge. A sign at the far end said, \u201cWelcome to East Logjam.\u201d The scene changed. On River Street, nothing fit a pattern. Here were houses, there were stores, all built according to the whim of whichever East Logjammer had decided to rebuild on that particular lot after the fire of nineteen-fifteen. Laundry hung on lines, gardens fit the haphazard styles of their caretakers, and some yards remained completely uncultivated for the use of local wildlife.<\/p>\n \n\tMabel always felt her insides relax as soon as the bus crossed over. One had to appreciate the effort that obviously went into the groomed residences of West Logjam, but the motley east side, to Mabel, was friendly and welcoming. <\/p>\n \n\tAt the next bus stop, just beyond the east end of the bridge, Van hopped off, along with several others, and headed for the co-op. Mabel\u2019s stop was next, and today she and the Bumpers were able to reach the sidewalk without incident. As Mabel turned toward home, a familiar hum drew her attention to the sky. Casting a broad shadow over River Street, a small single-engine plane, a Lockheed Shooting Star, was coming in for a landing at a small airfield a quarter mile behind Eurus Press. Van had seen it too, for, as soon as he could dump his backpack at the co-op, he came running down River Street, waving at Mabel and pointing at the sky.<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cDad\u2019s back!\u201d yelled Mabel, as the silver aircraft descended beyond her view. She hastily jettisoned her own books on the front step of Eurus, and the two of them ran down the alley beside the Press, through the Crocketts\u2019 garden, around the brick house, and into a large stand of trees beyond the Crocketts\u2019 tiny backyard.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Mabel woke and glanced at the alarm clock next to her bed, certain it should have gone off by now. She had a panicky feeling that she was about to miss her bus. Sitting up quickly, she squinted at the clock, attempting to bring her brain into focus. Slowly, the numbers began to make sense. 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