The Summer We Saved the Bees Read online

  He shook his head. “Jade’s just sensitive. I think she worries that you two share Violet’s views. That you think we’re over the top, with this trip and everything.”

  “I admire you for doing what you believe is right,” Eva said. “For walking your talk. It’s rare, isn’t it?”

  Curtis nodded. “Jade’s done a lot of research,” he said. “She knows what she’s talking about. There’s plenty of science behind what she believes.”

  I looked at him. “You believe it too, right?”

  “What?” He frowned. “Of course.”

  “You said plenty of science behind what she believes.”

  He looked annoyed. “What we believe. Obviously.” He leaned toward me. “I was an environmentalist long before I met your mother, Wolf. You know that.”

  “Yeah. I know.” I’d heard all about his off-the-grid solar-powered house and his permaculture garden on Lasqueti. I just hadn’t heard him say much about the bees.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t uproot your family if you didn’t feel it was necessary,” Mary said.

  I couldn’t help noticing that neither she nor Eva had actually said that they didn’t think we were overreacting. They were being very tactful and polite about it all—but for all I knew, they thought we were nuts. I remembered how Katie had reacted when she’d seen my mom’s website, and how Duncan had asked me, “You really believe all that?” I thought about how Violet’s mom had called my mom wacky.

  A big part of me wanted to jump into the conversation and defend my mom—to tell Mary and Eva how much the bees mattered, and how no one was doing enough, and how they’d all be sorry when everything started to fall apart and disaster followed disaster like a runaway train that no one could stop.

  But I didn’t say a word. I just sat there and helped myself to more of the berry-apple crumble. Because I couldn’t help wondering if maybe my mom might not be right about everything after all.

  After dinner I borrowed Tess’s computer to check my email. I had a message from Duncan, who was probably the only person who actually knew my email address.

  Hey, dude, he wrote. How’s it going out there? School’s boring without you. I got paired up with Caitlin for this project we’re doing, which sucks big-time. Hey—I read something that made me think of you. These dudes at Harvard have made some kind of robotic bees to pollinate stuff. Google it. It’s pretty rad. Anyway, hope you are okay. —Duncan

  PS. I figured out this new way to make the health bar in my game, so now it shows the kill-to-death ratio for each player. I’ll show you when you get back. Plus you can slow down time or speed it up. What do you think of Temporal Anomaly as a name?

  PPS. I’m reading the third book in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. It’s called Life, the Universe and Everything. Did I tell you that there are FIVE books in the “trilogy”? Isn’t that 100 percent awesome? I’d tell you to read them, but I know you don’t like reading much, so I won’t bother. I’ll tell you the good bits when you get back.

  Robotic bees. Temporal Anomaly. Hitchhiker’s Guide… I realized I was grinning and nodding at the computer like Duncan was actually in there. I hit Reply and typed a quick message back.

  Hi, Duncan. We’re in Vancouver. Violet’s taken off with her boyfriend, so I don’t know how long we’ll be here. We’re staying with people Mom knows. They’re okay, but I’d rather be at home. Thanks for telling me about the robotic bees. That’s cool. And Temporal Anomaly is a cool name, but people might not know what it means. What about Time Shift? Or Time Warp? I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Say hi to everyone for me.

  I wanted to ask him what he thought—what he really thought—about what we were doing. I hesitated, trying to think of the right words. Then I wrote, Duncan, do you think it’s crazy what my mom says? Like about the world economy collapsing and everyone starving and all that stuff on her website? I stared at my own words for a minute. Then I put my finger on the backspace key and held it down until the last part of the message was gone.

  Fourteen

  THE NEXT MORNING, Mom and Curtis came in from the van while the rest of us were eating breakfast. They looked tired and kind of tense, and I wondered if they’d been fighting.

  “Well, Violet texted last night,” Mom said.

  Eva put down her mug of coffee. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Curtis said. “She and Ty are going to meet us downtown today. We’ll pick them up on our way to Chilliwack.”

  I stared. “Them? Pick them up?”

  They exchanged glances. “Violet really wants Ty to come with us,” Curtis said.

  Tess leaned forward, eyes wide, elbows on the table. “I bet she said she wouldn’t come without him. Did she? Did she say that?”

  Mom sighed.

  “That is so romantic,” Hazel said, smoothing her long thick braid with her fingers. “Isn’t it, Tess? Like she just can’t live without him.”

  “Right.” Mary snorted, put down her coffee mug and stood up. “I better get going. Bye, my loves. See you tonight.”

  Eva looked at Mom. “This romantic thing? You have to know they don’t get that from me, Jade.”

  Mom laughed.

  “I blame those Disney Princess movies,” Eva said darkly.

  After breakfast we packed up our stuff, plus two My Little Ponies that Tess had given the twins and a plastic container filled with cookies that Eva had baked especially for us, and we headed out to the van. I took one last look at the house as I did up my seat belt. It seemed like the last refuge before we hit the road and headed into the great unknown, and I felt sad to leave it.

  As we drove, I listened to the silence between Curtis and Mom and ate one cookie after another. They were crumbly and buttery rich and studded with cranberries and hazelnuts and chunks of white chocolate.

  Saffron was the only one talking, and she wouldn’t shut up. “Where’s Ty going to sit?” she asked. We were stopped at a downtown traffic light, and I was scanning the sidewalks for Vi. “There’s no extra seat for him.”

  “Yes, well, maybe Violet should have thought about that before she invited him along,” Mom snapped back.

  “He can sit here and I can sit on his lap.” Saffron giggled. “Or he can go in the back with our stuff. Or…” She started to lose it, laughing harder and sputtering cookie crumbs everywhere. “We could get a roof rack and he could lie on top. Like a canoe.”

  I heard a giggle from Whisper.

  “Very funny,” Mom said. “Oh—Curtis, there they are.”

  I looked out the window. Violet was standing arm in arm with Ty, leaning against the wall of a building near the art gallery.

  Curtis pulled over to the curb. “Hop in,” he snapped.

  Violet got in, taking her usual seat. Ty followed, squeezing past us all and sitting in the far back, seat beltless, on a pile of bags beside Whisper’s bucket seat.

  Curtis drove off, accelerating with a jerk and squealing the tires. I took another cookie out of the container and hoped Ty would have the sense not to comment on Curtis’s driving.

  We drove east, past Langley and Abbotsford, and by lunchtime we were in Chilliwack. There were snow-tipped mountains in the distance, and a weirdly large number of mini-golf places along the highway. I wondered if we were really going to have to do a show this afternoon. I didn’t want to ask—if Mom had forgotten, I wasn’t going to remind her. I snuck a glance over my shoulder at Ty. His hair used to be spiky and bleached blond, but now it was buzzed to a dark stubble. He saw me looking at him and raised a pierced eyebrow, and I looked away quickly.

  No way was I wearing that bee c
ostume with him around.

  “So where are we going to park this thing?” Violet asked.

  “There’s a campground,” Mom said. “But it’s not cheap. We’d rather find somewhere we can park for free.”

  “Any side street is free,” Curtis said. “But we need somewhere we can set up the tent, so…”

  “I’m hoping that when we do the show, someone will offer to let us park in their driveway,” Mom said. “And set up the tent on their lawn. That’d be ideal.”

  “You’re going to do a show this afternoon?” Ty asked.

  “We are,” Curtis said. “You can help.”

  “Sure,” Ty said. “Cool.”

  “Oh yeah, really cool.” Violet rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait.”

  Fifteen

  CURTIS PARKED THE van on a downtown street and pointed across the road at a low brick building. “See that? That’s the office of the mp for the Chilliwack–Fraser Canyon region. Politicians, that’s who we need to be talking to. They’re just sitting around getting rich and doing whatever big business wants when they oughtta be thinking of the future generations.” He nodded at the twins. “Oughtta be thinking about the kind of world we’re leaving our young ones.”

  “What’s an em-pee?” Saffron asked.

  “Member of parliament,” Ty told her. “They’re part of the government.”

  “They work with the president?”

  He shook his head. “Canada has a prime minister, not a president. But yeah, kind of like that.”

  “And a queen,” Saffron said. “Canada has a queen, right?”

  “Just, like, on coins and stuff,” Violet said.

  I eyed the empty sidewalk in front of the office building. “We’re going to do our show there?”

  “Yup. Right in their faces,” Curtis said. “Taking our message to those who can actually influence policy. Our government needs to ban pesticides like they did in Europe.” He shut off the engine and undid his seat belt. “Let’s go.”

  “Can we have lunch first?” I asked.

  “You’ve been eating cookies all morning,” Mom said. “You can’t be hungry.”

  “I am though.”

  “Me too,” Saffron said. “I’m starving.”

  Mom blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. There are crackers and apples and stuff in here. Grab something quick, okay?” She passed a bag back to us, got out of the van and started unloading gear with Curtis: the poster boards, her juggling stuff, the bag of flyers. I handed a box of crackers to Saffy and Whisper and took a granola bar for myself. Violet and Ty got out of the van, Ty stretching his long legs, Violet bending to fix her hair in the van’s side mirror.

  “Are we going to put on our bee costumes?” Saffron asked.

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to put mine on at all. And even if Mom made me wear it, I wasn’t changing in the van, that was for sure.

  Mom stuck her head in the open driver’s-side door. “There’s a McDonald’s over there. Curtis is going to get the poster boards set up and stay with the gear while we all get changed.”

  “At McDonald’s?”

  She looked at me. “In the washroom. Yes.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Can’t I just wear my regular clothes like Violet is?”

  “Wolf, just stop arguing about every little thing, will you? One Violet in the family is more than enough.” She handed me a duffel bag. “That’s your stuff. Let’s go.”

  I trudged across the street behind her and the twins. I knew Mom thought I was being a pain, but she didn’t understand at all. The costume looked terrible. It really did. It was too small, and I was too big—and it was all very well to talk about being a warrior, but since when did warriors have to wear humiliating outfits?

  “Are we getting fries?” Saffron asked as we walked into the restaurant.

  Mom gave her a look. “Saffron. Really? Do we ever eat at McDonald’s?”

  “I know, but…”

  “No,” Mom said shortly. “We are not getting fries.” She took the girls by their hands and headed down the hall to the women’s washroom, shooing them in ahead of her. “Wolf, you’ll be quicker than us, so just meet us back in front of the mp’s office.” And the door closed behind her, leaving me standing there with the duffel bag in my hand and the smell of fries and burgers all around me.

  Mom didn’t know it, but I’d eaten at McDonald’s a few times, with Duncan. French fries, hot fudge sundaes, McFlurries, baked apple pies. My mouth watered at the thought. I checked my pockets. I had no money at all.

  I looked down at the duffel bag. I looked down the hall at the door to the men’s washroom and imagined walking back out through it dressed in my ridiculous, too-tight, striped outfit.

  I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.

  I turned and walked out of the McDonald’s into the cool spring air, almost crashing right into Ty and Violet.

  “Hey,” Ty said. “What are you doing?”

  I looked at Violet as I answered. “I’m not wearing it,” I said, my voice low. “I’m not.”

  She lifted a hand. “High five, buddy. Good for you.”

  I high-fived her, surprised and slightly giddy. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “I’m getting a couple of cheeseburgers,” Ty said. “You want something?”

  I gulped. “Would you…are you buying? Because I don’t have any money.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What d’you want?”

  I swallowed, imagining the sweet flaky pastry and the hot almost-liquid filling of an apple pie. “Are you getting something, Vi?”

  “Nah. Not hungry.” She looked at me, considering. “You know Jade would flip out, right?”

  “I know.” I looked at Ty. “I’m good. But, you know, thanks.”

  “No probs.” He winked at me. “Some other time, dude.”

  Violet gave a long exaggerated sigh. “You are such a wimp, Wolf. Just get something if you want something. Who cares what Jade says?”

  Ty poked her in the ribs. “Hey. Chill. So the kid cares what his mom thinks. Nothing wrong with that. Kids should care what their parents think.”

  Kids. Like I was closer to the twins’ age than Vi’s. Like I was too young to think for myself. “It’s not about that anyway,” I said. “I’m just not hungry.”

  In front of the mp’s office, Curtis had set up our poster-board display. It was a three-part thing that stood up on its own, like a kid’s science project only way more professional. It basically covered the same stuff as Mom’s talk, but in more detail and with lots of scientific references and links to websites and stuff. There was a graph that showed the declining bee population in various parts of the world, and another that showed the dramatic increase in the number of North American bee colonies that were lost every year. There was a long list of possible causes and an even longer list of crops that are pollinated by bees. Scattered throughout, in large bold letters, were quotes predicting our doom: “I’m concerned more about the death of a bee than I am about terrorism. Because we’re losing hives and bees by the millions because of such strong pesticides. We can live with terrorism. We can’t live without the bee.”—Patti Smith

  Right in the middle, in the biggest font, was this quote: “If the bee disappeared off the face of the Earth, Man would only have four years left to live.” —Albert Einstein

  I felt mad all over again every time I read that quote, because it was wrong and Mom knew it. It gets quoted a lot on the Internet, but Einstein never actually said it. I knew that from when I did my project. I’d told Mom, a
nd I’d even found another quote she could have used instead that basically said the same thing and fit perfectly into that space on the poster board: “So important are insects…that if all were to disappear, humanity probably could not last more than a few months…” —Edward O. Wilson, biologist

  She didn’t change it, though, because she said no one would know who Edward Wilson was but everyone had heard of Einstein. Like that made it okay to lie about what he said.

  Her voice startled me. “Wolf, how come you’re not dressed?”

  I spun around. “Um…” Saffron and Whisper were in their costumes, and Mom too. I felt a sudden rush of relief that I wasn’t. “I look stupid in it,” I said flatly. “I’ll still help, but I’m not wearing it.” I couldn’t quite believe I’d said it—but the instant the words were out of my mouth, I felt lighter and almost giddy.

  She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”

  I stared at her. Fine? That was all she was going to say about it?

  “You and the twins can hand out flyers,” she said. “Remember that we need a place to stay tonight, right? So if you get a chance to strike up a conversation with someone, keep that in mind.”

  “You want me to ask people if we can park in their driveway?”

  “If you think they might be receptive, yes.”

  I wrinkled my nose. Hi, nice to meet you, would you mind if me and my parents and my twin sisters and Violet and her boyfriend used your driveway? And set up a tent on your front lawn? Oh, and can all seven of us borrow your bathroom? I couldn’t imagine.

  Then again, five minutes ago I couldn’t imagine refusing to wear the bee costume.

  Mom’s voice was sharp. “If we have to pay forty bucks a night for camping, we’re going to be out of money before we get halfway across the prairies.”

  I swallowed. “Really? I mean, really out of money? What would we do?”

  She shrugged. “We’ll be fine, Wolf. We can always park at a Walmart or something. I’m just saying we can’t afford not to ask, that’s all. So if someone seems friendly and interested…well, it doesn’t hurt to try, right? They can always say no.”