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grade Einstein； like you might suspect。 No； my
friend； she got front…page coverage because she refused to climb out of a sycamore tree。
Not that I could tell a sycamore from a maple or a birch for that matter； but Juli； of course；
knew what kind of tree it was and passed that
knowledge along to every creature in her wake。
So this tree； this sycamore tree； was up the hill on a vacant lot on Collier Street； and it was
massive。 Massive and ugly。 It was twisted and gnarled
and bent； and I kept expecting the thing to blow over in the wind。
One day last year I'd finally had enough of her yakking about that stupid tree。 I came right out
and told her that it was not a magnificent sycamore；
it was； in reality； the ugliest tree known to man。 And you know what she said？ She said I was
visually challenged。 Visually challenged！ This from the
girl who lives in a house that's the scourge of the neighborhood。 They've got bushes growing
over windows； weeds sticking out all over the place；
and a barnyard's worth of animals running wild。 I'm talking dogs； cats； chickens； even snakes。
I swear to God； her brothers have a boa constrictor in
their room。 They dragged me in there when I was about ten and made me watch it eat a rat。
A live； beady…eyed rat。 They held that rodent up by its
tail and gulp； the boa swallowed it whole。 That snake gave me nightmares for a month。
Anyway； normally I wouldn't care about someone's yard； but the Bakers' mess bugged my
dad big…time； and he channeled his frustration into our
yard。 He said it was our neighborly duty to show them what a yard's supposed to look like。
So while Mike and Matt are busy plumping up their boa；
I'm having to mow and edge our yard； then sweep the walkways and gutter； which is going a
little overboard； if you ask me。
And you'd think Juli's dad—who's a big； strong； bricklaying dude — would fix the place up；
but no。 According to my mom； he spends all his free
time painting。 His landscapes don't seem like anything special to me； but judging by his price
tags； he thinks quite a lot of them。 We see them every
year at the Mayfield County Fair； and my parents always say the same thing： “The world
would have more beauty in it if he'd fix up the yard instead。”
Mom and Juli's mom do talk some。 I think my mom feels sorry for Mrs。 Baker — she says
she married a dreamer； and because of that； one of the
two of them will always be unhappy。
Whatever。 Maybe Juli's aesthetic sensibilities have been permanently screwed up by her
father and none of this is her fault； but Juli has always
thought that that sycamore tree was God's gift to our little corner of the universe。
Back in the third and fourth grades she used to clown around with her brothers in the
branches or peel big chunks of bark off so they could slide
down the crook in its trunk。 It seemed like they were playing in it whenever my mom took us
somewhere in the car。 Juli'd be swinging from the
branches； ready to fall and break every bone in her body； while we were waiting at the
stoplight； and my mom would shake her head and say； “Don't
you ever climb that tree like that； do you hear me； Bryce？ I never want to see you doing that！
You either； Lyta。 That is much too dangerous。”
My sister would roll her eyes and say； “As if；” while I'd slump beneath the window and pray
for the light to change before Juli squealed my name
for the world to hear。
I did try to climb it once in the fifth grade。 It was the day after Juli had rescued my kite from
its mutant toy…eating foliage。 She climbed miles up to
get my kite； and when she came down； she was actually very cool about it。 She didn't hold
my kite hostage and stick her lips out like I was afraid
she might。 She just handed it over and then backed away。
……… Page 12………
I was relieved； but I also felt like a weenie。 When I'd seen where my kite was trapped； I was
sure it was a goner。 Not Juli。 She scrambled up and
got it down in no time。 Man； it was embarrassing。
So I made a mental picture of how high she'd climbed； and the next day I set off to outdo her
by at least two branches。 I made it past the crook； up
a few limbs； and then — just to see how I was doing — I looked down。
Mis…take！ It felt like I was on top of the Empire State Building without a bungee。 I tried looking
up to where my kite had been； but it was hopeless。 I
was indeed a tree…climbing weenie。
Then junior high started and my dream of a Juli…free existence shattered。 I had to take the
bus； and you…know…who did； too。 There were about
eight kids altogether at our bus stop； which created a buffer zone； but it was no fort zone。
Juli always tried to stand beside me； or talk to me； or
in some other way mortify me。
And then she started climbing。 The girl is in the seventh grade； and she's climbing a tree —
way； way up in a tree。 And why does she do it？ So
she can yell down at us that the bus is five！ four！ three blocks away！ Blow…by…blow traffic
watch from a tree — what every kid in junior high feels like
hearing first thing in the morning。
She tried to get me to e up there with her； too。 “Bryce； e on！ You won't believe the
colors！ It's absolutely magnificent！ Bryce； you've got to
e up here！”
Yeah； I could just hear it： “Bryce and Juli sitting in a tree…” Was I ever going to leave the
second grade behind？
One morning I was specifically not looking up when out of nowhere she swings down from a
branch and practically knocks me over。 Heart attack！
I dropped my backpack and wrenched my neck； and that did it。 I refused to wait under that
tree with that maniac monkey on the loose
anymore。 I started leaving the house at the very last minute。 I made up my own waiting spot；
and when I'd see the bus pull up； I'd truck up the hill and
get on board。
No Juli； no problem。
And that； my friend； took care of the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth； too； until
one day a few months ago。 That's when I heard a
motion up the hill and could see some big trucks parked up on Collier Street where the
bus pulls in。 There were some men shouting stuff up at
Juli； who was； of course； five stories up in the tree。
All the other kids started to gather under the tree； too； and I could hear them telling her she
had to e down。 She was fine — that was obvious
to anyone with a pair of ears — but I couldn't figure out what they were all arguing about。
I trucked up the hill； and as I got closer and saw what the men were holding； I figured out in a
hurry what was making Juli refuse to e out of the
tree。
Chain saws。
Don't get me wrong here； okay？ The tree was an ugly mutant tangle of gnarly branches。 The
girl arguing with those men was Juli — the world's
peskiest； bossiest； most know…it…all female。 But all of a sudden my stomach pletely bailed
on me。 Juli loved that tree。 Stupid as it was； she
loved that tree； and cutting it down would be like cutting out her heart。
Everyone tried to talk her down。 Even me。 But she said she wasn't ing down； not ever；
and then she tried to talk us up。 “Bryce； please！ e
up here with me。 They won't cut it down if we're all up here！”
For a second I considered it。 But then the bus arrived and I talked myself out of it。 It wasn't
my tree； and even though she acted like it was； it
wasn't Juli's； either。
……… Page 13………
We boarded the bus and left her behind； but school was pretty much a waste。 I couldn't seem
to stop thinking about Juli。 Was she still up in the
tree？ Were they going to arrest her？
When the bus dropped us off that afternoon； Juli was gone and so was half the tree。 The top
branches； the place my kite had been stuck； her
favorite perch — they were all gone。
We watched them work for a little while； the chain saws gunning at full throttle； smoking as
they chewed t
