Has she shot herself with a Nerf gun at really close range again? (In the back, is that possible?) Or was she playing the totally forbidden Tightrope Walk on the Banisters and she’s fallen down four flights of stairs?
No. “They’re back,” that’s what she’s shrieking. And Diamond’s barking crazily, which means it’s the dog’s beloved Wood and the other two big sibs, home from Camp Jagged Falls at last.
Sic’s Afro is huger than ever, with pine needles in it, and his old T-shirt is one of the first he ever printed: Free Shrugs, a pun on Free Hugs. Aspen pushes past Sumac to jump on his back like a vampire bat and kiss his ear.
“Smackeroo,” Sic cries next, opening his arms at Sumac.
He’s the only one who calls her that. She gives him the longest hug and whispers in his ear: “I missed you nearly as much as I didn’t miss Catalpa.”
That makes him laugh.
Wood follows, barefoot, scratched, and burr-studded as usual, Diamond panting at his heel. You’d hardly notice she only has three legs unless you knew to look.
“You’re fuzzy,” Sumac tells Sic.
Her big brother grins, rubbing his stubbly cheeks. “Hard to shave in the backcountry….”
Wood, jealous, mimes machine-gunning him.
“One of these years you too will have facial hair, little man,” Sic tells him, slapping his back, then ducking away from Wood’s fist. Even though Wood’s only twelve, his punches are the hardest.
“We should have tied you up and left you in the bush for the coyotes to eat,” says Wood, as deep-voiced as he can.
“Is that any way to talk to your Team Leader?”
“You only got picked for that because of age discrimination.” Wood is glowering. “It should be based on knowledge — like, wood lore.”
“Wood lore?” Catalpa yelps with laughter as she heads out of the Mess. “You total hobbit.” She runs straight to Oak, hoisting him out of his corral to kiss him all over. She’s covered in angry-looking mosquito bites, Sumac notices.
“Why you all spotty?” Brian asks Catalpa.
“Because bugs find her delicious, and who can blame them?” says CardaMom, arms wrapped around her teenagers in a double hug that’s halfway to a wrestle.
Sumac’s secretly relieved that it’ll be three years before she has to go on the wilderness trip and spend two weeks living off trail mix, jerky, and rehydrated chili. She tries to think of something friendly to say to her biggest sister, who hasn’t even said hi yet. “Hey, I like your friendship bracelets.” They go right up Catalpa’s golden arm; some of them have beads in them, and even leaves and tiny feathers in resin. “Do you actually remember who made each one?”
“I could never forget,” says Catalpa. (Dramatically, the way she says everything these days.) She names them: “Madison, Addison, Ashley, Olivia, Mackenzie, Maya, Alexis, Jazmyn, other Madison …”
“Me and Aspen have been making friendship bracelets too, out of old Rainbow Loom bands,” Sumac tells her.
Catalpa shakes her head. “They’re not proper friendship bracelets unless they’re thread.”
Sumac chews her lip and wishes her sister had stayed away a bit longer.
“We gots another grandfather,” Brian announces, pointing.
And Sumac’s stomach sinks, because she’d actually forgotten. They all spin around, and there’s PopCorn leading his unsmiling father out into the Wild.
CardaMom makes all the introductions. Grumps’s drippy eyes shift from face to face, and it’s one of those moments when Sumac sees her family as if from outer space. What a lot of us. Is it scary to meet a whole gang of new grandchildren all at the same time, she wonders?
Grumps doesn’t look scared, just grim as ever.
Sic is charming, of course, as if he’s been waiting to meet his fourth grandfather all his sixteen years of life.
Wood just nods, all tough-guy as usual.
Catalpa produces a minimal wave. “Can I —” She nods upward toward her Turret. “I promised the band we’d jam.”
“Since when are you in a band?” scoffs Wood.
Oh, great, thinks Sumac. That’s all Catalpa needs to turn her into a complete monster.
“It’s a virtual one called Game of Tones,” says Catalpa, “and Mackenzie’s pretty sure the others will vote me in once I upload a sample track.”
The stubbled ridges on the old man’s forehead soar. “What’s a virtual band when it’s at home?”
“Ah, each of us, we’re going to record to a click track, and once the piece is collaboratively mastered we’ll release it virally, you know?”
Sumac doesn’t think the grandfather understood any of that.
“So you’re just teenagers messing around online,” Wood spells out.
“That’s a drastic oversimplification,” says Catalpa, glaring at her brother.
“Game of Drones, I like it,” says Sic.
“Tones,” Catalpa corrects him.
He keeps a straight face but winks at Sumac.
Sic’s been trying to teach her to wink for years, but it makes half her face scrunch up, and then Aspen always asks her (fake concerned) if she’s having a stroke.