The Middle of Nowhere

    Myra absently ran her fingers over the hibiscus-print wallpaper of her empty room, trying not to cry. In a few minutes she would leave the only place she had ever called home: the place a block from the beach in sunny southern California. Despite her objections, her family was moving to a small town in upstate New York, which seemed to Myra the most boring place in the universe – it didn’t even have a movie theater, for heaven’s sake! Her parents said being away from civilization for a while would do her good; Myra said being away from civilization would make her look like a dork when she went to college in a few years.
    “Myra! Let’s go!” called her mom, sounding exasperated.
    “Coming!” shouted Myra, equally exasperated. It’s not as if we’re on a schedule, she thought irritably. Pausing in the doorway for one last look at her deserted bedroom, she thudded downstairs, making as much noise as possible to make sure her parents knew her sentiments about moving. She shut the door reverently (even though she desperately wanted to slam it) and took a long look at her old house, memorizing every detail, from the faded welcome mat with a picture of waves and a surfboard to the seagulls wheeling overhead. She needed a happy memory for when upstate New York became too dull and boring.
    “Myra!” This time it was her father, leaning out of the front of the U-Haul truck, calling her name. She turned around, rolled her eyes, and walked slowly toward the truck. She climbed in behind her parents and wrinkled her nose – the truck smelled like a mixture of old banana peels and cigarette smoke.
    “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked for the millionth time, even though she knew what the answer would be.
    “You’ll love it,” replied her mom. “Won’t she, honey?”
    Her father said nothing, but waved goodbye to the house and pressed the gas.

***

    A very long time later, Myra’s family checked into a small motel somewhere in Kansas; the whole state seemed rather uninteresting to her – flat and gray, like in the Wizard of Oz. She was silent through dinner and ignored her parents’ bright conversation about New England in the fall, thinking instead of sunset at the beach and her friends from back home. They spent the rest of the day and the night at the motel, and left very early the next morning.
    For the rest of the trip, Myra alternated between sleeping and dreaming of California, wishing she was surfing or walking on the beach instead of being stuck in a smelly old U-Haul that only went fifty miles an hour at the most. Her parents tried to include her in their conversations, but gradually her silence affected them, too, and the car was silent except for her mom’s slight snore and the hum of the engine.
    Myra didn’t know how long she was asleep, but when she woke up, late afternoon sunlight was streaming through the window and both her parents were looking contented.
    “We’re almost there,” said her father. “Just a few more miles ‘til we reach our new house!”
    Myra shrugged unenthusiastically but looked out the window. The most interesting part of the scenery was the large trees with vibrant foliage. We never had colors like this in California, she thought, grudgingly admiring the unearthly beauty of the autumn leaves.
    “We’re here!” announced Myra’s mom suddenly, breaking into her thoughts. Here was a rather small old house much like the ones in the downtown district of where she used to live. The yard was much bigger than the small patch of lawn and concrete porch that was the yard at Myra’s family’s beach house, and the grounds backed up into a forest so full of fall color that it looked as if it were on fire.
    Myra helped her parents cart boxes from the U-Haul to the house and escaped into the yard as soon as she could. She wandered through the back yard with a critical eye, though it was really more of a leaf-strewn lot bordered by giant trees. She was wary of the forest for now, deciding to continue exploring when it wasn’t dusk and fast approaching dark.

***

    The next day, Myra woke up to the sound of the doorbell. She was momentarily disoriented until she remembered that the plain room in which she slept was her own. California seemed worlds away as she looked at her watch. 7:30! she thought, slightly annoyed. Why would anyone ring the doorbell at 7:30 in the morning? She opened the blinds, yawning at the morning light, and realized that she must have forgotten to change her watch to New York time – it was really about 10:30 AM.
    “Myra!” Her mother’s voice drifted to her room. “Come here!”
    “In a minute!” she responded, rolling out of bed with a thud. She pulled on jeans and a tank top, slipped into her flip flops, and met her mother at the door. A girl about Myra’s age stood at the door.
    “Hi,” said the girl with a grin. “I’m Brandi Carlson. I live right next door,” she pointed down the street, “and I saw a moving van, so I thought I’d come over and introduce myself.”
    “Um, hi,” said Myra slowly, realizing that her choice of a tank top and flip flops was not suitable for New York in the fall – she was shivering. Brandi wore a sweater and boots with her jeans. “I’m Myra.”
    Brandi’s grin widened. “That’s a pretty name,” she commented. “Maybe we can hang out today? After you eat, that is.” Eyeing Myra’s apparel, she added, “You might want to put on something warmer, too.”
    “Okay,” replied Myra. “I’ll eat and walk down to your place.”

    Fifteen minutes later, Myra rang the door to the Carlsons’ house. She was wearing sneakers and a jacket this time, and felt considerably more awake now that she was full of her mom’s waffles. A little boy opened the door, stared up at Myra, and shut it again, but Brandi reopened the door a moment later. “Hi,” she said again, closing the door carefully behind her. “I figured you’d probably want to go into town, but I’ll let you decide. After all, you’re the city girl.”
    The term “city girl” was just a description with no insult behind it, so Myra let it be. “Actually, I wanted to check out the forest,” she said, “if it’s all right with you.”
    Brandi nodded. “It’s fine with me. I won’t go in there alone, anyway. Let’s go.”
    The two teenagers made their way back to Myra’s house and to the edge of the property. Brandi chattered nonstop as they walked: about boys, local history, school, and other random things, but Myra noticed that the farther they got into the forest, the quieter her tone became, as if she were worried about being heard. Once they were about a hundred yards in, Brandi stopped talking altogether, and stood looking around uncertainly.
    “Where are we?” whispered Myra, not wanting to break the peaceful silence.
    “In the forest,” giggled Brandi. “Duh.” Myra opened her mouth to say something else, but Brandi silenced her with a glance. The native New Yorker kept pacing around and looking behind trees, as if she had lost something. Now and then she would whistle softly and pause, waiting for something. Brandi did this about five times, and on the fifth time the high, pure note of a flute responded. Brandi whistled a piece of a tune, and the sweet-sounding flute played a series of notes in reply.
    Myra watched listened with curiosity as Brandi and the flute exchanged notes, but she noticed that the flute sounded worried, somehow. Brandi whistled reassuring tunes, but the flute did not respond. Crossing her fingers, she whistled something else, louder this time, as if making an announcement. There was a slight sound of music on the wind, and Brandi stepped back, looking expectant.
    “What are you doing?” whispered Myra, coming up behind Brandi and whispering in her ear.
    Brandi turned in surprise, apparently just now remembering Myra. “You’ll see. Just be quiet and stay as still as possible until I give the word. You might want to sit, though.”
    Myra sat and stared at the tree Brandi was staring at. It had black bark, and as she looked, a small black door, with old-fashioned silver hinges and a ring-shaped knocker, appeared in the shadows by the roots. It was as if she hadn’t paid attention before, it looked so natural. It opened slightly, and Myra gasped with surprise as a little head peeked out. It whistled faintly as it saw Brandi, but retreated back inside the tree with a squeak when it saw Myra. The door faded shortly afterward.
    Brandi sighed and sat down next to Myra. “What was that?” Myra asked incredulously.
    “That was a member of one of the last groups of wood sprites in New York. Don’t interrupt me, or you’ll never hear this again,” she added as Myra started to argue. “The wood sprites have been living in New York for millennia – as soon as the trees came, they came. They tend the trees; that’s why these trees look healthier than the other ones around here.” It was true. Myra noticed that the tree the sprite had come out of was one of the few that didn’t have anything carved on it. “Anyway, part of the reason these guys are dying out is because everybody is cutting down woods like this for housing tracts. Even here.” Brandi pointed to a blue sign a few yards away. “We can’t let them take these woods, Myra. You’re a city girl, but you can appreciate the woods as woods and not potential houses, I know. A group at my school is working on this – they don’t know about the sprites, of course – but I needed someone who was working for the same reason I am: to save the sprites.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Will you help me?”
    Myra stared at Brandi, too surprised to speak. “Why’d you pick me?” she finally managed to say. “Why not someone from your school, someone you know better?”
    Brandi studied Myra for a moment. “I knew you’d ask that. Well, you struck me as someone who would believe in magic. After all, you grew up by the ocean, right? That’s magical in itself.”
    “Is that all?” Myra asked. It seemed a rather trivial reason to base such an important decision on.
    “There’s more, but you’ll find most of it out later. For now, let’s just say you looked like you wanted an interesting start to the school year.” This time Brandi laughed, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. “But will you help?”
    Myra considered saying no, but then she would lose a friend…and a secret. “I’ll help,” she agreed finally. Then she grinned. “It’s not like there’s anything else to do out here in the middle of nowhere.”
    Brandi returned her grin. “Yeah? Well, I bet you haven’t tasted the world’s greatest hot chocolate, then. Come on.”
    The two girls ran back through the forest hand in hand, laughing, and Myra knew she had misjudged the small town. If it were really all that dull, how could she have found a best friend – and magic – in just one day?

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