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can build a house？ His lot； his tree； his decision。
End of story。 The piece in the paper was gag…me gush。
Except。 Except for the places aybe it was just in contrast to the
reporter's slant or something； but Juli's parts didn't e
off oh…woe…is…me like I was expecting。 They were； I don't know； deep。 Sitting in that tree was
seriously philosophical to her。
And the odd thing is； it all made sense to me。 She talked about what it felt like to be up in that
tree； and how it； like； transcended dimensional
space。 “To be held above the earth and brushed by the wind；” she said； “it's like your heart
has been kissed by beauty。” Who in junior high do you
know that would put together a sentence like that？ None of my friends； that's for sure。
There was other stuff； too； like how something can be so much more than the parts it took to
make it； and why people need things around them
that lift them above their lives and make them feel the miracle of living。
I wound up reading and re…reading her parts； wondering when in the world she started
thinking like that。 I mean； no kidding； Juli Baker's smart； but
this was something way beyond straight A's。
A month ago if I'd read this article； I would have chucked it in the trash as plete garbage；
but for some reason it made sense to me now。 A lot
of sense。
A month ago I also wouldn't have paid any attention to the picture of Juli； but now I found
myself staring at it。 Not the one of the whole scene —
that was more emergency rescue equipment than Juli。 The other one； on the bottom half of
the page。 Someone must've used a killer telephoto lens；
……… Page 44………
because you can tell that she's in the tree； but it's mostly from the shoulders up。 She's
looking off into the distance and the wind is blowing her hair
back like she's at the helm of a ship or something； sailing into the sun。
I'd spent so many years avoiding Juli Baker that I'd never really looked at her； and now all of
a sudden I couldn't stop。 This weird feeling started
taking over the pit of my stomach； and I didn't like it。 Not one bit。 To tell you the truth； it
scared the Sheetrock out of me。
I buried the paper under my pillow and tried to remind myself of what a pain Juli Baker was。
But my mind started to wander again； and pretty soon
I had that stupid paper out from under my pillow。
This was insane！ What was I doing？
I made myself shut out the light and go to bed。 I was slipping； man； and it was definitely time
to get a grip。
The Yard
I'd never been embarrassed by where we lived before。 I'd never looked at our house； or even
our side of the street； and said； Oh！ I wish we lived in
the new development—those houses are so much newer； so much better！ This is where I'd
grown up。 This was my home。
I was aware of the yard； sure。 My mother had grumbled about it for years。 But it was a low
grumbling； not worthy of deep concern。 Or so I'd
supposed。 But maybe I should have wondered。 Why let the outside go and keep the inside
so nice？ It was spotless inside our house。 Except for the
boys' room； that is。 Mom gave up on that after she discovered the snake。 If they were old
enough to adopt a snake； she told my brothers； they were
old enough to clean their own room。 Matt and Mike translated this to keep the door closed；
and became quite diligent about doing just that。
Besides the yard； I also never really wondered about the money； or the apparent lack thereof。
I knew we weren't rich； but I didn't feel like I was
missing anything。 Anything you could buy； anyway。
Matt and Mike did ask for things a lot； but even though my mother would tell them； No； boys；
we just can't afford that； I took this to mean； No； boys；
you don't deserve that； or； No； boys； you don't really need that。 It wasn't until Bryce called
our home a plete dive that I started really seeing
things。
It wasn't just the yard。 It was my dad's truck； my mother's car； the family bike that was more
rust than steel； and the fact that when we did buy
something new； it always seemed to e from a second…time…around store。 Plus； we never
went on vacation。 Ever。
Why was that？ My father was the hardest…working man in the world； and my mother worked
for TempService doing secretarial jobs whenever she
could。 What was all that hard work about if this is where it got you？
Asking my parents whether we were poor seemed incredibly impolite。 But as the days went
by； I knew I had to ask。 Just had to。 Every day I'd ride
home from school on our rusty bike； pull past the broken fence and patchy yard； and think；
Tonight。 I'll ask them tonight。
But then I wouldn't ask them。 I just didn't know how。
Then one day I had an idea。 A way to talk to them about it and maybe help out a little； too。
And since my brothers were working at the music store
that night； and nobody was saying much of anything at the table； I took a deep breath and
said； “I was thinking； you know； that it wouldn't be hard to
fix up the front yard if I could get some nails and a hammer and maybe some paint？ And how
much does grass seed cost？ It can't be that much；
right？ I could plant a lawn； and maybe even some flowers？”
My parents stopped eating and stared at me。
……… Page 45………
“I know how to use a saw and a hammer—it could be； you know； a project。”
My mother quit looking at me and stared at my father； instead。
My father sighed and said； “The yard is not our responsibility； Julianna。”
“It's … it's not？”
He shook his head and said； “It's Mr。 Finnegan's。”
“Who's Mr。 Finnegan？”
“The man who owns this house。”
I couldn't believe my ears。 “What？”
My father cleared his throat and said； “The landlord。”
“You mean we don't own this house？”
They looked at each other； having some private wordless conversation I couldn't decipher。
Finally my father said； “I didn't realize you didn't know