At 3:55, we arrived at town hall. Mom asked if I wanted her to come in.

  “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t,” I said. I couldn’t explain why, but saying all that eco-anxiety stuff in front of her… somehow it just seemed like it would be harder.

  If Mom’s feelings were hurt, she didn’t show it. “Call me when you’re done, okay?” she said. “Go get ’em, sweet potato!”

  Right away I spotted Kenji sitting cross-legged under a tree, reading a book. He didn’t react to the “sweet potato” stuff, but obviously he’d heard it.

  Ugh.

  Already the loose-leaf paper with my speech was damp from my clammy hands.

  “Mr. Hendricks is inside,” Kenji said as he stuffed the book into his backpack. “You look nice, Haven.”

  “Uh, thanks.” No zit constellations, woo-hoo!

  The two of us walked inside without talking. A woman with glasses on the top of her head showed us into Conference Room 2A, a big beige-walled room with a long table in the front for the mayor and the board members. The rest of the room was nothing but metal folding chairs—all empty except for Mr. Hendricks and Dr. Lopez in the first row, and Ms. Packer in the back.

  I hadn’t known Ms. Packer would be here. Seeing her helped me breathe a little—but it also meant more people in the audience.

  Mr. Hendricks turned and waved as we took seats behind him. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and a jacket, not one of his regular Mr. Science tees. Dr. Lopez was dressed in a black pantsuit, but her hair was still pink. I couldn’t help thinking it was a sort of dare: You assume I’m not a serious scientist? Well, just wait.

  She nodded at me and went back to reading her notes.

  That was when I noticed Min across the room, hunched over her laptop. I hadn’t expected to see her, either, but of course it made sense she’d be here. After all, a presentation to the town board was a “story,” even if our campout/protest wasn’t.

  By now my heart was pounding and my hands were so sweaty I had to wipe them on my skirt. At least I’d listened to April and written out my speech word for word. So even though this was technically an oral report, I wouldn’t need to worry about blanking—unless they asked questions after I finished reading. Did Mr. Hendricks say they’d be asking questions? How was it possible I couldn’t remember?

  I reached for the rubber band, and my fingers found the frog charm instead.

  “The meeting of the Belmont Town Board is called to order,” announced one of the men behind the long table. He was wearing a black jacket, a white shirt, and a dark bow tie, and before I could control myself, this thought popped into my head: He looks like a penguin.

  I cough-laughed into my hand.

  “You okay?” Kenji asked quietly.

  “Just nervous,” I muttered. “I hate oral reports. Why is there a mic?”

  “Maybe they show this on local TV?”

  Sure enough, a guy was setting up a TV camera in the back of the room. Oh, great, I thought. Who knew how many people would watch this? Watch me.

  Mr. Hendricks stood and walked over to the microphone. In a calm-sounding voice, he explained the River Project and how our results compared to the last three years. Then Dr. Lopez went. To be honest, I didn’t understand most of her report, which was basically just numbers, but I could see the town-board people—three men and three women, plus the mayor—taking notes as she spoke. One of the women, who wore a complicated scarf around her neck, even asked a few questions.

  Then it was my turn.

  I stood. Run, my brain flashed. Now.

  Kenji poked my arm. “Go get ’em, sweet potato,” he murmured.

  What?

  I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it; the combination of nerves and surprise was too much.

  Mr. Hendricks turned to pop his eyes at me.

  Don’t blow this! I yelled at myself.

  I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and made my way to the front of the room.

  THE ON SWITCH

  The first thing I did was apologize for laughing.

  “Sorry, I’m just nervous,” I told Mayor Castillo. I’d seen him in photos, and in a few parades, but never this close-up. He had a little puff of hair on top, like he was walking under a tree one day and a tiny bird’s nest fell on his head. Was it a toupee? Maybe he just had puffy hair. Whatever it was, I needed to stop staring at it.

  “No need to be nervous,” he was saying. “We’re eager to hear from you today, Haven.”

  “Um, thank you.” I held the loose-leaf paper with trembling fingers. But maybe because my hands were so sweaty, it was like the ink had turned into water, a giant gush of words that all ran together: riverprojectenvironmentclimatechemicalsanxiety…

  My eyes couldn’t—wouldn’t—focus. It wasn’t possible for me to read this speech, even if it hadn’t smeared.

  Okay, now what?

  My brain was empty. Like a vacuum cleaner had sucked up all my words.

  Should I try to imagine them all in their underwear? Bleh, no.

  Penguin Guy cleared his throat.

  Mayor Castillo smiled kindly. “Haven, can you tell us about your interest in the river?”

  I breathed—too loudly—into the mic. “My interest?”

  “Yes. We understand you’re one of Mr. Hendricks’s students? And you’re interested in the environment?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t use the word ‘interested.’ ”

  The mayor raised his eyebrows. “No?”

  “Yeah, it’s more like obsessed. Terrified.”

  Penguin Guy coughed into his mic. He traded a look with Scarf Lady. A look that said, Uh-oh, here we go.

  Something about that look—not an eye roll exactly, but one of those private wordless conversations between grown-ups—flipped the On switch for me.

  They don’t want to hear from a kid?

  Well, too bad. Because I have stuff to say!

  So I started talking: about the video Mr. Hendricks had shown us—the melting glaciers, the penguins—then about the doomscrolling, the nail-and-stomach stuff, the problems with social studies. How I couldn’t stop thinking about the missing frogs. How it felt like the world was ending, and people in charge weren’t doing anything to save it.

  “Someone told me this is called eco-anxiety,” I said. “Which I guess means anxiety about environmental things? All I know is that I’m angry and scared about the planet, and the way it’s getting destroyed. The way grown-ups are letting it get destroyed. A lot of kids feel this way, actually.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s true.” Scarf Lady rested her chin on her folded hands. “My son is in fourth grade, and he talks about the climate crisis constantly. He even has nightmares about it.”

  “So do I, although some nights I’m too worried to even sleep! All my friends are worried also. We’re trying to deal with it as much as we can, but what we’re really hoping is that you’ll listen. And not just listen—do something. Because if we told you we were depressed, you’d try to solve it for us, right? You’d take care of us; you’d bring us to a doctor. So why won’t you try to solve this, too?”

  For a few seconds no one answered.

  Finally the mayor did. “Yes, we hear you, Haven,” he said, nodding. “We know many kids are concerned about the environment, and not only here in Belmont. But of course, we grown-ups can’t simply snap our fingers. Climate issues are huge and complex.”

  “But you have the power to do something, right? Like investigating, so we know who’s polluting the river. Or maybe making new laws, so it doesn’t happen again. That’s why you’re at that table! And why our parents voted for you.” I pointed to the back of the room. “Ms. Packer’s over there; she and Mr. Hendricks are my two favorite teachers. And one of the things she taught me this year is that if you can’t do great things, you should do small things greatly.”

  Ms. Packer’s eyes met mine. She was beaming.

  And I kept going. “So I think if we could save our river, it would be kind of a small thing, right? I mean, it wouldn’t save the planet, and it wouldn’t solve the climate crisis. But it would make a big difference to our town.” I fingered the bracelet. “Also, it would show kids that grown-ups care about us. That you’re listening to us. And that you don’t want to hand us a planet with zero frogs.”

  I talked for a few more minutes about the festival and the protest, and then the mayor said thank you, and it was over.

  “Nice work,” Mr. Hendricks said, beaming. Ms. Packer fist-bumped me, and Dr. Lopez did a thumbs-up as she walked over to chat with the penguin-looking board member.

  “Haven, that was awesome,” Kenji said as the two of us left town hall. “You sounded amazing.”

  “I did?”

  “Yeah, you didn’t even seem nervous. It wasn’t like an oral report at all.”

  “Thanks. I guess I was too mad to be nervous. And once I started talking, I couldn’t stop.” I peeked at him. “I’m really glad you came here with me, Kenji.”

  Kenji blushed. “So am I.”

  “But you better not call me sweet potato again,” I added, grinning.

  CELEBRATION

  Afterward I felt zapped by lightning. I needed to move—not just stand in front of town hall like a baby, waiting for Mom to pick me up—so I walked home. Well, half walked, half ran.

  As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, Mom and Dad gave me a big squeezy hug and announced that we needed to celebrate.

  “Celebrate what?” I asked.

  “Are you serious?” Now Carter was in the kitchen too. “Haven, you brought it to the town board!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ms. Packer emailed us,” Dad said. “She said the mayor was very impressed.”

  “Well, of course he was, because Haven is very impressive!” Mom smooched my cheek. “And I vote we go out to dinner!”

  “Because you don’t want to cook?” I teased her, laughing.

  Mom laughed too. “True. But also because I think you deserve a party.”

  “We can go back to Mumbai Gardens if you like,” Dad told me. “Go ahead, invite your friends.”

  “Can I invite Ashlyn?” Carter asked me.

  “Sure, why not,” I said as I texted Riley and Archer.

  Then I thought of something.

  I asked Riley: Hey, can I have Em’s phone number? I want to invite her.

  Riley texted me the number followed by .

  OMG YES, Em texted back.

  Then I did a really brave thing. I asked Archer for Kenji’s number, and I texted him, too.

  A minute later Kenji texted back: Thanks for inviting me, Haven, but my parents want me to stay here for dinner and I don’t want another fight I hope you have a good meal, and I hope we can do something else soon. Maybe I could play something for you on my guitar? Altho I shd prob practice some more first.

  P.S. The mayor called my dad after the meeting. I couldn’t hear much, but it sounded like the mayor was talking A LOT and my dad wasn’t happy.

  * * *

  It was a great meal—even though everyone kept making a fuss about my speech at town hall, as if I’d done a Kirima Ansong-level thing, which of course I hadn’t.

  “Haven, I can’t believe you told off the mayor,” Em said.

  “I didn’t,” I said. “I just spoke and he listened. He was actually nice.” I told them about Kenji’s text, how he’d said the mayor had talked to Kenji’s dad afterward. “But we don’t know what that even means,” I added.

  Em pressed her lips. “You’re always so pessimistic, Haven. Try to be positive for once.”

  Carter caught my eye and smiled.

  Just as the waiters brought some gulab jamun for dessert, Archer got a text from Min.

  He poked me. “Mom wrote her article about the town-board meeting. You wanna see it?”

  Did I? Suddenly I couldn’t eat the sweet fried dumplings in front of me.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Archer texted me the link. Min’s article was long; I had to skim eight paragraphs to find my name at the end:

  After presentations by Belmont Middle School science teacher Adam Hendricks and Parnassus County Community College Assistant Professor Dr. Ada Lopez, seventh-grade environmental activist Haven Jacobs addressed the board.

  “I’m angry and scared about the planet, and the way we’re letting it be destroyed,” she said. “The way grown-ups are letting it happen. A lot of kids feel this way, actually.”

  Saving the Belmont River, she continued, “wouldn’t save the planet, and it wouldn’t solve the climate crisis, but it would make a big difference to our town. Also, it would show kids that grown-ups care about us.”

  Ms. Jacobs explained how she organized protests this past weekend to spread awareness about chemicals in the Belmont River.

  After the meeting adjourned, Mayor Ernesto Castillo commented: “I take this personally. The river is an important part of our town’s identity. Our town government is fully committed to restoring the Belmont River to health, and we will take all measures necessary.”

  He added that he was moved by Ms. Jacobs’s presentation. “We all need to listen better to our kids. They’re hurting, because the planet is hurting. After all, it’s their planet; we’re just minding it for a little while.”

  Mayor Castillo would not specify which measures the town would take to address concerns about the river. However, two hours after the town board’s meeting, local business Gemba Industries issued this statement: “As citizens of this town and stewards of this planet, we are committed to working with Belmont’s town board to address the health of our environment. We condemn all illegal dumping of substances in the Belmont River and will vigorously assist any investigation.”

  Investigation? When I got to that word, my brain exploded.

  All the mayor had said was that he would “take all measures necessary.” Did that mean there’d be an investigation into Gemba? Maybe it did!

  Anyway, it had to mean something that Gemba had made a statement like this—not admitting they were guilty, but also not saying they weren’t! And obviously they knew that the mayor was watching them now. That the whole town was!

  I was so happy, I took an extra dumpling.

  BIG NEWS

  The last week of school was a bunch of exams and projects you don’t want to hear about, I’m sure. The main thing was I filled in every answer on my social studies final, and ended up with a seventy-one. Which meant I passed—although by then I didn’t actually think Ms. Packer would fail me.

  A few days later school ended, and two big things happened.

  The first was that Dad quit his job at Gemba. Not because he thought Gemba was guilty, he told Carter and me, but because he got a better offer from another factory ten miles away. Better hours, better salary, and the boss was really nice, he said. Switching to this new job made total sense, but I couldn’t help wondering if there was some other reason he wasn’t saying.

  The second thing was that Archer and Min showed up at my house in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Breaking news!” Min shouted as Mom and I led them into the kitchen.

  “You want some iced tea?” Mom asked. “Or a Diet Coke?”

  Min waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “No thanks, Heather! We came over to tell Haven about my reporting. Before it’s in the Belmont Bee tomorrow morning.”

  “Wait till you hear this, Haven,” Archer said.

  “Just tell me,” I begged.

  “Sooo,” Min said, “two days ago I learned that Petersburgh Pharmaceuticals, about twenty-five miles from here, had a big chemical accident back in March. An antibiotic they use to treat ear infections—it’s called acetic acid—accidentally spilled into the Petersburgh River! Which feeds into the Belmont River!”

  “Wait, what?” I stared at Min, then at Archer, and then at Carter, who’d come into the kitchen. “You mean that’s how the Belmont River got polluted? It wasn’t because of Gemba?”

  “Not what I said.” Min’s voice was sharp. “Haven, you need to listen more carefully!”

  Archer shot me a look: See what my mom is like?

  “I don’t understand,” I said weakly.

  Min folded her arms across her chest. “No one’s saying Gemba doesn’t have a role here, okay? And the statement they made after the town-board meeting strongly suggests they do have some culpability. But apparently, they’re not the only factor.”

  Archer was smiling at me now. “Mom thinks the accidental spill got discovered because of what you said at the town board.”

  “What I said?” It felt like my jaw was unhinged, and my mouth was just hanging open. “But I didn’t—”

  “Your presentation with Mr. Hendricks and Dr. Lopez definitely got the ball rolling,” Min said. “Wheels are turning, Haven, big wheels! The mayor is all over this; that’s probably why Gemba issued their statement. And now the investigation is spreading across the region, which is how the Petersburgh spill got reported. So who knows what else they’ll find.”

  “Yeah, there could be other polluters too,” Archer said. “Maybe a lot of them!”

  “Possibly, but we don’t know that,” Min said, flashing her eyes at him.

  “Whoa,” Carter said. “You think if Gemba was dumping toxic chemicals, they made the Petersburgh spill even worse? Or maybe the other way around?”

  “Not my department,” Min said, flicking her hand again. “That’s a question for the environmental experts doing the investigation, and possibly Dr. Lopez. But yes, I’m wondering about that too. Toxic chemicals mixing with other toxic chemicals—how could it not be dangerous?”

  Nobody spoke. We all watched as Ziggy wandered into the kitchen and lapped up water from his bowl. Faucet water, clean and safe.

  Suddenly Min turned to Mom. “Actually, you know what, Heather? Iced tea sounds perfect. As long as it’s very sweet.”

  * * *

  After Min’s article appeared in the Belmont Bee the next morning, I guess I expected something dramatic—TV satellite trucks in front of town hall, cameras flashing, reporters demanding answers from Mr. Stillman.

 

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