but I knew in my heart that I was going to miss my ride.
“You’re going to have to cut me down!” I yelled. Then I had an idea.
They’d never cut it down if all of us were in the tree. They’d have to listen!
“Hey, guys!” I called to my classmates. “Get up here with me! They can’t cut it down if we’re all up here!
Marcia! Tony! Bryce! C’mon, you guys, don’t let them do this!”
They just stood there, staring up at me. I could see the bus, one block away.
“Come on, you guys! You don’t have to come up this high. Just a little ways. Please!”
The bus blasted up and pulled to the curb in front of the trucks, and when the doors folded open, one by one my classmates climbed on board.
What happened after that is a bit of a blur. I remember the neighbors gathering, and the police with megaphones.
I remember the fire brigade, and some guy saying it was his blasted tree and I’d darn well better get out of it.
Somebody tracked down my mother, who cried and pleaded and acted not at all the way a sensible mother should, but I was not coming down.
I was not coming down. Then my father came racing up.
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