Free A Week in the Woods by Andrew Clements Page A

Some extra bleach and chemicals dumped into the rivers, and bingo—beautiful envelopes!
    Deep down Mr. Maxwell knew that Mark Chelmsley had just tried to apologize. Mr. Maxwell almost wished he could run out into the hall and catch up to the boy. He’d give him a big handshake and a friendly smile and say, “Welcome aboard, Mark!”
    But Mr. Maxwell couldn’t do that. He had already held a trial for this boy. Mr. Maxwell had looked at all the evidence, he had argued all sides of the case. Mr. Maxwell had reviewed the boy’s general lack of interest, the Hindenburg incident, and especially Mark’s response when he had been presented with a personal invitation to A Week in the Woods. The trial had lastedmost of the weekend. Mr. Maxwell had been the lawyer, the judge, and finally, the jury.
    And the verdict? Guilty. Beyond all reasonable doubt. This boy was spoiled and disrespectful and ungrateful—in the first degree!
    And the sentence? “You, Mark Robert Chelmsley, shall be made to feel the cold displeasure of Mr. William Maxwell for as long as you shall attend Hardy Elementary School.”
    So it was too soon to be granting a pardon. No way.
    Now, maybe if the kid actually came right out and said, “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been acting so bratty and spoiled, and I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a slacker, and I’m very sorry I’ve been such a smart-mouthed moron who acted like it would be a big drag to enjoy a terrific week at the state park campground,”—then maybe the judge could agree to reopen the case.
    But Mr. Maxwell knew nothing like that was going to happen anytime soon.
    Mr. Maxwell tore one end off the envelope, pulled out the permission slip, glanced at it, and then tucked it away in the proper folder with all the others. Then he picked up the envelope, tore it up into tiny pieces, and dropped them into his recycling bin.
    There’d be no pardon for Mark Robert Chelmsley. Not even a shot at probation—at least not for a while.
    Case closed.

Eleven
Spring
    The boy who had told Mark that the snow would be gone by the end of March wasn’t far wrong.
    By the time Mark’s parents came home on March tenth, there had already been a handful of days when it had gotten up into the fifties. Mark barely had a chance to show his mom and dad how well he could snowshoe.
    The temperature still dropped down into the thirties or even into the twenties at night, but once the snow started to melt, it went pretty fast. A week later Mark had to hang up his snowshoes for good. Two thirds of the meadow had turned to brown grass and mud. There were still some drifts, especially in the shadows and in the woods, but all the snow had turned to icy slush.
    His parents seemed to enjoy their visit in thecountry, or at least that’s how it looked to Mark. He was sure his mom and dad spent time in their second-floor office every day, but by the time he got home from school, their work day was pretty much over.
    During the late afternoons Mark took them out walking around the property. He showed them the tumbledown cabin and the old graveyard. They both enjoyed Mark’s guided tour of the barn, and neither of them could believe it when he told about how he’d slept out in the barn all alone one night. His mom seemed alarmed at this news, but his dad said, “That took some guts, son. Good for you,” and he gave Mark a slap on the back.
    In the evenings they mostly sat around the family room fireplace and read or watched TV together. His dad had to spend a lot of time on the phone every night talking to people in California and the Far East, and his mom got her share of evening phone calls too. Still, Mark was glad they were home. It made everything feel different, better.
    At dinner one night, his dad asked, “So what are the kids like around here, Mark? You been getting along with them all right?”
    Mark said, “Yeah,