Free Life in the Land by Rebecca Cohen Page B

and listen to the land—it will guide you.”
    Bobby watched his dad walk away, back down the field, over the gate, and out of sight. His dad walked slower than he used to, the illness having had more of an effect than either of them wanted to admit. Bobby knew he needed to do something to reduce the burden of running the farm—the place where all the members of his family came back to recharge, to lick their wounds when rescues had gone wrong or life was not turning out how they’d expected. Although he knew his dad would never really fully retire—his powers even less happy to slow down than the man himself—the early mornings and damp evenings were something his dad could certainly live without.
    Bobby leaned back against the tree trunk and stared up at the branches, the weak sunlight dappling the green with halos of gold. The glow reminded him of the golden flecks his dad would conjure into the soil as he tended to the seeds; little pockets of energy sent out to spark life and feed the crops. The chill from the damp soil seeped through his jeans and made him shiver. He sighed heavily and pulled his jacket tighter around his thin frame.
    A muffled thud from the direction of the hedgerow made Bobby look up. Accompanied by a string of swear words, his friend Mike emerged from underneath the thicket, pulling himself along on his belly. His dirty blond hair was a mess, sticking out in all directions and littered with bits of twig. He was muddy and had a big smear across his cheek, but he was grinning.
    The fondness Bobby felt whenever he saw Mike spiraled up through his chest, and Bobby thought this probably wasn’t how he was supposed to feel about his best friend.
    “You all right?” asked Mike as he got to his feet.
    “Same old.”
    Mike dropped down to sit next to him, and Bobby smiled slightly as Mike knocked against him with his shoulder. “Come on, can’t be that bad.”
    “I tried again… it didn’t work.”
    In an instant Mike threw his arms around him, hugging him tight, and Bobby relished the comfort. Mike’s open affection always surprised him, and he returned the hug. He buried his face in Mike’s neck, refusing to cry as he held on tight, enjoying Mike’s warmth and the fresh earthy smell of the land that clung to his friend after his adventure in the hedgerow.
    “It’ll be okay, Bobby.”
    “You don’t know that.” Bobby pushed away but was glad Mike kept an arm around his shoulders.
    “Yes I do. You’re going to be brilliant. I told you, you’re gonna be the great Artichoke Avenger, and I’ll be your faithful sidekick, Sprout Boy.”
    Bobby huffed out a laugh. “I should’ve never told you how my dad uses his powers—we’re not all farmers.”
    “Nope. I’m convinced. You’re going to be the savior of wilted crops the length and breadth of the land. Bobby Sawyer, mild-mannered underachiever by day, hero of the agricultural world by night!”
    “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m going to help fight crime by using ivy creepers as nets and vines as lassoes. And shoot thorns at no-good perps who think they can get away!”
    “See that’s the spirit. You’re gonna be great, Bobby. And a real hero someday.” Mike laughed and stood up. “Now come on, my mum’s made treacle tart—and if we don’t get back soon, my little brother will’ve eaten it all.”
    “Maybe I should stay awhile. My dad thought it might be a good idea.”
    “Don’t be daft. You’ll freeze your bum off if you stay out much longer. Come back to mine now, and I promise we’ll come back tomorrow.”
    Bobby let his friend pull him to his feet and lead him away from the ancient oak. Mike kept hold of his hand as they walked down the field, and Bobby held on tighter, determined not to let go.
     
     
    T HE dull weather of the day before had returned with the new morning, but walking up to the top field with Mike, who laughed and joked about everything, made the trip back to the old tree far more enjoyable