Lannie Butterworth's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

By lunch, Lannie had the cabinet fed and locked. Five Georges shifted behind mesh. The masked hunter watched the ladybug through two walls of screen. Lannie counted the days on her thumb. Six until field day. Six until the painted lanes came up and the coach's patrols eased. The cabinet wouldn't last six days. The greenhouse had to be ready by Sunday. She grabbed the carrier and cut across the back lot. The old greenhouse sat behind the maintenance fence, half-swallowed by ivy. The blue door had swelled in its frame. Lannie shoved it with her hip until it popped. Inside, the air was hot and green. Vines had crawled up the panes and knotted along the ceiling ribs. A tray of dead marigolds sat on the bench. Broken glass crunched under her shoe. She had two hours before the bell and no help. She heard footsteps in the gravel. Oliver Beetles ducked under the ivy, backpack sagging with what looked like pruning shears. He was the first grader she'd stationed near the hedge during gym class — small, serious, and loyal to the bugs. He set the shears on the bench without a word. "You said Sunday," Oliver said. "That's four school days. I brought clippers and a broom." "You're supposed to be at recess." "I ate fast." He looked at the ivy on the ceiling. "That has to come down first, or the light won't reach the compartments." Lannie handed him the shears. She dragged the marigold tray outside. Oliver climbed the potting bench and started cutting vines in short, careful snips. Green ropes fell around them. Lannie swept glass into a pile with a broken slat. She hauled out two rotted crates and a bucket of standing water. A snail clung to the bucket rim. She lifted him off and set him under a fern. By the second bell, half the ceiling was clear. Sun came through in stripes. Lannie set the bug rescue carrier on the cleaned bench and opened it a crack — not to release them, just to check the air. The bumblebee George crawled to the mesh and looked up. The woolly caterpillar George pressed his face against the screen. Behind her, on a dusty pane, a golden-brown shape stretched one long leg, then another. George Silkweaver had already found the greenhouse. His new web ran from a rafter to the door hinge. "Corner rafter," he said, calm as ever. "Three exits. I checked." Lannie exhaled. She hadn't moved him. He had moved himself. Oliver climbed down. "It's usable. Not done. Usable." Lannie latched the carrier and set it on the bench. The cabinet behind the science room could empty by Friday. She had a greenhouse now — dirty, cracked, but standing. Then the gravel outside crunched again. Heavier. A track shoe. Coach Martinez's voice cut through the ivy. "Butterworth. Come out."