The First Rule of Climate Club - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Carrie Firestone is the author of the middle grade novel Dress Coded, which was a Booklist Editors' Choice and was described by the New York Times as "a much-needed reminder that certain fights are worth fighting." She also wrote the acclaimed young adult novels The Loose Ends List and The Unlikelies. Visit her online at carriefirestoneauthor.com or follow her on Twitter @CLLFirestone or on Instagram @carriefirestoneauthor.

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The Letter That Starts It All

Dear Parent or Guardian,

I am pleased to announce that Fisher Middle School has received a generous grant to fund a climate science pilot program this year. The class will explore how and why climate change is happening and how we can use community-based projects to take action.

Out of over a hundred application essays students submitted in March, the following rising eighth graders have been selected to participate:

Elijah Campbell

Shawn Hill

Benjamin Lettle

Andrew Limski

Jay Mendes

Rabia Mohammed

Mary Kate Murphy

Lucy Perlman

Rebecca Phelps

Hannah Small

Warning! This class will be a lot of work. Please talk to your child and make sure they’re ready to commit. We will still cover standard eighth-grade science concepts, but this class is not going to be “traditional.” If you and your child are on board, please sign and return the attached form. Congratulations to all the students!

I can’t wait to get started.

Scientifically yours,

Ed Lu

The Fairy-House Village

My climate-class acceptance letter is stuck to the refrigerator door with an E magnet, next to a picture of my new baby niece, Penelope, and a Post-it reminding Dad to buy more back-pain cream.

All the inspirational E magnet words aren’t working for me right now, because I’m not eager or enthusiastic or excited about school starting tomorrow. My best friend, Lucy, has been sick the whole summer, and nobody knows what’s wrong with her. I would have been eager, enthusiastic, and excited to be in the climate class with Lucy. Instead, I’m going to be sitting with a group of kids I barely know.

I text Lucy: Fairy village? But she doesn’t text back, which means she’s sleeping, having a really sick day, or mad at me for even asking.

I'm almost thirteen years old, and I'm going to build a fairy house by myself. But Lucy and I promised each other we would do it every year the day before school starts, for good luck, and we really need the good luck right now. So I put on my shoes, call my dogs, Murphy and Claudia, to come with me, grab my backpack, and walk out the back door.

My backyard and Lucy’s backyard are separated by a huge nature preserve, which was donated to our town by a family who must have had a crystal ball and seen that if you don’t specifically say This piece of land can never be used for anything but enjoying nature, it will eventually turn into a Dunkin’ Donuts, a car dealership, or a nail salon.

Not many people visit the preserve, probably because there aren’t really trails. It’s one huge chunk of beautiful land, with a sledding hill, and a meadow, and a pond, and a vernal pool in spring, and crumbling old stone walls, and woods surrounding it all.

I walk around our barn, which is now a big garage with an upstairs room, follow the path through the woods to the top of the sledding hill, and cut through the sunflowers at the edge of the meadow.

Most people wouldn’t notice the fairy village if they made their way into the woods. It looks like some creature randomly dropped piles of bark and twigs. But we know. Lucy and I and the fairies have a lot of secrets hidden here.

When we were younger, we spent entire days collecting pine cones, and lost feathers, and interesting stones, and acorns, and fallen flower petals. We built fancy fairy houses and did all kinds of fairy-summoning rituals I can't remember anymore. But I don't feel like doing any of that. Right now, I want to build a house, get the good luck, and go home.

I pick up a few sturdy sticks and lean them against a fallen trunk that’s covered in moss. I leave a space for the fairies to come and go, and cover the little lean-to with soft pine needles. I drop stones around the house and scatter handfuls of leaves on the roof.

It’s not our best house, but it’s good enough.

Sleep well, fairies, I wish. And please bring us luck.

On the Bus

My neighbor Molly and I have been sitting together on the bus since I was in kindergarten and she was in first grade. We used to get harassed by Molly’s older brother, Danny, who calls us Frog and Toad for some reason, but Danny is living with his grandma in New York, so Frog and Toad have a break this year.

“Do you like my tank top?” I ask, sliding into the seat across from my other neighbor Will.

“I love your tank top,” Molly says. “It really emphasizes those shoulders.” 

“Thank you, my queen,” I say, because I’m very grateful that Molly and her friends started a protest against our school’s dress code this past June, which ended with the school district letting us wear pretty much whatever we want. 

“Remember how scared you were when school started last year?” Molly says, eating a granola bar. “I thought you were going to throw up.”

“I wasn’t looking forward to seventh grade.”

What Molly doesn’t know is that I wasn’t scared. I was annoyed. I didn’t know how I was going to go from an entire summer of frogging and tree climbing to being pushed down a crowded hallway eight times a day.

“I’m going to miss seeing you,” Molly says. “Now I’m the one about to throw up. The high school has way too many people I don’t know. Say something to distract me.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Tell me about the podcast. Are you still going to do it?”

“I doubt it.”

“Why not? It was really good.”

I don’t feel like talking about Bearsville with Molly. It’s embarrassing.

Will shoves his phone in our faces to show us his summer-camp girlfriend, and Molly spends the rest of the bus ride asking him questions he doesn't know the answers to.

“Do you think you’ll see her before next summer?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is she going to camp next summer?”

“I don’t know.”

The bus stops in front of the high school, and Molly makes an ughhh sound.

“You’ve got this, Molls,” I say. “You’re a queen, remember?”

Will and Molly jump off the bus, and Molly runs over to her friends Navya and Bea. I watch them go into the high school as the bus rolls out of the circle toward Fisher Middle School.

Failure to Launch

I tried to start a podcast this summer. It was called All’s Well in Bearville, but I changed it to All’s Well in Bearsville after the first episode, because there’s a lot more than one bear in this town. It was supposed to be about why bear hunting in our state is inhumane, and how to deal with climate change, and interesting nature stories.

The Bearsville idea came from Molly, who used a podcast to start the dress-code protest, and then Dress Coded: A Podcast ended up inspiring people all over the country to fight their school dress codes.

Bearsville, on the other hand, never really went anywhere.

Maybe it was because the state had already passed a law banning bear hunting, or because the people I interviewed used a lot of science words. My cousin in Florida said the interview with the professor about climate change and frogs was “kind of boring.” My other cousin said the questions I asked the tree...