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with you, but listen, I want you to stick close to home today, okay?”
    â€œNo problem,” Teddy mumbled, and he meant it. He wasn’t going near rivers, construction sites, or anyplace remotely dangerous.
    â€œOkay,” his mom said, giving him a good-bye kiss for which he felt too old. “A repairman is coming later to look at the air conditioner.”
    An hour later, the repairman was bent under the air-conditioning unit with his skinny rump in the air. Teddy stood nearby holding a length of new pipe.
    The repairman tossed out a piece of old metal pipe from the unit that was tattered and mushroomed out at one end as though it had exploded.
    â€œHere’s your problem,“ he said. “Tree roots in your pipes.”
    â€œWhat?”
    The man stood up, one greasy hand on his pockmarked chin. The name tag on his coveralls said HANK.
    â€œYou deaf?” he said.
    â€œNo. It just seems weird.”
    â€œIt’s common, really.” Hank yawned, flipping his stringy hair out of his eyes. “Over time, they get into everything.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œLooking for water, usually. In the desert those roots will get into sewers, plumbing, even crawl all the way to the river. Can’t believe this one went after the air conditioner, though. Must be desperate.”
    Hank rummaged in his pocket, pulled out a pocket knife, and began to clean his fingernails. He turned his narrow green eyes on Teddy. “You know, you look familiar, kid,” he said as he rubbed an old scar on his forehead. “Do I know you?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Teddy said. “I just moved here.”
    Hank shrugged and snatched the new pipe from Teddy. He plopped back down to install it, hoisting his rump back up in the air.
    Teddy stared at the old mutilated pipe. “This is completely destroyed.”
    â€œYeah,” Hank agreed from under the air-conditioning unit. “They pry their way in. Powerful things, though they usually just crack stuff. That little number looks like a nuclear bomb went off in it.”
    Hank finished attaching the new pipe and scooted out from under the air conditioner, wiping his hands on his shirt.
    Teddy nodded, troubled by how easily simple tree roots had forced him out of his home.
    â€œWill they come back?” he asked.
    Hank shrugged. “Maybe, eventually. No one can give guarantees, kid.”

CHAPTER 9
    Once Hank left, Teddy retreated inside the house. But he knew deep down he couldn’t simply cower in his home. If the tree was trying to get in through the window and sabotaging the air conditioner to force him outside, he had to figure out why.
    Summoning his courage—it was just a tree, after all—Teddy pushed the kitchen door open and peeked outside. He crept to the edge of his backyard, where the massive sycamore rose above him on the other side of the fence, its cracked wood riddled with scars from the many decades of nature’s abuse. It seemed to frown down at him, healthy but somehow unsatisfied.
    â€œWhat do you want?” Teddy asked.
    The sycamore, of course, did not reply. It only swayed in the hot desert breeze, and Teddy instantly felt stupid for talking to it. He turned to go back inside.
    Just then, something hit Teddy in the head.
    â€œOww,” he grumbled as a sycamore seed ball bounced to the ground beside him. It was the size of a golf ball, and its surface bristled with pointy seeds. Teddy looked up to see where the ball had dropped from and saw a boy sitting on a branch above him almost completely hidden by leaves.
    â€œHey, what’s cookin’?” the boy said. His grin was not quite a smirk, so Teddy couldn’t decide if he’d meant to throw the sycamore ball hard enough to hurt him or just to get Teddy’s attention.
    The kid was about Teddy’s age, but looked a little taller, and he wore long wool knickers and an argyle patterned sweater-vest over a white shirt.