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lean toward him and stare into his eyes. “You know how people talk about
the real world
, and
Life
with a capital
L
and all that?”
    He nods as if he knows more about “all that” than I ever will.
    â€œWell, Mrs. Clancy lives in
the real world
, but I live in a place inside my head most of the time. I draw and I read and I daydream. Stuff like school and good grades and being popular aren’t important to me, but they’re super important to her. I want to be an artist, pure and simple. That’s all.”
    I pick up a stick and draw a line in the dirt. “I’m on one side of this line and Mrs. Clancy is on the other side.”
    The Green Man studies the line and nods. “You and I are on the same side of the line.”
    â€œI know,” I whisper. “You’re the spirit of the woods. You’re in the
real
real world, not the fake real world.”
    â€œThere are many more people on Mrs. Clancy’s side of the line,” he says. “You and I are a minority.”
    â€œYes.” The word comes out in a long sigh—
yessssss
.
    â€œYou spend a lot of time in the woods,” the Green Man says. “I’ve seen you up in the tree—”
    â€œYour tree—it’s your tree, I know it is. Is it all right for me to have built a house in it?”
    â€œIt’s absolutely splendid.”
    â€œI hoped you’d say that. Would you like to come up and see what it’s like?”
    The Green Man peers up into the leaves, his brow wrinkled with thought. “Even creatures such as I get old,” he says reluctantly. “When I was a lad, I could scramble up a tree just like you, as nimble as a squirrel. But living in the wild stiffens a man’s joints and slows him down.”
    I nod. I guess I’d been mistaken about the spirits of the wild, and I was sad to think they didn’t stay young forever. “You are immortal, though.”
    He shakes his head. “Yes and no,” he says. “When my time here ends, someone young and strong will take my place and carry on my work. So even if I die, I’m immortal. It’s the work that’s important, not the man who does it.”
    I draw my knees close to my chest and know in my heart of hearts he’s telling the truth. But I wish it were not the truth.
    â€œTell me something, Brendan.” The Green Man stares into my eyes as if he can see my thoughts swimming like fish beneath the surface. “Whenever I see you in the woods, you’re alone. Do you have any friends? Someone to talk to, to share things with?”
    I lower my head to hide the tears welling up. “Nobody wants to be friends with a foster kid. They hate me at school.”
    â€œThat’s very troubling.” The Green Man sighs and tosses an apple core to the squirrel. “Very troubling indeed.”
    â€œI don’t care,” I say fiercely, not wanting him to feel sorry for me. “They’re mean and stupid and all they care about is things you buy. And what kind of house you live in and what kind of car your parents drive. They all live on Mrs. Clancy’s side of the line. Real boys, the kind who join Little League, the kind of boy Mrs. Clancy wants me to be.”
    â€œSo you don’t want to hit home runs and catch the ball and strike out the batter?”
    â€œI hate Little League. Not just because I’m rotten at baseball but because Little League has all sorts of rules and everybody takes it seriously, even parents, and no one plays for fun.”
    The Green Man laughs. “Little League is for little minds.”
    I laugh too. He’s the first person who has ever understood me.
    â€œThere must be a few kids who care about what you care about.”
    â€œI sure haven’t met any.” I’m angry now. He doesn’t understand after all, he doesn’t believe me. “They laugh at me and tease me and chase me and beat me up. They