27. Alex

ALEX

NOW – SOPHOMORE YEAR – APRIL

I tug at my “Save the Planet” t-shirt, the fabric suddenly feeling too tight as we approach the community center. I’m only just wondering if it’s a little on the nose for this kind of event. The “Mountain Springs Environmental Action” banner flaps weakly in the breeze, its faded letters a stark contrast to the crisp idealism in my head.

“All right, spill it,” Tara says, elbowing her brother. “You’re not here to protest the road expansion, are you?”

Troy’s cheeks flush. “What? No, I’m totally here to save the ancient pines and stuff.”

I can’t help but snort. “Nice one, Troy. Subtle.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. There’s this girl from class. She mentioned she’d be here, and I thought…”

“That you’d casually bump into her while discussing the devastating impact of clear-cutting hundred-year-old trees for a few extra lanes?” Tara finishes, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hey, forest management is a totally valid conservation topic,” Troy protests weakly. “Besides, they’re saying it’s for fire breaks too.”

I laugh, some of the tension from earlier melting away. “Oh yeah? Quick, tell me the difference between selective cutting and clear-cutting.”

Troy opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Uh… one’s more… selective?”

Tara doubles over laughing. “Oh my god, you’re hopeless. This is straight-up stalking, you know that, right?”

“It’s not stalking,” Troy huffs. “It’s strategically aligning our shared interests in… uh… preventing forest fires?”

“The road expansion is going to cut right through one of the oldest pine stands in the area,” I point out. “These trees have survived actual forest fires for centuries. They don’t need ‘fire breaks’ that are really just an excuse for wider highways.”

“See?” Troy brightens. “I’m learning already. Ladies love a guy who cares about old trees.”

“Ladies love a guy who actually knows what he’s talking about,” Tara corrects, linking her arm through mine. “Come on, the meeting’s about to start. Try not to embarrass yourself when your crush shows up.”

Troy’s about to retort when his eyes widen. He ducks behind us, using Tara as a human shield. “Shit, there she is. How’s my hair?”

Tara reaches up and musses his carefully styled locks. “There. Now you look like me. Beautiful.”

“You’re the worst,” Troy grumbles, trying to smooth his hair back down.

I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “You know, for someone who claims to care about forest preservation, you sure know nothing about native species.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know pine trees are very… pine-y,” Troy says with mock indignation.

Tara nudges me, her smile a lifeline. “Ready to go?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. This is my first time at one of these meetings. Last year I couldn’t bring myself to come. I’d felt like an imposter, but now I feel like I have more to offer.

The meeting room is a pressure cooker of conflicting energies—tie-dye clashing with tailored suits, passion butting heads with pragmatism. I recognize a few faces from campus, islands of familiarity in a sea of strangers.

As the discussion unfolds, my pen flies across the page, a frantic attempt to capture every word. They’re talking about the road expansion project, a six-lane monster poised to slice through one of the oldest forest stands in the county. My blood simmers, then boils.

“We can’t let this happen,” I interject, my voice sharper than intended. “These trees are over a century old. They’re crucial for carbon sequestration, wildlife habitats, and soil stability. It’s non-negotiable.”

A ripple of reactions—nods, frowns, exchanged glances. Sandra, a silver-haired veteran of these battles, speaks up.

“Your fire is admirable, dear, but we’ve been weathering this storm for months. The Department of Transportation’s roots run deep in the state government. And their argument about fire safety is compelling to many.”

“Then we dig deeper,” I counter, my jaw set. “We can organize protests, flood their offices with calls and emails. Show them there are better ways to manage fire risk than clear-cutting ancient trees. We can’t just give up.”

Sandra’s sigh is heavy with experience. “We’ve done all that, Alex. We’ve had protests, petition drives, call-in campaigns. We even tried to get it on the ballot for a city vote.”

I blink, momentarily taken aback. “But if we just keep pushing...”

“We’re aiming to salvage the oldest section,” Sandra continues gently. “Create a protected corridor where they’ll have to tunnel under instead of cutting through. It’s not ideal, but it’s something.”

“That... that’s not enough. We can’t wave the white flag now.”

“It’s not surrender,” a man in a crisp suit chimes in. “It’s strategic retreat. Sometimes you have to bend to avoid breaking. The fire marshal’s report gives them all the ammunition they need.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Sandra cuts me off. “Alex, let me ask you this. If we keep fighting and lose everything, how does that help the environment? At least this way, we save the oldest trees, establish a precedent for future negotiations.”

Her question catches me off guard. I fumble for a response. “But if we compromise, we’re saying it’s okay to destroy part of the forest. These trees have survived actual fires for hundreds of years. They don’t need humans ‘managing’ them into extinction.”

An older man with a weathered face speaks up. “Twenty years ago, we fought a similar battle over the old growth forest near Miller’s Creek. We refused to compromise. Know what happened? We lost it all. Now it’s a Walmart parking lot.”

His words land like a ton of bricks. I look to Tara and Troy, searching for allies, but find only thoughtful expressions.

As the discussion continues around us, Tara leans in close to my ear. “Freddie would’ve been interested in this,” she whispers. “He’s always talking about finding middle ground.”

“Yeah, where is lover boy anyway?” Troy murmurs from my other side, earning himself a swift elbow in the ribs from his sister.

I keep my voice low, conscious of the ongoing debate around us. “Working,” I mutter, trying to ignore the pang in my chest. Freddie would probably have some annoyingly logical perspective on all this, pointing out things I’m too stubborn to see. “And he’s not my lover boy.”

Troy ducks his head closer, his voice barely audible over the heated discussion about environmental impact studies. “Well, he’d probably say what Sandra’s saying—partial victory is still victory, Alex.”

I straighten up, pushing thoughts of Freddie aside as I turn my attention back to the larger group. I shake my head, unwilling to accept it. “But our textbooks, our professors—they all say we need to stand firm, that every old growth forest is irreplaceable.”

Sandra nods. “They’re not wrong. But textbooks don’t have to navigate city council meetings or argue with fire marshals who have public safety on their side.”

“So we just give up?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds. “Let them cut through centuries of growth for a wider road?”

“No,” the man in the suit says. “We adapt. We pick our battles. We save what we can now and fight for more later. Maybe we can’t stop the road, but we can ensure they use tunnels where possible, maintain wildlife corridors.”

As the discussion continues, my pen slows. Sandra’s talking about the economic realities of highway infrastructure, but I’m watching her hands—weathered, scarred from decades of environmental cleanup work. She’s been fighting these battles longer than I’ve been alive. The man in the suit is explaining something about wildlife corridors and alternative routing studies, his words precise and measured. Not the corporate villain I’d imagined, but someone who actually seems to understand the value of these trees.

I find myself nodding along to points I would’ve dismissed an hour ago.

The fire in my chest shifts, transforms. It’s still there, but different somehow. More focused. Like a laser instead of a wildfire.

Later, under the indifferent glow of streetlights, Tara waves her hand in front of my face. “Earth to Alex. You went radio silent there.”

I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the community center’s empty windows for who knows how long. Sandra’s contact information sits heavy in my pocket, along with notes about upcoming council meetings and environmental impact hearings.

“Just thinking,” I say, fingering the business card. “About what Sandra said regarding the tunnel option...”

“The one that would preserve the oldest section of forest?” Troy asks.

I nod slowly. “It would cost them more. But if we could prove the long-term benefits...” I trail off, already mentally drafting arguments about soil stability and carbon sequestration.

“Look at you, thinking about cost-benefit analysis,” Tara teases, linking her arm through mine.

“I’m still against the road expansion,” I say quickly. Too quickly, maybe. “But...” The word feels strange on my tongue. When did I last use that word without following it with an argument?

Troy chuckles, the sound warm in the cool night air. “Welcome to the big leagues, rookie.”

I pull out my phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I want to text Freddie about all this, hear his thoughts. But something stops me.