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jungle.
    “Our country was divided about Vietnam. Some people believed the war should go on and some people felt it was wrong. It was a new kind of war, too, because people could see it on their TV screens and watch people die in battle. It was a differentkind of war because of the military weapons that were used.”
    Another poster. This one of unusual words.
    “The Vietnam War had its own language. A ‘Bird’ was a plane. A ‘Big Boy’ was a tank. ‘Bug Juice’ was insect repellent.”
    The class laughed. Tree felt strong, way above C minus.
    “‘Greased,’” Tree said solemnly, “meant killed.”
    He talked about the U.S. presidents who oversaw the war—Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon, Ford. He talked about President Jimmy Carter, who gave amnesty to the draft dodgers, men who left the country instead of fighting in a war that they didn’t think was right.
    He talked about how so many vets felt like unwelcome strangers when they came home because the country had changed while they were gone.
    He showed them pictures of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C., which had every name of every soldier who had died carved into a wall.
    He talked about putting a wreath by his grandfather’s good friend’s name.
    “When you go there, you can see your reflection in the black stone of the wall,” Tree explained. “It makes us all part of the experience.”
    Tree held up a photo of Leo looking sharp in his uniform. “My grandfather served in Vietnam. He was wounded in battle. I asked him what he thought kids should know about the war.”
    Tree pressed PLAY on the tape recorder. Grandpa’s voice boomed through the classroom.
    “The people who went to fight that war, for the most part, did their best to fight an enemy that was harder to figure out and more dangerous than any of us knew. Most of us were kids—nineteen, twenty—I was twenty-five. We thought we’d kick butt and everything would be over fast. We’d win. We didn’t win. I think we stayed too long and made some really bad mistakes. But we did things right, too. I think important things are worth fighting for, but there’s nothing glorious about battle, nothing cool about holding a gun. It’s scary and lonely, and too many people die young. Never be a person who wants war—hate it with everything you’ve got. But if you’ve got to fight to protect people, try to do your job the best you know how. Protecting people is the only reason to ever fight.”
    Everyone was quiet after hearing that, even Lucy Pulaski, who had the biggest mouth in the whole seventh grade.
    Tree forgot the quote he was going to use at the end. So he just said, “That’s my report.”
    Mr. Pender led the applause.
    Sully whistled loud and Mr. Pender glared at him, but he kept clapping.
    Jeremy Liggins yawned and stretched.
    Tree sat back in his seat, shaking from the stress.
    Glad it was over, proud he’d stood the test.

    A
    Fat and red. It sat there on Mr. Pender’s evaluation sheet of Tree’s report.
    Tree felt like shouting.
    Then the VA said Grandpa could come home on Friday.
    What a great week.
    Tree was going to make this the best homecoming ever for a Vietnam vet. Grandpa said he hadn’t felt too welcome when he got back from the war.
    “I was at the train station in my wheelchair, wearing my uniform,” Grandpa had told him. “A woman stormed up to me and said, ‘Was it worth it?’ I didn’t know what to say. She kept shouting that Vietnam was an unjust war; we had no business being there. She walked away like I smelled bad. I had plenty of friends who served and some who went to Canada to avoid the draft. But I’ve just learned to throw the circuit breaker on all that. Let the whole mess go dark.”
    Tree tucked his right knee back and hopped through Dad’s kitchen as Bradley followed, confused. He was remembering what Mona Arnold had told him.
    “Think about everything you do each day, and then think about doing it with a