Polly: A Bug, Bat, and Human Eco-Adventure

By Shelby Rebecca

Did you know that farmers can use bug armies to protect their crops? Polly, a praying mantis, comes from a bug-lab bred to fight on an organic farm. Too scared to fight, she saves a little aphid named Jackson, and becomes a traitor to her mother, the colonel.

They make friends with Emack, a rose-eating, spotted bat, and together, the three go on a journey to find The Garden and live peacefully in The Special Apple Tree. Surprised by a crop-dusting airplane, Emack is knocked out and they fall to the conventional farm below.

In a strange land covered in bug-poison, they meet a girl named Greta who’s battling an illness, have a run-in with mutinous bees, get abducted by mutants, and go on trial for Polly’s life. Will her brave solution give everyone peace, and a chance for long, fruitful lives?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shelby Rebecca
• Release date: Mar 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311007117

Shelby Rebecca

Shelby grew up between two mountains and a lake in Wasilla, Alaska. She used to run around in the tall grass, catch frogs, rescue dragonflies, ride horses, and ice-skate during recess. She still likes adventures and has even gone skydiving. Today she lives in Northern California with her husband, John and their daughter, Elise, their two dogs, and a fish named Jade. She believes that if you work hard enough, you can do anything; and so should you.

Book preview

Chapter One

Polly the Praying Mantis, wearing a stiff Bug Army uniform, fidgeted during breakfast in her parent’s compulsively-clean, eat-in kitchen. Polly’s hands shook so badly she knocked the glass of bug-juice all over herself and into a puddle on the table that started to dribble to the floor. Polly’s dad, who wore an apron and yellow dishwashing gloves, dabbed the juice off her Army gear with a towel.

While looking knowingly at his little girl he said, Are you nervous about your fist day at Bug Army School, Polly?

Polly lived at Crop Critters, a bug laboratory where warriors were bred for farmers fighting against thieving aphids that ruin crops with diseases and nibble marks. At first, Polly wanted to seem brave about going to war against the aphids, but instead she fessed up.

I don’t want to be a fighter, Dad!

Don’t want to fight! cried Polly’s mother as she walked in the room.

Polly sat upright and turned off the imaginary button to her feelings. Polly’s been taught little-by-little every day that Mother doesn’t like feelings. In fact, Polly’s convinced a rock sits in the spot where Mother’s heart should be.

Dad tidied up the dribbled juice quickly before Mother noticed and got angry with the both of them. Polly’s stern-looking mother was all dressed up in her dapper Bug Army uniform. She had many decorations pinned to her broad shoulders proving what a great warrior she was.

The one medal shining the brightest was a Green Stripe; this she was awarded for extreme bravery out in the field when she rescued a Bug Army cadet from the grasps of a hungry bat—the most feared type of praying mantis predator.

As the story goes, Polly’s mother, who was the colonel in the Bug Army, had trouble with her bat detector that day. You see, praying mantises have a special skill. To protect themselves from being eaten, long ago they began to develop a keen sense for bats with a hollow part of their mid-section.

That day, the colonel’s gut instinct went off too late to signal that a vicious bat was swooping in for a meal. But when the bat made its move, the colonel used her nearly useless wings to flap high enough in the air to punch the bat in the chin and undo the grasp it had on the cadet.

Ever since she dashed back down to a hero’s welcome, she’s been regarded by everyone as the best warrior to ever come out of Crop Critters. Her reputation was what she was most proud of, and saving the cadet got her promoted to colonel.

Of course you want to fight – that’s what you were born to do, said her mother, sternly.

Mother, Polly said timidly, what if we just talk to the bugs and get them to stop taking the farmer’s plants? If they knew it was wrong they’d probably stop on their own. I’m sure they don’t like fighting us.

Polly! exclaimed Mother. There is no talking back to the colonel.

In this home, you are her mother, not the colonel, corrected Dad.

This was the one point Dad always stood up to Mother about. He did not believe any daughter should have to call her mother ‘Colonel.’ Although he would prefer Polly be able to call her Mom, they had all settled on ‘Mother,’ a more formal name for a mom.

I don’t mean to talk back—I just thought I could offer a solution to the problem with the bad bugs, Polly said.

"There is no negotiating with those monsters. This is your calling, what you are meant to do—and that is that. As my daughter, everyone will have the highest expectations of you, Polly. You must not let me, uh—I mean, them down."

Before she walked away, Polly’s mother turned angrily toward Dad and said, This is your fault – you’ve indulged her too much. Now she’s old enough to fight and you didn’t do her any favors by making her into such a little wimp. Stomping off, her boots echoed throughout the small house like a judge’s gavel.

Come, Polly, she ordered from the hallway.

Polly quickly hugged her dad goodbye before she trailed off after Mother to go to Bug Army Training.

If only I could find a way to talk to the bad bugs, to make a deal with them so there could be peace on the farm, she thought.

* *

Later that morning, Polly reported to Bug Army training, standing rigidly in formation with the other cadets like soft clay ready to be molded. The kinds of bugs in high demand by organic farmers are praying mantises, ladybugs, lacewings, and owlflies because they have proven to be first-rate warriors with quick reflexes and mighty morale.

Polly’s eyes nervously darted back and forth while comparing herself to the other cadets. She wondered if she was the only one who was scared, or if she was the only one who thought fighting created more problems than it solved.

Drill Sergeant Tibbs was a clean cut, buff armed, and chisel-jawed praying mantis. He stomped into the training area that smelled like rubber boots, clean-smelling sweat, and the starch from uniforms. While eyeing the cadets up and down and making sure they noticed his icy look of disgust, he let out a low, barely audible growl. He twitched his arm muscles and started to pace in front of the cadets, making skid marks in a straight line on the tarmac with his thunderous black-tar colored boots.

You have been bred to be fighters, he bellowed. But you sorry-sack-of-bugs will need to be whipped into shape.

Polly imagined Drill Sergeant Tibbs putting a sack over all of them and punching it wildly until they all came out like Greek warriors with big glistening muscles and raspy voices.

"The people need us to keep their crops clear of the nasty scavenger bugs who are stealing their food. Here, you will learn the Bug Army’s role in the art of Integrated Pest Management."

Polly thought for a moment. But do you think they would change if we talked to them? They’re bugs—just like us.

Obviously perturbed, Drill Sergeant Tibbs turned around and stared Polly down like he’s going to squash her. We are Bug Warriors, he roared. They are nothing but thieves, leaching off of the humans—the lice of the garden! His voice became strained as he yelled at Polly, like the air was running out of his lungs but he still had more to say and didn’t have time to take a breath.

Now drop and give me twenty—no, make that fifty. Drop and give me fifty, Cadet!

Polly dropped down so fast her chin smacked into the cold marble floor. The sting vibrated into her face until tears leaked from her eyes, causing her to have a hard time doing the pushups.

The other Bug Army cadets chuckled at her attempts. Another praying mantis named Kahn, with a snide laugh and outstanding biceps, said in a mocking tone, What’s the matter, Polly, can’t even do a few easy pushups? Look, everyone; it’s Polly-The-Prissy-Praying-Mantis.

Just then, Polly’s mother noticed that, not only was Polly down on the ground attempting pushups, but she was also fodder for the cadets’ jokes.

The colonel was fuming as she watched Polly struggle and the cadets laugh and sneer; however, she’s not angry at the Bug Army cadets. Oh no, she was mortified her daughter was such a loser, an embarrassment. She decided she was going to have to make Polly tougher—for her own good.

Up! Down! Up! Down! Stronger arms! Tighter elbows! Get it right, Polly, scolded Mother.

Polly tried with all her might to get the pushups right, counting them off in her mind: 12…13…14. Tuning out her mother’s voice, as well as what she knew must be a whole lot of Bug Army cadet’s sneering eyes, she began to daydream about how safe she felt at home with her dad. She loved her dad so much her tummy started to feel warm and sweet, like cake just out of the oven.

He’s the only one who’s ever taken care of her. He clapped the loudest when she took her first wobbly bug-baby steps, spent time with her reading bug-books or playing puzzles. He liked to do things for her too, like make her favorite meal, stuffed tomatoes with avocado and chives, just because he enjoyed the happy look on her face when she ate it.

Mother was different than Dad—a lot different. Sometimes when Mother walked by and saw them reading a night time bug-book, she lectured Polly on wasting valuable time on books instead