Because of the Rabbit

by Cynthia Lord

  As I came over to say good-bye, Lapi pushed his nose between the bars of the cage. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I promised, giving his fur a little rub.

  Outside on the front porch, Mom took my photo. I grinned and struck a pose with my brand-new backpack at my feet and my arms up in the air in a big V.

  “Have a great day!” Mom said, giving me a hug.

  I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder. It felt light, though when I came home, it would probably be full of books, like Owen’s last year.

  I knew I’d get tired of having homework, but for today, it felt grown-up, too.

  “Hold out your hand.” Owen reached into his pocket. “I have something for you, but don’t look at it now, okay? Read it when you need it.”

  I curled my fingers around the little rock he placed on my palm. I slid it into my jeans pocket with You Got This!

  “Thanks!” I said. “See you this afternoon!”

  Walking down the driveway, my toes were getting cold and I could smell a hint of woodsmoke on the breeze. I huffed hard to see my breath.

  In our yard, our apple tree was loaded with apples. Some had already dropped in a pile around the trunk. A few sunflowers were still peeking above the deer fence in the garden. And across Moose Alley, the trees were turning. Some trees turn all at once, from bright green to hazy yellow-green, then bright yellow. Others turn in patches, one flashy red or orange branch at a time. The pines and spruces couldn’t care less. They stay green all year round. Today the skinny spruce trees with their pointy tops reminded me of sharpened pencils, like the brand-new ones in my backpack.

  I heard the bus coming before I saw it. Excited tossed a banana peel onto the road and Scared went down hard.

  As the bus stopped in front of me, I felt my muscles tense, bracing myself, like I did before diving into the lake for the first time and hitting cold water. I waved to my family once more before climbing the steps.

  “Hi, I’m Emma.” I smiled at the driver. “I’m new here.”

  He nodded and smiled back. “Good morning, Emma.”

  I also smiled at the kids in the front seats, but they were little and talking to each other. Too young to be best friend material.

  I chose an empty seat in the middle and touched the lumps of my pocket. You Got This! And—?

  I wanted to look, but I didn’t want to use up the surprise.

  The bus was noisy and bumpy. Riding down familiar old Moose Alley didn’t feel familiar, even though it was all the same hills and dips, twists and turns.

  The grass on the roadside looked tired, long and wheat-colored, spotted with blue coneflowers, orange Indian paintbrushes, and white Queen Anne’s lace. Power line wires sagged between the poles, and above the treetops, the mountains peeked around each other, all points and folds, like a huge origami crown, made by someone who didn’t really know how.

  We crossed the little bridge over the river. Same bridge, same river full of rocks, but today it felt like passing through that Canada checkpoint, an ending and a beginning at the same time.

  “Is that your real hair?” a small voice asked.

  I turned to see two little girls in the seat behind me, probably first graders. They were sitting so close together that they had to be best friends. They even had the same coat, one in pink, one in purple.

  “Yes, it’s my real hair.” I smiled, even though I get tired of complete strangers talking about my hair. But these girls looked cute together, and they gave me hope that maybe there was a best friend waiting for me, too.

  “I like it,” the girl in pink replied. “It looks like oranges.”

  “Uh, thanks.” She meant it as a good thing, but who wants to look like fruit?

  “You could be a carton of orange juice for Halloween!” the one in purple said.

  The girl in pink nodded. “Yeah! You could put a straw in your hair.”

  They weren’t trying to make me feel bad but some conversations are actually worse than being quiet. “Hmm. I’ll think about that,” I said and turned back around.

  One day this will be easy, I promised myself. I’ll get on the bus and won’t feel like a new kid. And I’ll have a best friend, too.

  The girls were still talking about Halloween as the bus went through downtown. Out front of the hiking store stood two scruffy-looking men wearing shorts and boots, weighted down with enormous backpacks—probably Appalachian Trail thru-hikers come into town for supplies. In the market, you can smell those hikers a couple aisles away. Dad sometimes picks them up when they’re hitchhiking to and from the trail. Even if they’re smelly, I love to hear their stories. One man from Tennessee played songs for me on his ukulele while we drove him back to the trail.

  Dad doesn’t mind the AT hikers so much, because they’re usually well prepared. It’s the day hikers who start off at three o’clock in the afternoon in flip-flops who frustrate him. Sometimes he has to go get them when it gets dark and their family gets worried or they call for help. I’m sure he gives them a stern talking-to about hiking boots and flashlights on the way down the mountain.

  The bus passed the marina, the post office, the real estate office with its side-by-side American and Canadian flags, the bank, the coffee shop with cars and ATVs parked out front for breakfast, the library, and the ice cream shop (with a sign in the window, “Closing on Columbus Day”). As the bus turned off Main Street, I felt my heart going into hyper-speed. I couldn’t tell if it was Excited or Scared speeding it up, though.

  The bus pulled into the long half-circle driveway in front of the school. The building itself looked like a huge brick box with a flat roof and small rectangular windows. A banner hung above the doorway that said, “Welcome to Lakeview Elementary School, Home of the Lakers!” Lakers was a funny name, not fierce like most school mascots: Bobcats or Bears or Tigers.

  Watch out! We’re the mighty, mighty—Lake.

  I was glad, though. A lake felt familiar, calming, and gentle.

  A few buses were lined up in front of the school. Out back were ball fields, and on the side were some gardens in raised beds with a little homemade greenhouse. A deer fence surrounded the garden area, but I could see a hole under the fence where some animal had dug under. I smiled, imagining the story Pépère might tell.

  It happened once that Monsieur Lapin saw a school at the edge of the woods. Then he noticed something green growing in the garden. “I’ll go have myself a look,” he thought, twitching his nose. “And a taste!”

  He’d trick some other animal into doing the work, though. Maybe he’d come upon stinky black-and-white Madame Moufette. “I hear there are tasty grubs under that fence,” Monsieur Lapin would say. “I’ll come back later and eat them.”

  “You go on,” Madame Moufette would say, waiting for him to leave. Then she’d dig and dig until she’d made a big hole and not find a single grub. “When I see Monsieur Lapin, I’ll give him a big spray with my tail!” she’d grumble, waddling away to the woods.

  Monsieur Lapin would come back later and have a good big hole already made for him, right into that delicious garden.

  The bus stopped with a screech of brakes. “Everyone out!” the driver said. “Have a great first day!”

  So it was. Just thinking about Pépère and his stories made me feel braver. I picked up my backpack and followed the other students up the bus aisle and down the walkway. There were kids everywhere—kindergartners to fifth graders, rushing and laughing and talking really loudly to each other.

  Before I stepped inside the school, I decided I had earned a peek at Owen’s rock. I stepped off to the side of the walkway to let the other kids pass by.

  He’d written “Be” on one side. I imagined what could be on the other side.

  Be Brave?

  Be Happy?

  Be Strong?

  Be—I squeezed the rock tightly in my hand before turning it over.

  Yourself.

  My heart bounced inside me as I was carried along in the river of kids going
down the hallway. Lakeview Elementary School looked different than it did when Mom and I visited last summer. The halls had been empty then with only a few things on the walls. Now there were bright colors everywhere, and kids seemed to fill every available space, all talking at once.

  Don’t trip or you’ll be a goner! I thought as I made my way past each decorated classroom door.

  “Our New Pack!” said one door, with kids’ names written on construction paper crayons.

  “Second Grade Is Sweet!” said another, with names on cupcake shapes.

  “Emma!” a voice said. “Is that you?”

  I turned and smiled. Even though she was younger than me, Shonna and I had been in homeschool group together two years ago. It was so nice to see someone I knew that I wanted to hug Shonna, except there were too many kids in the way. “Hi! I’m going to public school this year,” I said.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” Shonna said. “Who’s your teacher?”

  “Ms. Hutton.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you there.” Shonna hoisted her yellow backpack onto her shoulder and walked confidently around kids down the hallway. It felt weird to follow someone younger than me—especially since the little kids had followed me in homeschool group—but it was a relief not to do this alone.

  Shonna paused at a door near the end of the hallway. “This is it!” The door was decorated like a tree with construction paper owls and the words “Look Whooo’s in Fifth Grade!”

  “Emma” was on a cute blue owl with big eyes outlined in green.

  Yes, this was really happening.

  “Thanks, Shonna!” I said, but she was already being swallowed up by the crowd of kids in the hall.

  Stepping inside the room felt like coming downstairs on Christmas morning. The big whiteboard was outlined in stars and someone had written on it, “Welcome, Fifth Graders!”

  It seemed like everywhere I turned there were so many exciting things. Colorful paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and there were leafy plants on the windowsill. Between the big windows were bookcases full of books. I recognized some of my favorites displayed on top: Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Smile, The One and Only Ivan, and Because of Winn-Dixie. It was comforting to see them, like I already had a few friends in the room.

  Over in the corner, a plastic toy chest held a jumble of playground equipment. One ball had the words “Hutton Kickball” on it. I’d heard of kickball, but I’d never played it before. Maybe I could look up the rules online when I got home.

  The desks were pushed together into groups of four. Every desk had a new pencil and a nametag on it. I found “Emma” right away and put my backpack on the chair.

  My own desk! I’d be sitting next to “Jack,” and across from “Leah” and “Iris.” I practiced their names in my head Jack, Leah, Iris. Jack, Leah, Iris.

  We all had four-letter names! That seemed like a good sign. I opened my backpack and pretended to be busy while the other kids were milling around.

  “Everyone, please put on your nametag and gather on the rug,” said Ms. Hutton. She had chin-length blonde hair and wore a pretty gray skirt with a white sweater and a chunky orange necklace.

  I took off my jacket and stuck “Emma” on my shirt, careful not to cover up the golden retriever.

  Sitting on the rug with the other kids, I wiggled my toes inside my sneakers to keep the rest of me still. I couldn’t believe I was really here. Excited had turned on a burst of speed, leaving Scared coughing in the dust.

  Maybe one of these kids was my future best friend? I smiled so I’d look friendly in case anyone looked at me. A few girls wore dresses and skirts, but others were in jeans like me. A girl with long brown hair in a ponytail was twirling her necklace around her finger. A blonde girl with glasses had her pen with her. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake by leaving mine in my backpack.

  Fifth graders came in more sizes than I expected. I was relieved to see I was in the middle, not the biggest or tallest or shortest, either. No other girls had red hair, but one boy did. His hair was blonder than mine, but still, it was nice not to be the only one.

  “Welcome to your last year of elementary school!” Ms. Hutton said.

  The kids cheered, so I did, too.

  “Let me start by telling you a little about myself.” Ms. Hutton smiled. “But I’ll do it in a fun way. It’s a game called Two Truths and a Lie, where I’ll tell you three things, but only two of them are true. When I’m done, you’ll guess which one’s the lie.”

  My teacher was going to lie? I looked around to see if anyone else thought that was shocking. The other kids were smiling.

  “My family likes to hike in the White Mountains,” Ms. Hutton said. “I have a pet cat named Sirius Black from my son’s favorite book series. And I’ve never been downhill skiing.”

  Never been skiing? That had to be the lie. We were surrounded by mountains and ski areas.

  “As I repeat them, raise your hand for the one you think is the lie,” Ms. Hutton said.

  I raised my hand for the skiing statement, along with almost everyone else.

  “Now I’ll reveal the answers!” Ms. Hutton held up a big framed photo of her with her husband and two teenaged kids on a mountaintop with layers of blue and purple mountains in the background. “My family loves to hike. So that statement is true,” she said. “Here we are at the top of Mount Washington in July.”

  Dad would approve of their hiking boots and poles. I couldn’t wait to tell her that I like to hike, too!

  She picked up another photo and turned it around to show us a little dog. “This is our dog, Baxter.”

  Wait. What? Baxter wasn’t the name, and she’d said she had a cat! “You’ve never been skiing?” I asked loudly.

  The whole class looked at me.

  “That’s right, Emma!” Ms. Hutton said. “But let’s remember to raise your hand when you want to say something, okay?”

  I felt my face burning red. I had certainly seen school kids on TV raise their hands, but I’d never had to do that myself. And I didn’t like being in trouble.

  “I’ve never been downhill skiing, because I lived in Georgia for most of my life,” Ms. Hutton explained. “In fact, before we moved here five years ago, I’d only ever seen snow a few times!” Ms. Hutton smiled. “Another true thing about me is that I’ve been a teacher for twelve years. And I have to admit that fifth grade is my favorite grade to teach. Fifth graders are independent, have a great sense of humor, and are wonderful problem solvers. They are compassionate and care deeply about things.”

  I lifted my head higher with each nice thing Ms. Hutton said.

  “And this is Ms. Martel. She’ll be helping out at some times during the day.”

  I looked behind me to another woman. She was younger than Ms. Hutton, with brown hair and lots of freckles. She waved to us.

  I waved back. No one else did, so I put my hand down fast.

  “I know we’ll have a great year together,” Ms. Hutton continued. “Now I want you to get to know each other. So find your seats and I’ll tell you what we’re going to do next.”

  At our group of desks, the other three kids immediately started unpacking their backpacks. So I opened mine and took out my assignment notebook and a cute panda eraser. I wanted to be ready as soon as Ms. Hutton started telling us what we needed to do.

  Suddenly, it felt weird that this was real. I’d been imagining and thinking about today for so long that the waiting part seemed to go on forever and the real part was coming too fast. I touched my pocket to feel the bump of the two rocks.

  You Got This!

  Be Yourself.

  “Hi, I’m Emma,” I said to the kids around me, giving my friendliest, but not crazy-big, smile. “I’m new here.”

  Leah and Iris said hi back. They both looked nice. Leah had short blonde hair and wore bright blue glasses. Iris’s brown hair was held back with a green headband.

  “Where did you come from?” Iris asked.

  “I’m ne
w to this school,” I said. “But I’ve lived on Moose Alley my whole life.”

  “Oh,” Leah said. “How do you like it here compared to your old school?”

  I didn’t want to tell them I’d been homeschooled just yet. In books and movies, homeschool kids are usually super quirky. I didn’t want them to expect me to be like that. Owen had said other kids don’t give you too many chances. “I like it so far,” I said instead.

  “It’s a golden retriever,” Jack said, looking at my shirt. His hands were on his thighs, but his fingers were twitching, like a secret wave.

  “I have two goldens at home,” I said, glad to change the subject. “Do you have any—?”

  But Ms. Hutton clapped her hands to get our attention. “Okay, now that you’ve had a minute to get settled, you are going to play Two Truths and a Lie with your seatmates. Remember to come up with two true things that the other kids in your group won’t already know about you and one lie. I’ll give you some time to think and then we’ll play the game.”

  Leah, Iris, and Jack barely knew anything about me, so that part would be easy. I opened my new notebook to write down my statements. The truths seemed easier. I’d already mentioned my dogs. I could tell about Lapi, but he wasn’t mine to keep and I didn’t want to explain that.

  So I wrote: We once had a beaver in our barn.

  That was true and seemed different enough that the other kids might not believe it.

  I’ve hatched frogs in our bathroom at home. It was a homeschool science project, but I didn’t have to tell that part. Most kids like animals, so they might find that interesting.

  And now a lie. I love dill pickles. When my family eats out at a restaurant and they put a pickle on my plate, I always give it to Mom.

  Iris went first. “I’m afraid of elevators. When I was six, I broke my wrist falling out of a tree. I’m allergic to tomatoes.”

  Leah rolled her eyes. “That’s too easy for me. Emma and Jack can guess.”

  “Tomatoes give you hives,” Jack said. “Last year, you had to go to the emergency room during lunch.”