Because of the Rabbit

by Cynthia Lord

  As the new kid, I could see I was at a big disadvantage in this game.

  Iris huffed. “You’re supposed to guess the lie, Jack.”

  “I think the lie is elevators,” I said.

  “Emma’s right,” Iris said. “I actually love elevators. Especially the ones that have a glass side so you can see out as you’re going up. Climbing stairs is so boring. And I did really break my wrist when I was six. In fact, I still have my cast! Your turn, Leah.”

  “I had a hard time thinking of things you wouldn’t know,” she said to Iris. Then she smiled at me. “Iris and I have known each other since we were babies.”

  Leah and Iris acted like a team already. That was exactly what I missed with Owen. And what I wanted again.

  Leah cleared her throat. “I stepped on a bee this summer. I’m a vegetarian. My toenails have green polish on them.” She smiled. “And don’t bother looking, because I’m wearing sneakers!”

  “Was it a wasp?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t know. But if that’s your guess, you’re wrong,” Leah said. “I did step on a bee. And it hurt so much that I didn’t look to see what kind it was.”

  “Wasps can sting more than once,” Jack said. “Social wasps give off a chemical when threatened that tells the rest of the colony to attack. If—”

  “Jack, remember to stay on topic,” a voice said.

  I turned to see Ms. Martel making a spinning motion with her finger. “Move on,” she said quietly to Jack.

  Jack closed his mouth.

  “Remember you can write yourself some cue cards if you need help staying focused,” Ms. Martel said and walked over to the next set of desks.

  I was pretty sure Jack had some special needs. I had met kids with special needs before because that’s one reason kids sometimes get homeschooled. I was wondering what else Jack was going to say about wasps, though. We get them around our apple trees a lot, and as Dad says, the better you understand an animal, the easier it is to keep you both safe.

  “Um, is the lie about nail polish?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Leah said. “I’m wearing hot pink!”

  “You’re a vegetarian?” Iris asked. “Since when?”

  “Since about a month ago,” Leah said. “But I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

  Iris looked shocked. Maybe they weren’t as close as I had thought? Best friends would probably know you’d changed to be vegetarian.

  Or maybe they had been best friends when they were little, but were just regular friends now? And each open to a new best friend?

  “Your turn, Emma,” Leah said.

  I didn’t want to read my statements in order, so I started with the lie. “I love pickles. I’ve hatched frogs in our bathroom at home. We once had a beaver in our barn.”

  “The beaver, definitely!” Iris said. “That’s just weird.”

  “It’s weird enough to be true,” Leah said. “I’m guessing frogs.”

  “Frogs in the bathroom is disgusting,” Iris said. “Ugh. Can you imagine slimy frog eggs right next to where you brush your teeth!”

  Leah shivered, and I felt the smile slipping off my face. I hadn’t kept the frog eggs in the sink. They were in a glass bowl on the shelf. Mom wanted them in a place where I could wash my hands easily after changing their water.

  “Pickles,” Jack said.

  I opened my mouth to say yes, but the word got stuck in my throat. “The beaver is true,” I said, giving myself a moment to think. “My dad’s a game warden, and the beaver was one that he rescued. It was in a cage in our barn overnight because the rehab center wasn’t open yet.”

  “Okay, that’s not weird. It’s great,” Leah said. “What’s the lie?”

  I hesitated. It was just a game, a small thing, and really, what would it matter? I’d be with these kids every day for a whole school year. I needed to get off to a good start. I didn’t want them to think I was weird or, worse, disgusting.

  “The frogs,” I said.

  “I knew it!” Iris said. “No one would keep slimy frog eggs in their bathroom.”

  “I would,” Jack said.

  I forced a smile. At least someone was on my side.

  “I don’t like pickles,” Leah said. “So if I get one, you can have it, Emma. Okay, Jack. Your turn.”

  “I learned to read when I was three years old. I like Legos. I don’t like animals.”

  “That’s too easy,” Iris said. “You always talk about animals. So the lie is that you don’t like them.”

  “You win!” Jack said.

  “You learned to read when you were three?” I asked. “That’s amazing!”

  “Dr. Seuss’s ABC was my first book!” Jack said. “ ‘BIG A, little a—’ ”

  Ms. Hutton clapped her hands. “Did you find out some fun things about each other? Now we’re going to take that activity and make it bigger. It will be your first fifth grade assignment!”

  I opened my assignment notebook to today’s date, which I had outlined in purple hearts.

  “You’ll work in your groups of four. Each group will prepare a short presentation introducing us to everyone in your group using Two Truths and a Lie. On presentation day, you will introduce us to your seatmates by telling us three things about them, but only two will be true. The class will guess the lie.”

  “Is there a prize if we guess right?” a boy asked.

  Ms. Hutton smiled. “The prize will be getting to know your classmates.”

  “Aww,” the boy said. “I was hoping for chocolate.”

  “Finally you’ll reveal the answers,” Ms. Hutton said. “Please bring some props or pictures with you, just like I did with my photo of my family hiking. I’ve saved one bulletin board and a big table that we can use to display things.”

  I looked where she pointed. The bulletin board said, “Ms. Hutton’s Fabulous Fifth Graders!” surrounded with owls with our names on them, just like on the classroom door.

  “Your groups will present to the class on Friday,” Ms. Hutton said. “It’ll be a fun way for us to wrap up our first week together. Any questions?”

  Iris raised her hand. “Can we make a video for our presentation? Some of the things I want to show are too big to bring into school.”

  Ms. Hutton hesitated, but then she said, “Sure! Be creative, as long as it follows the format of Two Truths and a Lie.”

  Iris leaned across her desk to whisper to Leah, Jack, and me, “Video is easier than doing it in person. Leah, you and I can say the statements about each other. Jack and Emma can work together, too. Then we’ll just put it all together at the end. It’ll save us time.”

  “Sounds good,” Leah said.

  Wait. What? It was decided? We were supposed to work together, and I hadn’t even said anything yet! I tried not to let the disappointment show on my face.

  I had a feeling it’d be harder to work with Jack. But I couldn’t say that. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make Iris and Leah mad.

  So I nodded. “Sounds good,” I lied.

  School definitely had some fun parts, but it was exhausting. In homeschool, Mom had always given me a list of things to do every day, and I had to finish each one—no matter how long or short it took. But here, school was by the clock.

  Just when I was getting into science, it was time to switch to math. It seemed like I was always putting books away in my desk and taking others out. And yet, even with all that switching, whenever I looked at the clock, I couldn’t believe more time hadn’t passed. And it was hard to pay attention after a while. I’d wondered and planned so much for my first day and now I didn’t know if I’d last through it.

  It was a relief when it was finally lunchtime. Now I could work on making a friend!

  As we lined up to go to lunch, Ms. Hutton said, “Remember that as fifth graders, you no longer have assigned seats in the cafeteria. The back tables are all yours and you can choose whatever seat you want.”

  Everyone cheered, so I did, too.

 
Stepping into the cafeteria, I was nearly knocked over by how loud it was. Kids were talking and laughing and banging trays down at their seats. It was like they had been saving up the noise all morning.

  And it smelled like lots of foods mixed up together, like French fries and pizza, with a dash of tuna.

  There were lots of rules—where to pick up your silverware, how to order, which line to get in for different things. I could barely tell where each line ended, and I accidentally got into the drinks line twice! Even so, I forgot to get a straw. The Lakeview Elementary School cafeteria seemed like a huge kid traffic jam.

  When I finally got up to the lunch counter to choose what to eat, I didn’t even know what some of the foods were. So I picked a square of pizza, carrot sticks, an apple, and a plop of what I hoped was chocolate pudding.

  I shouldn’t have picked the apple, though. It wobbled on my tray every time I moved, making it hard to walk very fast.

  Being able to sit anywhere might have seemed special to the other fifth graders, but whoever made that rule wasn’t thinking about new kids. Standing in the middle of the cafeteria holding my blue plastic tray, I didn’t know where to go. Leah and Iris were the only girls I’d really met so far and they were already sitting at a full table of girls with no room for me.

  Just sit down. Maybe you’ll make a friend. I took a deep breath and froze a smile on my face, walking through the maze of tables to the first empty seat.

  When I got there, I saw a notebook on the chair. “Sorry,” a girl said. “That seat’s saved.”

  The next empty seat had a baseball cap on it.

  The longer I walked around, the more seats were filling up. I wanted to hide my tray somewhere and sneak back to the classroom, where I had my own desk. But I didn’t think we were allowed to do that.

  Finally I picked one of the empty tables in the far back of the cafeteria with no one else.

  The first day is the hardest. I’ll bring my own lunch tomorrow. Then I can sit with someone faster.

  But as I was sitting down, my foot hit the table leg and my apple wobbled right over the lip of my tray! It bounced once on the table, dropped to the floor, and rolled under the table next to me.

  I knew I should find it and throw it away. But climbing under tables wouldn’t be a good first impression. Owen had said other kids didn’t give you too many chances before they wrote you off as weird.

  I took a bite of my pizza, hoping no one had noticed the apple. Maybe I could find it after lunch was over.

  At least I had something to do now—eat. But even that’s hard when you feel bad. The pizza crust was really chewy and the milk didn’t help wash it down.

  Jack set his tray at the seat beside me. “School ends at two-forty.”

  “Hi, Jack.” I glanced at the clock above the serving window. How could there still be so much time left? I imagined Mom at home. She often did her own work as a freelance designer in the morning between our lessons, but now was when Mom usually made herself a cup of tea and we read together. I wondered what she’d do today.

  And what was Lapi doing? I couldn’t help feeling jealous that Mom and Lapi got to spend the day together.

  I looked down at my tray. I was glad to have Jack beside me but also concerned. Owen had said to pick your first friends carefully, and Jack didn’t seem to have many friends, either. I didn’t necessarily want to be super popular, but I wanted the other kids to get to know me before they decided.

  None of those other kids had saved me a seat, though.

  Another boy came over to our table. He was wearing a camo T-shirt and looked like he couldn’t wait for lunch to be over, either. “Hey, Jack,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “Hi. I’m Emma.”

  He nodded. “I’m Dustin.”

  “Nice shirt.” I couldn’t think of one other thing to say, but maybe he’d say, “You, too.”

  “Thanks,” Dustin said and started eating.

  Glancing around at the other kids in the cafeteria, I felt like our table was the Leftovers Table. Leah and Iris were laughing with four other girls. Watching them, I couldn’t help wishing I was over there.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw an apple shoot past my foot. It rolled across the floor.

  Uh-oh. Was that mine?

  Dustin kicked it. The apple went skittering past me, like a little red soccer ball, and under another table. That table started laughing. A girl at that table kicked it, and the apple rolled off toward another table.

  I looked at the teachers patrolling the room. They were all busy talking to each other or helping the littlest kids tie shoes or open milk cartons.

  I could feel my face getting hot. Even though I hadn’t done anything wrong on purpose, I’d started it.

  I picked up a carrot stick from my tray. “My rabbit likes carrots,” I said, pretending we were just having a regular conversation and I hadn’t seen the apple.

  “Carrots are high in sugar and should only be fed to rabbits as an occasional treat,” Jack replied.

  “Really?” I felt awful that I’d given them to Lapi. But occasional doesn’t mean never.

  “Grass hay is their main food. It helps wear their teeth down,” Jack continued. “If rabbits don’t wear their teeth down, they just grow and grow.”

  I opened my mouth to say that we had given Lapi hay, but a woman’s voice said, “How’s your first day been, Jack?”

  I turned to see Ms. Martel behind me.

  “Emma has a rabbit,” Jack replied.

  “I asked how your first day has been, Jack,” she said. “What do you say when—?”

  He sighed. “My first day has been good. Emma has a rabbit.”

  “That’s great!” Ms. Martel smiled. “I’m glad you’re having a good first day. And how fun that Emma has a pet rabbit. I’m sure that gives you a lot to talk about. What is the rabbit’s name?”

  “Monsieur Lapin,” I said. “It comes from stories my pépère used to tell me about a trickster rabbit.”

  “Silly rabbit,” Jack said. “Trix are for kids!”

  I giggled. I didn’t know if he’d meant to tell a joke, but it was funny.

  “Whose apple is this?” a loud voice asked.

  One of the teachers was holding my apple by the tiny stem. It wasn’t round anymore. It had chunks missing from being kicked around the room.

  There was a lot of snickering. I opened my mouth to say it been an accident. But no words would come out. My heart tightened, waiting for some kid to point at me.

  But no one did.

  “Don’t leave a mess for someone else to clean up,” the teacher snapped, throwing what was left of my apple in a trash can. “You can get ready for recess now—just be sure all your trash gets in the can.”

  I was so grateful lunch was over that I was one of the first kids to take their tray to the trash cans. There were several different-colored cans next to a bin of soapy water on a table. The soap bubbles were so thick that I couldn’t see what was inside.

  “Let’s go!” one of the lunch ladies said to me. “You have a long line behind you!”

  It was a mistake to be first. I bit my lip hard to keep tears from starting.

  “Food in blue,” Jack chanted behind me. “Trash in black. Recycling in gray. Silverware in the soap.”

  “Thank you.” I put my silverware in first, and then realized I had nothing to use to scrape the extra pudding off my tray. I had to take my spoon out of the soapy water and use it. Why hadn’t I asked Jack to go first? When my hands were finally empty, I had soap bubbles on my fingers and my heart was pounding. I wiped my hands on my jeans and sat back at my seat, waiting for someone to tell me I could leave.

  I didn’t belong here. Maybe it had been a mistake to come. I’d never felt this unhappy in homeschool, even without Owen.

  “School ends at two-forty,” Jack said again.

  I looked at the clock with him.

  I can’t wait.

  When I got off the bus, Dad, Mom, and Owen
were sitting in the rocking chairs on the porch. As I walked down the driveway Mom held up her phone to take my photo, but I didn’t have any smiles left in me. So I pretended I didn’t see her and looked at Dad’s truck in front of the barn. Last night when I went with him on his call, I had such high hopes for today.

  “Welcome home!” Dad said, grinning.

  I dropped my backpack onto the front steps and burst into tears.

  Rocking chairs squeaked and then I felt Mom’s arms around me. “What happened?” she asked softly.

  I was embarrassed to be crying, but it felt so good to be hugged and to bury my face in her shirt. My answer came out in pieces. “Ev-er-y-thing.”

  “Come on, Em,” Dad said, picking up my backpack. “Let’s get you something to eat and you can tell us. Owen and I’ve been eyeing that blueberry pie all day, but we waited for you to have a slice with us.”

  The pie did make me feel a little better. At least I wasn’t hungry on top of everything else. And being home, where I didn’t have to try so hard, was a relief. I felt the day melting off me like dirt in a hot shower.

  “It was so hard to make friends. At recess I just sat and watched other kids play kickball because I didn’t have anyone to hang out with,” I said, between mouthfuls. “My apple rolled across the cafeteria. And the lunch lady yelled at me. Then, when it was time to go home, I couldn’t remember which bus was mine. I had to ask Shonna from homeschool group to help me figure it out. And she is only in third grade!”

  “I’m sorry you had a hard day,” Mom said. “How were the classes?”

  I shrugged. “Okay. But I just got going with one thing and then it was time for something else. Math was easy and social studies will start off as a repeat. But I didn’t finish the page of science questions, even though everyone else did. I spent too long thinking about the questions. I have to do a group project with some kids, too. We have to introduce each other to the class using the game Two Truths and a Lie.”

  “Well, there’s a chance to make a friend, right?” Mom said. She sounded hopeful, like I had felt this morning.

  I sighed. “I tried, but I don’t think I can do this. I thought I was ready, but it’s harder and less fun than I thought it would be. Maybe public school just isn’t for me.”