Bat and the End of Everything

by Elana K. Arnold

  Dedication

  For Joe, Sam, Oliver, and Henry, My Niblings,

  with Love

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1.An Offer

  2.A Perfect Plan

  3.In the Back Seat

  4.In the Kitchen

  5.Ezra’s House

  6.A Gift for Thor

  7.An Idea

  8.To Jenny, From Bat

  9.Under the Play Structure

  10.The Last Day of Third Grade

  11.Pizza Night

  12.Doughnuts for Breakfast

  13.Planning for the Future

  14.An Assistant’s Assistant

  15.Head Tilt and Snuffles

  16.House Call

  17.At the Pool

  18.Photo Shoot

  19.Mail Day

  20.A Hot, Sweaty Day

  21.Two Parts

  22.Pancake Juggling

  23.Family Meeting

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Books by Elana K. Arnold

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  An Offer

  How do you say good-bye to a friend?

  That’s what Bixby Alexander Tam (known to everyone as Bat) was thinking about, sitting with Babycakes, the class rabbit, in the pen at the back of Mr. Grayson’s class. It was the first Monday in June. In four days, the school year would end, and Bat would have to say good-bye.

  Right now, he let his eyes go sort of blurry, and he concentrated on the way Babycakes’s fluffy white fur felt between his fingers, the reassuring softness of it. He could feel Babycakes breathing in and out. He could see Babycakes’s body expand and contract with each breath.

  Babycakes was content, sitting in the small diamond of space between Bat’s crisscrossed legs. The rabbit trusted Bat. The rabbit knew that Bat would never hurt her.

  Outside of the pen, the classroom was quiet. Bat had wanted to get to school early this morning, so it was just him and Babycakes and, of course, Mr. Grayson.

  There was Mr. Grayson, sitting behind his desk. He wasn’t grading papers or writing notes about the day or doing anything, as far as Bat could tell. He was just sitting there, his elbows on his desk, his chin resting on the palms of his hands, watching Bat and Babycakes. His arms wore an assortment of colorful bracelets, and he had an orange bandanna wrapped around his right wrist.

  Bat looked back down at the rabbit. He wondered how long Babycakes would be comfortable sitting right there, just like that, if nothing came along to interrupt them. Eventually, Babycakes would get hungry or would have to go to the bathroom. Eventually, she would have to move.

  But Bat wished that they could stay just like that, with Babycakes tucked into the hollow of his lap, with Mr. Grayson peacefully watching them.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Mr. Grayson asked.

  Bat was quiet. He knew what Mr. Grayson was talking about; just five minutes earlier, he had asked Bat if he would like to bring Babycakes home for the summer and take care of her until school started again in the fall.

  Under normal circumstances, there would have been only one answer for a question like that: Yes!

  But circumstances weren’t that simple. Not anymore. Not since Bat had become the caretaker of Thor, the orphaned skunk kit his mom had rescued and brought home until he was ready to be released into the wild.

  “I already asked your mom, and she said it would be okay with her,” Mr. Grayson said.

  Even though Bat loved Babycakes, and even though he would love to have Babycakes live at his house all summer long—with him and his mom and his older sister, Janie, and Thor, the skunk kit—he shook his head.

  “Thor needs me,” he said. “And I don’t know if I can be the best skunk caretaker and the best rabbit caretaker at the same time.”

  Mr. Grayson pushed back his chair and stood. Bat heard the familiar squeak of Mr. Grayson’s high-top sneakers as he walked to the back of the classroom, and he knew, when the squeaking stopped, that Mr. Grayson was near the rabbit pen, even though Bat was once again staring down with blurry eyes at Babycakes’s soft white fluff.

  Mr. Grayson knelt down so that he was right next to Bat, just on the other side of the pen. “Bat,” he said, “you know, summer is almost here, and pretty soon it’s going to be time to release Thor. And I thought—well, your mom and I both thought that maybe having Babycakes around could help make it easier for you, when the time comes to say good-bye.”

  There was that word again, the same one Bat had been thinking about. Good-bye.

  Bat didn’t mean to make a sound. He knew how important it was to be quiet and still if he didn’t want Babycakes to hop away. But the sound came out anyway—kind of high-pitched and loud, like a chirp, but sadder.

  And Babycakes twitched her ears and jolted away, in one swift hop, out of the shelter of Bat’s lap, and with two more hops, into the plastic hutch, until only her fluffy white hindquarters were showing.

  “Think about it a little more,” Mr. Grayson said. “We can talk about it this week. There’s still time.”

  Bat rocked a little bit, forward and backward, the way he sometimes did when he was feeling overwhelmed. Mr. Grayson said that there was still time . . . but time, Bat felt, was moving much, much too fast.

  CHAPTER 2

  A Perfect Plan

  Soon, the classroom was full of noise and color and smells and movement as Bat’s classmates poured inside.

  Mei, who sat in the desk to the right of Bat’s, smelled like strawberries today.

  “You smell like strawberries,” Bat said.

  “I got a new shampoo,” Mei said, smiling. “Do you like it?”

  “Yes,” said Bat.

  “Thank you,” said Mei, which was a weird thing to do—to thank someone for liking something.

  But Bat knew that what he’d said made Mei happy. “You’re welcome.”

  All around him, kids were laughing and unzipping their backpacks and scraping back their chairs and tapping their pencils. It was the last week of school, after all. Everyone was excited.

  Well, almost everyone. Bat was not excited.

  Bat did his best to ignore all the activity and movement, to ignore the loud conversation happening behind him between Lucca and Ramon about how hot it was outside, and how they couldn’t wait for summer, so they could go to the lake and the pool and the movie theater. Bat was focused on the classroom doorway.

  He was waiting for Israel.

  To make waiting easier, Bat focused on a plan he had come up with just a few minutes ago, after Babycakes had hopped away from him but before the students started rushing into class. It seemed to Bat like a perfect plan. He was sure Israel would agree with him. But if Israel didn’t get to class soon, Bat wouldn’t have a chance to talk with him before it was time to start math, and then he’d have to wait until recess, and Bat did not want to wait until recess.

  Fortunately for Bat, Israel showed up right then. Bat felt relief wash over him, almost exactly as if someone had gently poured a pitcher of perfectly warm water over his back. All his muscles relaxed; his shoulders, which had been hunched up almost to his ears, dropped back down, and his fingers melted flat against the top of his desk.

  “Hey, Bat,” Israel said as he came up the aisle toward Bat.

  “You should take Babycakes home for the summer,” Bat said, getting the words out fast so that they would have time to work it all out before Mr. Grayson started class.

  Israel flinched a little, like the words were too loud. “Huh?” he said.

  �
�Babycakes needs a caretaker for the summer and it should be you so that I can come over and visit her a lot. You would also be a good rabbit caretaker, and I can help you. Okay? Let’s tell Mr. Grayson.” And Bat started to get up.

  “Whoa,” said Israel. “Don’t you remember? I’m leaving the day after school ends. I’m going to visit my cousin Robert in Canada. I’ll be gone for the whole rest of June and part of July.”

  Now that Israel mentioned it, Bat did remember. Israel had told Bat about the trip last weekend when he’d come over to Bat’s house for pizza night. He had told Bat how excited he was to see Robert again, and what a great time they’d had when they’d seen each other two years ago, and how cool Robert was, and how funny Robert was.

  “Oh,” said Bat. He could feel all his muscles getting tight again. He could feel his shoulders creeping back up toward his ears. “I really wish you weren’t leaving.”

  “Are you going to miss me?” Israel asked.

  Bat looked up from the honey-brown top of his desk. He looked at the way Israel’s curly hair stuck out all around his head. Bat would miss that.

  He looked at the way Israel smiled with all his teeth, leaning forward like he was really waiting for Bat to answer him. Bat would miss that.

  He looked at the way Israel’s T-shirt was sort of wrinkly, and how it wasn’t tucked in. Bat would miss that, too.

  Bat didn’t want to talk about missing Israel. He didn’t want to miss Israel at all. He wanted Israel to be in town this summer . . . and not only because he wanted Israel to take care of Babycakes so that Bat could visit.

  “Yes,” said Bat. “I am going to miss you. And so is Babycakes.”

  CHAPTER 3

  In the Back Seat

  Mom was waiting for Bat when school ended that afternoon, and Thor was waiting for Bat too.

  Thor the skunk kit seemed to like the new routine the family had started. In the mornings, Bat fed him and exercised him and petted his coat, which was coming in thick now, black and white, coarse in some places, like his tail, and soft in others, like his round little belly. Then Bat tucked Thor into the kitty carrier and took him to the car, along with his backpack. Mom and Thor would drive Bat to school, and then Mom and Thor went on to Mom’s veterinary clinic, where the little skunk had his very own crate. Bat knew that Thor slept almost the whole day at the clinic, and so Bat made sure that each week Mom took one of Bat’s unwashed shirts to tuck into Thor’s crate; that way, he would maybe have dreams about Bat.

  Then, in the afternoons, Mom packed Thor in his kitty carrier and together they would come to pick Bat up from school.

  It worked like this almost every day, but on Every-Other Fridays, Bat’s dad picked him up after school and took Bat home to his apartment for the weekend. But at least Dad sometimes agreed to drop by Mom’s veterinary clinic, even though it was out of the way, so that Bat could check on Thor and say good-bye for the weekend.

  Today was not an Every-Other Friday, and Bat felt especially glad about that. He felt reassured when the back door of Mom’s burgundy station wagon popped open with the same sound it made every time he pulled the handle, and he felt relieved to see Thor’s blue-and-black kitty carrier waiting for him in the back seat. Bat climbed into the car and slid into the middle seat. He heard the satisfying click of his seat belt. Then he peered into the carrier. Thor wasn’t asleep; his little nose pushed up against the soft black mesh, twitching as if it was excited to smell Bat.

  “Hello, little Bat,” said Mom from the front seat. She had waited until Bat fastened his seat belt before she pulled away. Mom was a careful driver. Bat appreciated that.

  “Hello,” Bat said.

  As they drove through town toward home, Bat unzipped the top corner of the carrier and pushed his fingers in, enjoying the way Thor sniffed at them, nudging them with his nose.

  “How was your day?” Mom asked. She had the air conditioner turned on, and she adjusted one of the vents so that more cool air blew into the back seat. Bat did not like to be hot, and neither did Thor.

  “It was okay,” Bat said. Thor, finished saying hello, rustled around and curled into a ball in the back of the kitty carrier. Bat left his fingers where they were.

  “Just okay?” Mom asked.

  “Just okay,” Bat answered.

  He looked out the window as they drove. Because they lived in a college town, there were always lots of students riding bicycles, some wearing backpacks and helmets, others with baskets stuffed with books. Bat noticed that most of the students were dressed in shorts and T-shirts, and some of them were wearing skirts. Lots of them had on sandals.

  Whether he liked it or not, summer was coming. The warm weather, the end of school, even how big Thor was getting—all of it meant that summer was pretty much here already. And there was nothing Bat could do to stop it.

  He couldn’t make time slow down. He couldn’t make Thor stay small. Sitting in the back of Mom’s station wagon, being driven home, Bat felt uncomfortably aware of how many things were out of his control.

  “What would you like to eat for dinner?” Mom asked. She turned on her blinker and steered them down Plum Lane, their street, toward their house in the middle of the block.

  “Macaroni and cheese,” Bat said decisively. “And cupcakes for dessert.”

  “Okay,” Mom said. “Maybe you and Janie can make the cupcakes while I work on the macaroni and cheese.”

  Bat nodded. He felt better. He wished everything was as easy to figure out as what to have for dinner.

  CHAPTER 4

  In the Kitchen

  “Use the spatula, Bat, not the wooden spoon.”

  Janie was using her bossy voice, which was okay with Bat, because when it came to baking, Janie was the boss. She was good at all of it: cracking the eggs without getting the gooey clear weird stuff all over her fingers, pouring flour without it puffing up in a cloud, whipping the butter and the milk together, pouring the batter into little cups and scraping out almost every last chocolaty bit . . . with a spatula, not a wooden spoon.

  Bat set the wooden spoon he’d been using into the sink and found his favorite spatula—the pink one, with a plastic pig head on the handle—in the drawer next to the stove. Janie held the mixing bowl up for him while he scraped cupcake-sized lumps of batter into the little paper liners that sat in each of the baking tin’s cups. If Bat had had his way, Thor would have been curled on his shoulder, watching him work, the way he perched to watch Bat do his homework. But in the kitchen, it was usually Janie who got her way, not Bat.

  And today, she’d said, “If you want to help me with the cupcakes, the Mephitidae has to go back to your room.”

  Actually, Bat was so pleased that Janie had finally learned how to say “Mephitidae” correctly—“meh-fit-i-day”—that he almost didn’t mind taking Thor back to his enclosure.

  “I’ll bring you a snack later,” Bat had told Thor as he’d set him in the playpen-like hexagon in the corner of his room. Thor had yawned lazily and nuzzled into his nest of T-shirts in the corner.

  Janie, of course, had watched Bat wash his hands after he’d returned to the kitchen, which was sort of annoying. Bat understood how important clean hands were for baking.

  When all the batter had been poured into the tins, Bat pulled open the oven—which he had preheated to 350 degrees, just as Janie had told him to do—and Janie slid the still-liquid cupcakes inside. Bat closed the oven door, which made a satisfying thud.

  “It’s okay to close the oven like that this time, because we’re only baking cupcakes,” Janie said, “but if we were making popovers, it’d be an entirely different story.”

  “Of course it would be different if we were making popovers,” Bat said. “We wouldn’t be making cupcakes.”

  “No, Bat, it’d be a different story because popovers collapse if you aren’t careful with the oven door. Soufflés, too.”

  “But we aren’t making popovers or soufflés,” Bat said. “We’re making cupcakes.”

>   Janie sighed and shook her head. “You’re right, Bat,” she said. “We’re making cupcakes.”

  “Should we start the frosting?” The frosting was Bat’s favorite part—sifting together the powdered sugar and the cocoa, creaming the butter, blending in the sugar mixture and the evaporated milk. Licking the beaters.

  “Later,” Janie said. “When the cupcakes are cooling. I have to run over to Ezra’s house to bring him a book from school.”

  “Did he forget it?” Bat asked.

  “No,” Janie said. “He’s sick, and our teacher asked me to bring it home for him, since we’re neighbors.” Then Janie said something unusual. “Want to come with me?”

  Normally, Janie did not invite Bat with her to go over to Ezra’s house. And normally, Bat wouldn’t want to go anyway. Ezra was sort of a tease, and one of his favorite people to tease was Bat. And Bat was not a fan of being teased.

  But he was still feeling sort of warm and friendly after baking together with Janie, so instead of saying no, he asked, “Is Ezra contagious?”

  “No,” said Janie. “He has infected tonsils. I don’t think you can catch it unless you kiss him.”

  Bat had no intention of kissing Ezra. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”

  Janie dug through her backpack, which was hanging on the back of a kitchen chair. She set aside a notebook, two schoolbooks, and her digital camera, which she’d gotten for her birthday a few weeks ago and carried almost everywhere. Finally, she found the book she was looking for. Then she said, “Mom, when the timer rings, take out the cupcakes, okay?”

  Mom had just finished grating a block of cheese and was scraping it into a pot on the stove to make the sauce for the mac and cheese. “Okay,” she said. Then she looked up and smiled at Bat. “See you soon,” she said.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ezra’s House

  The front porch of Ezra’s house was littered with scooters and scooter parts. Looking more closely, Bat saw that there was only one functioning scooter, a red-and-silver one. There were three scooter decks, seven loose wheels in a variety of colors, one black handle, four black rubber hand grips, and a whole bunch of screws and clamps, some of which looked pretty rusty.