by Cynthia Lord
As I was reaching for the bin, the rabbit gave a mighty kick—and suddenly he was out!
For one second, he looked toward the woods, and I saw it. That same flash of wild in his eyes, seeing freedom. Then he leaped, a funny little jump-spin, landing on my leg. Maybe he was just so happy to be out of the fence that he couldn’t help himself.
But it gave me the chance to grab him. “Got him!”
“Great job, Em!” Dad turned to look behind him. “Ma’am, let’s call your local—”
But the lady was already in her car.
“Well, what do you expect me to do with him?” Dad called.
Her car windows were rolled up, though. She backed out of the driveway and took off down the road.
Dad and I stood there, listening to the sound of her tires crunching the rocks. I held the rabbit against me, his hind legs tucked into the crook of my elbow. He was scared to death, still as stone except for his heart beating wildly under my hand and his whiskers tickling my neck with each panting breath.
“You can’t leave him here,” I told Dad firmly. “That lady doesn’t care what happens to him.”
“The nearest animal shelter is in Rangeley, but I’m sure they’re closed for the night now.” Dad sighed. “I guess we could bring him home and then I could take him to the shelter in the morning.”
I tried to act calm, when really, I felt like dancing. I couldn’t wait to show Owen! “Can we go after school? We rescued him together, and I want to be there.”
“I suppose so,” Dad said. “But we’d better drive to the store and see if they sell rabbit food.”
“And carrots!”
Walking back to the truck, the rabbit hid his face against my neck, his golden fur surrounded by my red hair. When an animal trusts you, it fills you up with a warm feeling. I rested my cheek against his ears. They were softer than I’d even imagined.
“Are you sure you don’t want to put him in the bin?” Dad asked. “He might have ticks or fleas.”
“Nope, I’ll carry him. And I’ll check us both for bugs when we get home.”
Dad threw the bin in the back of the truck. “Some days just don’t end the way you think they will,” he said. “But I guess that’s what makes life an adventure.”
As we drove back down the road through the woods, the rabbit stared at me. There was a soft look in his eyes. It could’ve been “thank you” or wonder at the world flying past outside the window.
Finding him felt like a sign—Pépère sending me some rabbit magic to say everything was going to be okay tomorrow.
“Maybe this really is Monsieur Lapin,” I joked to Dad. “Because he’s already tricked us into rescuing him and feeding him!”
Dad laughed. “Yes, he has.”
As he turned the truck back onto Moose Alley, I pulled in a deep breath. “It happened once. Monsieur Lapin was running away from Monsieur Renard and jumped through a fence and got stuck. So he pretended to be a helpless little pet bunny. He convinced a Maine Game Warden and his daughter to save him, bring him home, and give him a feast of carrots.”
Dad nodded. “So it was.”
Looking at the rabbit in my arms, my heart hurt, but in a good way. I’d heard of “love at first sight,” but I’d always wondered if that was a real thing or just something people said. But that’s how it felt—I loved him already.
It’s a powerful thing to rescue something.
It changes both of you.
At home, Dad set up a cage in the living room. Mom picked some parsley from our garden to add to the carrots, pellets, and Timothy hay that the store clerk had sold us.
I got a plastic bin for the hay and Owen found a water bowl. “Welcome to the Wildlife Bed and Breakfast,” he told the bunny.
“This rabbit seems very comfortable with people,” Mom remarked as she ran her hands over him, looking for injuries.
It was true. The rabbit hadn’t squirmed when Dad checked to see if he was a boy or girl (a boy!). Or when I held him and Owen looked through his fur for ticks and fleas. He even stayed calm as Molly and Maggie gave him a quick sniff.
But as soon as I put him in the cage, he crawled on his belly to the corner and then hunched his back, like a furry bowling ball.
I slid a piece of carrot closer.
“Give him some time,” Dad said. “He’s been through a lot today. He’ll probably eat if we leave him alone.”
“What if he doesn’t?” I asked.
Dad shrugged. “You know how it is with animals, Em. Some things aren’t ours to decide. We do our best, but the rest is up to him.”
The rabbit stayed hunched in the corner of the cage. Only his little nose moved, opening and closing with each breath.
“Emma and I’ll take him to the animal shelter in Rangeley after school,” Dad told Mom. Then he looked at me. “But if he hasn’t eaten anything by morning, I want to take him as soon as the shelter opens, okay? Rabbits can go downhill fast if they don’t eat.”
I nodded. “I bet he’d be happier in my room.”
The rabbit’s ear closest to me slanted toward the sound of my voice.
“He’s fine right where he is,” Mom said firmly. “You need a good night’s sleep, Emma.”
“Yeah,” Owen said. “You should get some sleep.”
I wrinkled my nose, like he smelled bad. Owen never used to take Mom and Dad’s side over mine.
By bedtime, the rabbit still hadn’t eaten anything. I pushed the carrot up to his front paws so he didn’t even have to stretch to reach it.
He turned his head away.
My heart felt heavy as I went upstairs. The worries about school were boosted up with extra worries about the rabbit. He’d trusted me and now he was alone in a cage.
Scared was pulling ahead of Excited now. In my room, I emptied my backpack so I could see all my new stuff and give Excited some help. Everything was new: planner, folders, notebooks, water bottle, cute erasers, pencils (colored and regular), pencil sharpener, markers, highlighters, Post-its (several colors), tissues, lip gloss, ponytail holder to pull my hair back for gym and recess, and pear-scented hand sanitizer. I had watched online videos of other kids getting ready for school and had bought everything they suggested. I really wished those kids were in my class, because they all seemed friendly. None of them lived in Maine, though. So I hoped what they suggested worked here, too.
It had been fun to go back-to-school shopping for the first time. I’d always had some new things to start each year, but I never spent so much time planning what I’d wear. While homeschooling, I’d just see what I felt like wearing that day, but now it seemed important to look interesting but not too different.
For tomorrow, I’d picked out jeans, orange sneakers, and a blue T-shirt with a golden retriever on it. I figured if a kid said something about my shirt, I could start a conversation about Molly and Maggie instead of just saying “Thanks.”
I wished I could wear the leather boots I had bought, but though mornings were almost cold enough for frost, afternoons were still hot. In homeschool, I could’ve just changed with the weather, but now I had to pick something to last the whole day.
It was exciting to have so many new things, but when I changed into my pajamas and shut off the light, Scared was waiting for me. What if I didn’t know something important? Or I did something embarrassing like forget to zip my backpack and everything spilled out on the bus? Or I accidentally squirted my new hand sanitizer all over my new jeans and reeked of pears for the rest of the day?
Pretty soon, I was worrying about everything.
Outside, a fox barked in the woods. It always sounds like an angry scream. Maybe Monsieur Renard had discovered that Monsieur Lapin had escaped him yet again.
I wished I knew if the rabbit had eaten. What if he was scared listening to the fox bark, and thinking I’d abandoned him? That he’d just traded one way of being stuck for another?
I couldn’t bear the idea that I’d rescued him, only to have him die alone an
d afraid in our living room. I grabbed my flashlight and tiptoed down the dark stairs so I wouldn’t wake Mom and Dad. The rabbit looked wary as my flashlight beam touched him in the corner of the cage. The carrot was right where I’d left it at his feet.
The rabbit kicked a little as I slid my hand under him and pulled him out of the cage, but he calmed down as I held him against my chest. He was small enough to hold with one arm, so I dropped the carrot, the parsley—droopy now—and my flashlight into my bathrobe pocket. I set the water bowl into his hay bin and carried everything upstairs.
Maybe Dad was right that some things aren’t ours to decide, but other things are.
After I closed my bedroom door behind me, I set the rabbit on the braided rug in front of my dresser. I wished I could just let him hop around my room all night, but rabbits are chewers. So I dumped the clothes out of my pink plastic laundry basket and lined the bottom with a towel to make it comfy. Then I put the water bowl, food, and hay bin in the corners of the basket and pushed it up beside my bed. We’d done that when Molly and Maggie were tiny puppies so we could reach down and pat them if they whimpered in the night.
It seemed like a perfect plan, but when I turned around, the rug was empty. Two back feet and a puff tail were disappearing under my dresser.
Uh-oh. I dropped to my knees. The rabbit was way underneath. He gave a tiny sneeze. “Sorry,” I said. “Did you find some dust bunnies to play with?”
He wiggled out, and I tried to catch him. Rabbit Wrangler to the rescue! He was as fast as a cartoon character, though. He’d hop in one direction and, just as I reached for him, suddenly he’d twist his body almost in half and race the other way. It took three tries and few scratches before I got my palm on his back. He flattened himself on the floor, and I wrapped my hands around his middle.
Carrying him to the laundry basket, I kissed the top of his head. His ears were so warm. I wanted to cuddle him, but it was almost midnight now, and my alarm was set for six. “Time for bed.”
In the laundry basket, he sniffed the plastic sides and pushed his nose into the vents. He dug into a corner and bunched up the towel. Then he rose on his hind legs and put his front paws on the top edge of the basket. He wasn’t heavy enough to tip it over, but one back foot went into his water dish. I couldn’t help giggling.
Then he gave a big hop—right out of the basket.
Oh no!
Two long hops and he was under my nightstand. He started to chew the cord to my lamp.
“No!” As I reached for him, he went under my bed.
Then I had an idea. I took everything out of the laundry basket and sat on the edge of my bed, holding the basket upside down on my knees. I waited until the rabbit came out from under the bed. I pretended I wasn’t paying attention to him, but the next time he hopped past, I dropped the laundry basket over him, like a big pink plastic tent. He had plenty of air with all the vents, and he couldn’t hop out.
Lifting one edge of the basket, I slid the hay bin and water bowl underneath. I pushed the carrot and the droopy parsley through a vent.
But as I climbed into bed, the laundry basket started moving across the floor. The rabbit was pushing it with his nose! His water would probably get spilled, but I smiled anyway as I turned off the light.
I listened to the soft scrape of the laundry basket on the floor. Tomorrow everything would change. A yellow bus would stop at the end of our driveway for me, and Dad and I’d take the rabbit to the shelter after school. But for this warm, dark moment, none of that had happened yet.
I heard a clomping sound, like two wood blocks softly hitting each other. I clicked on my flashlight and saw some of the parsley wiggling from the rabbit’s mouth. He was eating! I was so relieved that I laughed.
I wondered if he’d still be under the laundry basket when I woke up. Maybe he’d figure a way out and I’d find him in my closet or under my bed. Or beneath my dresser playing with the dust bunnies.
Or if he really were Monsieur Lapin, he’d trick us all. He’d squeeze out from under the laundry basket and spring up and away through an open window with quite a story to tell the other animals.
“Silly Monsieur Lapin,” they’d say. “Why are you always in trouble?”
But he’d grin, knowing he was the one with a full belly of parsley and carrots.
“Good night, Monsieur Lapin,” I whispered, turning off my flashlight.
The next morning, I couldn’t remember why my alarm was going off. Then it hit me. It was the first day of school!
All the thinking and planning was over. The day was finally here. As I leaped out of bed, I noticed the upside-down laundry basket, wedged between my dresser and nightstand. Through the vents, I could see the outline of bunny ears.
There were lots of little rabbit poops to clean up, but I didn’t care. His food was gone, and the water bowl was empty! I lifted the laundry basket so he could run around my room while I cleaned up and got dressed.
As I brushed my hair, I practiced smiling. It’s hard to get just the right amount of smile—not too crazy-big and desperate, but enough to show I’m friendly. “Hi, I’m Emma,” I said softly to myself in the mirror. “I’m new here.”
May as well just admit it. Most of these kids had probably known each other since kindergarten. And my red hair stands out right away. There’s no melting into any crowd. In fact, it’s always easy to find me in a group photo—just look for my hair.
It was thrilling to be like all those other kids heading off to school today, even if I was faking it a bit. Of course, I’d miss the freedom. With homeschooling, if I got right to work first thing in the morning and stuck to it without many breaks, I could be all done with my lessons by lunchtime and have the whole afternoon to myself to go kayaking or hiking or read.
Freedom can be lonely, though. It would be great to have a built-in group of kids to belong to. Maybe Owen would even feel lonesome without me for a change! It’d be nice not to explain, too. When people asked me, “Where do you go to school?” the answer would just be a name, not a whole conversation.
Behind me in the mirror, I saw the rabbit jump into my trash can. He looked so funny with just his ears showing.
“Emma!” I heard Mom yell up the stairs. “Breakfast!”
“Coming!” I grabbed my backpack and a rock from my collection on the windowsill. A long time ago, Mom took Owen and me on a homeschool field trip to the Audubon Society. The gift shop had pretty “Inspiration Stones” for sale, each one with a word engraved on it, like Trust, Create, and Love. I wanted to buy one, but Owen said we could easily make our own. So every time I went somewhere special, I brought a rock home and wrote a word or phrase on it with a permanent marker.
Discover.
Imagine.
Courage.
Kindness.
Good Luck.
Keep Going.
Wish.
You Got This!
“You got this!” I said out loud, putting the rock in my pocket. Then I scooped the rabbit out of the trash can. In my arms, he tucked his head under my chin and a feeling hit me like a blast of fire. I’d do anything to protect him.
“I wish you could come to school with me today,” I whispered into his fur.
In the kitchen, Dad and Owen looked up from their plates of scrambled eggs and toast. Usually, Owen would be gone before me, but high school didn’t start until tomorrow.
“I knew you’d have him!” Owen said. “Mom was about to tear the living room apart looking for that rabbit.”
Mom glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Emma, didn’t I tell you to leave him in the cage?”
“I was so worried about him that I couldn’t sleep,” I said. “I’ve named him Monsieur Lapin. Lapi for short.”
“Please don’t get attached to him, honey,” Mom said. “He must be someone’s pet.”
She was probably right. And if Maggie and Molly had gotten lost and someone found them, I’d want them back.
It was too late to
tell me not to get attached, though.
“He ate all his food.” As I opened the refrigerator, Lapi startled at the cold air. I touched a carrot green to his nose and he took a nibble. “See, Dad? He’s eating!”
“Okay,” Dad said. “I’ll wait for you to get home from school before we take him to the shelter.”
“He doesn’t like the cage, though,” I said.
“We still have the exercise pen from when Maggie and Molly were puppies,” Dad said. “Maybe he’d like that better. It’s bigger and not so closed in. It’s out in the barn. I’ll bring it in and set it up for him before I go to work.”
“Until then, he needs to go in the cage so you can eat breakfast, Emma,” Mom said. “And wash your hands.”
I felt bad putting Lapi in the cage, but he didn’t seem to mind it as much as he had last night.
“So who’s ahead?” Owen asked as I sat down beside him at the table. “Scared or Excited?”
“Excited has been training all summer for this day,” I said. “Scared forgot to eat breakfast.”
He smiled. “Well, if Scared starts catching up, just remember that the beginning is the hardest.”
The beginning is the hardest, I repeated in my head as I ate.
“Don’t forget to put your name on all your work. You’ll lose points if you do,” Owen said. “And when your teacher tells you an assignment, be sure to write it down. At home, you could just ask Mom if you forgot something. But at school, you’re expected to hear it once and remember it.”
Write everything down. It was new to be so responsible for myself, but I loved my assignment notebook—all those blank pages ready to be filled up with important things.
“And don’t feel bad if you don’t understand something,” Owen continued. “Just ask. Most kids are nice and will help you if you need it. Pick your first friends carefully, though. Sometimes that’s who you end up with for good. And other kids don’t give you too many chances before they write you off as strange.”
Now at the last minute he was full of advice about school? I knew Owen was trying to help, but he was telling me things that I hadn’t even known to worry about!