by Cynthia Lord
I moved the extra books off the chairs and waited impatiently while Iris and Leah sat down. “So I had a great idea about our project,” I said. “We can meet at my house this afternoon after school and do the video. We wouldn’t be rushed in case we need to do a few takes.”
Leah gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m not sure I can get a ride. My mom and dad are at work.”
“You can take the bus with me,” I said. “It stops right at the end of our driveway. I’m sure my mom could bring you home after.”
“You can’t just take someone else’s bus,” Iris said.
Leah nodded. “You have to bring a permission slip from home and give it to the bus office first thing in the morning.”
“Oh.” The smile slid off my face. I didn’t know that. “My mom could probably pick you up and bring you home,” I offered.
“It’s too complicated. Let’s just work in twos,” Iris said. “Me and Leah, you and Jack.”
“But it’ll look like two things, instead of a group project,” I said.
“Don’t worry, Emma,” Leah said. “This is just a little project, not a big deal. It won’t even count much toward our grades.”
Not a big deal? But I wanted them to come to my house. I wanted them to get to know me at home, where it’d be easier to become friends. I wanted to do a good job on the project. I wanted a few things to go my way instead of changing all my ideas.
And saying “I want you to meet my pet rabbit” would just sound pathetic.
I could tell that Leah and Iris were getting frustrated with me, though. “Okay,” I said quietly.
Ms. Hutton clapped her hands to get our attention. “We have about five minutes before we need to go back to the classroom. So come sign out your books if you haven’t done so already.”
“Can you come?” I asked Jack quietly.
He took out his phone. “It’s just for emergencies.”
I didn’t know if the person he was texting would consider this an actual emergency, but within minutes we had a plan. Jack’s mom would bring him to my house today after school.
Easier the Second Day
1. I know where my room and desk are.
2. I know of the kids’ names.
3. I brought a bag lunch. Not actually easier, though I did use the right trash cans.
4. I have a plan to invite my group to my house. Only Jack is coming.
When I got home, Mom told me that Owen had texted. He made the soccer team.
Now he’d probably have practice every day. “That’s great,” I said flatly, unpacking my backpack. I could smell that she’d been baking something yummy. “What smells so good?”
Mom grinned. “I baked chocolate-chip cookies! How many kids are coming over today?”
“Only Jack,” I said. “Thanks so much for making cookies, though. And can I borrow your phone? I’ll need to take a video.”
Mom nodded. “Sure. It’s on the counter.”
I put her phone in my pocket. “Um, just so you know,” I said, feeling like I should warn her, “Jack’s a bit different. I think he might have some special needs.”
“Different makes life more interesting,” Mom said.
I nodded, though that seemed like one of those easy things people say to gloss over hard parts. “He especially likes to talk about animals.”
“Just like you,” Mom said.
“Even more than me,” I said. “In fact, if there were a TV game show where all the categories were animals, Jack could be a millionaire.”
But when Jack and his mom arrived, I was surprised that he stepped back as Molly and Maggie came over barking, tails wagging.
“Girls,” Mom said sharply to the dogs. “Go lie down.”
As Molly and Maggie trudged to their beds, Jack’s mom said softly, “It’s a sensory thing. Jack loves to read about animals, but in real life they can be overwhelming.”
“No problem at all,” Mom said. “Can I make you a cup of tea or coffee while the kids do their homework?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Mom said. “Make yourselves at home. And if you’d like to wash your hands, the bathroom is through that door.”
“But no frogs are in there,” Jack said sadly.
Mom laughed. “Oh, Emma told you about those? You’re right. We don’t have frogs in the bathroom regularly. That was just a homeschool science project. The frogs grew up and we let them go back in the pond where we’d found the eggs.”
“Um. Let’s work in my room, Jack!” I said quickly to change the subject. “My rabbit is there, but he only makes quiet sounds.”
I got a piece of kale and a few blueberries from the refrigerator for Lapi and the plate of chocolate-chip cookies for Jack and me. “Come on.”
As we were climbing the stairs, I heard Jack’s mom talking to mine in the kitchen. “Thank you for having us over. The other kids at school are mostly kind to Jack, but they almost never think to include him outside of school. So this is really nice.”
“It’s nice for Emma, too!” Mom said. “She’s been hoping for a friend.”
I felt bad that Jack and I were both getting left out of things. Being left out hurts. I turned to him and rolled my eyes, in case he was as embarrassed as I was that our mothers were talking about us.
But his eyes were focused on my bedroom door, his fingers flickering at his sides. He looked a little scared.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Lapi can stay in his pen, if you want.”
When I opened my bedroom door, Lapi immediately put his paws up on the side of the pen, excited to get out and have a run.
“Later,” I promised him. “Jack and I have work to do.”
Lapi thumped his back foot on the floor.
“Rabbits thump to warn other rabbits about danger,” Jack said.
“Usually,” I said. “But this rabbit is telling me that he wants to have a run and he’s mad that I said no.”
Jack stared at Lapi, his fingers twitching harder. “Let me out of here!”
Did he mean Lapi? Or himself? “Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” Jack said plainly without taking his eyes off Lapi. “How are you?”
I smiled. “I’m fine, too.”
Lapi thumped his back foot again. “He’s mad that you said no,” Jack said, his eyes bright with excitement. “He wants to come out!”
Was Jack asking me to let Lapi out? “Hey, I have an idea, but it’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“A good idea?” Jack asked.
“Well, you get to decide if it’s good or not,” I said. “You could sit at my desk and pull your feet up on the chair. I promise Lapi won’t jump up there. He can have a little run around the room, and then I’ll put a treat in his pen and he’ll go back in to get it.”
Jack didn’t look 100 percent sure, but he sat on my desk chair and put his heels up on the seat.
As soon as I opened the pen door, Lapi hopped easily onto my braided rug. His first free hops were always light and dainty: little front feet, big back feet. Then he’d pick up speed, darting under my bed and out again, with long leaps that were so fast, he’d lose his footing and slide on the hardwood floor.
Jack gave a high-pitched laugh. “He’s a wascally wabbit!” he said in his Elmer Fudd voice.
“He sure is!” I said.
In between hops, Lapi would suddenly stop and rub his chin on something, claiming it. Dresser edge—MINE.
Heater—MINE.
Quilt—MINE.
Bookshelf—MINE.
Lapi paused and rubbed his chin on my foot, his whiskers tickling around my flip-flop. You—MINE.
“He’s claiming me,” I said.
Then Lapi suddenly leaped and twisted, like all the happiness inside him had exploded and lifted him into the air. He landed facing Jack.
“That’s called a binky. I read about it in the rabbit book I got at the library. It means he’s happy.” I handed Jack a blueberry
. “The book also said blueberries are one of their favorite things.”
Jack threw the blueberry at Lapi’s feet. He sniffed it and then ate it up.
“I should’ve known he’d love them,” I said. “My pépère used to tell a story about how Monsieur Lapin tricked Monsieur Renard the fox out of his blueberries.”
“What story?” Jack asked.
I hesitated. It was one thing to remember Pépère’s stories or to tell them in our family. It was a whole different thing to tell another kid I didn’t even know that well.
But Jack stared at me, waiting.
So I took a deep breath. “It happened once that Monsieur Lapin saw Monsieur Renard the fox sitting in a blueberry patch, grooming his beautiful red tail before he feasted on all those delicious berries.”
“Foxes are omnivores,” Jack said. “They eat both plants and animals.”
“That’s good to know,” I said. “But Monsieur Lapin has magic and this is a story. So don’t expect things to stay completely real, okay?”
“It’s a lie,” Jack said matter-of-factly.
“No.” Though I guess if there were only two choices, it wasn’t true. I shrugged. “Stories are somewhere in between. Do you want to hear it anyway?”
Jack nodded. “Yes.”
As Lapi chinned the leg of the desk chair, Jack pulled in his feet tighter, his arms wrapped around his legs.
“Okay. So Monsieur Lapin said, ‘Oh, Monsieur Renard, your tail is so glorious, but you’ve missed a spot.’
“Monsieur Renard was very proud of his tail. ‘Where?’ he demanded.”
“What kind of spot?” Jack said.
“Um, pine pitch.”
Jack nodded and I continued, “Monsieur Lapin pointed. ‘Right there! No, a little more to the right. Almost! A little more to the right.’ Soon Monsieur Renard was turning around and around, spinning so fast trying to reach the spot that he fell down dizzy. Monsieur Lapin jumped right into those blueberries and ate them all. So it was.”
I couldn’t tell the story as well as Pépère, but still, it had been fun to share it.
Lapi went up on his hind legs to look at Jack. Jack let his arms go. His fingers twitched hard as he slid one foot tentatively toward the edge of the desk chair.
I held my breath as Lapi moved his chin across the toe of Jack’s shoe. Then he landed his front feet back on the floor and took off again, under my dresser.
Jack looked over at me, his mouth open.
“He claimed you,” I said.
Jack kept his feet up on my desk chair, but his hands stopped twitching. “Let’s touch him.”
“You want to touch Lapi?” I asked, surprised.
“Only his back.”
“Okay, but he doesn’t like to be picked up,” I said. “So sit on the floor and I’ll put a blueberry next to you.”
As soon as Lapi came over for the blueberry, Jack reached out one trembling hand—three quick, barely there touches. I waited for Lapi to hop away, but he didn’t.
“He likes you,” I said. “Maybe because your name sounds like a rabbit, too. Jackrabbit.”
“Jackrabbits are really hares.” Jack reached out and patted Lapi again, so lightly that I couldn’t tell if he actually touched Lapi’s body or just the very tips of his fur.
“Monsieur Lapin,” he whispered. “And Jack Rabbit.”
I would’ve liked to hang out with Jack and Lapi all afternoon, but I imagined Ms. Martel with her spinning finger. We had to get our video done.
So I put the rest of the blueberries in Lapi’s pen so he’d go in to get them. “Let’s film our video before we run out of time,” I said, closing the pen door behind him. “I’ll introduce you and you can introduce me. Did you bring any props to show when we reveal your answers?”
Jack opened his backpack and took out a plastic bag of Legos, Dr. Seuss’s ABC, and some loose tickets like you’d get for a raffle or to attend an event.
“I learned to read at age three,” Jack said. “ ‘BIG A, little a—’ ”
“Great!” I said quickly before he launched into the whole book. “That’s one truth. What about the Legos?”
“I like Legos.”
Having grown up with Jack, the other kids would probably already know he liked Legos. “What’s the coolest or best thing you’ve ever made with Legos?” I asked.
“A dinosaur skeleton.”
“Seriously? How big was it?”
Jack held his hands wide apart.
“Wow! That’s amazing!” I said. “Do you know how many Legos it took to build it? It doesn’t have to be the exact number. Close is good enough.”
Jack looked off into space. “Seven hundred and thirty.”
I considered that. “Okay. That’s a cool truth, but maybe we should be extra tricky. What if we twist it to make that the lie? I could say, ‘Jack once built a dinosaur skeleton with two hundred Legos.’ Then for the reveal, we can say, ‘Wrong! It was over seven hundred Legos!’ ”
Jack smiled. “Yes.”
“What are the tickets for?”
He picked up one and read the back. “Raffle. Pumpkin Festival, Damariscotta, Maine.”
“Did you win?” I asked. It was the only reason I would’ve kept a raffle ticket, to remind myself how good it felt to win.
“No.” Jack picked up another ticket. “Raffle. Christmas Fair, First Parish Church, Rangeley, Maine.”
“Did you win that one?”
“No. If you win, you have to give the ticket up,” he replied.
“Have you ever won?” I asked.
“No.”
I felt like I was bungling this. But maybe just because I didn’t understand why he kept those tickets didn’t mean there wasn’t a good reason to Jack. And maybe I didn’t have to understand why. Maybe just the fact he liked them was all that mattered.
“All right. That can be your second truth. You have a collection of raffle tickets.” If we didn’t get filming, we’d run out of time. “I want to change my statements from the ones I said at school. My first truth will be that I love to go kayaking. I used to go with my brother a lot, but now he’s in high school and busier.” I didn’t really mean to tell Jack that. It just came out. “You’ll just say ‘Emma likes to go kayaking,’ though.”
I had a secret plan with that statement. I was hoping that some other girl would tell me that she liked to go kayaking, too. Then I could invite her over and we could go together and she could use Owen’s kayak.
Jack ripped several sheets of paper out of his notebook.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Cue cards,” he replied.
“Great idea!” I waited for him to write my first statement. “The second truth is I once climbed Mount Katahdin.”
Jack wrote it easily, even spelling Katahdin correctly. I thought Ms. Hutton would like to know that we both like hiking and mountain climbing. I wouldn’t tell her that I almost didn’t make it to the top and Owen had to coax me to Keep Going, though.
“And the third one is ‘Emma has a pet parakeet.’ ”
Jack paused, his pencil above the paper.
“It’s the lie,” I reminded him. “After the kids guess, I can show a photo of my real pets. A photo isn’t as cute as the real thing, but—”
Wait.
What if I brought Lapi himself? Was that crazy?
On the one hand, that would be a bit complicated and a lot to coordinate. And I didn’t even know if Mom would have time. Or if it was allowed.
On the other hand, it could be quick. If Mom could bring him, I could take him out of the carrier and let the kids pat him for a couple minutes. Then Mom could take him back home. It wouldn’t take a lot longer than showing a photo.
But maybe Mom would start talking and tell the kids something embarrassing about me, like how she told Jack’s mom I wanted a friend.
Even if it was the truth.
Maybe Dad could bring him? Dad was a big part of Lapi’s story, and he didn’t tell
embarrassing stories about me, thinking they were cute.
Suddenly I was glad Iris and Leah hadn’t been able to meet Lapi yet—this would be even better! It could be a big dramatic moment for my reveal. Most kids love pets. Everyone would want to meet Lapi and talk to me about him.
Maybe it’d even bring me my best friend.
“You know how our program has three parts?” I asked Jack. “First, we say the statements about each other. Then the class guesses. Finally we reveal the answers?”
“Yes,” Jack said.
“Okay, I have an idea. Let’s do the statements about each other on video, just like we planned. I’ll introduce you and you introduce me. But then on the day we present, let’s do our own reveals in person! It’ll be more exciting for the audience. You can bring your Lego dinosaur skeleton, or if it’s too fragile to bring, maybe you could bring a big a photo of it? I bet kids would think it was awesome. It’ll give you a chance to tell them about it. And maybe I can bring Lapi.”
Jack smiled. “Yes!”
It felt great that Jack was excited about my idea! It made me feel a little braver about telling Iris and Leah that Jack and I had changed the plans.
“Okay, let’s get filming. I’ll go first,” I said. Since one of Jack’s truths was about reading, I stood in front of my bookcase. “Just film me no matter what happens. We can edit later.”
I don’t like being recorded and wished I had made some cue cards, too. But I smiled my friendliest smile as Jack pushed the button on Mom’s phone. “Let me introduce you to Jack! Here are some statements about him, but only two of them are true. See if you can guess the lie.” I paused for extra drama. “Jack collects raffle tickets. Jack built a dinosaur skeleton with two hundred Legos. Jack learned to read at the age of three.” As I said each statement, I tried to keep my face the same so I wouldn’t give away the lie. “Which one do you think is the lie?”
Then Jack stood in front of my dresser. I arranged the cue cards on the windowsill behind me so the lie would be last. I wanted to end with Lapi.
“Let me introduce you to my friend Emma!” Jack said loudly, like he was an announcer at a basketball game. “Emma likes to go kayaking! Emma once climbed Mount Katahdin! Emma has a pet—parakeet! Which one is the lie?”