by Kirk Watson
John wrung his cap and gritted his teeth at the thinly veiled insult. “Just tell Mr. Clark I’ll be back tomorrow.” He turned to leave.
“Mr. Clark won’t be in tomorrow,” Ms. Sipplan called after him. “You’re wasting your time—and mine, for that matter.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow!” John repeated over his shoulder.
The next day, John returned to the administrative building at Langley Prep. Once again, he climbed the steps and pulled on the massive door, but this time it was locked. He called out and knocked repeatedly, drawing disapproving stares from the passing students, but no one answered.
Perhaps it was just paranoia, but John was convinced the snooty secretary had locked him out. On the verge of conceding defeat, he noticed an open window on the second story of the building. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly scaled one of the white columns (with a proficiency unique to squirrels) until he reached the open window. He leapt through and tumbled inside, grateful for the thick carpet that cushioned his fall. He found himself in a closet filled with file cabinets and office supplies. He opened the closet door, walked quietly down the hall, and descended the stairs back to the first floor.
Downstairs, Ms. Sipplan’s desk sat vacant. John glanced at the secretary’s calendar and noticed the entire day was unscheduled.
Perhaps the headmaster really does have the day off, he thought, feeling rather foolish.
He was contemplating a discreet exit when he heard a sound from the headmaster’s office. Without a thought, he turned the knob and opened the door.
At his desk sat Headmaster Clark, an older otter with greying fur at his temples that gave him a dignified air. Or rather, he would have looked dignified if at that moment Ms. Sipplan had not been sitting in his lap. The headmaster took one look over his secretary’s shoulder and simply uttered, “Oh, dear.”
Ms. Sipplan turned to follow the headmaster’s gaze. Seeing John in the doorway, she shrieked.
“You!” Ms. Sipplan exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I’d be back tomorrow.”
“You can’t just barge in—”
Headmaster Clark held up a paw, cutting her short. “What can I do you for, young man?” he asked officiously, as if there were not a fuming secretary in his lap.
John pulled off his cap and held it between his paws. “Headmaster Clark, my name is John Grey. I’d like to attend Langley Prep this fall.”
And so John Grey came to be enrolled at the prestigious Langley Preparatory School for the Gifted and Talented. Upon their first meeting, Headmaster Clark had been most accommodating, even offering John a full scholarship, though John never once threatened to reveal his affair. Regardless, the headmaster had been confident the poor young squirrel would flunk out after a single semester, and he’d be rid of him forever. But much to everyone’s surprise, John flourished at Langley Prep, quickly rising to the top of his class.
But none of that mattered to John. He was at Langley for one purpose—to see his beloved Sharon. On his first day of school, he sat alone in the cafeteria, wearing his new school uniform (for which he had gladly exchanged his tattered work clothes) and watching as the students filed in for lunch. He waited nervously with letter in paw, determined to finally deliver his declaration of love to Sharon. He began to worry she would never arrive, or perhaps she was not even attending Langley Prep at all, when he finally spotted her.
She wore the same standard uniform all female Langley Prep students wore—white blouse, plaid skirt, knee-high socks—but John picked her out immediately. She looked radiant, her puffy cheeks dimpling as she smiled. She was older than John had remembered, but then again, so was he. As she drew near, the din of the lunch crowd faded and time seemed to slow. John and Sharon’s eyes locked, and for a brief moment, a flicker of recognition crossed her face. John held out the letter in his quivering paw.
That’s when he arrived: Philip Dickinson, captain of the Langley Prep pinecone team. Strong and handsome, Philip drew girls like flowers drew bees. Even as a freshman, the dashing young athlete was stronger than most squirrels four years his senior, and he soon established himself as the hero of Langley Prep’s vaunted pinecone team. And he was rich, or at least his father was rich. A well-known athlete himself, Philip’s father had been the premier striker for Langley’s professional pinecone team, Langley PC, winning three championships before retiring a decade ago. It was clear that Philip had inherited both his father’s looks and talent.
Philip sneaked behind Sharon and picked her up by the waist, causing her to emit a shriek that immediately brought John to his feet. But it soon became clear that she didn’t mind Philip’s abrupt greeting, laughing and playfully slapping at him until he set her back down. They walked arm in arm right past John, never glancing back at him. John sank down to his seat as the two joined a table where clearly only the most beautiful and popular students were allowed to sit. He watched glumly as Philip entertained Sharon, telling her jokes that John couldn’t hear but was sure weren’t that funny, with Sharon laughing as she gazed adoringly at Philip. John looked down at the envelope in his paw, simply addressed:
Sharon
He ripped the letter in half, then ripped it in half again, then again, until it was in as many pieces as his heart, and when the pieces were too small to divide anymore, he tossed them in the trash. He left the cafeteria with his tail drooping behind him.
It had been four years since he had tossed that letter, and he had never written her another. Now, on the final day of school, when he should have been writing his valediction, when he might not ever see her again, he began writing his final letter to Sharon:
Dear Sharon,
I’m writing you today because I fear I will never see you again, and if that is to be the case, I need you to know something before we part, something I have longed to tell you for so many years but never could:
I love you, Sharon.
I know this may come as a shock to you, but I have always loved you. Since the first day I saw you sitting in the lilacs wearing your white sundress and your mother’s gardening gloves, you have never left my thoughts. You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever known. Every time you’re near me, my paws shake and my fur stands on end. Every time you smile, the clouds part and the sun warms my face. Every time I see you, my heart soars like a kite, only to come crashing back down every time you leave. I am hopelessly, irreversibly under your spell.
I promise you this: as sure as the sun rises, as bright as it shines, so will my love for you burn in my heart, always.
Yours forever,
John
His nose twitched at the scent of lilacs, drawing his attention up from the letter. There stood Sharon in front of him with her books clasped to her chest.
“Hi, John,” she said, smiling widely.
Panicked, John nearly knocked over the inkwell as he clamored to cover the letter with his paws. He looked up at her blue eyes and froze, his heart pounding. He blinked at her, unable to move or speak.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sharon asked, looking down at him with concern.
John opened his mouth, but no words came out—just a slight squeaking noise. He was hyperventilating. Sharon rushed to his side and placed a paw on his back.
“Breathe, John,” she said, rubbing his back. His short gasps did little to reassure her. Some of the other students in the library were starting to stare. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Just breathe.”
John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. After a moment, his trembling subsided. He smiled up at her weakly.
“Better?” she asked, smiling back.
Whenever Sharon smiled, John had noticed, her delicate whiskers vacillated over her puffy cheeks; it was yet another trait of hers that he found irresistible.
“Sorry about that, Sharon,” he said. “You just startled me, is all. What are you doing here?”
“It’s the last day of school, silly
; I’m returning my books to the library.”
John smiled sheepishly. “Oh, right.”
Sharon set her books on the table. “So, I guess today is the day we’ve all been waiting for. Are you ready?”
John blushed. “What do you mean?”
Sharon laughed. “Graduation, of course. Are you working on your big speech, Mr. Valedictorian? I can see you’re pretty tense; you must be under a lot of pressure.”
“My big speech?” John asked, glancing down at the letter concealed beneath his paws. “Right, something like that.”
Sharon looked at him curiously, pursing her lips. She traced a finger across the table towards the letter. “Do you mind if I read it?”
John took another deep breath, looking down at the letter. After a long moment, he exhaled and pushed it over to her. “Okay, but you might want to sit down first.”
Sharon raised her eyebrows as she pulled out a chair. “This must be some speech. How long have you been working on it?”
“Six years, give or take.”
She gave him a confused look. “Sometimes you’re so strange, John—”
Before she could sit down, Philip appeared behind her and lifted her off her feet with a hug. John felt as if he were having a recurring nightmare.
“Philip!” Sharon shrieked.
“Hey, babe,” Philip said. “You ready to go? We need to pick up some supplies for the after-graduation party.”
“I was talking to John, Philip. He was going to let me read his big speech.”
Philip set Sharon down and looked over at John. “Big speech? Oh, right. You’re that whiz kid, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know about whiz,” John said, discreetly covering the letter. “I guess it’s all relative.” He thought he caught a sly smile from Sharon.
“Right,” Philip said, oblivious to the slight. He turned to Sharon. “Come on; you can hear his speech tonight at graduation. We gotta get moving before the liquor stores close. It will be a lame party if we don’t bring some booze.”
“Don’t be rude, Philip,” Sharon said. “Maybe John would like to come to the party?”
“Johnny Fay?” Philip asked, rubbing John’s head with a paw. “You don’t even drink, do you, little guy?”
“Well, no, and it’s John Grey—”
“See, babe, Johnny doesn’t want to go. Now come on, let’s get out of this nerd shack and go have some fun! Whoo!” Philip picked Sharon up over his shoulder and carried her out of the library.
“Sorry, John!” Sharon called back. “I’ll see you at graduation! Good luck with your speech!”
After they were gone and John was all alone in the library, he looked down at the letter. With a sigh, he ripped it into a thousand tiny pieces.
Chapter 6
THE DISCARDED
Free falls are among the costliest.
John awoke with a headache worse than any hangover. He was pretty sure he was bleeding, but when he tried to check his head, he found his arms had been tied to a chair. As his vision cleared, he saw the candle flickering on the table.
I’m still in the Broken Bough’s cellar.
“He’s coming to,” a feminine voice said from the dark. John recognized it as Lilah the bartender’s.
Her employer, the well-dressed raccoon, stepped into the light and placed his heavy paws on the table. “You lied to me, John. And you said we were best friends…”
John grimaced. “Well, I do really like that vest.”
The raccoon leaned in close, his whiskers brushing against John’s face. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. I’m not the transporter.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m the health inspector. There have been some complaints that some of your employees haven’t been wearing their hairnets.”
The raccoon growled, slamming his fists into the table. “Turtlecrap!” Traces of raccoon spit speckled John’s glasses.
“His name is John Grey,” a gruff voice said from the dark. John shuddered, recognizing the speaker. The black squirrel stepped into the candlelight and set a yellowed newspaper on the table. “He’s a reporter for the Langley Post.”
The headlining article was one John had written years ago, his byline neatly printed below it. He had later framed the award-winning piece and hung it in his office.
The bastard broke my frame! John thought, then upon further reflection, He must have followed me from home. He was probably watching me the whole time. How could I have been so careless?
“A reporter, eh?” the raccoon said. “And what brings you to our humble establishment, Mr. Grey?”
“Would you believe I’m reviewing restaurants for the Langley Post? And I have to say, the service here stinks.”
The black squirrel raised his club, and John braced himself for another blow.
The raccoon held up a paw and smirked. “Easy, now, Ray. Think of the bad reviews.”
Ray slowly lowered the club but kept his eyes fixed hard on John.
The raccoon continued, “We’re so sorry you haven’t enjoyed your stay here at the Broken Bough Inn, Mr. Grey. Is there anything else I can do for you before you check out?”
“Yes,” John said, “if you would kindly direct me to your suggestion box…”
The raccoon snorted. “Ha! I like you, John Grey.” He held his fist in the air. “Acorns of steel on this one.” He pulled a long knife from his vest and placed it on the table. “It would be a shame to have to remove them.”
John gulped. “Yes, we’re rather attached.”
The raccoon pulled up a seat, his yellow eyes glowing in the candlelight against his black mask. “So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” His smile revealed a row of sharp teeth that did little to comfort John. The raccoon drew John’s pistol from his jacket and placed it on the table. “For instance, just what were you planning on doing with this?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. Earlier today, your freak of a friend here attacked me in my home. I guess I was hoping to find out why, but now I think we should just let bygones be bygones. Squirrels will be squirrels, and all that. Let’s just forget the whole thing, and I’ll be on my way.”
The raccoon turned to the black squirrel and pointed at his bandaged ear. “This little guy did that to you, Ray? I was expecting someone taller.”
Ray growled, his eyes burning a hole through John as he tapped the club in his black paw.
The raccoon turned back to John with a smirk. “Forget the whole thing, eh? A tempting offer, but I’m afraid I cannot do that. Business here at the inn has been bad enough without your rotten review hitting the papers. No, that wouldn’t do at all.”
He stood and retrieved the pistol from the table, giving John an ominous smile before walking behind him.
“A pity,” Lilah said from the stairs, absentmindedly running her silver brush through her tail. “He was kinda cute.”
John closed his eyes and braced himself for what was about to come.
Please let it be quick…
He suddenly felt like he was falling. The raccoon tilted John’s chair back and Ray grabbed the feet; together they lifted him into the air.
“What?” John exclaimed. “Hey! Put me down!”
The two ignored his pleas as they carried him to the back of the cellar. They dropped him into a wooden box, chair and all.
“What is this?” John asked, struggling to break free from his bindings. “A coffin?”
“I suppose it could be,” the raccoon said, peering down into the box with a smile, “or it could just be a shipping crate. It’s up to you.”
The raccoon vanished for a few seconds and returned with a sheet of plywood, dropping the wooden lid on top of the crate with a thump. John could see traces of light through holes that had been drilled into the box. Panic welled up inside him as the raccoon drove in the nails, sealing him inside.
He bucked against the sides of the crate. “Hey! Let
me out!”
“God, he’s annoying,” Lilah said. “Why don’t you just kill him already?”
“No, my beauty,” the raccoon said, “he’s worth a pretty penny. Plenty of spunk in this one. He’ll make a fine gift to our benefactors.” The raccoon knocked on the box with his paw. “Can you hear me in there, Mr. Grey?” He held the candle in front of his face and peered through the holes. “You keep quiet and you just might survive this trip.”
John kicked at the box. “Let me out of here!”
“Now what part of ‘quiet’ don’t you understand? You be a good squirrel and you’ll be out of there in no time. Otherwise… well, I guess we’ll see about that coffin. Got it?”
John considered his options. He remained silent.
“That’s better,” the raccoon said. “Say good night to John, Lilah.”
“Good night, John,” she said, then added with an eye roll, “it was a real pleasure meeting you.”
“Wait, Lilah!” John said. “I have to tell you something!”
“What is it now?” she sighed. She stood there waiting on the stairs, clearly annoyed as she brushed her tail. “Make it quick. I have to get back to work.”
“It’s just that, um, earlier tonight,” John said, “when I first saw you with your beautiful blonde fur…”
“Uh-huh?”
“I felt like there was a real connection between us.”
Lilah stopped brushing her tail. “What? You did?”
“Didn’t you feel it, too?”
“Well, maybe…”
“I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight, but when you left me at the bar… well, for a moment…”
Lilah leaned in closer, now absentmindedly teasing the fur on her head with her brush. “Yes?”
“Well, I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself. I… I…”
“Yes, you what?”
“I brushed my bum with your brush.”