Lucky for Bat, he had a friend who was very good at doing things. Better than Bat was, Bat admitted to himself. Bat liked to be good at things—he liked to be an expert. And to be an expert, you have to learn from experts. When Bat wanted to learn more about the care and feeding of skunks, he’d gone straight to a world skunk expert, Dr. Jerry Dragoo.
“I’m an expert at apologizing,” Israel assured him, “because I’m an expert at making mistakes.”
This weekend was an Every-Other Weekend, so Dad picked Bat up after school. Normally they would have picked Janie up next, but Dad told Bat that Janie would be spending the afternoon with one of her friends. The first thing Bat asked Dad, before he even got into Dad’s little car, was, “Can you take me over to Israel’s house after breakfast tomorrow? He and I have a project we need to work on.”
“A school project?” Dad asked.
“No,” said Bat. “A secret project.”
On Sunday evening at five o’clock, everything was ready. Bat and Israel had set up two rows of chairs in Israel’s backyard. Israel’s mom had lined the walkway with clay bowls, each filled with water and topped with a floating candle. The night before, Dad had helped Bat find the phone numbers for Frida and Corinna and Maggie, and Bat had called them all.
“I know I messed up your play,” he told each of them, “and I want to make it up to Janie. Will you come over to my friend Israel’s house at five o’clock on Sunday night?”
Mom was there, with Janie’s favorite brownies, just like Bat had asked.
Soon Israel’s yard was full of people. Even Laurence came, wearing his blue scrubs again. “Sorry, Bat, I didn’t have time to change,” he said.
“That’s all right,” Bat told him. “You look more like yourself this way.”
Laurence laughed his wonderful laugh. His laugh was one of Bat’s very favorite sounds in the world.
Finally, Bat heard the honk of Dad’s car from the front of the house. “Janie’s here!” Bat announced, running up the pathway to the front of the yard. His heart beat as if he’d run all the way around the block, and his arms folded into his excited-flapping motion.
Tom went to the front door to let Dad and Janie in, and a minute later he led them out the back door and into the yard.
Janie’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth opened in a surprised O as she stepped onto the grass. Bat saw her seeing the people in the two rows of chairs, the glowing, floating candles along the path, and, in front of the garden shed where Israel’s mom made her pottery, a little stage they had set up with a curtain hanging as a backdrop, and Mr. Grayson, sitting off to the side with his keyboard, ready to play.
“What is all this?” Janie asked Dad, who was at her side.
“Ask Bat,” Dad said, nodding in Bat’s direction.
Janie’s arms began to fold across her chest again, like she was remembering that she was still mad, but then they loosened and dropped to her sides.
“Bat,” she said, walking over to him, “what’s going on?”
“I’m sorry I brought Thor to your show and I’m sorry that he sprayed,” Bat said. He noticed that Janie was wearing sandals and that she had painted her toenails dark blue. There were little stars painted on the big toes. He talked to the painted-on stars.
“You’re a really great singer,” Bat said. “Will you sing your solo again? Mr. Grayson can play the music.”
For a second that felt like a minute, Janie didn’t say anything. Then she put her hand under Bat’s chin and raised up his face so that she could look into his eyes.
Bat didn’t love looking into people’s eyes, but he knew that Janie really liked to, and he remembered what Mom had told him about how some people learn things about each other from their eyes. So even though it wasn’t Bat’s favorite thing to do, he stared right into Janie’s eyes, which were almost exactly like his own eyes, Bat realized, a brown so dark it was almost black, and shiny.
Maybe Janie saw something in his eyes that let her know that he really was sorry, or maybe she just liked the candles and the stage, because she smiled and gave Bat a hug, which he did like, the press of her arms, the smell of her apple shampoo.
“Oh, Bat,” she said. “The school is going to redo the play next weekend, after the auditorium has aired out. But this was really nice of you to set up. And, anyway, the whole thing was pretty funny, when you think about it.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, just for Bat to hear. “Also, I didn’t mean it when I said that I wished Mom had never brought Thor home. I’m sorry I said that.” She let him out of the hug and said to the audience, “Hi, everybody. Thank you for coming!”
And then everyone began to clap for Janie—her friends, and Bat’s friends, and their family, and Mr. Grayson. And then Janie walked up to the little stage, and she nodded at Mr. Grayson to start playing.
Bat sat down next to Israel, who had saved a seat for him. Then he pulled something out of his pocket to show to Israel. It was the clay skunk Israel had made for him.
“Hey!” Israel whispered. “You’re carrying it! That’s so cool!” Bat grinned and rubbed his fingers along the clay lump, memorizing the way the words “From Israel” felt against his thumb. Thor wasn’t with him, but Bat felt a sweet warmth in his chest, almost as if the skunk kit was cuddled there.
Janie started to sing, surprising Bat all over again with her strong, clear voice. It was beautiful. The evening was beautiful. The rows of chairs were beautiful. The people in them were beautiful. The floating candles were beautiful. The lump of clay in Bat’s hand was beautiful. Right now, the whole world felt giant and open and full of beauty, and Bat was happy.
Acknowledgments
I am grateful for the thoughtful and keen eyes of Corinne Duyvis, the helpful input of real-life skunk expert Dr. Theodore Stankowich, and the careful devotion of this book’s first readers, including Rubin Pfeffer, Adah Nuchi, Sasha Kuczynski, and my wonderful editor, Jordan Brown, who loves Bat as much as I do.
Thanks are also due to Charles Santoso, whose beautiful, gentle work illustrating Bat and his world gives the story a new dimension, and the people of Walden Pond Press who champion Bat and his story, especially Debbie Kovacs and Danielle Smith—go, Team Bat!
I especially appreciate my own dear family and my menagerie of pets, from whom I draw inspiration and who always have time to help me brainstorm.
I’m grateful to the teachers, librarians, booksellers, and parents who hand Bat to young readers. Thank you.
About the Author
ELANA K. ARNOLD grew up in Southern California, where she was lucky enough to have her own perfect pet—a gorgeous mare named Rainbow—and a family who let her read as many books as she wanted. She is the author of picture books, middle grade novels, and books for teens. She lives in Huntington Beach, California, with her husband, two children, and a menagerie of animals. You can find her online at www.elanakarnold.com.
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Books by Elana K. Arnold
A Boy Called Bat
Copyright
Walden Pond Press is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Walden Pond Press and the skipping stone logo are trademarks and registered trademarks of Walden Media, LLC.
BAT AND THE WAITING GAME. Text copyright © 2018 by Elana K. Arnold. Illustrations copyright © 2018 by Charles Santoso. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art by CHARLES SANTOSO
Cover design by AURORA PARLAGRECO
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2017934990
Digital Edition MARCH 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-244587-2
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-244585-8
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1819202122CG/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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