I pull up a picture of an ESA vest online and check my version against the image. It’s not an exact match, but it’s close enough that I’m proud of it.
I lay out Mr. J’s letter, the ESA certificate, the ESA name tag, and the vest to look at them all together. The combination screams official. Even Principal Huxx will be impressed.
As I stare at my handiwork and imagine taking Butter to school, a lightness overtakes me. I’m a hot-air balloon rising.
For the first time in my life, I’m excited to go to school.
I’m already up and dressed when Mom comes into the kitchen. She sees me at the table eating breakfast and does a double take. “You’re ready to go early. Is there some sort of special occasion I don’t know about?”
“No. Why do you ask that?” I hear the defensive shiftiness in my voice and try to smooth over my tone with a smile.
Mom’s eyes narrow with suspicion, and she scrutinizes me as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “What’s suddenly made you an early riser?”
“I can get up early.”
“Yes. For weekends and vacation days, but never for school.”
Sometimes I wish Mom didn’t know me quite so well. I hop up and start clearing my dishes to avoid her piercing gaze. “I decided to walk to school today.”
Mom touches my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Very funny. I’m fine. Just trying something new.” She’s making me so nervous with her mom intuition that I have to get out of the kitchen before I confess my plan to take Butter to school with me or chicken out altogether. I grab my backpack and head for the door.
Mom stalls me with another question. “Is Addie walking to school with you this morning?”
Jeez, Mom. No pressure. “No. One trip to the pet store together didn’t magically make us besties.” I wish it did.
Mom holds up her hands. “Just asking. Whatever has motivated this change of heart, I’m all for it. Call me from the office if you need me.” Mom kisses my cheek.
“If I had—”
She interrupts me. “I know, if you had a cell phone. You’re a broken record.”
Sometimes Mom makes no sense. “What’s a record?”
Mom gives me her epic eye roll, which is annoying because it’s a kid thing and she stole it. Now I can’t use it on her. “Bye, Marvel.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I go out to the garden, and once I’m inside Butter’s enclosure, I relax since I’m not concerned about Mom wondering what I’m up to. She’s used to me taking care of Butter before school.
I dump Butter’s vest and name tag out of my backpack. I snap the new ESA tag onto her collar, loving how important and legitimate it looks.
Next, I tackle her vest. I slip it over her back and attempt to Velcro it together, but Butter doesn’t let me. She’s too curious about it. She nibbles the edges and tries to shake it off.
It never occurred to me that she might not want to wear the vest.
I pull it off and soothe her, stroking her head and back. “It’s okay.”
She nips my nose and then goes to her food trough. She pulls a huge chunk of hay out of it and stares me down while she chews.
I hold the vest out. “This is your vest. I made it for you. If you wear it, you can come to school with me,” I coax.
She turns her head away, snubbing me.
“Butter! Silly girl.” I pull her toward me and slowly slip the vest over her back, making sure to pet her at the same time.
She holds still but curls her head toward me and gives me a pained look, as if she’s put out by the indignity of wearing a garment.
“Don’t look at me like that. This vest means you’re an emotional support animal. That’s super special. You get to go places other pets don’t. Like to school with me, and I really need you there. Lately, it’s gotten even harder than it used to be.” I sigh and lean my cheek on her back, thinking about all of it. The teasing, the play, the makeup work. It’s overwhelming.
Butter nudges my shoulder with her nose as if to say continue, so I lift my head and share what I’ve been reluctant to say out loud to anyone else. “If I mess up and get held back, failure will be stamped all over my report card, labeling me. It won’t be something I secretly worry about anymore. It will be something I am. I can’t be a failure on top of everything else.”
I pause, letting the stillness of Butter’s enclosure absorb my words. Somehow, voicing my fear to her makes it less scary because it gets it out of my head and into the air, where it can blow away instead of taking root in my brain like a redwood seed.
I start talking again as I gently work the Velcro straps around her stomach and adjust them until they’re tight enough. “But if you’re there, I think I can do all the things they want me to because you make everything better.”
I let go of Butter and step back slowly to see how she reacts.
She sniffs the vest a few times and shakes, but when it doesn’t come off, she bleats and goes back to eating hay, apparently no longer bothered by it.
I watch her munch away, admiring her. She looks adorable and extremely official in her ESA uniform.
I let her finish breakfast while I gather up my backpack and check to make sure the coast is clear, glad Dad is already at an appointment and will be there most of the morning. Once I confirm none of my other family members are lurking outside or looking out the windows, I sneak Butter out of the garden.
She prances beside me, adorable and spunky. I’m so proud of her. Every so often I reward her with a Cheerio just because she’s that amazing.
When we get to the field, it’s still very early and it’s deserted except for an outdoor exercise class filled with senior citizens, who, unlike eighth graders, aren’t scary at all.
I wave at them and plow ahead.
I’ve always thought of the field, the divide between my house and the school, as a vast gulf that I hate crossing because it feels daunting. Logically, I know my fear doesn’t make sense, but I’ve never been able to shake it.
Today is completely different, though. I’m so focused on Butter that not only does the walk go fast. It feels fast.
For the first time, I see the field through a completely different lens—one that’s not clouded by anxiety—and my world shifts for the better. The distance between my house and school is no longer far or scary; it’s just a walk. This realization is an eye-opener, and it’s all thanks to Butter.
I reach down and pet her.
We walk onto campus and go straight up to homeroom.
After getting ready last night, I wondered if I should check Butter in at the office or ask Principal Huxx for permission before taking her to class with me, but after reading over the ESA paperwork, I decided I didn’t need to do either. Butter is a registered ESA. That means something. Protected by federal law is even printed right on her name tag. And technically, Mr. J already gave me permission, so we’re covered. It’s also convenient because, to be honest, I don’t want to talk to Principal Huxx about Butter or anything else. She’s super scary and she’s not what I consider an empathetic person, so it’s best if Butter and I go about our business and avoid her at all costs.
Adhering to that theme, I’ve timed our arrival so we’ll get to my classroom before anyone else shows up. We’re so early, Ms. Day isn’t even at school yet.
I take Butter to my table and sit down with her to wait for what’s next.
Butter starts to doze.
She’s so warm and snuggly, I get a bit sleepy too.
I’m starting to do head bobs when Addie, Mercedes, and Theo barge into the classroom in the middle of a vehement debate.
“Being director is a big responsibility,” Mercedes says, sighing so forcefully, her bangs blow up and fall back down.
“Of course it is! You’re going to be amazing.” Addie pats Mercedes’s shoulder.
“But I need to be prepared,” Mercedes says.
“You might need to be prepared, but that doesn’t mean I
have to get up at the crack of dawn,” Theo says, exasperated.
“But you’re the stage manager. We need regular meetings,” Mercedes argues.
Theo yanks on his backpack straps. “We don’t even know what play we’re doing yet! What kind of meetings can we be having?”
Finally, Addie notices me. “What are you doing here so early?”
Butter is snuggled in my lap, partially hidden by the table. I turn in my seat, revealing her. “I wanted to get Butter settled.”
“No way!” Theo comes toward us. “Is she here for a special visit?”
“She’s going to be joining me every day. She’s my ESA, emotional support animal.” I put Butter on the floor so they can meet her.
Theo sits down near Butter. “What a cutie-pie.”
“Lucky! I can’t believe Principal Huxx let you bring her,” Addie says.
“Mr. J gave me permission. She’s protected by federal law.” I show Addie the ESA tag.
“That’s amazing. I want to bring a pet to school.” She sits on the floor next to Butter and strokes her.
“Well …” I say, not sure how to explain that Butter isn’t just a pet. She’s serving a purpose.
Butter presses her head into Addie’s hand, enjoying the attention.
“I want some of that,” Mercedes says, and leans in close to pet Butter. Her hair falls into Butter’s face and dangles in front of it like a toy.
Out of nowhere, Butter lunges for Mercedes. She grabs a chunk of Mercedes’s hair with her teeth and pulls.
Addie and Theo jump up and back away.
Mercedes screams.
Butter panics, releases Mercedes’s hair, and tumbles on her side. Her feet stick straight out, and she doesn’t move.
Mercedes scrambles away.
We all stare at Butter. It looks like she has rigor mortis.
“Did I kill her?” Mercedes asks.
“By screaming?” Theo’s tone is sarcasm to the tenth power.
Before I can explain, Butter hops to her feet and wiggles her body, shaking off her fainting episode.
Mercedes grabs my hand and squeezes. Hard. “What happened?”
“Butter’s a fainting goat. When she gets nervous, she freezes up and falls over,” I say.
“That’s the cutest thing ever,” Theo coos.
Mercedes touches her hair. “I think I feel goat slime.”
Theo grimaces. “But that’s gross.”
Mercedes punches him in the arm.
Addie scratches the sides of Butter’s face. “She’s such a sweetheart, and her vest is so cute!”
“Thanks, I made it just for her.” I bend down and adjust Butter’s vest so it sits a little straighter.
“What’s going on in here?” Ms. Day asks, placing her bags on her desk.
Mercedes immediately launches into an explanation. “Addie, Theo, and I met early to go over audition details. As the play’s director, I want to make sure I get an organized, early start.”
Addie leans over and whispers in my ear, “Mercedes loves to get to school early. If she doesn’t make up a reason for us to meet her, she ends up hanging out by herself, which she hates.”
Mercedes crosses her arms. “I heard that, Addie.”
“I wasn’t trying to keep it from you,” Addie says, laughing.
Theo plops into his chair dramatically. “It’s so true.”
“While that’s great insight into Mercedes’s character, I’m most curious about the goat.” Ms. Day nods toward Butter, confused.
I’m ready with the certificate. I hand it to Ms. Day. “Butter’s my emotional support animal.”
Ms. Day inspects the certificate. “It says here she’s a Tennessee fainting goat. That’s an interesting choice for a comfort animal.”
I nod. “We kind of found each other.”
“That sounds fortuitous,” Ms. Day says with a hint of amusement. “Let me just call down to the office and clear this with Principal Huxx.” She walks toward the classroom phone.
My heart starts beating a million miles a minute. I don’t want her to call Principal Huxx. “But Mr. J already approved it. He even wrote me a note,” I say, turning Ms. Day’s attention back to me. I hand her Mr. J’s letter.
Ms. Day reads it. “Oh, I see.” She gives the note back. “I didn’t realize comfort pets were allowed at school, but it’s my first year, so I’m still learning.”
“ESAs are protected under federal law. That’s what her tag says.” I show Ms. Day Butter’s tag.
Ms. Day’s mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “Even so, I should probably call the office anyway. Just to check.”
I pick Butter up and clutch her to me, suddenly terrified we’re going to get in trouble. I start to run through all the decisions that brought me to this moment, and my logic suddenly feels very faulty.
Ms. Day dials the classroom phone and … gets a busy signal.
Momentary relief washes over me as the bell rings and kids start to stream into the classroom.
Ms. Day hangs up the phone and comes back to us. “No one’s answering, so I suppose Mr. J’s note will have to do for now. Or until someone tells us something different. I wouldn’t want to break federal law.” Ms. Day winks at me and scratches Butter under the chin. “She really is quite adorable.”
I snuggle Butter a little closer, feeling like we escaped an execution.
Kids begin to notice Butter, and they form a circle around us, asking a billion questions. It’s like we’re being swarmed by a hive of excited honeybees. They all want to pet her and know everything about her.
“Okay, folks. Take your seats and give them some space.” Ms. Day puts her hand on my shoulder. “Marvel’s emotional support animal will be joining us this morning.”
I look back at Ms. Day and smile.
“You should probably go ahead and introduce your goat to the class and tell us about her because I can tell we won’t be getting anything productive done until all their questions are answered.” Ms. Day sounds bothered, but I can tell she doesn’t really mind that Butter’s presence is distracting everyone.
The entire class stares at us, and it is unnerving. This type of attention always makes my heart race, but running my fingers through Butter’s wiry fur and focusing on Addie’s encouraging smile calms my nerves. It’s like throwing sand on a campfire. Underneath the coals smolder, but the flames are out.
I put Butter on the floor next to me. I take a deep breath and start. Everyone is quiet as mice while I talk.
“This is Butter,” I say, my voice tight and higher-pitched than normal. I clear my throat and start again. “Butter’s an emotional support animal. Her job is to help me feel more comfortable. She’s special, though, because she is something called a fainting goat. When she gets stressed or anxious, her body reacts and she freezes up and falls over.”
The entire class does a collective ahh. The volume in the classroom goes from sound booth quiet to concert level. It takes both me and Butter by surprise.
I hear Addie say, “Oh no.”
Butter freezes and topples over. She rolls when she lands and ends up with her feet sticking up in the air.
The kids push back in their chairs and stand up. The scraping of the chairs and the kids’ chatter are deafening. A voice breaks through the rest, Jamie’s. “Classic!”
I look up to see Jamie recording Butter on his cell phone.
“That’s enough,” Ms. Day says. “Sit down, everyone, and be quiet. Jamie, hand over the phone.”
“Whatever.” Jamie hands Ms. Day his phone and mumbles, “If I act like a freak at school, can I start bringing my dog with me?”
Butter scrambles to her feet and looks around, unperturbed.
“Is she okay?” Ms. Day asks.
“Fine. Just startled.” I give Butter a few encouraging scratches. “I think I’ll hold her for a few minutes.” I pick Butter up.
Her fainting episode starts another flurry of questions. The class wants to
know where I found her, what she eats, where she sleeps, and every other question under the sun. Pretty soon, I forget I’m standing in front of the class, and I spend most of the period answering questions.
A few minutes before the bell is supposed to ring, Ms. Day says, “Before, when the class got noisy, Butter fell over. Can you give us some tips on how we can make her more comfortable in class?”
I go over some basics. “The more familiar Butter gets with her environment and the sounds at school, the more comfortable she’ll get.”
“Okay, class. I’m going to ask another question, but keep in mind what Marvel just mentioned. We need to keep our noise level down, even if we get excited. Don’t forget.” She gives Jamie a pointed stare. Then she turns to me. “I know some working animals aren’t allowed to be petted. Is that the case with Butter?”
“No. I’m okay if people want to pet her. She likes it.”
As soon as I say this, kids hop up from their seats.
“Remember what we just talked about,” Ms. Day says, and the whole class quiets again.
“Would you be okay if some of the more interested kids connect with you outside during our early-morning break to officially meet Butter?”
“Sure.” I’m thrilled by our reception.
“I think we should let you and Butter head out first, then.” Ms. Day gives Butter a goodbye pet.
Butter and I head outside. We hang out under a tree and wait for the bell to ring. There’s a nice patch of grass, and Butter immediately starts nibbling on it.
Addie, Theo, and Mercedes are the first kids to find us. They run out the building doors and keep coming until they’re a few feet away; then all three of them slow and approach Butter quietly.
Addie, Theo, and Mercedes spend the break with us. They pet Butter, police approaching students, and answer questions. Mercedes chats incessantly about the play. Theo cracks dad jokes (he must have a book at home or something), and Addie relays funny stories of our adventure to the pet store.
The entire time I’m at break, I don’t think of anything at all. I feel like my mind is actually under the tree with the rest of me and not somewhere else running through an endless list of what-ifs. It’s like a vacation from my brain.
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