Better With Butter

by Victoria Piontek

  “I’d love to.” I’m thrilled to accept her offer and spend the next hour helping Gloria around the barn. The whole time I work, Butter prances alongside me and I try to memorize all her details—the markings on her fur, the exact shape and color of her eyes, and the way she bounces—so I can remember her perfectly later.

  While we work, Gloria asks me questions about Butter’s time at my house. I tell her about finding Butter, taking her to school, and the play. In return, Gloria tells me all about the goats and her life. By the time we’re done with the chores, I know Butter is in good hands with her. She’s really nice and loves her goats. If Butter can’t be with me, I’m glad she’s with Gloria.

  Mom comes back from her wanderings and I ask her the time before I realize I can look at my very own cell phone. I pull it out of my back pocket and my eyes well up because my time at this perfect place and with Butter is up. The play starts in a couple of hours, and if I’m not there, I’m going to fail sixth grade. “Mom, it’s Saturday.”

  “I know, and what a great place to spend it.” Mom stares dreamily out at the view, completely misunderstanding my meaning. Some people get lost in the clouds, but not Mom. For her, it’s plants. She totally loses herself in them.

  “Mom, the play. I’m supposed to be at school in …” I look at the time on my phone again. “Two hours.”

  Mom snaps out of it. “Gracious. I totally forgot.”

  “If I don’t get there, I’m done for. Meaning, I fail sixth grade. Remember?”

  “I know. I know,” Mom says, and frantically starts gathering our things.

  I extend my hand to Gloria, trying to handle this goodbye more maturely than the last. “Thanks for calling me and for having such a great home for Butter. I feel better knowing she gets to live at this wonderful place.”

  Gloria takes my hand in hers, but instead of a formal handshake, she cradles it between both of her hands in a very grandmotherly way, making me wish I was related to her so I could visit again. “Thanks for coming when I called you. Butter’s lucky to have you.”

  “I’d do anything for her.” At the mention of Butter and how much I love her, my eyes pool with tears. I hate having to say goodbye to Butter all over again. Knowing she’s going to be well taken care of makes it a little easier but not much. My heart still aches with the finality of it, and I want to put off my goodbye to her until the very last second.

  I turn and walk toward our car as Butter bounces along beside me.

  I’m almost there when Gloria says, “Marvel, wait.”

  I turn back around. “Yes?”

  “Would you like to help me out around here on weekends? I could meet you at the bus stop and walk you back here. There’s a lot to do around this place, and I could use the help.”

  I look over at Mom. She nods. Even though it means I’ll have to ride the bus, I don’t hesitate. A bus ride is nothing if I get to see Butter every weekend. It’s not the same as having her by my side every day, but I’ll take it. “I’d love that!”

  “I only have one condition.”

  “Okay,” I say warily. I’m not big on conditions. They usually end up being something I hate, and my mouth turns down, expecting an unpleasant stipulation.

  “You have to bring Butter with you when you come.”

  “Bring Butter with me? I don’t understand. Won’t she be here?”

  Gloria smiles. “No, she’s going with you. That little goat has made it very clear what and who she needs.”

  I forget all about maturity and fling my arms around Gloria. “Thank you.”

  Mom gets misty-eyed and hugs Gloria too.

  Gloria smiles. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Yes!” I say. “See you next weekend!”

  “See you next weekend,” Gloria says.

  Mom, Butter, and I scramble into the car. Mom pulls away from the barn, and I spin around in my seat so I can wave goodbye to Gloria. I watch her figure get smaller and smaller until we turn the corner and I lose sight of her. Then I settle Butter on my lap and roll down the car window so she can stick her head out.

  As we drive along the isolated roads back to civilization, Mom tries to bore me to death by pointing to plants and reciting their Latin names, but I barely listen to her. Now that Butter’s out of danger and coming home with me, my mind latches onto getting to the play and the time ticking by because the drive home seems to be taking longer than it should.

  Mom stops cataloging plant life and leans forward over the steering wheel in concentration.

  I watch her growing more and more anxious until I can’t contain it any longer. “Are we lost?”

  “Um … I think I know where I am, but maybe you could pop our home address into the GPS just to make sure we’re on track?” Mom’s tone is calm and confident like everything is completely fine. We’re definitely lost.

  I punch our address into the GPS and check the clock again. We have an hour and fifteen minutes to get there. We still have plenty of time.

  We listen for the GPS to start guiding us, but it never does. We’re too deep in the headlands for a cell signal.

  Mom taps her finger on the car monitor in an old-lady attempt to make it work. “How can we be so close to the city yet out of range of cell towers? It makes no sense.”

  I stroke Butter to ease my skyrocketing anxiety. The headlands have not only deadened all the cell signals, they’ve also gobbled up our extra time.

  “Mom, I can’t miss the play.” The tension in my voice doesn’t even begin to express the panic consuming my thoughts.

  “I know,” she says, and then clams up to concentrate on the road.

  She finally navigates her way back to civilization, but by the time we reach school, I’m an hour late for call time. Mercedes wanted the entire cast to arrive early for prep and will be livid I missed it, but I can deal with her. It’s Principal Huxx I’m truly worried about. If she doesn’t see me performing onstage, I’m going to fail and I don’t have much time left before the curtain goes up.

  Mom pulls up in front of the school to drop me off. “Should I take Butter home?”

  I pause for a second, thinking. If I do the smaller part, I’ll only have to blend in with the townspeople and stand there for a few seconds. The other choice is to take a risk and play Peter.

  “Do you feel well enough to perform?” I ask Butter.

  She bleats, and I take that for a yes.

  “Does that mean what I think it means?” Mom asks.

  “It does,” I say, and hop out of the car to find Mercedes.

  It’s pandemonium backstage. The tech crew drags scenery around, kids struggle into costumes, and parents snap pictures. I spot Theo and go over to him.

  “Where have you … ?” He stops mid-sentence when he realizes I’m holding Butter. He gives her a lavish, heartfelt greeting. “You clearly have a ton to fill me in on, but the play is starting in ten minutes, so you’ll have to tell me later.”

  “Do you know where Mercedes is?”

  He points to the stage. Mercedes stands in the middle of it shouting directions at people.

  I go to her. “Mercedes?”

  She spins around. “What?” she asks harshly, and then notices me holding Butter.

  “Could you handle a couple of last-minute cast changes?” I ask timidly.

  Mercedes throws her arms around me. “Could I ever. Give Butter to me and go get in your costume. Quickly. I think we still have her Cheerios around here somewhere.” She takes Butter away from me and pushes me in the direction of the dressing room.

  After I’m changed, I see Jamie in a corner by himself. He’s mumbling his lines over and over again. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was freaking out.

  Mercedes brings Butter back and hands me a baggie of Cheerios. “You two ready?”

  “We’re ready,” I say.

  Mercedes calls everyone to their places and goes out to introduce the show. Then it starts.

  The show opens with
Addie, as Heidi, being dragged uphill by Aunt Dete, played by Theo. They’re wonderful. Theo gets a lot of laughs, which I know he loves.

  Before I’m truly ready, it’s time for my entrance. The beginning is one of the worst parts. It’s where Peter has the most lines. Butter comes out with me, and the audience shows silent appreciation for her by making hearts with their hands, the way Mercedes instructed in her pre-show speech.

  The warmth of it drives away all my nerves, and I deliver my lines. Not perfectly but good enough.

  Jamie’s entrance is next. Only he doesn’t come out on cue. He seems to be stuck backstage.

  I say his cue line again, “Oh, Grandfather.” But he doesn’t come out.

  I see Mercedes start to panic in the front row.

  I look back to the stage wings and notice Jamie still hesitating.

  Addie ad-libs a few lines. “Grandfather must be at the well. Go find him, Peter. GO!” she says dramatically, and shoves me offstage.

  I stumble into the stage wings carrying Butter. “Jamie, you’re supposed to be out there. What are you doing?” I hiss.

  “I forgot my lines, dummy. I can’t go out there and make a fool out of myself.”

  Good grief. Must he insult me when I’m trying to help? “You don’t have a choice. You’ve got to get out there! Addie’s good, but she can’t ad-lib the entire scene.”

  “Just get back onstage, Frosty, and do a goat trick or something. I’ll be out there in a minute. As soon as I remember my lines.” He turns his back to me to concentrate, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

  From the stage, I hear Addie and Theo making up crazy dialogue. Mercedes must be losing it.

  For some reason, I know if I leave without Jamie, he won’t join us. He’ll stay right where he is, and I’ll end up having to ad-lib lines, which I am totally not up for. “Jamie, you know your lines. You’ve been saying them for weeks. You’re just freaking out.”

  “I do not freak out! I’m not you, Frosty. Just give me one second.”

  “You don’t have one second.” I just heard Addie talking about flying to the moon and Theo has launched into a soliloquy on Aunt Dete’s motivation for her bad behavior. He’s started at the day of her birth. “The play is crashing and burning out there!”

  “Just go. I’m right behind you.”

  He’s totally not. “I think you’re having some stage fright. Mercedes says it can happen to anyone, but the panic you feel isn’t real and I know exactly what to do. Hold your arms out.”

  He does, and I put Butter in his arms. He looks at her like she’s a sea monster, not an adorable miniature goat. “How’s this supposed to help?” he asks, irritated.

  “Trust me. I’m an expert. Don’t think about what’s going to happen. Just think about Butter.”

  “If I make a fool of myself out there …”

  “You can call yourself Frosty,” I say sharply. “Now come on!” I drag him out onto the stage and say, “I found Grandfather!”

  Jamie looks like a deer in headlights. But I watch him pull Butter close, snuggle into her, and then squeak out his lines.

  Once he gets the first few words out of his mouth, he’s apparently cured because he thrusts Butter back at me and starts to ham it up, stealing everyone else’s spotlight. TOTAL DIVA. At least the play is officially under way.

  The next forty-five minutes are a mixture of misery and excitement. When I’m onstage pretending to be Peter, I’m not thinking about much else, so it’s fine. But in between scenes, I have to keep my anxiety in check by breathing deeply and focusing on Butter.

  When the curtain finally comes down, I collapse into a chair backstage, thrilled it’s finally over.

  Jamie sees me. He comes over and begrudgingly says, “Thanks for the save out there, Frosty.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say with an irritability I don’t truly feel, and I’m utterly surprised to find I’m no longer bothered by his nickname for me.

  Addie, Theo, and Mercedes find me. They wrap me and Butter up in a very squishy, unstable group hug. We almost fall over and stumble into someone—Principal Huxx.

  All four of us straighten up and get serious fast.

  She looks down at us. “Mercedes, congratulations on a successful production. Addie, Theo, you both gave believable portrayals. Marvel, I must say, I was surprised to see your goat tonight.” She pauses, and I wonder if I broke some kind of rule. “But I was glad to see her back. She added a little something special that really made this play a standout.”

  She turns and starts to walk away, while Addie, Mercedes, Theo, and I look at one another in stunned silence. Then she turns back. “I hope this means Butter will be joining you at school Monday morning.”

  My eyes get super big, and I nod. “She will.”

  After Principal Huxx leaves, Addie, Theo, Mercedes, and I link arms and walk offstage. Butter bounds ahead of us, leading the way.

  I wait in the wings of the auditorium stage. Addie, Mercedes, Theo, and I hold hands. We’re wearing matching ballet costumes for our recital. After the play ended, I signed up for dance class and discovered that the bigger my life gets—the more open I am to trying new things—the happier I am.

  Addie leans close to me and sniffs. “You smell like hay.”

  I smile. “I was at Gloria’s barn. I took the bus here.”

  Theo plucks a piece of straw from my hair and raises his eyebrows. “You know you’re supposed to feed it to the goats, not wear it, right?”

  Laughing, I nudge him in the side with my elbow. “Really? Good to know. Thanks for setting me straight.”

  Mercedes shushes us. “You’re not supposed to talk in the stage wings. Did I teach you three nothing?”

  Addie, Theo, and I giggle, but stop chatting.

  I peek into the audience. Mom and Reef sit in the front row, which probably annoys the person behind Reef. He’s taller than ever.

  A few rows behind them, Goth Girl sprawls out in an aisle seat with her legs stretched into the walkway. She’s wearing pink combat boots and a fluffy tutu over black leggings. I grin at her, thrilled she accepted my invitation to the performance.

  At first I don’t see Dad, but then I spot him. He’s standing at the back of the auditorium. He has shore duty now, so he goes to work during the day and comes home at night. It’s great to have him home. I know he might have to leave again, and it will be sad, but I can handle it. I’ve been working hard with Mr. J.

  Standing next to Dad is a four-legged audience member—Butter. Dad holds on to her leash, and she wears her red support vest.

  I wave.

  Dad waves back and gives me the thumbs-up signal.

  The house lights flash.

  “Ready, Marvel?” Addie asks.

  I smile at her. I am nervous, but I work through it and, when the stage lights pop on, I walk into them.

  I’m deeply indebted to the magnificent Mallory Kass for believing a novel about a goat was a good idea. Her smart, savvy editorial helped me turn a proposal into an outline, the outline into a messy first draft, and then, finally, a book. With each pass, she made everything better. I am in awe of her brilliant brain and grateful for her huge heart.

  I’m incredibly lucky to call the amazing Laura Rennert my agent and cherished friend. She is a loving, supportive, fierce advocate for all writers and a devoted individual who champions with her whole heart. I adore her beyond measure. I’m thankful for all the women of the Andrea Brown Literary Agency, but especially Andrea Brown, Caryn Wiseman, Jennifer March Soloway, Paige Terlip, and Alison Nolen, the Grammar Goddess. They are my literary family.

  Special appreciation to Jennifer March Soloway, the Queen of Titles, for bestowing this book with the cutest name ever. More importantly, thank you for the treasure of friendship.

  I don’t know if I would be a writer without my sister Beth. She makes my stories better, and my life fuller. When I write, it’s for her. I work hard to make her cry, but I love it most when I make her laugh.


  Writing might be a solitary endeavor, but creating a book is a collaborative enterprise, and I’m very grateful for all the members of the Scholastic team. They work tirelessly on behalf of authors and readers, and fill the world with books. Special thanks to Assistant Editor Maya Marlette, Production Editor Mary Kate Garmire, Art Director Keirsten Geise, and Regional Key Account Manager Theresa Frei.

  Marvel’s anxiety journey is her singular experience, but I hope it also feels universal, and I appreciate Dr. Petey Kass for sharing his expertise, and Leslie Nobile and Lucia Nobile for providing their perspective.

  There are so many people in my day-to-day life who encouraged me (probably more than they know) by asking about my first book and being excited about the next one, especially the kids: Sophia, Mirielle, Rebecca, Maria, Alexis, Alix, Soleil, Elin, Ylva, Harlow, Aven, Van, Braden, Drew, Caitlin, Mackie, Keirnan, Owen, and Kyra.

  A deep, heartfelt thanks to the Kids Need Mentors students, and teachers Jennifer Kulp, Nicole Crome, and Ronnae Forsyth, as well as all the teachers, librarians, and readers. Writers may create books, but you make them matter.

  Thanks to my mom for rescuing Jennifer, the goat, and letting her live in the house until she got strong enough to move into the barn. I was able to write Marvel’s story because my mom filled my childhood with unconditional love and a menagerie of animals—dogs and cats, chickens and sheep, horses and goats. These days, she fills my life with laughter, friendship, and, as always, love.

  My dad also inspired my love of creatures through trips to the Alligator Farm, his bottomless knowledge of animal facts, and his propensity to rescue things: squirrels, snakes, birds, turtles, and the occasional dog and cat. Even now, he delights me with animal trivia, and I’m lucky to have him in my life.

  My sister Angie always makes me smile. Her sweet spirit lifts my heart, and her gentle, carefree ways brighten my life.

  My extended family has continued to expand, and I am so happy there is a new crop of littles, London, Maylin, Palmer, and Reef, to enrich our lives with love and happiness.

  My own littles, William, Clarice, and Gavin, are teenagers now, but they fill my days with joy and give my life meaning. William’s introspection and kindness inspire me to be a better human. Clarice speaks to my soul with her love of books and late-night cups of tea. Gavin warms my heart with his cuddles and laughter. They manage to share me with my fictional characters without too much grumbling, even when staring at an empty refrigerator or stepping over piles of laundry.