Bat and the End of Everything Read online

  1.He felt relieved that no one was in trouble.

  2.He felt worried over what kinds of pets Jenny might have.

  3.He felt itchy and uncomfortable, knowing he had to wait for an hour and a half to get any answers to his questions.

  Bat hated waiting.

  CHAPTER 9

  Under the Play Structure

  If Bat had been a mayfly, maybe the wait from math time to recess would have seemed even longer, but Bat found that hard to believe.

  As it was, Bat stared at the hands of the classroom clock, over the whiteboard at the front of the room, absolutely certain that it had to be broken. There was no way that seconds were supposed to last that long!

  Every bone in his body felt as if it were vibrating with tension; every muscle ached with being squeezed so tight. Bat’s fingers, wrapped around the edge of his seat, practically froze into claws, he gripped so fiercely.

  A couple of times, Israel leaned over and said, “Dude! Relax.”

  But Bat could not relax.

  At last, it was time for recess. Bat stood up and headed straight for Jenny’s desk, but she was rushed out of the classroom by Lucca and Mei before Bat could get to her.

  And then there was sort of a traffic jam at the classroom door, where Ramon and Henry were goofing around and Ramon accidentally knocked Henry’s open bag of trail mix to the floor. Everybody dropped down to their knees to help pick up all the loose almonds and chocolate chips and raisins, even Mr. Grayson, and even though Bat said “Excuse me” very loud and forcefully, no one got out of his way.

  “Just a second, Bat,” said Ramon, sounding kind of loud and irritated, but of course it wasn’t just a second, it was more like at least sixty seconds before they all stood up again and filtered out of the classroom and Bat could at last get through.

  Outside, the playground was really hot and bright in a way that Bat didn’t like. He felt the rays of the sun glaring down at him as if they were being directed through a magnifying glass. He put a hand up over his eyes and squinted as he scanned the yard, looking for Jenny.

  Finally, he saw her, with Mei and Lucca, sitting in the shade underneath the climbing structure.

  “What kinds of pets do you have?” Bat asked, getting down on his hands and knees to scoot next to the girls beneath the jungle gym.

  “I’ve got two cats,” Mei said brightly.

  “Not you,” Bat said, waving a hand in Mei’s direction. “Jenny.”

  “I’ve got a golden retriever, a cat, two parakeets, and a tortoise,” Jenny said. She was peeling an orange.

  “Is your dog gentle?” Bat asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Jenny said. She made a neat little pile of orange peels and tore off a segment of the orange, popping it in her mouth.

  Bat felt a little better hearing that Jenny’s golden retriever was gentle. Probably that meant Babycakes would be fine at her house.

  “We used to have three tortoises—a big one and two babies—but we had to give the babies away because my cat kept flipping them over onto their backs! She can’t do that to the big tortoise, though, so we got to keep that one.”

  “Tortoises can die if they’re flipped on their backs!” Bat said. “They can’t flip themselves right side up again!”

  “I know,” said Jenny, eating another slice of her orange and then offering one to Bat. “That’s why we gave them away.”

  Bat ignored the orange slice. “But your cat might try to hurt Babycakes, too. I don’t think you’re the best person to be her caretaker over the summer. Unless you can find a different home for your cat.”

  “No offense, Bat,” said Jenny, “but it isn’t up to you. Mr. Grayson said I could take Babycakes home. And anyway, she’ll be in a cage in my room. The cat won’t even be anywhere near her.”

  This wasn’t good enough for Bat. Without another word, he scooted himself out from under the climbing structure and headed back toward the school building. Mr. Grayson was just going to have to sort this out.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Last Day of Third Grade

  But Mr. Grayson didn’t sort it out.

  “I’m sorry, Bat,” he said when Bat came in from recess, “but I’ve already offered Babycakes to Jenny. I’m sure her parents will say no if it isn’t a good fit.”

  Bat spent most of that day and the next hoping that Jenny’s parents would have more sense than Jenny.

  But on Friday morning, Jenny announced, “My mom’s going to pick me up this afternoon, and she’s bringing the big car so there will be room in the back for Babycakes and her stuff!”

  Bat’s eyes filled with hot tears. Israel leaned over and said something, but Bat did not want to talk to Israel.

  And because it was the last day of the school year, nothing happened in its usual order. There was no math time, or reading time, or any of that. There were games, and a pizza party at lunch, and then all the kids signed each other’s yearbooks, which was really just a notebook Mr. Grayson had made for them with pictures of the things the class had done that year.

  Bat spent yearbook-signing time sitting with Babycakes. The bunny chewed contentedly and unremarkably on her hay, completely oblivious of the giant change that was about to occur.

  Mr. Grayson came over to Bat and Babycakes. “You seem worried, my friend,” he said to Bat.

  “I am worried,” Bat said.

  Mr. Grayson sighed. “Bat,” he said, “do you know how old Babycakes is?”

  Bat hadn’t ever really thought about it. Babycakes was full-grown, Bat knew that much, and angora rabbits live between seven and twelve years, so she must be somewhere between two (since she was already full-grown when Bat had met her last September) and twelve (since she was still alive) . . . but other than that, he didn’t really know.

  “Three?” Bat guessed.

  “Wow,” said Mr. Grayson. “That’s pretty good! Yep, she’s about three and a half years old. I got Babycakes as a young bunny when I first got this job at the Saw Whet School, and this is my third year here.”

  “You’ve taught third grade for three years and you have a three-year-old class pet,” Bat said.

  Mr. Grayson laughed. “I guess so. Anyway, Bat, do you know what that means?”

  Bat didn’t.

  “It means that this will be the third summer that Babycakes will be going home with a student. And come September, it’ll be Babycakes’s fourth fall at Saw Whet School, and in my classroom.”

  Next year, Bat would be in the fourth grade. Mr. Grayson wouldn’t be his teacher anymore. Bat hadn’t really thought about that.

  He looked over at Mr. Grayson. He saw his orange high-top tennis shoes and the funny way Mr. Grayson folded his jeans at the bottoms—pegged, he called them. He saw that Mr. Grayson was wearing two silver rings on his left hand and a brass ring on his right hand. He saw that Mr. Grayson must be trying again to grow a mustache, something he’d done twice before that year, with not very much success.

  And Bat realized how much he was going to miss his teacher. Maybe even as much as he would miss Babycakes.

  “I think I’d like to be in third grade again next year,” Bat said.

  Mr. Grayson smiled. “I’m going to miss you too, Bat,” he said. “But you’ll be in the room right next door, with Ms. Imani, and you can come and visit me and Babycakes as much as you want.”

  “What if I want to visit you and Babycakes every day?”

  “Then you can come every day,” Mr. Grayson said.

  Babycakes had finished eating her hay. She hopped around, her cute little nose twitching, like she was looking for something.

  “I’m worried that Jenny’s cat will hurt Babycakes,” Bat said, “or maybe scare her.”

  “I know,” Mr. Grayson said. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to give Jenny’s mom your mom’s phone number, okay? And I’ll tell her that if there is any sign that it isn’t going to work out at their house, they should call you and let you know. And then you can help figure out a backup
plan. Okay?”

  It wasn’t perfect. But it was better than nothing. “Okay,” Bat said.

  Mr. Grayson reached out his hand, and Bat took it. Mr. Grayson pulled him up to standing. “Now, come on,” he said. “Let’s go get some signatures in that yearbook of yours.”

  It was an Every-Other Friday, which meant that when the last day of school was officially over, Dad was waiting for Bat in the parking lot.

  “Hi, sport!” he said, leaning over to unlock the passenger door.

  “Hi,” Bat said, pushing forward the front seat and sliding behind it into the narrow back seat. He didn’t like it when Dad called him “sport,” but today he had bigger things to worry about.

  Dad looked at him. “You don’t seem very happy for a kid on the last day of school,” he said.

  “That’s because I wish it wasn’t the last day of school,” Bat said.

  Dad laughed. “I don’t think in all my years of school, college years included, I ever said those words.” He turned back around and steered the car toward the school’s exit. They drove past Jenny’s mom’s car, where Mr. Grayson was helping load Babycakes’s stuff into the trunk. Jenny was standing nearby, holding Babycakes in her travel case.

  As they drove past, Bat’s dad waved at Mr. Grayson, who waved back.

  “Have a great summer, Bat!” Mr. Grayson called.

  And then they were out of the parking lot and down the road, and that was the end of third grade.

  CHAPTER 11

  Pizza Night

  Maybe Bat wasn’t happy about the school year being over, but Janie was.

  Bat and Dad picked her up from outside her school, where she stood surrounded by a big circle of friends. They were all laughing and hugging, and then Janie took a bunch of pictures of everyone with her camera, and Bat had to wait an extra five minutes for Janie to finish saying good-bye.

  By the time Janie finally slid into the front seat, slinging her full backpack into the rear seat with Bat, he was almost twitchy with anger.

  “You shouldn’t make us wait like that!” Bat’s words came out loudly, and it felt good, like finally letting go of a sneeze held in too long.

  “Jeez, Bat, you don’t need to yell at me,” Janie said. She buckled her seat belt. “It’s the last day of school! I was just saying good-bye to my friends.”

  “It’s not like you won’t get to see them anymore,” Bat said. “It’s not like they’re going to Canada.” Then Bat realized that he hadn’t said good-bye to Israel, who was going to Canada, and Bat wouldn’t see him for weeks.

  “Okay, all right,” Dad said. He turned on his blinker, looked over his shoulder, and then pulled into traffic. “Everybody calm down.”

  Bat didn’t want to calm down. His body felt hot and itchy and uncomfortable, and the seat belt pressed on his collarbone like it was trying to choke him.

  Dad’s window was rolled partway down, and the sound of the wind coming into the car was so, so loud. Bat put his hands over his ears and rocked forward and back.

  “So,” Dad said—loudly—“we’re going to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate the end of the school year!”

  “Great!” said Janie. “Can we get pizza?”

  “Actually,” said Dad, “we’re going to go somewhere a little fancier. And a friend of mine is going to meet us there.”

  “A friend?” said Janie. “What friend?”

  “Please roll up your window,” Bat said. But Dad didn’t. Maybe he didn’t hear Bat.

  “A new friend,” Dad said. “You haven’t met her before.”

  “Her?” asked Janie.

  “Roll up your window!” yelled Bat.

  Dad rolled up his window. “All right, sport, you don’t have to yell,” he said to Bat. Then he turned to Janie and said, “Yes. My friend is a ‘her.’”

  But they didn’t go out to pizza. Or anywhere.

  “I have a terrible headache,” Janie said, almost as soon as they got home to Dad’s apartment. “I’m going to go take a nap.”

  And she went into the bedroom and closed the door.

  Later, when it was time to get ready to leave for dinner, Janie said, “I still don’t feel good.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Dad said. He was wearing a new shirt, blue-and-brown plaid, and he’d even taken off his usual baseball cap. His hair, Bat thought, looked kind of stiff.

  “I’m not going,” Janie said.

  “But we’re going to a restaurant,” Bat said. “You love restaurants.”

  “You’ll have to go without me,” Janie said. And she went back into her room and closed the door—loudly.

  Dad tried to convince Janie to get up and get ready. He asked nicely. He tried to make a deal. He even yelled a little. But nothing Dad said could convince Janie to get out of bed. She just lay there with her pillow over her head, saying nothing.

  Bat watched from the little kitchen, feeling unsettled. He couldn’t remember Janie ever complaining of a headache bad enough to stop her from going out to eat.

  “Do we need to call a doctor?” Bat asked.

  “No,” Dad said.

  Finally, Dad gave up. He sighed and pinched the top of his nose, like maybe he had a headache now too.

  Then he went back into the living room, sat on the couch, and made two phone calls. The first was to his new friend.

  “Hi,” he said. “It’s me. I’m sorry, but tonight isn’t going to work after all. Janie doesn’t . . . feel very well. Okay, we’ll do it another time.” After he hung up, he grabbed his baseball cap from the coffee table and pulled it back on. Now he looked more like Dad.

  Then he made his second call. “Hello,” he said. “Delivery, please. I’d like a large pizza—half cheese, half pepperoni.”

  “And breadsticks!” said Bat. Breadsticks were Janie’s favorite.

  “And breadsticks,” Dad said into the phone.

  CHAPTER 12

  Doughnuts for Breakfast

  In the morning, Janie’s headache was all gone, and she felt good enough to ride bikes into town for doughnuts.

  Bat loved riding bikes. He loved the special bike paths, the way they had a broken yellow line painted right down the center, so that bikes going one way were on one side of the path, and bikes going the other way were on the other side of the path, just like they were cars driving on the road.

  He loved how the crosswalks made a friendly chirping sound to let you know when it was your turn to go across the street. He loved going across the little bridge, and he loved parking his bike in the rack downtown, stringing the chain between the spokes of the wheel and clicking the lock into place.

  Janie and Dad loved riding bikes too. It was something all three of them liked to do together. The whole world seemed to be in a good mood—the birds, chirping in the trees; the other bicyclists, who smiled and dinged their bells to say hello; the motorists, who were polite at crosswalks, leaving plenty of room so that Bat felt safe while he crossed; the dogs with waggy tails, on one end of their leashes, and the people walking them, on the other end.

  There was a big bright-blue sky and no clouds at all, not even the wispy ones. Maybe, Bat thought as he chained up his bike and spun the numbers on the lock, summer would be okay, after all.

  Dad smiled as he held open the door to the doughnut shop, the doorbell tinkling as they entered. Bat followed Janie inside, thinking about which kind of doughnut he would choose today. Maybe a tiger’s tail, because he liked the name so much. Or a bear claw. He headed straight for the glass case to look at all his choices.

  “Suzette,” Dad said, “you’re here already!”

  Bat looked away from the doughnuts and to a lady sitting at one of the tables, holding a cup of coffee. She stood up when she saw them, and she smiled a wide friendly smile at them.

  “You must be Janie and Bat,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Suzette. It’s so nice to meet you.”

  Janie just stood there, even though she was usually the first person to say hello and do the
polite things like hand shaking. Bat looked back and forth between Janie and the lady’s outstretched hand, waiting to see what would happen.

  “Janie, Bat,” Dad said, “this is my friend Suzette. Say hello.”

  “Hello,” said Bat. And then, because Suzette was still holding out her hand, Bat shook it.

  “Your fingers are warm,” he said.

  Suzette smiled. “That’s because I was just holding my cup of coffee,” she said.

  “You didn’t tell me your friend was going to be here,” Janie said to Dad.

  “Janie, don’t be rude,” Dad said in a rude voice.

  Janie crossed her arms. “I don’t think I want any doughnuts after all,” she said. “I’m going to wait outside by the bikes.” And then she turned and left, shoving hard on the door so that the little friendly bell clanged loudly.

  Bat didn’t know what to do. He’d never seen Janie be rude to a grown-up before. Maybe her head was hurting again.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” Dad was saying to Suzette. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She’s usually so polite.”

  “Didn’t you tell them I was going to be here?” Suzette asked.

  That was something Bat did know. “No,” he told her. “He didn’t.”

  “Oh, Calvin,” Suzette said, and she shook her head.

  “Can I still have a doughnut?” Bat asked.

  Dad ignored him. “I should have told them you were meeting us here,” he said to Suzette. “I thought it might be easier this way.”

  “Easier for you,” Suzette said. “Not easier for Janie.”

  “Maybe her headache is back,” Bat said.

  Suzette rubbed her forehead like maybe she had a headache too, and then Bat started to worry that something was going around, and that maybe he could catch it as well. “I think I’ll wait outside with Janie,” he said. “Dad, will you please get me a bear claw?”

  “Sure, sport,” Dad said.

  Bat turned toward the door. Behind him, he heard Suzette say, “For such a smart guy, Calvin, sometimes you do pretty unsmart things.”