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Meg
“Chuck is dead.”
Either I’m having some major heartburn, or I was more attached to that rodent than I realized.
“Meg!” Autumn pipes on the other end of my cell phone. “I’m so sorry. Oh, honey—” My best friend pauses. “Wait, who is Chuck?”
I can’t look away from the dead hamster, lying on his side in that metal cage. His little eyes are closed. His tiny arms are stretched out and his bite-sized legs are tucked in. His brown and white fur look as if I’ve combed it for a little hamster viewing—I didn’t. Though I would have. And I think he’s smiling. He’s in hamster heaven, and all is well now. There’s no spinning wheel to run around on but an entire field of daisies to tromp through.
Chuck is happy—but my students? My students will be shattered. And right after I had little Evie Anderson organize his treats and bedding.
“Meg. Sweetie. You’re killing me here.” Autumn snaps. “Who is Chuck? I want to be appropriately bereaved for you, but you’re making it difficult.”
“Chuck,” I moan out the little guy’s name. She should know this. I know I’ve told her about him. I took a poll to decide on his name—the color-coded chart was beautiful, by the way. “My class pet. My kinders are going to be devastated.”
“Wait.” Autumn grunts. “That hamster we bought last year?”
“You mean, that beloved class pet who received his name by a class vote? Remember that chart I made?” How could she forget about Chuck? Or the chart?
“Are you bragging about that diagram again?”
“It was color-coded and awesome. Admit that it was awesome, Autumn!” I spent three hours on that thing.
“Sweetie,” she says. “I have to go. The Linus’ are headed out of town, and I’m running the farm all by my lonesome this weekend.”
“Autumn, I’m in serious crisis. Forget the chart. What do I do? For my students?”
My friend lets out a groan, but I know she’ll stay on and help me figure this out. That’s why Autumn is the absolute best. That and she works on a Christmas tree farm…It’s not as if her trees are going to up and run away while she counsels me. “When is your last day of summer school?”
“Well, today. Kiddos just left.”
“Did anyone notice the dead little Chuckie?” she asks.
“Just Chuck,” I tell her. “Chuck, the very sweet hamster—who only bit August Pile, and he had it coming.”
“Meg, work with me here. I really have to get back to work.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “No, no one noticed.”
“You’re still teaching kindergarten, right? You didn’t move up to first grade? So you will never teach any of those children ever again. Correct?” She pauses, waiting for my answer.
“They’ll visit and—”
“Yes, but if they saw a hamster with brown fur and buck teeth running in a wheel, wouldn’t they assume it’s Chuck?” I hear the door of her old ‘70s truck opening and then slamming closed. We both know she won’t be able to hear me well once she revs up that old engine.
My heart ticks faster. “Ahh—but that’s so dishonest.”
“If you want to save a dozen five-year-old hearts from breaking, I recommend buying a new Chuck and calling it good,” she says. “Now go have some fun, Meg Miller. You are young and single and one heck of a hottie who is officially on summer vacation!”
I cinch my brows together, frowning. Could I just buy another Chuck? That seems so cruel, as if Chuck’s little life meant nothing at all. Is he so easily replaceable?
“Did you hear me?” she says. “Stop hiding away, girl!”
“I’m not hiding,” I say, but we both know I sort of am. I don’t mind being semi-invisible. Hi, it’s me, Meg, the super organized, highly responsible, invisible girl.
“Then go have some fun.”
