soon as he concentrated on the tune, it fled.
He pushed himself out of bed and his phone fell to the floor. He’d forgotten to charge it overnight. He sighed and plugged it in, then stumbled to the shower.
The one good thing about Natty being gone was that there were no more fights over getting to the shower first. He could take his time and still not have to worry that there would be no hot water left, or that Natty would have saved up a good smell to leave in there for him. But even that, he missed. The bathroom was always just as he’d left it, the small reminders of another presence gone except for Natty’s old toothbrush, and the cream he’d used on the rough paw pads his football career had left him with.
Sol made it through breakfast without his father bringing up his meat-eating, because fortunately, there was no meat in grits. His mother usually made bacon and sausage on the weekend, but he would cross that bridge when it was set down on a plate in front of him. His father grumbled his way through the usual morning pleasantries and raised a paw as Sol went out to the bus. His mother gave him a kiss on either side of his muzzle and wished him a good day.
Fat chance, Sol thought. He was going to have to go back and face his teammates today.
The size of the school meant that there wasn’t a great deal of competition, especially at the unglamorous position of second base. Sol hadn’t doubted that Taric would take his position after this year. Then the coyote had grown from a lanky sophomore into a muscular junior, and had worked relentlessly at practice, talking to the starters, listening to the coaches. And still, Sol realized, somehow he hadn’t believed Mr. Zerling would let Taric take his spot. Maybe that was his father’s fault; the older wolf didn’t think a coyote could take Sol’s spot, and Sol had perhaps absorbed that belief, relied on it too much.
Two opossum cousins and a muskrat caught the bus at Sol’s stop. None of them had much to do with him; they weren’t on any sports teams, and they had long since passed the point where they said more than “Hey” at the bus stop in the morning. This morning was no different, standing in the welcome chill of the humid morning, the opossum cousins talking low over the purr of farm machinery in the distance and the scattered rings and slamming doors that signaled the slow waking up of the long row of ranch-style houses. Then the arthritic clanking Sol had heard every year for the last twelve clattered into earshot. The yellow school bus rounded the corner, lurched to a stop in front of them, and threw its doors open with the smell of overnight sanitizer, signaling—to Sol, at least—the official beginning of another school day.
Sol didn’t talk to any of the other kids on the bus, but he couldn’t help glancing at each one of them walking onto the bus. A few of them met his eyes, among the shuffling, tired crowd, but none of those looked like they knew about his demotion. A tenth-grade swift fox who lived down the street in a big extended family sat next to him at the stop after his, but opened her English book right away. For the next five stops, nobody said a word to him as he sat with his face pressed to the window, watching the tidy streets roll by, houses full of people whose sons were starting on baseball teams and football teams and basketball teams and even soccer teams.
By the time they stopped by the lake and Meg slouched onto the bus, Sol had allowed himself to relax. Meg gave Sol a nod of her head on her way to the back of the bus. He flicked his ears and nodded back. There was no real reason for him to remain at the front of the bus except habit, and the fact that the smoke that often filled the back few rows stung his nose. He would have endured worse to talk to Meg, but she did not talk on the school bus; it interfered with her strict regimen of being annoyed at The System.
If he hadn’t been given a social studies project with
He pushed himself out of bed and his phone fell to the floor. He’d forgotten to charge it overnight. He sighed and plugged it in, then stumbled to the shower.
The one good thing about Natty being gone was that there were no more fights over getting to the shower first. He could take his time and still not have to worry that there would be no hot water left, or that Natty would have saved up a good smell to leave in there for him. But even that, he missed. The bathroom was always just as he’d left it, the small reminders of another presence gone except for Natty’s old toothbrush, and the cream he’d used on the rough paw pads his football career had left him with.
Sol made it through breakfast without his father bringing up his meat-eating, because fortunately, there was no meat in grits. His mother usually made bacon and sausage on the weekend, but he would cross that bridge when it was set down on a plate in front of him. His father grumbled his way through the usual morning pleasantries and raised a paw as Sol went out to the bus. His mother gave him a kiss on either side of his muzzle and wished him a good day.
Fat chance, Sol thought. He was going to have to go back and face his teammates today.
The size of the school meant that there wasn’t a great deal of competition, especially at the unglamorous position of second base. Sol hadn’t doubted that Taric would take his position after this year. Then the coyote had grown from a lanky sophomore into a muscular junior, and had worked relentlessly at practice, talking to the starters, listening to the coaches. And still, Sol realized, somehow he hadn’t believed Mr. Zerling would let Taric take his spot. Maybe that was his father’s fault; the older wolf didn’t think a coyote could take Sol’s spot, and Sol had perhaps absorbed that belief, relied on it too much.
Two opossum cousins and a muskrat caught the bus at Sol’s stop. None of them had much to do with him; they weren’t on any sports teams, and they had long since passed the point where they said more than “Hey” at the bus stop in the morning. This morning was no different, standing in the welcome chill of the humid morning, the opossum cousins talking low over the purr of farm machinery in the distance and the scattered rings and slamming doors that signaled the slow waking up of the long row of ranch-style houses. Then the arthritic clanking Sol had heard every year for the last twelve clattered into earshot. The yellow school bus rounded the corner, lurched to a stop in front of them, and threw its doors open with the smell of overnight sanitizer, signaling—to Sol, at least—the official beginning of another school day.
Sol didn’t talk to any of the other kids on the bus, but he couldn’t help glancing at each one of them walking onto the bus. A few of them met his eyes, among the shuffling, tired crowd, but none of those looked like they knew about his demotion. A tenth-grade swift fox who lived down the street in a big extended family sat next to him at the stop after his, but opened her English book right away. For the next five stops, nobody said a word to him as he sat with his face pressed to the window, watching the tidy streets roll by, houses full of people whose sons were starting on baseball teams and football teams and basketball teams and even soccer teams.
By the time they stopped by the lake and Meg slouched onto the bus, Sol had allowed himself to relax. Meg gave Sol a nod of her head on her way to the back of the bus. He flicked his ears and nodded back. There was no real reason for him to remain at the front of the bus except habit, and the fact that the smoke that often filled the back few rows stung his nose. He would have endured worse to talk to Meg, but she did not talk on the school bus; it interfered with her strict regimen of being annoyed at The System.
If he hadn’t been given a social studies project with
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