Ryan says.
The Tank scratches his chin. “It’s her nature. She’s a cat. She was just doing her job.” He looks around the room as if to make sure no one will overhear what he’s about to tell us. “Can I trust you guys not to share something?”
We nod.
“The thing is,” he says quietly, “Curly is a mass murderer. I find a mouse in here almost every morning. She leaves them by my desk. If it weren’t for Curly, we’d probably have a real infestation on our hands. But she keeps the situation under control.”
“Wow,” Ryan says, impressed.
“That’s just between us, remember. I’m not sure how the other students would feel if they knew.”
“Right,” Ryan says. “We won’t tell.”
“Noah?” the Tank says. “What’s wrong? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
I swallow, trying to get rid of the ache in my throat. It’s the kind you get when you’re trying not to cry. I don’t know why I have it now. It’s only a mouse. But for some reason, I feel sorry for him. I can’t get the image of him trying to crawl away to safety out of my head. I look down at his cute little face again. Stupid Curly. “Nothing,” I finally answer.
The Tank pats my shoulder. “Why don’t you two go back to the dance? I’ll take care of this little guy.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Ryan asks.
“Bag him and bring him home to Stan.”
“Stan?”
“My snake. He loves the things, but they have to be somewhat fresh. Curly’s his main supplier.”
“Wow,” Ryan says.
The Tank walks over to his desk and opens a drawer. He pulls out a box of plastic sandwich bags and brings one over to the mouse. He folds the paper plate just so, slides the mouse into the bag, and zips it sealed.
“I’ll just run this out to my car,” he says. “See you boys back there in a jiffy.”
As soon as he opens the classroom door, Curly runs over to him and looks up expectantly.
“Good girl,” he says, and bends down to scratch her head.
“Wow,” Ryan says again when the Tank is gone.
Curly comes over to me and rubs against my leg. I bend down and take off her vest, and then put it in the trash can next to the Tank’s desk. “We shouldn’t let her wear camo,” I say. “It will only encourage her to hunt.”
“Why don’t you want her to kill mice?” Ryan asks. “She’s doing this old school a service.”
“I don’t know.”
I know it’s natural for Curly to do, but I just don’t like it. I don’t like how the whole thing made me feel.
Helpless.
Again.
And that’s all I want to say about that.
We go back to the dance and flop on the couch to people-watch.
Sam and Molly are holding hands. Zach is dancing with the pole again, but this time Lily is laughing at him in a flirty way. Pathetic.
When the next slow song comes on, Ryan leans back on the couch and stares at the ceiling like he can’t bear to watch all the couples close-dancing again. I do the same. Wads of gum are stuck up there in a patternless cluster. I never noticed them before. I wonder how they got there and how long they’ve been hanging above us, waiting to lose their stick and land on our heads. I wonder who put them there and why they bothered.
While I’m having these deep thoughts, someone taps my knee. Sadie is standing right in front of me, smiling.
“Wanna dance?” she asks.
“Me?”
She nods.
“Uh, OK.”
I get up without looking at Ryan, because I’m sure he’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open. Either that or shaking his head in disbelief.
Sadie takes my hand and leads me zigzagging through the other couples already dancing. When we stop, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close. I search around for Tate to see if he’s dancing with anyone. I thought he and Sadie were a couple, and I don’t want to get too close if they still are. But Tate is dancing with Haley, and she’s got him pulled close to her, too, so I guess it’s OK. As I try to remember what Emma taught Sam
The Tank scratches his chin. “It’s her nature. She’s a cat. She was just doing her job.” He looks around the room as if to make sure no one will overhear what he’s about to tell us. “Can I trust you guys not to share something?”
We nod.
“The thing is,” he says quietly, “Curly is a mass murderer. I find a mouse in here almost every morning. She leaves them by my desk. If it weren’t for Curly, we’d probably have a real infestation on our hands. But she keeps the situation under control.”
“Wow,” Ryan says, impressed.
“That’s just between us, remember. I’m not sure how the other students would feel if they knew.”
“Right,” Ryan says. “We won’t tell.”
“Noah?” the Tank says. “What’s wrong? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
I swallow, trying to get rid of the ache in my throat. It’s the kind you get when you’re trying not to cry. I don’t know why I have it now. It’s only a mouse. But for some reason, I feel sorry for him. I can’t get the image of him trying to crawl away to safety out of my head. I look down at his cute little face again. Stupid Curly. “Nothing,” I finally answer.
The Tank pats my shoulder. “Why don’t you two go back to the dance? I’ll take care of this little guy.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Ryan asks.
“Bag him and bring him home to Stan.”
“Stan?”
“My snake. He loves the things, but they have to be somewhat fresh. Curly’s his main supplier.”
“Wow,” Ryan says.
The Tank walks over to his desk and opens a drawer. He pulls out a box of plastic sandwich bags and brings one over to the mouse. He folds the paper plate just so, slides the mouse into the bag, and zips it sealed.
“I’ll just run this out to my car,” he says. “See you boys back there in a jiffy.”
As soon as he opens the classroom door, Curly runs over to him and looks up expectantly.
“Good girl,” he says, and bends down to scratch her head.
“Wow,” Ryan says again when the Tank is gone.
Curly comes over to me and rubs against my leg. I bend down and take off her vest, and then put it in the trash can next to the Tank’s desk. “We shouldn’t let her wear camo,” I say. “It will only encourage her to hunt.”
“Why don’t you want her to kill mice?” Ryan asks. “She’s doing this old school a service.”
“I don’t know.”
I know it’s natural for Curly to do, but I just don’t like it. I don’t like how the whole thing made me feel.
Helpless.
Again.
And that’s all I want to say about that.
We go back to the dance and flop on the couch to people-watch.
Sam and Molly are holding hands. Zach is dancing with the pole again, but this time Lily is laughing at him in a flirty way. Pathetic.
When the next slow song comes on, Ryan leans back on the couch and stares at the ceiling like he can’t bear to watch all the couples close-dancing again. I do the same. Wads of gum are stuck up there in a patternless cluster. I never noticed them before. I wonder how they got there and how long they’ve been hanging above us, waiting to lose their stick and land on our heads. I wonder who put them there and why they bothered.
While I’m having these deep thoughts, someone taps my knee. Sadie is standing right in front of me, smiling.
“Wanna dance?” she asks.
“Me?”
She nods.
“Uh, OK.”
I get up without looking at Ryan, because I’m sure he’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open. Either that or shaking his head in disbelief.
Sadie takes my hand and leads me zigzagging through the other couples already dancing. When we stop, she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close. I search around for Tate to see if he’s dancing with anyone. I thought he and Sadie were a couple, and I don’t want to get too close if they still are. But Tate is dancing with Haley, and she’s got him pulled close to her, too, so I guess it’s OK. As I try to remember what Emma taught Sam
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