Dev had a habit of hiding behind the dumpster on the corner of our bus stop and scaring the bejeezus out of me. I had to hand it to him, though—he never played tricks like that at school. He always had my back.
“I would never,” he said. “But you have to promise not to snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
“Sure you do, I bet it sounds like this.” His breath sawed in and out in loud, rumbling, old-man sounds, and we both doubled over in laughter.
Inside the school library, we were instructed to lay out our sleeping bags before heading to the cafeteria for an early dinner. Dev had a blanket he folded over in lieu of a bag, and I dutifully set out myAladdinhand-me-down next to it as Dev headed across the library to peruse the books in the big kid section.
“Oh my god,” I heard behind me, and froze. “Is that anAladdinsleeping bag? What are you, three?”
I ignored the taunts and reached into my backpack with shaking hands to lay out my folded pajamas neatly inside the sleeping bag.
I’d already unfurled my thin pillow, trying to block out their snickering laughter. Just one thing was left. The stuffy I’d slept with as long as I could remember. The bulbous pink mouse Mom had given me as a baby for her Brie Cheese.
Squeakers was my ride or die, even as a fifth grader. Dev always gave her a pat on the head whenever he came over, accepting her like a third in our friendship. It never even occurred to me to leave her at home, not since that scary night when Dad threw everything that reminded him of Mom out onto the street.
But as I took Squeakers out, laying her lovingly on my pillow, the hushed whispers made my hands clammy. I knew right then, without a shadow of a doubt, pulling her out of my backpack had been a mistake. I wished Dev hadn’t left me to go look at books while I set up my stuff alone.
“Wow.” I recognized Ethan’s voice behind me, exaggerating his volume because what he was about to say to hisfriends was really for my ears. “It makes total sense that Brie Queso’s stuffy would be a rat. I mean, rats love cheeseandtrash.”
The sounds of Sawyer’s and Rich’s cackling laughter followed. I still hadn’t turned around. My blood had turned to ice in my veins. If I opened my mouth, I didn’t know if I’d scream or cry. All I could do was wish I hadn’t brought Squeakers with me, wish I could somehow turn back time or cast a spell to make this all okay. I was still at the age when wishing for magic was a logical response.
Someone made gnawing sounds behind me.
Ihatedthem. Of all the kids in my class, they were the meanest. Sawyer was the leader since his dad was mayor. His friends lobbed cruel insults at me like it was a game, trying to gain favor with their king while Sawyer sat back and watched, amused by my suffering.
It made me so mad. On the nights it kept me up, I’d be so angry I’d end up punching my pillow, whisper-screaming all the things I’d wished I’d said back to them, but never would.
“You know what?” Rich said from behind me.
Anger took hold of me. I stood and spun around. They were still wearing their coats, backpacks slung over their shoulders.
“What.” I said, jaw jutting out.
Rich glanced at the adults at the far end of the library before turning to me, eyes gleaming with feigned concern. “Hey, no need to get so upset. All I was going to say is the rat looks hungry.”
Ethan’s eyes widened in understanding before he played along. “Yeah, he does. You must not be feeding him enough.”
I wasn’t about to tell Ethan he’d misgendered mymouse, but that pissed me off almost the most. Maybe if I hadn’t been distracted by it, I would have caught onto their plan earlier, been able to prevent it.
“You do it,” Rich whispered, nudging Sawyer. “You won’t get in trouble.”
Ethan nodded fervidly. “Yeah, Sawyer, do it.”
Without realizing it, we’d shifted. The three of them had circled around me, closer to the head of my sleeping bag than I was now.
Closer to Squeakers.
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed with determination as he looked at me, then at the teachers, far away and focused on other students, then back at me. His quick and jerky movements reminded me of how a real rat would behave.
His hand closed on Squeakers, and my heart tightened. I still didn’t know what was happening, what his plan was for her.
He hurried with her to the large trash can in the corner, glancing over his shoulder at me once. His back shielded his movements from anyone watching, and when he turned around, he wasn’t holding Squeakers anymore. The snickers from his friends said it all. She was in the trash. Where she belonged. Just like me.
Part of me believed it. Everyone and their mother—literally—said as much.
A stinging sensation started at the back of my throat, spreading up to my eyes.
