Free Maybe a Fox by Kathi Appelt Page A

with just her rocks and occasional visits from Mrs. Harless and Elk to keep her company. But she still . . . Did. Not. Want. To. Return. Not yet. There was the homework she hadn’t done, for one thing. There was the school bus with Sam but not Sylvie, for another. There was the thought of all the faces that would be staring at her or trying not to when she walked through the big double doors, for another. There was, there was, there was . . . way too much to think about.
    The night before, Jules had pulled the orange mitten out of her hoodie pocket. For the millionth time, she rubbed it against her nose. Sylvie’s scent was stronger in the Flo-Jo T-shirt than the mitten. The mitten smelled more of wool, lanolin. But the shirt held Sylvie’s smell like a cup. Jules pulled the neck out and tucked her nose into the yellow cloth. Coconut. She went to sleep that way, holding the shirt against her face the way a baby held its blanket.
    But the shirt that was such a comfort all night filled her with dread in the morning. School. Without Sylvie.
    She walked to the kitchen, sat down hard, and curled her toes around the rung on the kitchen chair. She used it to keep herself anchored.
    â€œJules,” Dad said, breaking her spell. “You okay?”
    She slumped down and tugged at her hair. When was the last time she had brushed it? Yesterday? Two days ago? Two weeks? She couldn’t go to school with her hair in such a tangle, could she? She looked at Dad and noticed that his own hair was turning gray around his ears. The gray was something new. She tugged harder at the knot in her hair and looked at the stack of undone homework at the end of the table. A homework mountain.
    She was about to tell Dad that she wasn’t really okay, no, because her hair was too snarled, plus she had too much homework, and she needed to sort through her rocks again, when Dad put his hand under Jules’s chin and lifted it so that she had to face him. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and the way his cheeks sagged. But she also saw the firm set of his mouth.
    â€œYou can do this, Jules,” he said. “You’re my strong girl.”
    No. No, she wasn’t. Not without Sylvie. The clock said almost seven, almost time to leave for school. Dad tugged on her snarled hair. “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think,” he said. But how could it be anything but awful? The thought of going to school without Sylvie was unbearable. Just like the thought of playing the Maybe game without Sylvie was unbearable.
    Where do you go when you die?
    Maybe you grow wings.
    Maybe you fly away like a bluebird.
    Maybe you make yourself so small that nobody can see you at all.

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    K ennen or not, Senna was still a fox, and the lessons continued for her and her brothers. The Disappearance, the Reemergence, hunting, fading into the woods when enemies were near. And now, the road.
    If you must cross a human road, wait in the hollow beside it first. Make sure you’re alone. Then cross quickly.
    The mother and father foxes tested each kit. When it was Senna’s turn, she paused and looked both ways, pricked her ears for noise and her nose for prey, glanced back at her parents, and then trotted across. The pavement was warm and smooth under her paws, a strange but good feeling. Once on the other side of the road, Senna and her brothers looked back at their parents, who were standing shoulder to shoulder, eyes on their kits. Relieved. Then they, too, darted across the road and into the forest.
    Catamount.
    The giant pale cat was closer than she had ever scented him. She looked up. There he was, stretched along the lowest branch of the maple next to her, his tawny fur almost invisible in the early morning air.
    The huge cat was quiet, his muscles relaxed. Not hungry or looking for prey. No threat. He blinked at her. Sister, he said to her in the language of Kennen . Sister. A beautiful word.

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    S am