Free Every Living Thing by Cynthia Rylant

Slower Than the Rest
    Leo was the first one to spot the turtle, so he was the one who got to keep it. They had all been in the car, driving up Tyler Mountain to church, when Leo shouted, “There’s a turtle!” and everyone’s head jerked with the stop.
    Leo’s father grumbled something about turtle soup, but Leo’s mother was sympathetic toward turtles, so Leo was allowed to pick it up off the highway and bring it home. Both his little sisters squealed when the animal stuck its ugly head out to look at them, and theythought its claws horrifying, but Leo loved it from the start. He named it Charlie.
    The dogs at Leo’s house had always belonged more to Leo’s father than to anyone else, and the cat thought she belonged to no one but herself, so Leo was grateful for a pet of his own. He settled Charlie in a cardboard box, threw in some lettuce and radishes, and declared himself a happy boy.
    Leo adored Charlie, and the turtle was hugged and kissed as if he were a baby. Leo liked to fit Charlie’s shell on his shoulder under his left ear, just as one might carry a cat, and Charlie would poke his head into Leo’s neck now and then to keep them both entertained.
    Leo was ten years old the year he found Charlie. He hadn’t many friends because he was slower than the rest. That was the way his father said it: “Slower than the rest.” Leo was slow in reading, slow in numbers, slow in understanding nearly everything that passed before him in a classroom. As a result, in fourth grade Leo had been separated from the rest of his classmates and placed in a room with other children who were as slow as he. Leo thought he would never get over it. He saw no way to be happy after that.
    But Charlie took care of Leo’s happiness, and he did it by being congenial. Charlie was the friendliest turtle anyone had ever seen. The turtle’s head was always stretched out, moving left to right, trying to see what was in the world. His front and back legs moved as though he were swimming frantically in a deep sea to save himself, when all that was happening was that someone was holding him in midair. Put Charlie down and he would sniff at the air a moment, then take off as if no one had ever told him how slow he was supposed to be.
    Every day, Leo came home from school, took Charlie to the backyard to let him explore and told him about the things that had happened in fifth grade. Leo wasn’t sure how old Charlie was, and, though he guessed Charlie was probably a young turtle, the lines around Charlie’s forehead and eyes and the clamp of his mouth made Leo think Charlie was wise the way old people are wise. So Leo talked to him privately every day.
    Then one day Leo decided to take Charlie to school.
    It was Prevent Forest Fires week and the whole school was making posters, watchingnature films, imitating Smokey the Bear. Each member of Leo’s class was assigned to give a report on Friday dealing with forests. So Leo brought Charlie.
    Leo was quiet about it on the bus to school. He held the covered box tightly on his lap, secretly relieved that turtles are quiet except for an occasional hiss. Charlie rarely hissed in the morning; he was a turtle who liked to sleep in.
    Leo carried the box to his classroom and placed it on the wide windowsill near the radiator and beside the geraniums. His teacher called attendance and the day began.
    In the middle of the morning, the forest reports began. One girl held up a poster board pasted with pictures of raccoons and squirrels, rabbits and deer, and she explained that animals died in forest fires. The pictures were too small for anyone to see from his desk. Leo was bored.
    One boy stood up and mumbled something about burnt-up trees. Then another got up and said if there were no forests, then his dad couldn’t go hunting, and Leo couldn’t see the connection in that at all.
    Finally it was his turn. He quietly walked over to the