By day, Lonely Oak is a place of regulation and schedule. A bell to herd the lives of children. A meal to fill their bellies. A lesson to hone their minds. A grade to make them humble. A serendipity of tax-payed day-care, and structured education.
By night, Lonely Oak is a place of quiescence and phantoms. A faint whistle through the halls. An emergency light ever-vigilant to accompany the motionless shadows. An echo of laughter, still trying to escape into the open. A school of empty classrooms, wherein silence teaches darkness.
But, now and again, the night is not always so hollow.
A community meeting—of teachers, of tutors, of Scouts, or of flute-concerts—would warm the cafeteria with light and sound, while the rest of the halls listened in hush.
A dance within the gym would send the heavy beat of a bass and the shrill screech of an electric guitar out into the air.
A track-and-field meet-up would practice running hurdles and relaying batons up and down the crude gravel path, striped with lanes.
Or, in the case of this particular evening, an annual festival held.
A fair for which the current students of Lonely Oak, as well as those from time ago—with friends who rooted for other mantras, or siblings who were still seeds soon to sprout into saplings—would return to the grove from which they were nurtured, and began their first steps through life beyond the comfort of their own garden.
It started just a while before the sun fell below the broad sheet of clouds high aloft. It was bright and piercing, a fiery globe that bleached the sky. The shadows it began to caste were long and lanky. Knees bent and bowed, heels kicked up sharply, and a relaxing stretch would reach up to two yards or more.
The Fields by the New Playgrounds were crowded with booths of food and bakery. The entrancing odor of roasted corn, barbecue chicken, corn-dogs, and cotton-candy, drifted about in the warm breeze. Laughter and screaming and childish bawling were the heartbeats of every moment. The ever-lingering threat of being hit by the spray of a squirt-gun kept a degree of thrilling tension in the air.
Within the gymnasium was a shifting maze of gaps between shoulders. The rattle of a peg-wheel for a roulette-style station added to the cacophony of squeals and echoes from off the metal ceiling with buzzing halogen bulbs.
On the other side, the asphalt yard was closely packed with ring-tosses, tail-pins, hula-hoop rolling, and dozens of other little games. The lighting was dusky, the shadow of the gym stretching far beyond the edge of the asphalt and into the rough-trodden grass.
On that grass, where kickball games were held and laps were run to tire the hyperactive, more space-hungry activities were held. An inflatable bouncy-castle and the dunking booth had the longest lines. Kids young and old talked in raised voices over the incessant hum of the castle's pump. Teachers waited patiently and with great trepidation while, one by one, the students would take the tennis balls and try their best to exact aquatic revenge for all the hours they were pinned between cold iron desk and uncomfortable plastic chair.
The creak of metal hit the air, and a crowd of heads turned as a second-grade teacher threw her arms up and wailed before her voice was muted by the splash of water.
Farther out were track-and-field races. Sack races, relay races, three-legged races, and backwards races were constantly started by whistles and cheers.
From out the smallest door to the gym; up the sidewalk, toward the third-grade hallway, with the sun to the left and a few more activities set apart from the asphalt between the portables to the right; bearing right on the three-split sidewalk, to the space between the third- and fifth-grade halls; the last pocket of activities could be found.
There were some arts and crafts for little ones to do. Plenty of shade and places to sit for parents and grandparents alike. A cakewalk played oldie-moldies to the disdain of the young and to the delight of the young-at-heart. Several pavilions along the side of the outsides of the halls advertised causes for donations, PTA sign-ups, and other such things that kids neither noticed nor cared for.
The Oak and Firefly Festival.
A true mark that the year was soon to be over. That the grueling chore of learning would relent to some bit of fun and play.
A time for those in higher grades to come back to where their roots were sown. That they might be reminded of more nostalgic days. Where once they napped on towels, and learned of the seasons and why it rains; and had not the dread of tests and deadlines, nor stresses of bosses, coworkers, and politics.
A break from the regular attitudes, into a state of innocence and wonder. A time where the students and staff were not members of an institution, but members of the larger community that surrounded the school.
A night, where the Oak so Lonely, had a modicum of company.
* * *
The young rabbit sat upon the bench on the patio, the door to her left leading into the fifth-grade hallway and the one to her right leading toward the hall between the lobby and cafeteria. She fiddled with a tiny plastic yo-yo she had found discarded in the grass. It was a bluish-green, and was a bit well-disguised here, where the grass was a bit more lush than other places. About her torso, the strap of her little purse clung securely to her. In it, a roll of pink tickets.
The tickets were bought by her brother. The currency of society traded for the currency of the Festival. He had spent twenty dollars to her name, of his own allowance. A cognitive dissonance troubled her mind. She wanted to make the most of the offering, and yet she was afraid to spend it on anything for fear of wasting it on tired experiences.
She had deliberated with herself here, for nearly half an hour. Unlike the other kids who giggled and ran, tagging one another with water-guns, she remained reluctant to move from her bench. Reluctant to put away the abandoned yo-yo. She was beginning to fancy the songs of the past generation, playing over the crackling loudspeaker and echoing between the walls of the thin outdoor corridor.
Finally pressured to spend her allowance, for to not spend was more wasteful than spending wastefully, she finished her fiddling. The yo-yo dropped down, and with the flick of her wrist came scurrying back into her palm. She fidgeted with the string about her finger, and fixed the subtle trench it had caused in her fur. She stood, mindfully resting her hand over her purse. She opened the snap, to put the yo-yo away, but spotted a little ferret kit about the age of a kinder. He sat alone, picking at the grass and putting it between his lips to spit it back out.
”Here,” she said, proffering the toy.
He looked up, a bit defensively at first. But then his eyes fell upon the yo-yo, and he held out his palms in a cup to catch it. “Dankies,” he mumbled as it plopped into his hands.
She glanced back as she walked away, to see him rolling it out and dragging it back in tugs like a dog on a leash. A smile crossed her muzzle, and her shoulders slouched a bit less.
The weather was a pleasant match to the evening. A bit warm, but plenty of breezes to keep the air from stagnating. Not to mention with the recession of the sun, the heat would quickly leave the earth and maybe settle into a light shower, of which this month was well known for.
Her stride was meandering at best. She was in no rush to really go anywhere; the common staples the Festival had to offer she had experienced at least four times over. There was a lingering black thought in the back of her mind, how this would be her last experience as a true Oaker—provided she did not get held back.
The thought filled her with a sense of dread as she cut across the grass and circumnavigated the asphalt by the gym. Ever since the discussion of college with her brother, she felt a sense of... ending. It was difficult for her to put to words, even to herself.
A sense of closing, of ceasing; of the point where the line abruptly altered direction. It was nothing she had ever pondered, and yet now she found herself thinking more and more every day. Thoughts of how she had squandered all of this time; had not taken it seriously and was ill-prepared for tomorrow, the next day, and the day after.
Just as she had started studying for the RSBTs far too late, she began to feel that these thoughts should have crossed her mind much earlier.
To keep from dwelling her precious moments away on those thoughts, she walked with a more directed focus toward the bouncy-castle. The line appeared to be rather long, but in reality it moved rather quickly. For about seven minutes, a dozen kids would throw themselves in any direction like mad salmon in a whirlpool. This had often mixed, sometimes unfavorably painful, results.
Even now, as the old set departed, a little girl held her palm to her shoulder and fought back the urge to sob through the pain. This resulted in the administration of a bag of ice, as well as a review of the rules posted on the sign outside the inflated entry-platform.
She was the antepenultimate member of her set. Wiggling her baby-blue-colored shoes off at the entrance, she paid her five tickets and shimmied through the rift in the mesh entryway.
Inside, the other boys and girls jumped and tumbled about like the beads in a toddler's popcorn mower. It was several degrees warmer, and all kinds of crumbs and leaves and other such debris collected within the crevices between the air cells.
One boy flung himself about, running up to a wall and colliding against it only to be thrown down a short distance from the wall. A girl was trying to do flips and twirls. An older girl, maybe a teenager, ran giggling from a little boy trying to jump up on her back. Given they were both collies, they were likely siblings.
The commotion was oddly relaxing. A dissonant sense that with all the turbulence, thrum of the motor, and cacophonous squeals and shrieks, there was a sense of tranquility in that none of it truly affected her. So long as she minded herself and kept out of the way of the boy trying to break through the wall, she could be content and remain unscathed.
She fell onto her back, trying not to think about the grout that littered the flooring. She felt every jolt and pitch from the other kids bouncing, along with the gentle vibration of the air pump. She hopped to her feet, and lept up once more, closing her eyes. She emitted a subdued squeal as a dizzying rush of both fear and elation tickled her forehead, and giggled when she finally settled, and got up to repeat it again.
She flinched as the boy ran past her, nearly stepping on her hand, and barreled toward the wall, collapsing down in exhaustion. She got to her feet, and saw a clear way to the adjacent wall. She ran toward it, and pivoted on her heel as she jumped to twist about. Her back hit the wall, and she tumbled forward, rolling once naturally and forcing a second roll. She crashed into someone, and felt a bit of weight on her.
The other girl chuckled and rolled off of her, and they exchanged apologies.
In mid-backdrop the whistle blew. “Okay, everyone out,” the volunteer at the entrance beckoned.
Her legs and arms still felt the pitch of the bouncing even as she walked away. But, soon enough, she found her balance and made her way through the crowd. Her eyes flitted about, searching for either people she knew or something that caught her interest. Though nothing stuck out quite readily. After so many times, the novelty of ring-toss on soda bottles, finding the right rubber ducky in a kiddie-pool of sand, and pretending to fish a prize from behind a felt-decorated partition, all lost their charm and mystery at some point.
A creeping feeling began to climb its way up her spine. One she did not feel that often, but when she did it was crippling and perturbing. The sense of being a stranger; a ghost amongst a crowd. Within the gym, she saw groups that laughed and joked, held hands and struggled to stay together, and that called out names from across distances to catch one another's attention.
And she, alone. Indistinguishable, except for when she fumbled. Noticed only when she misstepped or mispronounced. Never when she yearned to be noticed; only when she feared it most.
The noise was overpowering, enough of an excuse for her to sneak out the other side. The sun had fallen below the tree-line in the distance. She saw kids playing about the playgrounds. Glowing wands swung about like lightsabers in a Jedi duel.
She glanced toward the set of swings. Two were taken, but the other two were open. She began walking toward them, sensing an opportunity. So many times she had tried to catch the swings, and so many times had Rini or some other kids gotten to them before her. There was no sense of fairness or turn-taking; once claimed, the swings were theirs until the end of recess; unlikely sooner.
But, this evening, she could enjoy them for a time. She neared, her pace hastening as she closed the distance, but not so fast that it might be seen as a desperate dash. She reached the one on the far end, a swing separating her from the other two little swinging kits she didn't know. She sat in the swing, just as another couple of hyena brothers ran up.
They raced, she watched, and fought one another to get ahead. They want as far as tugging arms, pushing back, and tripping; a roughness that unsettled her.
The younger one reached the swing first. But, just as he tried to clamber in, the older one ripped him out of it, claiming it for himself. The younger one sat on his bottom and started to cry.
”Stop whinin' ya big baby, you'll get yer turn.”
”Hey,” the rabbit in the swing beside them said with a sour tone. “He got there first.” She got a dirty look.
”Yeah, well, he didn't keep it.”
She looked at the boy on the ground, hugging his knees. The other two kits had stalled in their swinging, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Blinking twice with thought, she left the swing, holding out her hand for the pup. “C'mon, you can have my swing.”
He sniffled, but took her hand. “Really?” He asked.
”Sure.” She replied with gentleness, pulling him to his feet. She watched as he got situated in the swing, and was given a thanks. She waved her hand, “Not necessary.” She muttered, leaving the swing-set for the food stands.
She wasn't hungry at all. Her brother had made her a grilled cheese and some carrots for dinner—she did not really have an appetite. She considered some of the food, until the stench of the corn-dog stand wafted her direction. Besides, it never settled well with her where exactly that food came from. Off the ground as far as she knew. Maybe later she would get some cotton-candy.
So, once again, she found herself sitting. This time, she slumped down at the picnic tables between the gym and The Fields. She watched one of the custodians fiddle with a portable light stand. After a few moments, she was caste in the ethereal white of the propane-powered halogen lights. It did not serve much use quite yet, but within the half-hour it would be a welcome light-source.
As she watched the kids running about, something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She flicked her eyes, and saw a boy standing beside her. She raised her hand, flinching away. “Please don't shoot me,” she said, her inflection leaning more toward annoyance than apprehension.
”Wudn't gunna,” the squirrel boy said, raising on his toes. “Justh' wanth'd ta ak'sth if you wasth okay. You look rul'ly bored.”
”I'm okay.” She replied. She guessed the boy was a first-grader, from his age and by the way he lisped from missing front teeth. “I just saw all this one too many times. Not much new.”
”I s'thaw sthonthin' I di'in't sthawed lasth year,” he pointed; “Is'th right on tha' odder sthide'a the gymmy.”
She chuckled. “Okay, I'll take a look. Thanks.”
The boy grinned, showing off his missing teeth. Just then, he felt the nape of his neck soak, contorting his face to a cringe of shock before turning about.
”Sstttthhhop talkin' to yer gurrl-friend,” another boy hiding behind the tree nearby jeered, emphasizing the lisp in a demeaning way.
The squirrel boy went red right away and chased after.
She couldn't help but giggle. But, as she did, her smile wilted as something crossed her mind. The boy had a manner of speech similar to someone else she knew, and it was obviously something others were making fun of him for. She gazed to her left, as if distracted, but was more trying to stifle a thought that was trying to bubble its way up in her mind.
Just as she was about to get up and see what the boy had not seen last year, she noticed something bounce across the ground by the corner of the gym. Curious, she trotted over, spying the object. Her eyelid raised as she made out the shape. The foam arrow was about seven inches long, colored black, and had neon-orange fletching.
Sh-clack!
She leaned over to pick up the arrow, and heard the impact of plastic against plastic. Looking to her left, another foam dart thumped off of a target just a few feet from her.
”Oooh, so close!” The hostess of the game commented. “One more try, aim a bit high.”
She ducked back behind the gym, waiting for the sound.
Sh-clack!
She spotted the arrow as it drifted lazily past her vantage and floundered upon the dirt. She retrieved it, and made her way over.
The little boy at the station handed the plastic bow back over to the hostess, who congratulated him. He had a bit of a sour look on his muzzle, but thanked her for the consolation prize: a small plastic plane.
”Give me one second,” the hostess said to the next person, turning toward the lane, when she balked. “Oh! I wasn't expecting you there,” she said to the rabbit.
”Sorry,” the rabbit apologized, and leaned down to pick up the last arrow. “Here you go,” she said, proffering them.
The hostess tried her best to sound genuine when she took the arrows and thanked the rabbit, but it was really strange that the girl suddenly appeared behind her like a ghost.
”Welcome,” the rabbit replied, and looked toward the line. “I'm going to get in line,” she said, and headed that way. The hostess said something, but she was too busy trying to quell the burning blush that wanted to redden her cheeks. She passed half a dozen kids to get to the end of the line.
She clenched her fist, trying to draw the embarrassment into it so she could inconspicuously drop it down at her heels like littering a gum-wrapper. She heard the line continue to grow a bit behind her as the next person took their turn.
She noticed that in front of her the line was all boys; a few glancing back at her now and again.
The boy at the head of the line took aim after the hostess gave simple instructions on how to use the plastic toy. The bow looked more akin to something out of a fantasy story or fairy-tale. Its span was almost two feet wide. It was primarily a gaudy traffic-cone-orange color, with some parts black. The body looked more akin to a gun than a bow, really; the only semblance of it even being a bow were the limbs, and the string. But instead of pulling back on the string proper, a handle-grip was used to draw it back.
Sh-clack!
The plastic snapped together as the boy let the large foam arrow fly. It dumbly charged toward the target like a blind bird. The target had several holes cut into it, with a net sewn about the entire back to catch the arrows and deliver them to a small tray at the bottom. The netting, however, was not necessary, as the arrow fell to the ground nearly three feet before the target.
The rabbit watched dutifully. Aim upward. She thought, as if trying to will guidance to the boy.
But he aimed straight ahead, and launched; the arrow barely went four feet before barreling to the ground.
The girl sighed, almost impatiently. She felt a breeze bellow from behind. Use the wind to your advantage; it'll carry it a bit farther. She watched the boy load the arrow and pull back on the draw. The breeze tickled her ears again. Now. ...Now!
But the boy waited a second, then raised the aim a bit higher. He fired, but the wind had died, and so his arrow sailed and only managed to bounce just at the bottom of the target.
”So close!” The hostess said with a snap.
”Woulda gone in if you just...” The rabbit said under her breath, crossing her arms. Behind her, someone giggled.
The next boy, older than the others in the line, did a better job. He managed to get an arrow into one of the lower holes. Everyone in the line clapped. As it turned out, the consolation prize was also the same prize given to those who made a mark, or so it would seem.
The rabbit watched the next few boys take their turns, and as with each one she was able to make better observations. Most notably among them was that there was really very little one could do in the way of actually aiming the damn thing.
”How can you expect to hit anything...” She whispered. She heard another giggle behind her. Then, felt a tap on her shoulder. She glanced back.
”Why're you—”
”talking to yourself? It's—”
”Really weird.”
”Hey!” A voice hailed from a short distance away. “You guys took off! What gives?”
”We were just—”
”Saying 'hi' to Lyza.”
The rat glanced to her right, and saw the rabbit. “Oh... Hey, Lyza. What're you doing here?”
She squinted a brow. “I go to school here.” She stated, looking back to the front of the line.
Behind her, the Siamese-kitten twins giggled again.
The boy in front of her was already in the midst of his turn. Lyza began debating herself as the girls talked behind her, though it was mostly the twins gossiping and pointing out things about people as they passed by. This person had pretty shoes, that person could do better with their hair, that teenager looked like a creeper. The rabbit swallowed dryly, the last arrow popping off the chamber with a clash of plastic and a puff of air.
”That was a good one,” the hostess said, handing the boy his little plastic airplane. The doe looked to the little girl next in line. “Just a moment, sweetie. I have to get the arrows.”
”She might as well stay over there.”
”Yeah, ditzy-Lyzy will miss every shot.”
The rabbit gritted her teeth.
”All right,” the doe returned, having gathered all the arrows. “Now, you just—”
”I know how to use it,” the girl said, her hands awaiting for the toy.
”I have to tell everyone,” the doe admonished.
Behind her, the kittens giggled again.
”Load the arrow onto the end like this. Aim toward the target—not anywhere else. When you're ready, pull back on the handle and just let it go. Got it?”
”Yes.” Lyza replied, biting her impatience.
The bow was a bit lighter than she expected. It was nose-heavy, and it was awkward to hold. She wanted very much to hold it like a real bow; quite literally she had been handed a toy after dealing with the real thing.
She knew this first shot was not going to be very good. She had seen it fire several times, but she needed at least one shot to gauge how well the bow worked. There was one thing she learned in that brief time that Mrs. Kiminy had taught her: each bow was as unique as a person. Some drew better than others. Some harder to lift and aim. Some were arthritic at the joints or couldn't hold the nock.
This bow was like almost every terrible quality wrapped into one.
She pulled back on the handle, pointing the foam arrow at about ten degrees. She released the plastic draw, and it clacked together. The bow jerked violently forward in her grasp, almost like it wanted to escape from her grip. It dramatically changed her ultimate aim, causing the dart to fall just below the target and flounder upon the grass.
”You'd think with all the carrots you eat—”
”You'd have better aim, huh?”
”Now girls,” the lady doe replied, leaning over to load another arrow onto the bow.
”I bet it's harder than it looks.” Rini observed.
The rabbit's ear twitched.
”Yeah, right—”
”For her.”
This time she was a bit more prepared. A fire burned between her shoulders; she bit her lip. This was some kind of test. Some kind of divine ordeal. Surely she, who had won an archery tournament, could handle this little festival game.
She called upon all her few-days' wisdom, scouring for it where it lay dormant for several weeks. She stood to the side, bent her elbow slightly, and hefted the arrow up a little higher to compensate for the lurch that would accompany the release.
”You're not supposed—”
”To aim for the moon.”
Shoot for the moon...
The wind blew gently. The rat watched, her arms folded. She observed the rabbit, and found something a bit peculiar about the way she took her time. It was like... she was in a trance or something. The way her body kind of relaxed, and the way her ears gently twitched. It made the rat think of those cheesy Kung-Fu movies that her brothers often watched.
Lyza gripped tightly onto the handle, and took in a breath. Then, just as she felt that the moment to let the arrow free was a heartbeat away, her hand let go out of reflex. The cold shudder ran down her spine; the wet trickle following after.
”Hey!” Rini hissed. She glared at the twins.
Bitty twirled the little squirt-gun on her finger. “I thought she was asleep.”
”Excuse me,” the doe stated. “That was rude, you should apologize to her.”
Betty sighed. “You're right—”
”We're sorry, Lyza,” they said together.
Rini squinted her eyes. She saw the way the twins had their arms behind their backs, and knew they were crossing their fingers.
”It's okay, honey. You can get another turn.”
The rat watched as the rabbit uncurled her fist and opened her eyes.
”Screw this game.” She growled, and started to walk away. She shoved the bow toward the prissy princess, who accepted it readily.
For me!?
”Wait, don't you want your prize?” The doe futilely shouted after.
”Screw your prize.” The rabbit growled to herself, and started to jog. Just get away.
She dodged and swerved through the crowd, getting a few looks, but no more than the other littler kids that also had the habit of doing so. She entered the gym once more, and threaded her way to the far corner, where there appeared to be some space. Just as she was about to reach it, her shoulder was snared. She let out a meager yelp, and turned about.
She gazed over the head at first, but then inclined her chin a little. The eyes that met hers were surrounded in black, like ink had dripped down his cheeks. His face was familiar. She felt deja vu. Only when he clutched her wrist with a smile and beckoned her to follow, did she come to understand that feeling.
She followed the boy by the hand, trying her best not to be lashed by his abrupt changes in direction. They made their way out of the gym through the exit toward the third-grade hall, along the sidewalk that divided the food to their left from the games to their right. They headed toward the direction of the cake-walk, where she had first started, but stopped short at the entrance to an alcove between two portables.
”Go red! Go red! Blow harder, c'mon!”
”Awww,” the crowd said in sympathy.
”Green wins! Next up?”
Raingutter Regatta, read a sign posted near the game.
Several kids jumped up with their tickets ready. The boys in blue uniforms hosting the game scurried about, collecting the tickets and resetting the wood-block regattas at the other end of the gutters. One boy, after dropping the tickets into a cardboard box, glanced to something that caught his attention in the corner of his eye. A wince of dread pinched his snow-white face for just a second, before he collected himself.
”Hey, Robby!” The boy hollered as his brother spotted him. “I think found another one!”
The panda bear approached, brushing down his shirt. “Hey, Lyz.” He greeted.
”Hey.” She replied, slipping her hand from the younger brother's to flash a wave. “You look good in uniform,” she complimented.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh... Thanks,” he mumbled.
”Your button's undone, Rob.”
The panda visibly startled, looking over himself. “Wh—which one?”
Lyza pointed at the left breast-pocket, “Relax, just that one,” she chuckled.
His lips pinched as he righted the flaw.
”Thanks,” he said, a bit nervously. “Is... is that a new shirt?” He asked.
The rabbit looked down; she had forgotten what she had put on. “Oh, yeah,” she said, pulling it out a bit. It was a slate-gray shirt, like the color of a chalk-board, with baby-blue chalk-lines drawing abstract shapes and circles, some of which were filled in with the sketchy, stylized texture; it also had a baby-blue trim about the hem, neck, and sleeves.
”I don't think I've ever seen you wear black before,” her classmate observed.
”Aren't ya gonna introduce me?” The brother panda said, lifting on his tip-toes.
Wrinkling his nose, Panda sighed. “Lyza, this is my little brother, Kenny.”
”Hi, Kenny,” she greeted, as genuinely as she could. It was a little awkward, since he had dragged her here before she knew his name. She vaguely recalled the name, and how her friend had explained what the meaning of Da was when he was first introduced to the class. Even with that, now might as well have been the first time he had told her he had a younger brother.
”That's six. I'm on a roll!” The bear pumped his fist into the air.
”What roll?” Lyza questioned.
Panda shook his head. “He's been making a game out of finding everyone. He's dragged Justin, Will, Kimmy, and Ket and Emmy here.”
”Robby talks about you guys all the time,” the younger brother nearly interrupted. “I kinda wish I went to school here.”
”Where do you go to school?” The rabbit questioned. The younger brother was old enough to be in third grade.
”I go to Richmond & Cornellis,” the little panda replied, a bit of pride in his voice.
”Never heard of it,” the rabbit shrugged.
”It's a charter school,” Panda explained, his voice a bit agitated.
Before she could stop herself, she questioned: “So why do you guys go to different schools, then?”
The current race finished with cheers.
”Luck,” Panda grumbled. “I gotta help clean up.” He dashed away.
The rabbit watched as he quickly started to occupy himself with collecting the regattas.
”Don't worry,” his younger brother said, catching her attention. “He's right... It's kinda not fair.” He glanced around, as if distracted, but kept talking. “You can only get in if you win a 'lottery;' I won,” he gestured to himself, and dropped his arms to let them sway. “Robby wasn't so lucky.”
”But... I'm still confused,” she thought. “Didn't you change schools like Pa—Robert?”
He shook his head. “It's a little complicated, but the 'nice' version is that Robby moved here, to live with Grandpa and help around his house.”
She looked over as Panda helped six other boys carry one of the gutters over to the ditch to be dumped. “Oh... So he doesn't live with you.” She stated.
”Not since after Christmas,” the younger brother replied. “I live with our parents, but my track-break just started, so I came down.”
”Track-break?” The rabbit questioned.
The little panda's teeth showed as he beamed, almost expectantly. “Our schools are way different. Mine's year-round. So, I go to school for a while, then get a few weeks off over and over, instead of a summer break.” His eyes darted away for a moment. “Hey,” he said, leaning in. “Is she a friend of yours?”
Lyza glanced in his direction.
Amidst the crowd criss-crossing on the orange-halogen-lit walkway, leaning against one of the beams with black paint flaking away to expose the gray metal, was a familiar face to the rabbit. The rat averted her eyes when both of theirs fell upon her. When there was a break in the crowd, she slipped through, approaching them.
”What do you want?”
The stranger to the scene could hear the snarl in the rabbit's words.
”I hope I'm not inter—”
”Stop playing dumb,” Lyza cut her off, folding her arms. “What do you want?”
”Hi! I'm Kenny,” the young panda interjected, “Are you Rini?”
The cream-colored rat's eyes flitted with surprise. “Y—Yeah, how do you know me?”
The boy chuckled. “Robby's my brother,” he thumbed behind him.
Panda was helping a few other boys collapse the canopy that they had set up, while a few others broke down the tables.
”Oh, nice to meet you,” Rini said with a wave. “Anyway, um... Lyza,” she brought a hand to her brow, fixing a stray strand of hair that tickled her scalp. “I just wanted to say 'sorry' about... what happened with Bitty and Betty.”
The rabbit stared at the rat for a moment, before her nose wrinkled on one side. “Whatever.” She muttered.
”Here,” Rini reached into her pocket, pulling out a plastic replica of a Spanish doubloon. “It's your prize,” she explained, holding it up between her thumb and fore-knuckle. “I told the lady I'd make sure you got it.”
Lyza shrugged. “I don't want it.”
There was an awkward few seconds while Rini held the coin, poised to give it to Lyza.
Finally, Kenny broke the stalemate: “Um... If you don't want it, can I have it? I like coins.”
The rat's expression dimmed. “Sure, Kenny,” she said, meeting his hand to exchange the coin.
”Hi Rini,” Panda said, approaching them again. “Sorry, I had to help pack up.”
”Hey Pan, no prob. I didn't know you were in BSA.”
”I uh...” He ran his hand over his uniform to smooth it out, a gesture Lyza recognized must be a nervous habit. “I don't wear my Class A to school like I'm supposed to.” He admitted.
”Two of my brothers are Eagle Scouts,” she stated.
”Cool. I dunno if I'll make it that far, but grandpa says it's good for me.”
”Well, not with that attitude you won't,” the rat said in a mock-scolding tone. “So, is there anything else you have to do?”
He looked back, “Nah. I think I'm done.”
”So... should we try to get a good spot?” Rini asked, vaguely.
”A good spot?” Kenny questioned. “For what?”
The rat smiled, cocking her head, “Lyza didn't tell you guys?”
”Tell us what?” The older brother asked, a little nervous.
The rabbit looked away. “It's not really anything special. Seen it once, seen it a hundred times.”
”Well Panda and his brother haven't seen it, yet.” The rat pointed out. “C'mon, let's all go. This is the thirtieth anniversary of the school, so they might do something specialer.”
”There's no such word as specialer,” Lyza pointed out. “You mean more special.”
”Ugh whatever,” Rini huffed, grabbing onto Kenny's hand. “Let's go, it'll be fun.”
”Fine.” The rabbit acquiesced, “But only cuz Robert hasn't seen it, yet.”
”Seen what?”
”You'll see...” The rat teased, beckoning them to follow as she took his brother with her.
They cut off the walkway toward the black-top, where the activities were in various stages of breaking down and packing up. There was a crowd standing near the edge, lining up along the track that extended from the asphalt square. They made their way to the mass, standing a few spots back. The people in front began to sit down, rolling out blankets and towels to keep from sitting upon the ground directly.
More people gathered in the space vacated by the activities. Rather quickly, as the nautical twilight began to take hold, flashlights and propane lights helped illuminate some commotion taking place in the grassy area. Several people in neon-orange and -yellow safety vests bustled about. Their laser-etched fabric glowed against the night like ethereal specters.
From a mostly-white truck, caked in mud and dirt and grime, a few of the men relayed back and forth. They gathered a few crates, pulling something barely-seen from them and taking great care to line them up.
Mr. Pretty, the principal, also wearing an orange vest that would match his fur in any other light, spoke something and gestured. The men placing exchanged glances, and began taking what they had placed, and going further back, into the shadows. Their lights clicked on, highlighting fleeting glances of what they were doing.
A low hum, followed by a quick but sharp squawk of audio feedback burst through the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” the principal spoke through the megaphone. “We are setting up, and will be ready in just a little while. For your safety, please remain behind the yellow tape.”
Even as he spoke, custodians began staking poles into the ground, the hammers chiming with a few beats as they were steadied in the earth. Another custodian unwound yellow caution tape, fitting it into the slit at each stake.
The rabbit watched on over the course of several more minutes. She wondered where her brother was, for he was not one of the ones setting up, as he might usually be. He would have torn his booth down a while ago, considering where the crates were being unpacked was where he and the other Junior Leaders hosted the three-legged races.
She was exhausted, and watching the bustle was exhausting her even more. She wanted to head home, and fall asleep. It didn't help that the sky was now dark, save for the gentle glow of the city beyond the chain-link fence.
The megaphone squawked again. “We're almost ready. If I could have the staff come up, please.”
From the pale lights, a few individuals came forth. Mrs. Gauss, the vice-principal, approached the fox. She, a wallaby, stood nearly as tall as the principal, but mostly from the height of her legs, which were covered by a modest dress that nearly skirted the grass.
A few other staff-members approached: the librarian, the president of the PTA, and a few members of the school board—few of which the kids actually knew. But, like a glowing spirit amidst the blue halogen haze, one person in particular caught the eyes of most of the kids.
Gentle Ouly, head counselor and longest-tenured staff-member at Lonely Oak, stood to the principal's left.
A flashlight and vest approached the principal as well, clearly not a staff-member, and there was a brief exchange. Mr. Pretty nodded, and the vest jogged away, whistling to his group. All the lights in the far area shut off, and the megaphone hummed to life once more.
”Good evening, Oakers and friends,” the principal greeted.
A cheer and murmur burst from the crowd in response.
”This is always my favorite night of the year. It's great to see everyone having fun—exactly what this school is all about.” The megaphone hummed with feedback. “Tonight, on this very night, thirty years ago, marks the day the school was first finished. While it would be another few months until it opened its doors, from what I understand a little festival was held, much like this one, to celebrate the opening to come. But... you don't have to just take my word for it—Mrs. Oulryk,” the fox's voice said, fading away as he handed the megaphone to the old polar-bear.
”Good evening, everyone,” the head counselor said, her soft voice carrying across the crowd.
”Good evening Mrs. Oulryk!” Answered scores of voices, both little and big.
The bear chuckled. “I'm so sorry about how late it is. This seems to last longer and longer each year—but, I suppose, just for one night, that's all right.”
The crowd murmured in agreement.
”Anywho, I'm sure many of you may know by now that I most certainly remember each and every festival that this school has had—right down to the very first one,” she sighed with nostalgia. “That was back when this whole area was nothing but green grass.” She cleared her throat. “The school has grown so much, and so have its former Oakers—I even recognized some of you, but back then you were about this tall,” she said, measuring an arbitrary short height with her hand.
“Now, without much further ado, it has become tradition that we celebrate this night with a bit of a show. We have wonderful volunteers who have done this for us, and everyone, for as long as I can remember—and, I think, they are ready?”
A whistle came.
”Please be silent so they can hear the count. Remember to skip five and four. On my mark, then.” She cleared her throat. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. …, …, three. Two, One. Fire, please.”
Suddenly, the shriek of five rockets carried up into the sky. The fireworks sprayed smoke behind them as they launched, and burst in the air. Five more shot forth, all nearly at the same time, bursting with brilliance and smoke against the partly-cloudy sky. As soon as they burst, another set of five careened forth, lighting the clouds with fuzzy hues of red, green, gold, and blue. A fourth set of five launched, their trails sparking and shedding embers as they fizzled and flew up into the sky.
The crowd cheered with each volley.
Then, there was a noticeable dampening of the noise after the fifth set erupted in its brilliant colors, spreading into flowers and twinkling sparkles as the ashes drifted downward. There was a slight pause, before two more rose up, side-by-side. As they were halfway up, another two sprang forth, close to the first two, and also side-by-side.
As the faces of the crowd flashed with the eruptions of light, all was quiet.
”When this school was first established, we chose the name for a particular reason. We are not just a school—we are a community, of friends and neighbors. Each rocket represents a year that the school has worked to make sure none feel apart from that community. The last rocket, however, is sent up alone. A continuing promise, that we will be around for another year, so that it can be sent up along with a friend next time.”
As her words fell into silence, a moment passed. And then, the shrill cry of a single firework split the air, as the rocket spiraled into the sky all by its lonesome. It burst into a shower of green and yellow, before fading into smoke, carried by the high winds.
”Thank you all for coming,” said Mr. Pretty, after another moment of silence. “Have a safe trip back home.”
