“Awesome,” Keely says.
But one day, when Posy returned home from a walk in the forest, her parents were nowhere to be found. She waited and waited, until a neighboring hedgehog told her, sniffling, that there had been an accident. Her parents were gone—never to return.
Before long, Posy’s aunt arrived from a nearby forest to take her in. With the aunt was her husband, an uncle that Posy had never met—and the largest fox she’d ever seen. He had the pointy ears, the bushy tail, and the russet fur, but he was more than twice the size of Posy’s father.
Posy moved into her new den in June, and the summer sun beat down on the forest. Foxes like the snow, so Posy’s uncle was cranky from the heat. Posy made herself as small and quiet as possible, to not be in anyone’s way. She missed her parents terribly. At night, Posy recited a story her mother used to tell her. It was about a dreaming tree, which sprouted stars instead of leaves. Every moment she could get away, Posy strolled through the forest in search of such a tree.
Winter never came. The heat only increased, and Posy thought she might suffocate in the den with her silent aunt and the uncle who always seemed ready to burst with anger.
It wasn’t until late one night, in the third year of summer, that Posy realized the truth. Her uncle came home, and, enraged that Posy hadn’t finished cleaning the den, whispered, “You should know better.”
He sank his teeth into her arm.
This was no fox. He was a wolf in disguise. And it hurt, though Posy didn’t scream. When he saw the fear in Posy’s eyes, he whispered, “You brought this on yourself.”
In the morning, he was so kind to Posy. He brought her wildflowers and scones with clotted cream. But outside, the sun melted the world.
It went on like this for years. Posy tried her best, and the wolf bit her every once in a while, but he was always so nice after. Until one day, her teacher, Ms. Bunny, hopped over to Posy after class.
“That mark looks like it hurt,” she said softly. “How did you get it?”
Posy knew better than to tell about the wolf. He’d hurt her aunt! She would have no one left. She opened her mouth to give the usual line: that she’d tripped and run into a tree branch.
“Posy,” Ms. Bunny said, “I can help you if you tell me.”
“My uncle bit me,” Posy said. “He’s a wolf.”
In the months that followed, Posy found it in herself to repeat the simple truth: He bites me. He’s a wolf. The details were hard to talk about, but she tried her best.
This time, Posy was taken in by a pair of otters. They said she didn’t have to call them Mom and Dad unless she wanted to someday. They worked hard, held hands as they slept in the water, and always had time to play. Posy learned to swim, which she loved best of all.
And in the woods, Posy found it. The dreaming tree. It wasn’t what she’d expected—the stars weren’t silver. But the leaves were shaped in five points and, in the afternoon light, they glowed above her, yellow as they fell. Beneath that tree, Posy imagined what her life could be.
“A group of otters is called a ‘romp’!” Sofia cries out. “Or a raft of otters.”
“That’s a good one,” Keely agrees. “Let’s finish the book, okay?”
Under that dreaming tree, she saw herself as a grown-up fox someday. She would go to school. She would help people. She would love the otters more and more, and someday call them Mom and Dad. She would fall in love with someone kind. She would have a fox pup of her own. And someday in the future, when Posy curled around her baby, she would almost feel her own mother’s arm around her shoulder. She would almost hear her heart and her pup’s, beating: “Mama, Mama.” She would almost believe that some things are bigger than time and space and death.
After all, there was once a fox named Posy, who loved her family old and new.
It is not the type of love that ends.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
At Friday lunch, I realize I haven’t seen Anna all day—not even in passing.
I’m behind Simmons in the buffet line, and I nudge her. “Have you seen Anna today?”
“She’s staying in. Bad anxiety day.”
“Oh, right.” Anna’s mentioned it, and I know she stops into Miss Suzette’s every day to take meds. But I’ve never really seen the effects. “Did something happen?”
“Nope. It just pops up sometimes.” Keely turns, considering me. “You should stop by, actually. She’s in her room. She may not want company, but sometimes she does.”
“Yeah?”
I don’t exactly know how to help someone with an anxiety disorder—or if I even can. But I know Anna would show up for me. “Okay. I’ll make us a plate of food and head over there. That okay?”
Keely nods. “Yeah. I’ll tell Garcia. She has to leave and teach volleyball to the seventh graders.”
I’ve only been in Rhea’s cabin one other time, when Anna invited me in to watch a movie after lights-out. Her room is small and on the first floor, and it is full of Anna things: a scuffed-up soccer ball in the corner next to her cleats, a tote bag full of yarn and knitting needles, photos of her family wearing cream-colored sweaters in a backyard.
The door is open, and she’s bundled up in bed, gaze locked on her laptop. It’s playing a movie or something—young bickering voices in the otherwise quiet room.
“Hey,” I say, lingering in the doorway. “Can I come in?”
Her eyes flick up to me. “Sure.”
“Sorry you’re having a bad day. Can I do anything?”
A shrug, shoulders barely lifting above the bedding. The top blanket is one of hers, knitted in navy and white for her favorite soccer team. Or, as she and Mohan call it: football.
“Anna.”
She looks up at me again but says nothing.
“Well, okay. But if you change your mind . . . I’d like to help. You’d do it for me.”
This seems to land, and she considers my presence in front of her. “You can stay here for a little bit. If you want to. I might fall asleep, though. I took medicine that’s supposed to help me relax enough to sleep.”
“Not a problem. You hungry?” I hold out the plate, which is heavy with a turkey burger and sweet potato tots.
“No, thanks.”
“More for moi.” I pull her desk chair up to the bed and dig in. “You missed quite the breakfast bickering match this morning. There were tears.”
“Jones told me. I’m actually terrible with confrontation. Poor Manda and Wren. Seventh grade is just a shitshow, top to bottom.”
“Right? It’s just like . . . a full year of acne and awkward body stuff. And the social cruelty—it’s like kids are figuring out how to be truly mean that year.”
This makes Anna smile a bit. “You’re telling me.”
“Oh . . . Lord.” I try to imagine navigating junior high as a trans girl. How kids might be.
She laughs darkly at my expression. “Yeah, well. I survived.”