Chance and the Butterfly (9 page)

“Oh, Chance,” she said, “I was hoping no one would notice. I was going to take it away tonight.”

“What?” Mark said. “What is it?”

And Chance pointed to the small gray object on the table under the bush. Then, without even asking if it was all right, he reached under the netting and took the little chrysalis into his hand. That was when he really knew that it was dead.

“We have to bury it,” he said, softly. “Near the caterpillar. We have to do it now. The other kids will freak out if they see this.”

“Yes, Chance. Let's bury it. Mark, will you join us?”

And the three of them walked outside and buried the small dead creature. Chance felt sad, and he felt scared. Matilda had to live; she just had to!

On the walk to the house, Chance and Mark were quiet.

But when Chance's hand was on the doorknob, Mark stopped him.

“That wasn't our caterpillar, was it?”

“No,” Chance said quietly. “Our caterpillar is still a caterpillar. She eats and eats, but she won't attach. She just won't! That's why we read the book today. We read it to her, to teach her what she's supposed to do.”

“Did she listen carefully?” Mark asked, smiling.

“I think she did,” Chance answered. And he smiled back.

The next morning he flew to school, Mark on his heels.

“You can't get in anyway,” Mark called out breathlessly, but Chance kept right on running.

Lots of kids were milling around at the entrance under the overhang to keep out of the rain. Ralph was already stationed right by the door, and he wasn't about to give Chance his place.

“I was here first,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “And you can keep your elbows to yourself.”

Chance scowled, but he let Ralph have his way. A teacher was standing nearby anyway. So he waited beside Ralph, right up against the door, ready to push his way in the second the bell went. The wait seemed extra long this morning.

When he finally got into the room, rushed to the ledge and held the container up to the light, he wished that he had just stayed out there. Matilda was still a caterpillar.

That was the day the butterflies started coming out. Four, before recess.

Outside, at recess, in a fine drizzle, Chance went looking for Ralph. When he found him, he said loudly, “I'll keep my elbows to myself if you want, but say hello to my fist.” And he punched him right in the gut. Ralph doubled over, but his friend turned to find the supervisor. She was right there. She had seen the whole thing. Chance spent the rest of recess in a chair outside the principal's office, and the half hour after recess in the principal's office, being talked at, talked at, talked at.

Why had he punched Ralph? she wanted to know. What kind of question was that? Because Ralph was a know-it-all, bossy tattletale and he deserved it. Because every caterpillar but Chance's was turning into a butterfly and someone was going to pay. But those answers wouldn't satisfy Mrs. Laurence. They didn't even satisfy Chance. So Mrs. Laurence waited for an explanation that never came.

Finally she gave up and phoned Angie. Ralph was called in, and Chance had to apologize. The principal explained that she could suspend him right now, but that she was going to give him one more chance.

Then she got a grade-six girl to walk him back to class.

“Hey, Chance, you missed it. Two more butterflies are out since recess,” Martha informed him as soon as he was through the door.

So, on the way to his desk, Chance casually slid Martha's storyboard away from her, tore it in half and handed it back.

The grade-six girl was still there. Ms. Samson had her walk Chance right back up to the office. Doug had to be called away from work to come get him, because Louise was napping and Angie couldn't get away. While he was waiting, the principal asked if anything was wrong at his house. Chance shook his head hard.

“All right,” she said. “Let's see. It's Wednesday today. I don't like you missing school, Chance, but I can't have you here if you are going to punch other children or destroy their belongings. I think a two-day suspension will give you enough time to think about things. Plus the rest of today. So you'll be permitted back in the school on Monday, but the consequences will be much more serious if anything like this happens again. Is that understood?”

Her words washed over him at first, but all of a sudden what she was saying came through. She was suspending him until Monday. He couldn't stay away until Monday. Who knew what might happen between now and then?

“Mrs. Laurence, please,” he said quickly. “I'll think about it all afternoon. I know I shouldn't have done that stuff. I know that. I'll apologize to Ralph again. And to Martha. I'll tape her paper back together. But please let me come back to school tomorrow.”

Mrs. Laurence looked surprised, but Chance figured that it was hard for a school principal to resist a kid who begged to come to school. And he figured right. When Doug arrived and took him away, not a word was said about Thursday and Friday. He was only being suspended for the day.

It was a quiet afternoon. Louise wasn't screaming quite so much lately. Chance spent a long time in the family room coaxing her to roll over and dangling a variety of toys within reach. Angie sat on the couch with a novel, turning a page once in a while, but slipping into a doze in between times.

At one point she said gently, “What's making you feel like punching kids, Chance, and tearing up their work? Is something wrong at school? Or here? Or is it stuff you're thinking about from before?”

Chance tucked his finger into Louise's palm and felt that satisfying tight baby grip. Angie's questions made him feel kind of good, even though he didn't have the answers to them either.

“I don't know,” he mumbled back. “I just get mad sometimes.”

“What happened that made you mad?” she asked.

“Nothing special,” he said. He knew that he was mad about the butterflies and mad at himself, but how was he supposed to explain that?

Angie waited a moment and then turned back to her book. Chance put his hands around the baby's thick middle, picked her up and set her on his lap. She gurgled a grin at him, and his stomach turned over in delight.

The afternoon wore on.

Chance was in his own little reverie, feeding Louise watered-down juice from a bottle, when Angie jumped up.

“Goodness,” she said. “It's five to three and I've done nothing all afternoon!” She leaned down and took Louise from his arms. “I'm going to put her in her chair and get some laundry in.”

Chance didn't like letting Louise go. He hated Angie's bustle and determination. The peaceful afternoon was over. But, come to think of it, maybe the timing was just right.

“I'll be out back,” Chance called to Angie down the basement stairs. “See you, Louise,” he said. Then, “See you, sis,” he tried. Not bad.

He went out the door that led from the kitchen into the backyard, but he didn't linger. He had about three minutes to get to school before the bell. At least six butterflies were fluttering around the butterfly bush, and he hadn't even glanced their way in the morning. Now he was desperate to see them. To see them and to visit Matilda, the butterfly to be. He might get into more trouble, or he might not. But as he ran the three blocks to school, he was the happiest he had been in a long time. Maybe ever, he thought, and discovered that it was hard to grin and gasp for breath at the same time.

He didn't quite make it. The bell went when he was still half a block away from school. But that should be okay, as long as Mark had been told that he was gone and didn't show up to get him, or just come out first and see him. Mark's classroom was a long way away from the exit. He should be safe. And he was. He had mixed himself in with a crowd of grade fours and was well out of Mark's path when Mark left the school with a friend. Chance waited until Mark was across the street and well on his way before he slipped into the school and through the door to his own classroom.

“Hi, Ms. Samson,” he said, startling her. “I'm sorry I tore Martha's storyboard. I could fix it for her if you like. But can I see the butterflies?” He spoke quickly, heading for the bush at the same time. If Ms. Samson replied, Chance didn't hear her.

The butterfly bush had finally earned its name. It was covered in beautiful, beautiful butterflies. Painted ladies. They were orangey and black with white spots and long, delicate feelers. Chance stood for a long time and stared.

“Does your family know you're here?” Ms. Samson asked when he looked up. Chance shook his head. She stood. “I'll walk you home when I get back,” she said and left the room.

Chance's chair had not been stacked, so he fetched Matilda and went to his desk. Sitting down, he lifted the container, peered through the side and gasped. Matilda was dangling from the lid.

With great care, he snapped the lid off and lifted it to look more closely. She hung, moving a bit, from a little ball of thread that Chance knew was her silk. Matilda had attached.

“All right, Chance. Time to go. Angie was certainly glad to hear that you're safe. Mark arrived and looked for you and…” Ms. Samson was talking as she entered the room. But she stopped when she saw what Chance was doing.

“She attached,” Chance said.

“Oh,” Ms. Samson said, “I'm so glad! On Friday morning she'll be ready to join the others on the butterfly bush.”

Then Ms. Samson and Chance left the school together.

Chapter 18

It was a long week for Chance. He knew he would have to wait seven days or so for Matilda to transform herself. But by Friday, about half the other chrysalides had cracked open and released brand-new butterflies into the world.

The classroom was aflutter with butterflies and with excited children. Chance was excited some of the time, but he worried too. After all, he had buried the dead chrysalid. He knew what could happen. And Matilda wasn't really changing in there. At least not that he could see.

Then another thought occurred to him. If Matilda didn't die, if she transformed the way she was supposed to, she would be released. She would fly away into the world with all the rest of the butterflies. Chance knew that he should be happy about that. But he wasn't.

He stopped working on his storyboard. And when Ms. Samson asked him if he wanted to skip Learning Assistance on Friday afternoon to join the class in releasing the butterflies, he said no. He noted that Ken wasn't going to get to go either. For some reason or other, his father was picking him up at noon.

When Mrs. Johnson, his LA teacher, pulled out a story to read to her small Friday-afternoon group, Chance used Ralph's line. “We've heard that one a million times,” he grumbled. Mrs. Johnson read it anyway, but she stopped four times to ask Chance to keep his hands and feet to himself.

Afterward she gave them paper and pencils and asked them to draw a picture and write a word or two about the story. Chance grabbed the first pencil and deliberately snapped the tip off, ripping a hole in his paper and making a mark on the table. Mrs. Johnson gave him a new pencil and a fresh sheet of paper. Chance did it again.

“You'd better go back to class,” Mrs. Johnson said, in a calm, even voice.