CHAPTER 6

Carrot Division

There wasn’t any time to visit Babycakes before class began. Usually the first thing Bat did when he entered Mr. Grayson’s classroom was head straight to the back to check on the class pet. Babycakes, a fluffy angora puffball of a bunny, usually didn’t respond to Bat’s gentle cooing; she’d just sit atop her plastic hutch inside her pen and look stoically adorable.

But today Bat had brought a carrot from home to feed to Babycakes, and she would always hop over for a carrot. If he hadn’t been waiting outside of school for Israel to arrive, Bat would have had plenty of time to give the carrot to Babycakes. As it was, he would have to wait for recess.

Bat sighed as he slid into his chair, hanging his backpack over the back of the seat. The carrot, zipped into his backpack, seemed almost to vibrate with its desire to be fed to Babycakes.

Mr. Grayson was standing at the front of the room, talking about something. Bat saw his mouth moving but was having a very hard time concentrating on the words. Something about math. All around Bat, kids reached into their backpacks to pull out their folders, so Bat did, too.

There was the carrot, wrapped in a cloth napkin that was printed with little carrots and radishes and turnips. Bat retrieved his folder, but he grabbed the napkin-wrapped carrot, too.

Mr. Grayson’s back was to the class. He was writing math problems on the whiteboard with his favorite orange marker.

It would only take a minute to walk to the back of the class and feed the carrot to Babycakes. Maybe Mr. Grayson wouldn’t even turn back around until Bat had gone to Babycakes’s enclosure, fed her the carrot, and returned to his seat.

And after all, Bat reasoned, Mr. Grayson had said that the class had an “open-door Babycakes policy,” meaning that any time a kid needed to cuddle, he or she could go visit Babycakes, no permission needed, no questions asked. Bat didn’t actually need to cuddle, but he had an itchy feeling that Babycakes needed the carrot, and he knew that the itchy feeling wouldn’t go away until he did something about it.

So he unwrapped the carrot and pushed back his chair as quietly as he could. He tiptoed to the back of the class, ignoring the stares from Jenny and Lucca, and reached into the pen to feed the carrot to Babycakes.

Her twitchy nose twitched at the carrot, and Babycakes jumped down from her perch atop the plastic hutch and hopped over to Bat.

Silently, Bat held the carrot as Babycakes nibbled at it. She took little bites and chewed them quickly, her white face vibrating with joy.

“Bat,” said Mr. Grayson’s voice from just behind Bat’s left shoulder. Bat jumped, startled, and his quick movement scared Babycakes, who darted into her hutch, just her fluffy tail sticking out.

“You made me scare Babycakes!” Bat said.

“She’ll recover,” Mr. Grayson said. “Do you think you could save the rest of her carrot until break? We are starting math time.”

“I need to make sure Babycakes isn’t upset,” Bat said. “You can’t just startle someone and not apologize.” It occurred to Bat that maybe Mr. Grayson owed him an apology, for the same reason, but Mr. Grayson didn’t offer one.

“Okay, Bat,” Mr. Grayson said, but he didn’t leave; he stood there waiting for Bat to go back to his seat.

Bat sighed. “Sorry, Babycakes,” he said in his gentlest voice. Then he broke the carrot into three smaller pieces and set the pieces softly down inside the bunny’s enclosure before he went back to his seat. Dividing one carrot into three parts: that, Bat thought, should count as math for the day.