Chance and the Butterfly (5 page)

“There you are, you little creep,” Mark called after him up the stairs.

Chance didn't turn his head, but he did listen with some satisfaction as Angie ordered Mark into the kitchen.

After Angie and Doug talked to him and Mark together that evening and made them both promise to stick together, Chance put up with Mark's reluctant company. It still hurt every time Mark bumped into him or whispered something mean into his ear, but he dulled the pain by making himself go hard inside. He just walked along, robotlike.

Today, Matilda clutched in his hand, he followed Mark. He stayed a few paces behind when he could, but no matter what, he said not a word and kept his eyes on the ground. He was so worried about Mark finding out what he had in his hand that his tongue was frozen anyway. He couldn't have spoken if he had wanted to, but he did like how mad Mark got when he ignored him.

Eventually Mark decided to punish Chance with speed. “You'd better keep up,” he shouted over his shoulder as he broke into a trot. Chance increased his pace, but kept a safe gap between himself and his assigned protector.

At least Mark had never glanced at Chance's closed fist or asked what he was carrying. So, as Chance huffed and puffed along, he turned over ideas about where Matilda was going. In his room, of course. He thought it would be good for her to have a bigger space than that puny plastic thing. And maybe some leaves, some real food. In the video on painted ladies that the class had watched, it had said they liked leaves. In class Ms. Samson had talked about making a chart of all the plants that painted lady caterpillars and butterflies liked to eat, but they hadn't done it yet. Never mind. He would give her some leaves and let her live like a caterpillar was really supposed to.

Well, sort of. A caterpillar wasn't really supposed to live in a house or a classroom or a little plastic container or a big comfy cage. A caterpillar was supposed to be free.

Chance thought about that for a moment. It had never occurred to him to let Matilda go. She belonged with him. Didn't she?

“Get a move on,” Mark called over his shoulder. Chance looked up to find himself two houses behind. He ran to catch up. They were almost there anyway.

Mark left him at the driveway. He was off to hang out with his friends at the park. Chance walked into the house alone. The front hall was empty, so it was safe to set Matilda down on the cloak-stand shelf while he wiggled out of his coat. Actually, the house was surprisingly quiet. Louise must be sleeping, he thought. Leaving his coat and pack in a heap, he picked up Matilda and crept toward the stairs. Whatever Angie was doing, he wanted her to keep doing it.

Once upstairs, he saw that Louise's door was shut. He could hear the faint sound of the music Angie played to help her sleep. Angie and Doug's door was ajar. He peeked inside as he walked past. There was Angie, fast asleep on the bed. A little snorty sound made him jump, but it was just her version of a snore. Good, he could get to work without any interference.

After sitting on his bed, looking around the room and thinking a bit, Chance decided on Tupperware. It was mostly see-through, and he could cover the top with plastic wrap. He'd punch little holes in it, so Matilda could breathe. And he'd collect some leaves from behind the house.

Chance tiptoed down the stairs and slipped out the back door. He grabbed a handful of leaves off the first plant he saw. A couple of small branches came away in his hand too. Oh well, it would have to do. A quick rummage through the big bottom drawer in the kitchen unearthed the perfect container, almost transparent, deep and wide and square. Tucking the roll of plastic wrap under his arm, clutching the Tupperware and a fistful of leaves, he took the stairs at a run.

“Chance, what's all that?” Angie was standing in her doorway, yawning and running her hands through her hair. The words were squeezed out through the yawn, but when she really took in what Chance was holding, she stepped forward. “Chance, what on earth are you up to? You've got half my rhododendron there!”

Chapter 8

Chance looked down at his hands, at the leaves. Would she guess? The leaves were the big clue, he guessed. But if she figured it out, she would make him take the caterpillar back to school. She knew about the butterflies. It had been in the class newsletter last week. He would have to take Matilda back. He would lose her.

“Art,” he blurted. Then collected himself. “Yes, art. I'm going to make leaf prints. This is for the water.” He held up the container. “This is to put down under the paper.” He held up the roll of plastic. “And these are the leaves,” he finished, falling silent and looking pleadingly at Angie.

“Newspaper would be better underneath,” she said, though she was still looking at him oddly. “Do you need help getting set up? Did you borrow Mark's paints?”

Chance's stomach started to relax, but no, it was too soon for that.

“Here, let me help you. I'll get some newspaper from downstairs. Why don't you fill that with water from the bathroom? Wouldn't the kitchen table be—?”

Louise saved him. Maybe their voices woke her, or maybe she was just ready to wail once more. A rising scream drowned out the music playing in Louise's room and drove any thought of Chance's painting from Angie's mind.

That was when Chance discovered that his bedroom door locked. He just hoped Angie didn't remember to ask to see a leaf picture. Safe in his room, he set both containers, the big empty one and Matilda's cup, on his bedside table. He picked the biggest, thickest, shiniest leaves and lined the bottom of the big container.

Then he opened the little one and watched Matilda for a moment. Most of the pasty food from school was gone. She turned from side to side and raised her head toward the window. He knew she couldn't see much, but he figured she noticed the brightness. He watched to see if she would move in that direction, and she did. She started to climb right over the edge of her little house.

Chance picked her up and put her in on top of the leaves. Maybe her new house would fit on the windowsill behind the curtain. He was just trying it there when his doorknob rattled.

“What's going on in there, Chance?” Angie called. “I don't want you locking your door. It's not safe.”

Chance pulled the curtain across far enough to cover the box. “Coming,” he called. “I didn't mean to lock it,” he said as he opened the door. “I think it just locked on its own.”

“What happened to the painting idea?” she asked, stepping into the room.

“I dunno,” Chance said quickly. “Thought I'd do my homework first, and now I'm starving. Is it almost time to eat?”

Weeks ago he had learned that Angie liked feeding hungry kids. Now he put the knowledge to good use. The next half hour was blissful, sitting in the den on the carpet eating graham crackers and peanut butter, watching an ancient rerun with Angie, some show called
Family Ties
, and entertaining Louise, who was happy for once, rolling around on her blanket.

Sure, Mark would be there soon and it would be over, but for now, Matilda snug upstairs and Louise, Angie and the television all to himself, Chance forgot that he was an unwanted foster child. Right now he was just a kid.

Chapter 9

Matilda still seemed snug in her big new space when Chance left for school the next morning. But in the classroom, he had a scare right off. A double-barreled scare, actually. First, Ms. Samson had each child take a caterpillar to his or her desk. And, after she politely handed them out to everyone else, Martha found herself empty-handed.

“There's none left,” she said, surprised.

“What do you mean?” Ms. Samson said. “There are twenty-six of you and twenty-six of them. Did you look carefully?”

“Yes,” Martha said. “There isn't another one.”

“Chance, do you have two at your desk?” Ms. Samson asked bluntly. “Did you take an extra one?”

“No.” Chance was angry. Guilty, but angry. “I have one here. One. Just like everybody else.”

“All right, Chance. That's enough. Boys and girls, leave your caterpillars on your desks, right in the middle of your desks, and search.”

So they searched. Chance searched hardest of all. He crawled under tables, rifled through the cloakroom and turned the art supply shelf inside out. Halfway through his search, he came face-to-face with Ken.

Ken stepped close. “You tell,” he said.

“Tell what?” Chance said back, daring. This kid had hardly spoken a word in class yet. He didn't even speak English. But he was managing right now.

“You know,” he said.

“No, I don't know,” Chance replied and shouldered past him to continue the search.

A good bit of cleaning up was required by the time they were done. But not a caterpillar did they find.

So Martha and another girl had to share a caterpillar that day. Everyone was worried about the lost caterpillar, but what else, Ms. Samson asked, could they do?

She got lots of answers to her question, a lot of theories about what had happened to the missing caterpillar and a lot of ideas about what to do about it. Chance did not contribute to the debate. He thought about Matilda, happy in her nice big box with all her green leaves. And he smiled inside himself. So what if everyone else was upset? He had saved Matilda. That was what mattered.

While he listened to the discussion, Chance had been peering through the sides of the plastic container on his desk. Now he stopped listening and stared intently. Something was different in there, wrong maybe. The caterpillar wasn't moving right. She was dangling. Her bottom part was wriggling around, but her top end was stuck to the lid, right in the middle of the lid.

As the realization hit him, he was out of his desk and shouting all in a second. “Hey, she's turning into a chrysalis. She's attaching!” He danced around the room, holding the container high in the air.

Ms. Samson's hand came down firm on his wrist from behind. “Give her to me, Chance. Let me see,” she said. And he did, all of a sudden frightened. What had his jumping done to the little creature? Had he hurt her?

But no, she was fine. And yes, she was getting ready to change form. The lost caterpillar was forgotten as everyone turned to see if his or her caterpillar was attaching too. And six were.

Ms. Samson explained that the caterpillars would start forming their chrysalides now. That would take about two days, she said, two days for them to build their protection so they could turn into butterflies. When the chrysalides were ready, she would take the lids from which they hung and tape them to the butterfly bush, leaving the tiny creatures hanging freely.

Chance turned to look at the back of the room where the bush waited on a low table, planted in a big bucket and covered with netting. He couldn't wait to see the chrysalides hanging there.

At the same time, though, he wondered what he would find when he pulled back his curtain later that day. Matilda would want to attach like the others. Maybe she was trying to right this minute. But what did she have to attach herself to?