Anne Ursu: The Shadow Thieves

Charlotte shrugged. "Aw, Mom, I'd never get in."

"Char, honey, how would you know unless you tried?" she said, sitting down opposite her daughter. "You should try!"

"I just know, Mom," she grumbled, tossing her long hair. It was true. In elementary school Charlotte had loved drama class, had loved being in the school plays, and had even gone to a summer day camp where they learned some of the songs from Annie. And then she got to middle school and auditioned for the play and the choir and tried out for the softball and gymnastics teams and didn't get in any of them. That was enough of that. Charlotte could see very quickly where the bread was buttered; she might be a loser, but she was no idiot. The world gave you enough disappointment without actually going out and asking for it.

"I know you're upset about not getting in before," her mom continued, "but you were a sixth grader then, and they rarely cast sixth graders. You're in eighth grade now. You should try. What's the harm in trying?"

Charlotte shrugged.

"Honey"-Mrs. Mielswetzski leaned in and grabbed Charlotte's hands-"if only you could see what I see! You're so bright and talented. You can do whatever you set your mind on doing. The whole world is your oyster."

Charlotte sighed inwardly. She knew her mother was serious when she started referring to shellfish. What did that mean, anyway? What's so great about the world being your oyster? Does that mean it's really hard to open, and when you do, you have something slimy and gross on the inside?

"Char, I just wish, sometimes… that you'd try a little harder. In everything. I feel like you're always running away from things. I wish you'd live your life, really go out there and live it. All your teachers say you have so much potential. If you'd just… use it."

Charlotte had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Teachers loved to say people had potential; that's what teachers did to keep themselves from getting canned. What were they supposed to say-I'm sorry, your kid has no promise whatsoever? She's utterly mediocre in every way?

"It would be fun to be in a play, wouldn't it?" Mrs. Mielswetzski continued. "You could meet some new people."

Charlotte grimaced. Meeting new people had been another one of her mother's favorite conversation topics ever since Charlotte's best friend, Caitlin, moved to Russia over the summer and left Charlotte and their friend Maddy behind. That's right, Russia. Caitlin's parents were English-as-a-second-language teachers, and they decided to take two-year jobs teaching English to Russian orphans, or some absurd thing like that. Who does that? And even if you do do that, can't you teach English to orphans in a place that has e-mail?

Well anyway, "meeting new people" was often a subset of "trying harder" and "getting involved" and "having a better attitude," and frankly Charlotte was tired of it all. She'd been hearing about this so much that she would do anything to stop it. Anything.

"Okay, Mom."

"What?" her mother started.

"Okay… I'll audition."

Mrs. Mielswetzski clasped her hands together. "Oh, Charlotte, that's wonderful! You'll have so much fun!"

She was actually beaming. Charlotte hadn't seen her look that happy in months. And something about the particular light emanating from her mother's face warmed Charlotte, and she felt suddenly different about the world. Yes, she would have fun! Yes, she could try! For the world was a place where you put yourself out there, where you tried things, and even if your best friend since you were four had just moved to the former Soviet Union, there were all kinds of people whose parents didn't want to teach orphans, and maybe they were worth meeting.

That mood lasted until Charlotte saw the cast list, on which her name was very distinctly absent and the names of some of her more banal classmates were very distinctly present, and Charlotte realized that she had been duped, and she was never ever going to put herself out there again, never going to "try harder," never going to "improve her attitude," and certainly never ever going to "meet new people." Why would she want to meet new people when the people she already knew were asking her to humiliate herself? So she had planned to tell her mother when she got home from school on this day- that, and that this was all her mother's fault and she was never listening to her ever, ever again.

But of course she forgot all of that as soon as she picked up the kitten, and when she saw her parents in the kitchen, instead of wanting to yell or flee, she was absolutely delighted-for she could tell them about the world and all its extraordinary kittenesque things. She did not know that they had been waiting for her for quite some time because they, too, had news-news that they promptly forgot when they saw the gray and white creature in their daughter's arms.

"Oh!" said her mother.

"Oh!" said her father.

"She followed me home," said Charlotte.

"Well, she probably belongs to someone," said her mother.

"Almost certainly," said her father.

"Look at her fur! It's all dirty," said Charlotte.

"We'll put up signs," said her mother.

"And put a classified in the paper," said her father.

"Look how skinny she is," said Charlotte.

"She might have worms," said her mother.

"She might have rabies," said her father.

"Well, we should take her to the vet," said Charlotte.

"Yes, we should!" said her mother.

"Right away," said her father.

While Mr. Mielswetzski called the vet and then checked the newspaper classifieds, and Mrs. Mielswetzski called the lost and found at the Humane Society-for these are steps everyone should take when finding a kitten, because someone may be missing it very much-Charlotte opened a can of tuna for her new friend.

"What's your name?" asked Charlotte.

"Meow," said the kitten.

"Are you a girl kitten or a boy kitten?" asked Charlotte.

"Meow," said the kitten.

"Do you want to go to the vet?"

"Meow," said the kitten.

The vet could see them right away, so the Mielswetzskis piled into the car. It was not an hour later that Charlotte found that her kitten was a girl (Charlotte had thought so), did not have rabies (good), did have worms (nothing some pills wouldn't take care of), was certainly underfed (poor kitty), and was likely a stray. They should put up signs and put an ad in the newspaper, but if no one claimed the kitten for one month, she would be an official member of the family.

Charlotte was not worried. They could put up all the signs and take out all the ads they wanted. The kitten had chosen her-it was fate, and Charlotte knew it. Charlotte might not be good for choirs or plays or school or sports or good attitudes or new people, but she knew that she was good for kittens. And kittens were most certainly good for Charlotte.

Mr. and Mrs. Mielswetzski were good parents and good people, and while perhaps they would not have thought to go out and get themselves a cat- the time was never quite right, maybe next year, maybe for Christmas, it's important not to rush into anything-if one were to fall into their laps, they would certainly let it stay there.

"She is awfully cute," said Charlotte's father on the way home from the vet.

"We better not get too attached," said her mother.

"But it would sure be nice," said her father.

"Well, there's no doubt about that," said her mother. "We should pick up some supplies," said her father.

"Oh, yes," said her mother. "The cat will need supplies."

And pretty soon the Mielswetzskis had not only a cat, but two ceramic cat dishes, a bag of premium kitten food, one scratching post, some clumping litter, a litter box with a hood, assorted balls and accoutrements, three toy mice, two boxes of catnip, and one sorely needed soft-bristled brush.