Young Writers Society

Pratik couldn't sleep.

He was too aggravated about the unfairness of the entire situation. It was unfair that Tracey got treated like she did. It was unfair that he had gotten in trouble for helping her. J.R. was the clear problem here. But, Byrd was eager to suspend Pratik any chance he could. Pratik wasn't sure why. But the next three weeks would be interesting, trying to keep caught up on his assignments.

He didn't figure he'd miss out too much on not being able to go to classes. He zoned out for most of those, anyway. He just had to do the assignments and hope his teachers would be willing to offer makeup quizzes.

He lay for a while, wallowing in self-pity, before he got up again. Sulking wasn't going to fix anything. So, he may as well be working, if he had to be awake right now. He cracked open the book they'd been assigned to review and started reading again on chapter eleven, where he'd left off last night.

Lillian reached for the door handle, but before she could twist it open, she felt her mother's arms wrap around her in a hug.

"Lilli, Lilli, we're eating dinner soon. The animal shelter can manage one evening without you and you've been trekking there all week nonstop. You need a break, okay hun?"

"They won't know why I didn't turn up though, Mum." Lillian ran her hands through her messy, bed-headed red hair.

"I'm sure they'll figure it out. Call your supervisor person if you'd feel better about that." Her mom patted her head, undoing any progress on making her hair presentable.

Call her supervisor? Picking up the phone was bad enough, initiating a call was just unthinkable. Who's even supposed to say hello first? Lillian shook her head and reluctantly followed her mom back to the island. "I'll just explain tomorrow," she murmured, nibbling on some of the pepper slices. There were bits of yellow and orange and red and green pepper, and she vaguely arranged them into geometric shapes.

"Such an artiste," her mom teased with a grin.

Faulkner was terrible.

He'd been trying so hard to give the book an honest chance, but he hated it so much. Why wouldn't the man just use a period every now and again? Sentences didn't need to last for two pages. They just didn't. Pratik felt sorry on Faulkner's behalf that no one bothered to teach him the beauty of proper punctuation or non-run-on-sentences.

Oh well.

At least he was a somewhat strong reader, so he only had another hour or two left to go before he was done with this misery. That, and then the report he had to write about it. But those were easy.

He rubbed his face and put the book down. It was starting to get dark anyway, and he didn't want to waste any of his precious batteries to use his lamp reading this stupid book. He could just do it tomorrow since there was apparently a full day of sunlight to work with now.

He grabbed a pack of pop-tarts and a warm Gatorade, then sat back down on his bed, setting them on the counter next to Swamilton's tank. He broke off a chunk and threw it in his mouth, looking at the fish. "Now it's my turn, beautiful. Having some strawberry tonight."

He twisted off the lid of his Gatorade and took a drink.

"I know. Fancy, right?" he continued, holding up a bit of the pop tart for Alexander to see. "One of these days, you and I are gonna afford a toaster. And then we'll be haled as kings among peasants. Owners of the toaster. Havers of electricity... until then, we both just gotta keep being pretty and trying our best. We'll get out of this camper eventually. Promise."

Lillian glanced down one more time at the list her "supervisor person" had given her. Though calling it a list was charitable. It was several pet food items scrawled -- in what could barely be qualified as letters -- on a scrap of partially disintegrated paper towel. Who knows what kind of animal mess the other piece of the paper towel had been used to clean up.

She peered at her reflection in the window of the pet shop door before trepidatiously yanking it open. Pet shops were usually quiet, with little kittens hanging around a display in the front, so she didn't mind being sent to pick up supplies for the animal shelter. And the animals' reactions when the delivery of treats and goodies arrived back at their kennels was one of pure, golden, overwhelming joy.

Lillian stepped into the shop and was met by a flood of lovely, cool air. She quickly made her way to the food section and began finding the items on her so-called "list".

Pratik was glad to get back to work. For one, it gave him something to do. For another, it afforded him... well... it allowed him to afford things, which was nice.

But the best part was someone had surrendered a litter of kittens to the shop. They probably belonged at the shelter instead, but, Marge had said that they had a better chance of being adopted if they were here where people could see, so they were going to try to nurse them back to health.

Literally.

They were tiny, wobbly little balls of floof that mewed and stumbled around looking for the bottle Pratik offered.

"No, no, come over here," Pratik cooed, cupping a little black and white one and pulling it to the crook of his other arm. "Yeah, that's it. Got milk? Ya know I do. I gotchu, lil miss."

Pratik reached down and pulled another kitten into the crook of his arm. He was laying in the center of a small enclosure -- he took up almost the entirety of the space -- so they couldn't get away. But, still. They were mewing.

"Come over here sweetie." Pratik managed to get the fifth and final kitten between the crook of his arm and the hollow his chest formed with the floor. "Snuggle in and get warm, honey bunches of oats. Come to Mama Pratik. I love you."

Lillian was starting to think dog food companies hired poets to write the descriptions of their products. You only want the best for your dogs, and so do we. Supplying you and your dogs with high-quality, nutritious dog food is at the heart of what we do. Every single step of the way, this food is crafted with love and affection. Rest assured that the cows are slaughtered tenderly, the corn is harvested carefully, and each kibble is shaped with an utmost concern for ease of mastication and digestion.

Was there a career in animal-product advertising? If so, she was in. Smiling, she tucked the bag back on the shelf and stood up. The high-pitch mews of baby kittens caught her attention as she moved towards the back of the shop, and then there they were: all cuddled together in a small enclosure, compact and bleary-eyed, climbing all over a shop employee who looked a lot like...

Pratik???

"Hey beautiful, no, no," Pratik cooed, wrangling one of the kittens. "You gotta stay here where it's warm."

Pratik had a strange feeling that he wasn't alone anymore. Paranoia, no doubt. But he wanted to go check the rest of the shop to be sure.

"Hang tight, lil bitty kitties," he whispered, planting a kiss on the top of one of their heads. "Just gotta go make sure no one--"

Pratik trailed off, eyes snapping open wide when they locked on Lillian. What was she doing here? He pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled away from the mewing pile of kittens that flopped over a moment later. He scowled at Lillian. "I swear to god if you tell anyone--"

He caught himself. This wasn't him. He didn't use his strength to threaten. Only protect. Which meant that he wasn't actually going to follow through anyway.

"--I will do absolutely nothing about it." He sighed, rubbing his face. "...So, do your worst, I guess."

Lillian instinctively took a step back because Pratik and then took a step forward because kitties.

"I, uh..." how was she supposed to respond to that? She had no clue what to say, so she changed the subject to something she did know how to say. "Can I hold one of them?"

"Oh, uh... yeah." Pratik was surprised by the transition, but glad not to linger on the fact that Lillian had caught him literally baby-talking kittens. Of all the horrifically embarrassing things she possibly could have seen.

He bit back a sigh and bent to pick up the cutest one. His knuckles were still busted up from the fight -- the cuts scabbed over now but still marring his hands. He noted the irony as he gently scooped the kitten up and held it out to Lillian, waiting for her to step forward to take it instead of talking towards her with it.

She seemed a bit scared of him. Or, at the very least, nervous around him. And he didn't want to scare her by approaching too quickly -- she could come to him. "This one's name is Muffin."

Pratik picked the kitten up and held it out to her. She gently took Muffin from him, and the moment his head hit her chest, Lillian completely forgot about Pratik and his confusing persona. The little kitten buried his claws in her shirt like velcro, his ear pressed up against her chest like a little feline stethoscope, and mewed shrilly a couple times before quieting to a soft simmer of purrs.

"Ooh you're a little darling aren't ya? Who's a little blueberry muffin hmm? You're a little blueberry muffin, yes you are, that's you, no chocolate chips here, just blueberries." Lillian rocked side to side slowly, cradling the sweet puffball carefully in the nook of her arm.

She really didn't blame Pratik for being such a softie around the kittens, they were absolutely irresistible.

He seemed a bit impatient with this whole encounter, though. Lillian glanced up apologetically. "Should I put him down?"

“Uh, no, it’s fine.” Pratik cleared his throat. This wasn’t going how he expected. No sneers. No teasing. No pulling out her phone right away to gossip or take a video.... god he hoped she hadn’t taken a video. “It’s good for them to get bonding... someone uhh dropped them off here. Trying to get them healthy and strong.”

Lillian kissed the nose of little Muffin. He let out a precious mini-sigh and nuzzled her, eyes squeezed tightly shut. She should really wrap up her shopping and bring everything back to the animal shelter, but -- this kitten was just too cute. He almost looked too young to exist, too. "Shouldn't he be with his mom?" She asked.

"That would be better," Pratik agreed. He felt himself getting jealous that Lillian was standing there with a kitten when he wasn't holding one. But his pride wouldn't let him admit that he wanted to snuggle one. "But we don't know where the mother is or where the kittens even came from. They were in a box on our doorstep when we opened two days ago."

One of the kittens started wobbling and stumbling away from the others. It was all the excuse he needed. Pratik bent and picked it up then cupped it close to his chest, petting its head gently with two fingers.

"Aw, the poor things," Lillian murmured.

Muffin was starting to get squirmy in her arms. He wriggled around like a fish attempting to use his fins to fly. Dropping his was the last thing she wanted to do, so Lillian sat down on the tiles and let the kitten swim around in her lap.

She was still more than a bit bewildered trying to grasp how the same guy who had taken on the entire football team singlehandedly was now crooning to a litter of kittens. Why were humans so totally and completely confusing? Or wait! Was this actually Pratik's secret twin who had the same name?

Oh gosh, how long had she been there. "Uh, I should get back to the pet shelter...if these little guys need taking care of you could always swing them by there, I know I'd -- they'd be happy to look after them." Lillian kissed Muffin on the top of his head and gently put him back into his enclosure. The rest of the kittens came tumbling over to him, rebuking him for deserting them.

"Uh, yeah, of course." Pratik set his kitten down as well and stepped a bit further away to give Lillian more space. As if he'd turn over an entire litter of kittens. If anything, he'd only go by the shelter to pet more cats.

But he couldn't do that.

He had an image to uphold. Working at a pet shop was a perfectly respectable way to make money. Volunteering at a shelter would just be fodder for the dumpster fire that took the place of a social life.

"So, uh... what did you...need?"