(AN:

With my need to talk about my writing, you'd think I'd have a lot to say about this particular story… but I really have nothing but apologies, truthfully. I've seen Horton Hears a Who in theaters three times and loved it more and more each time I saw it… and I especially fell in love with Ned McDodd. Being a writer, I felt the strange need to fill in gaps from the movie, and that is essentially what this story is. There is no one strong plot; it's more a series of events in the life of the mayor of Who-ville. (Although his five oldest kids had ideas of their own and almost ran off with the story by themselves, I will admit!) Not that it's necessarily a bad thing—liken it to a Forrest Gump-type story if you will, which happens to be one of my other favorite movies—but I thought I'd let you know.

I explain a lot of the ins and outs of life as a Who in this story, but one thing I never explain fully is the last name situation. I've decided that when Whos marry, they don't take their spouse's last name. And as far as the children go, all the boys take their father's last name, and all the girls take their mother's. Hence, of all of Ned's children, only Jojo has the last name of McDodd. All the rest are O'Malley's. Hey, who says I have to be tied to human naming conventions?

This story is made up of a short prologue and fourteen chapters. I'm, believe it or not, about 5,000 some miles away from home as I type this, so I can't speak with any certainty of how often I'll get updates up, but I'll aim for somewhat weekly updates. I can't guarantee any regularity with them until I get back to the United States, however, which will be around July 20.

Horton Hears a Who belongs to Fox and Dr. Seuss Enterprises. I know I say this way too often, but please don't sue me… I'm just a hopeless fan (read: a hopeless Ned fangirl).

Enjoy!)

…………

Prologue

Kind of ironic that after everything wonderful that had just happened, he still had to sneak out of his house at night.

Jojo McDodd pushed open the door to the observatory, abandoned for years until he had turned it into his workshop, and sighed a bit, feeling strangely unhappy. Strangely, because up until a few weeks ago, this was one of the only places where he could feel happy. Here he could create everything his mind imagined in solitude, in peace. Here he could create what would be the mother of all music machines! And it had been. Jojo's project, along with his previously undiscovered loud voice, had saved all of Who-ville.

Which left Jojo with the question—What do I work on now?

He sighed again, looking at the fruits of his labors. Complete. He wouldn't change a thing. That didn't have to mean that the music in him was complete—completely finished—as well! There was always some new rhythm waiting to be tapped out, some new device waiting to be invented, some new song waiting to be played. There had to be.

This was the only place he could think these thoughts with any amount of silence… having ninety-six siblings left little chance for one to reflect on—or even hear—one's own thoughts. It was why Jojo hadn't told anyone about his project up until the crisis, not even his birth siblings, as much as he knew they would be impressed and keep his secret. This was his own place, and as close as he was to Zaneeta, Rhiannon, Faye, and Virginia, he still had his secrets even from them. Not that he was ever afraid of their disapproval. Zaneeta especially was always quick to praise Jojo's talents in a protective, sisterly-way. Jojo smiled to himself. Sometimes it felt as if Zaneeta was his older sister, when in fact he was a good three seconds older than she.

As for the rest of his sisters, however, Jojo had feared that they would mess with his work, and perhaps even worse, tell their parents. His mom would have chastised him for leaving the house at night; his dad probably wouldn't have understood. What's worse, Jojo had felt, his dad would be disappointed to learn where his son's interests truly lied.

At least, Jojo had believed such until his father had followed him and witnessed his labors in action. "Jojo, you built this?" he had asked incredulously, and for a moment Jojo's emotions had started to tumble, with the dread of his father finally discovering his terrible secret.

But when a shocked smile had accompanied those words, Jojo had smiled too.

And then Jojo had saved the day, became a hero. He used to go mostly unnoticed at school, but now everyone wanted to talk to him. No one gave him any space to breathe anymore.

Being alone in the observatory was comforting in that respect, at least. No one was there asking him questions, wanting to talk to him, wanting him to help them. That he disliked most of all, because it made him feel uncomfortable. He knew himself well, and knew that he was not good working with people. He preferred to do his own thing, because there the only person he could let down was himself, and not an entire family. Or an entire community.

He picked up a small, bent wire on the floor and tossed it against the wall. It made a small ping, then a thud when it hit the floor.

Jojo sighed yet again.

"Nothing."

Maybe he couldn't really be happy by just burying himself in his own work, but by actually tackling the problem at hand?

Oh jeez, that sounded like something Zaneeta would say. But Zaneeta's usually right about these sorts of things, Jojo reminded himself.

Well, that's all well and good, but what was he supposed to do? He had a responsibility to become mayor someday, and skirting responsibility made him feel lousy inside. But he also knew—and he was not being humble here—that he'd make a really lousy mayor.

He sat down on the floor, staring blankly at his creations. No, there was no music in his heart tonight. Only worry.