Three days later, Mr. Grasshopper had finished his first story. He held six pages in his top right hand. All he had to do was hand them to James. That was it. Just pass them over to the boy. But the papers were inexplicably heavy. The grasshopper found himself frozen, staring at the top page held in his trembling hands. He realized that he was actually afraid. He was afraid to let anybody know what his parents had done to him, terrified to be vulnerable. He knew that he had promised James that he would let him see it. After a brief eternity, he tapped the boy on the shoulder. James turned around in his chair.

"Yes?"

"Here you are, James," the grasshopper said, his voice shaking slightly. "As I promised."

James took the papers and nodded. "Thank you. For writing this. I know it isn't easy."

Mr. Grasshopper nodded, and walked over to the bed, his legs trembling beneath him. He sat down and began playing with his hands as he stared at the floor. The poor insect couldn't bear to watch as the boy read the story. It had felt surprisingly good to write it down, and the grasshopper was actually relieved to put the story down on paper. It was like a release of pressure, an acknowledgment that it had actually happened to him. Elated, he had written pages of intense detail, emphasizing his emotions and thoughts as he remembered them. Now he regretted pouring his mind and soul onto the paper. But he couldn't take the papers away from the boy now.

James read slowly, and each flip of a page sounded so very loud to Mr. Grasshopper. He gripped his hands, flinching each time James turned to the next page. His heart pounded, and besides the rustle of paper, all he could hear was fluid rushing in his ears. Nausea swept through him, and he felt as if he was going to be sick. He felt trapped, and instinct almost kicked in. He felt his body ready to regurgitate his lunch, but he forced it back through sheer willpower. James cleared his throat after an unknown amount of time that felt like forever, and Mr. Grasshopper held his breath as he glanced over at the boy.

"It sounds horrible," James said. His tone was as matter-of-fact as Mr. Grasshopper's had been when he had spoken of James' stories. "I'm sorry you went through it."

Relief flooded through the insect, and he relaxed. It wasn't horrific enough to invoke pity. At least, not to James. He smiled tightly as he sat up straight. "It has shaped my life," the grasshopper admitted. "But it doesn't dominate it."

"I'm glad." The boy paused then said what they were both thinking. "It's nice to be able to talk about this with somebody."

"Indeed. All my siblings died when I was young, and before the next generation was born, I ran away to the hill. Luckily, I was found by a few crocodile tongues and had a lovely ride in a giant peach with a wonderful boy named James." They shared a laugh, then there was another pause. "You know, James, we go home in a week. How is your back feeling? You've been moving around with more ease, but you're still quite stiff."

James nodded, looking down. "It hurts still, but I believe I can feign wellness enough that they won't know," he said. "I'll just sit a lot."

"Good. Good." An urge to spill his thoughts slammed into him, and he grasped the boy's shoulder in one of his hands. "James, just to be clear…you can't tell the others about my scars or my abuse. I won't tell them about yours, either, but…" Mr. Grasshopper looked away, trying to keep his composure. He had an idea, but to speak would be to bring it into existence.

James misunderstood the silence. He pushed himself to his feet and embraced the grasshopper. "I won't tell. We'll keep each other's secrets. I promise."

Mr. Grasshopper knew once again that he loved that little boy, and that gave him the courage to mention his idea. The insect weighed his words carefully. "If you ever have the, erm, misfortune of having your secret revealed," he paused then pressed on. "I shall gather my courage and tell mine as well. That way you needn't be alone. You are under no obligation to do the same for me, but…" The old green grasshopper trailed off and shrugged. He found it difficult to express his feelings, mostly because they were all over the place at the moment.

James smiled, and the bug knew that he understood. "Thank you, Mr. Grasshopper," he said with a solemn nod.

Once again, the thanks were for so much more than was mentioned. The insect slapped his thighs and stood. "Good. Now, how about lunch?"

The boy lit up. "Do you think we can try the fish?"

"Certainly!" the old bug declared. "Now, let's be off!"