Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They are property of Marc Brown and PBS.
LEARNING TO BREATHE
by Lina Shay
Chapter Eight: Thoughts Like Rats
Rubella sat on her bed and thought. What had happened? She remembered being at the grade school talent show. It hadn't been Prunella's turn to go up yet. Rubella was feeling smothered by how many people were crowded in there, so she was going outside for some air. It was such a lovely night, she was inspired to dance. She put on her favorite song and began to dance. It was so cool and a gentle breeze was blowing. It was truly exhilarating. Suddenly, there were arms around her, warm, safe arms. She thought she was dreaming, that she was imagining the man near her.
The music stopped. She looked up at Ratburn's nervous eyes. Rubella was confused. Why was he here? Was he the one she had been dancing with? What on earth was going on? What was he doing dancing with her?
Rubella bit her lip. She had to talk to someone. The first person to come to mind was Catharine Frensky. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number quickly.
"Hello," Francine answered.
"Oh, hi, Fran," Rubella began, "can I speak with your sister?"
"Just a sec," Francine told her. Away from the phone she called, "Catharine, it's Rubella. Didn't you tell her that I hate being called Fran?"
Rubella smiled to herself.
"Hey, Rubella," came Catharine's voice. "What's up?"
"Well," Rubella began nervously. "Something happened and I need to talk to someone about it?"
"Sure, you can always tell me anything," Catharine insisted.
"The thing is..." Rubella thought about this. Could she really say what she thought was going on? No. She had to make something up. "...Well, there's this guy."
"Really? Is he cute?" Catharine asked with excitement.
Rubella chuckled to herself, saying, "That's not the point. See, he's been doing...strange things lately. And I think...He seems to...Well.."
"Not to be rude, but spit it out," Catharine said.
"I think he likes me," Rubella muttered, feeling this chill go through her spin as she said it.
"Cool! What's the problem, then?" Catharine asked.
Rubella took a deep breath. She didn't want to say it, but for real advice...she had to.
"It's..someone old.." Rubella said quietly.
"Old, like graduated?" Catharine queried, getting excited.
"Older," Rubella mumbled.
"A frat guy, then?"
"Older," Rubella said again.
"Older than that?" Catharine said, racking her brain. "You mean, an old guy. Like our English teacher, Mr. Labels."
"Around there somewhere," Rubella told her nervously.
"It isn't Mr. Labels!" Catharine shouted.
"No," Rubella shot at her. "It's not Mr. Labels."
"But he's the same age as Mr. Labels..." Catharine was suddenly struck with an idea. "It isn't Mr. Ratburn, is it?"
"What, what makes you think so?" Rubella demanded.
"Well, the other day," Catharine began, "at the mall, I thought I saw Mr. Ratburn peek through the store window at us, while you were trying on that white dress."
"No way!" Rubella said in surprise.
"Come to think of it," Catharine continued, "don't you think that doll's dress at his puppet show looked a lot like the dress you were trying on. And she was a poodle madden, with auburn hair."
"You think he made that puppet after me?" Rubella assumed, her heart pounding.
"I don't know," Catharine said. "Maybe it's all just coincidence. Anyway, you were saying about some old guy? Who is it?"
"Catharine," Rubella began, "I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll see you at school."
Rubella hung up the phone before Catharine could respond. This was worse than she thought. Before, it was some strange supposition. Now, it was tangible. It was backed-up by evidence. Rubella brought her knees into her chest and ran her fingers through both sides of her hair. This couldn't be. It was a mistake. If something like this was going on, she should have sensed it.
*****************
Rubella sat and read a tea leaf-reading book, but she couldn't concentrate. She kept thinking about Ratburn. She played every moment she spent with him over and over in her mind. It was like she was searching for a sign of his admiration. He did tend to talk to her a lot. And now that she thought about it, there were some things he did which were confusing to her. Just brief strange looks directed her way, and there was the time he was acting really starch after he fell during his jog. He wouldn't even let her read his palm. Rubella had figured that he acted that nervous around everyone.
"Ms. Turner," began a frighteningly familiar voice. "Is your copy of Wuthering Heights in. I can't seem to find it on the shelf."
Rubella looked around at Ratburn standing near Ms. Turner's desk. She wondered where she could possibly hide. As Ms. Turner look up Ratburn's book on her computer, Rubella slyly slipped under her table and crawled into a book aisle. She leaned against the shelf and let out a relieved sigh.
"It should be this way," came Ms. Turner's voice, coming Rubella's way.
"Oh, dear!" Rubella whispered.
She crawled down the aisle, turned the corner of the shelf, and sat where she was hidden between aisle by the shelf.
"It should be right here," said Ms. Turner, coming closer.
Rubella's heart was pounding.
"Let's try the next aisle over," Ms. Turner suggested.
This was her chance. Either aisle they chose, their current aisle would be empty. If she went in there now, they would be just turning the other corner and they wouldn't see her. Rubella stood up and sprinted around the corner just to come face to face with Ms. Turner. Rubella gasped in shock. She didn't even think that they might turn this way.
"Excuse me," Ms. Turner said.
"No, no, excuse me," Rubella said, blushing.
Then she looked at who was with Ms. Turner and it wasn't Ratburn at all. It was Allen "Brain" Powers.
"But, I thought...where's Ratburn?" Rubella sputtered.
Ms. Turner's eyes widened with confusion as she said, "Why, he left. His book had already been checked out by someone else."
"Oh, bye," Rubella walked away slowly, taking deep breaths. She was still shaking. What was going on with her? There was something not quite normal here. It was like Ratburn was in her brain, crawling around and eating any other thought so that nothing else could come to mind.
LEARNING TO BREATHE
by Lina Shay
Chapter Eight: Thoughts Like Rats
Rubella sat on her bed and thought. What had happened? She remembered being at the grade school talent show. It hadn't been Prunella's turn to go up yet. Rubella was feeling smothered by how many people were crowded in there, so she was going outside for some air. It was such a lovely night, she was inspired to dance. She put on her favorite song and began to dance. It was so cool and a gentle breeze was blowing. It was truly exhilarating. Suddenly, there were arms around her, warm, safe arms. She thought she was dreaming, that she was imagining the man near her.
The music stopped. She looked up at Ratburn's nervous eyes. Rubella was confused. Why was he here? Was he the one she had been dancing with? What on earth was going on? What was he doing dancing with her?
Rubella bit her lip. She had to talk to someone. The first person to come to mind was Catharine Frensky. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number quickly.
"Hello," Francine answered.
"Oh, hi, Fran," Rubella began, "can I speak with your sister?"
"Just a sec," Francine told her. Away from the phone she called, "Catharine, it's Rubella. Didn't you tell her that I hate being called Fran?"
Rubella smiled to herself.
"Hey, Rubella," came Catharine's voice. "What's up?"
"Well," Rubella began nervously. "Something happened and I need to talk to someone about it?"
"Sure, you can always tell me anything," Catharine insisted.
"The thing is..." Rubella thought about this. Could she really say what she thought was going on? No. She had to make something up. "...Well, there's this guy."
"Really? Is he cute?" Catharine asked with excitement.
Rubella chuckled to herself, saying, "That's not the point. See, he's been doing...strange things lately. And I think...He seems to...Well.."
"Not to be rude, but spit it out," Catharine said.
"I think he likes me," Rubella muttered, feeling this chill go through her spin as she said it.
"Cool! What's the problem, then?" Catharine asked.
Rubella took a deep breath. She didn't want to say it, but for real advice...she had to.
"It's..someone old.." Rubella said quietly.
"Old, like graduated?" Catharine queried, getting excited.
"Older," Rubella mumbled.
"A frat guy, then?"
"Older," Rubella said again.
"Older than that?" Catharine said, racking her brain. "You mean, an old guy. Like our English teacher, Mr. Labels."
"Around there somewhere," Rubella told her nervously.
"It isn't Mr. Labels!" Catharine shouted.
"No," Rubella shot at her. "It's not Mr. Labels."
"But he's the same age as Mr. Labels..." Catharine was suddenly struck with an idea. "It isn't Mr. Ratburn, is it?"
"What, what makes you think so?" Rubella demanded.
"Well, the other day," Catharine began, "at the mall, I thought I saw Mr. Ratburn peek through the store window at us, while you were trying on that white dress."
"No way!" Rubella said in surprise.
"Come to think of it," Catharine continued, "don't you think that doll's dress at his puppet show looked a lot like the dress you were trying on. And she was a poodle madden, with auburn hair."
"You think he made that puppet after me?" Rubella assumed, her heart pounding.
"I don't know," Catharine said. "Maybe it's all just coincidence. Anyway, you were saying about some old guy? Who is it?"
"Catharine," Rubella began, "I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll see you at school."
Rubella hung up the phone before Catharine could respond. This was worse than she thought. Before, it was some strange supposition. Now, it was tangible. It was backed-up by evidence. Rubella brought her knees into her chest and ran her fingers through both sides of her hair. This couldn't be. It was a mistake. If something like this was going on, she should have sensed it.
*****************
Rubella sat and read a tea leaf-reading book, but she couldn't concentrate. She kept thinking about Ratburn. She played every moment she spent with him over and over in her mind. It was like she was searching for a sign of his admiration. He did tend to talk to her a lot. And now that she thought about it, there were some things he did which were confusing to her. Just brief strange looks directed her way, and there was the time he was acting really starch after he fell during his jog. He wouldn't even let her read his palm. Rubella had figured that he acted that nervous around everyone.
"Ms. Turner," began a frighteningly familiar voice. "Is your copy of Wuthering Heights in. I can't seem to find it on the shelf."
Rubella looked around at Ratburn standing near Ms. Turner's desk. She wondered where she could possibly hide. As Ms. Turner look up Ratburn's book on her computer, Rubella slyly slipped under her table and crawled into a book aisle. She leaned against the shelf and let out a relieved sigh.
"It should be this way," came Ms. Turner's voice, coming Rubella's way.
"Oh, dear!" Rubella whispered.
She crawled down the aisle, turned the corner of the shelf, and sat where she was hidden between aisle by the shelf.
"It should be right here," said Ms. Turner, coming closer.
Rubella's heart was pounding.
"Let's try the next aisle over," Ms. Turner suggested.
This was her chance. Either aisle they chose, their current aisle would be empty. If she went in there now, they would be just turning the other corner and they wouldn't see her. Rubella stood up and sprinted around the corner just to come face to face with Ms. Turner. Rubella gasped in shock. She didn't even think that they might turn this way.
"Excuse me," Ms. Turner said.
"No, no, excuse me," Rubella said, blushing.
Then she looked at who was with Ms. Turner and it wasn't Ratburn at all. It was Allen "Brain" Powers.
"But, I thought...where's Ratburn?" Rubella sputtered.
Ms. Turner's eyes widened with confusion as she said, "Why, he left. His book had already been checked out by someone else."
"Oh, bye," Rubella walked away slowly, taking deep breaths. She was still shaking. What was going on with her? There was something not quite normal here. It was like Ratburn was in her brain, crawling around and eating any other thought so that nothing else could come to mind.