Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Manhattan, New York, March 1989

Historia does not like school.

She can list the things she doesn’t like about it, so she does. In blue glitter gel pen in her ugly green school issued notebook. The colors clash, but the gel pen is her favorite, so she doesn’t really care.

Things I don’t like about school: 

• Too much math homework.

• Floch pulls my hair when I wear pigtails. 

• Eight hours away from my caterpillar is too long.

• This notebook. I like my blue flowered one better.

• Hitch and Mina calling me stupid.

• My math teacher calling me stupid.

• People making fun of my sticker collection and saying I’m a horse girl. Like that’s a bad thing. 

• Math class.

• Teachers saying I’m too introverted. I don’t even know what introverted is.

• I don’t have any friends. I would like just one.

Only Historia didn’t do a whole lot of thinking before writing this list, or she would have realized that making it in math class was not the brightest idea she’d ever had. Not at all.

Now, the notebook that is not her blue flowered one is being dangled in front of her by the math teacher who, as she wrote in blue glitter gel pen, likes to call her stupid. She looks at the page, and makes a face that tells Historia that this is no good, no good at all. 

“Miss Reiss,” she begins in her stupid teacher voice, “I see you’ve compiled quite a comprehensive list here. Care to share with the class?”

“No, Ma’am,” Historia replies, “Also, I don’t know what ‘compiled’ means.” She also doesn’t know what ‘comprehensive’ means, but she doesn’t want to be called stupid again.

She thinks her stupid teacher must have a problem with hearing, because she starts reading the list out loud even though Historia is sure she just said she didn’t want to share. 

“‘Too much math’,” Mrs. Stupid begins. Historia turns red — she can tell she’s red, because she feels hot up to her ears. She turns red and hot when she’s embarrassed or nervous, which, thanks to Mrs. Stupid, she very much is. 

“It’s not—”

“‘Floch pulling my hair. Hitch and Mina calling me stupid’. These aren’t very kind things to write about your classmates, are they, Historia?”

“But I—”

“‘My math teacher calling me stupid’.” Mrs. Stupid squints her eyes and gives Historia a very mean look, and it really is not helping her case of not being stupid. 

“I don’t think writing lies about other people is appropriate, Historia.”

Now Historia’s face feels hot because she’s embarrassed and angry.

“They aren’t lies,” she insists, “Floch always pulls my pigtails and braids, and Mina and Hitch say mean things to me, and—”

“I’ll hear none of it, Miss Reiss.”

Historia guesses no one ever taught Mrs. Stupid that interrupting is not polite, so she thinks it would be a good idea to help.

“Interrupting is not polite, Mrs. Forster.”

Her teacher turns very red, and Historia wonders if it’s because she's nervous, embarrassed, or angry. Maybe all three. 

Historia thinks she is probably in very big trouble.

 ❁

Historia is in very big trouble. She knows, because when her teacher sent her to the principal, she said, “ You are in big trouble, young lady.” 

She really doesn’t know why she’s in trouble. Her big sister Frieda tells her that sometimes, even grownups don’t know things. Historia only meant to help by telling her teacher what’s what the way Frieda tells her, all nice and friendly. She didn’t do it like her mom does, yelling and screaming and calling her names. Frieda tells her to treat others how she wants to be treated, and she does not want to be treated like that, so she would never treat anyone else like that. Not even Mrs. Stupid. 

Mrs. Stupid is also Stupid Floch’s mom, so she extra doesn’t like Historia. 

Last year, in first grade, Stupid Floch tried to kiss her. Everybody knows that kissing isn’t allowed until college, and Historia wanted to keep both of them from getting in trouble with the authorities, so she stopped him by throwing sand in his face. She thought his mom would be grateful that she prevented her son from breaking the law, but when Stupid Floch started crying because his eyes were all scratched up with sand, his mom’s face got real red just like it did in math class and she told Historia she was a little terror and to go to the principal's office right this instant.

She has told Historia to go to the principal's office many times since then. Historia believes it’s one of her favorite things to do. 

So that’s where she’s sitting now. 

She’s sitting very straight and proper with her chin up and her hands in her lap, but the legs of the chair are too long and so she doesn’t look as grownup as she’d like. They ought to make these chairs kid sized, she thinks. 

“Miss Reiss,” The principal peeks his head out of his office, “You may come in now.”

When a teacher says you may come in now, what they actually mean is you have to come in now. Historia would know. She’s said no thank you before, and it did not go over well. 

She scoots off the chair and walks to his door, climbing onto yet another too-big chair. Someone really should write a sticky note on the school board about the chair sizes in this place. 

The principal's office is not a nice place to be. In fact, the only reason it even exists is for kids to get in trouble.  

The office, just like the chairs, is a bit too big for Historia’s taste. She goes to something called a Private School, which is apparently nicer and bigger than normal schools. The classrooms are big, the office is big, the chairs are big, and the people are big. It all makes Historia feel very small. 

“Historia,” the principal begins, sitting in his chair that’s even bigger than hers. “Do you care to tell me why you’ve paid me a visit this afternoon?”

Honesty is very important, so Historia tells the truth.

“I wrote all the things I hate about school in my notebook,” she explains, “And I said that people call me stupid and Floch pulls my hair, but Mrs. Forster said I was lying. I tried to tell her I wasn’t, but she kept interrupting me, and I wanted to make sure she knew interrupting is not polite, so I told her so. Then she said I was being a negative imfluence, and sent me to you. And so here I am.”

“ In fluence,” The principal corrects, “And if, as you say, all those things were true, why would you write it in a notebook? Why not tell your parents or another teacher?”

“I didn’t want to tell because Mrs. Forster doesn’t like me, so I knew she wouldn’t believe me already. And I didn’t tell any other teachers because…” Historia has to think for a moment. “Well, I didn’t think anyone else would care much. That’s why.” 

“Historia,” the principal did that thing grownups do where they take a big breath in and then a looong breath out. Historia only sees them do it when they’re upset, so she figures it’s not a very good sign.

“Why, Historia, must we do this every week? You’re a good girl, I know. So why do you insist on testing your teachers so much?”

Historia frowns. “I don’t know what you mean, sir. I’ve never gave a teacher a test in my life.”  

“ Given” , the principal corrects again. Historia wishes he wouldn’t do that so much. “And I don’t mean a literal test. You’re testing their patience. Making it difficult for them to teach you and your classmates. Why would you write something so hateful? And why on earth would you disrespect your teacher in such a way? It’s not acceptable, Miss Reiss. Not in the least.” 

“I’m sorry,” Historia says, playing nervously with the cuff of her dress, “I didn’t want to make trouble. I promise.” 

“And I believe you. But I’m afraid I must still alert your parents of your behavior. Your father is still away on business, correct?” He reaches for the phone. “I’ll call your mother, then.”

“No!” Historia is getting afraid now. Being in trouble with her teachers is one thing; she can handle being yelled at or told to sit out during games. Most times, she doesn’t even cry about it. She’s very good that way. 

Being in trouble with her mother is not just being told to sit out during a game. 

“I mean, please don’t tell my mom, sir. Please. Please . I won’t do it again, I promise. Never ever ever ever.” 

The principal just shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Historia. I cannot allow this kind of behavior to go unaddressed.” And then he picked up the phone and dialed her number. 

And that’s when Historia starts to cry.

The principal shakes his head again and hands her a tissue box, but she doesn’t take it even though she knows her nose is probably running. She keeps crying while the principal talks to her mom on the phone and tells her the whole story, saying things like etiquette and consequences, and Historia really wishes all these grownups would stop using words she doesn’t understand. 

Then he hangs up, tells Historia he’ll be right back, and leaves her in the office. She cries and cries, but it’s not because she’s going to get yelled at. It’s because she’s been trying really, extra hard to be good lately. She’s been trying because she hopes that if she’s so good, if she’s the best , her parents will hear all about it at the next parent teacher conference. And when they do, they’ll be so happy that they’ll hug her and tell her they’re proud, just like all her classmates' parents do when they win awards or get called exceptional by teachers. 

But this? This really throws a wrench or two in her plan.  

She can’t read circle clocks yet, so she doesn’t know how long it’s been when her mom and principal finally walk into the office. 

“Historia,” The principal says, “Why don’t you wait for us outside?”

She can’t hear what her mom and the principal are saying, but she sees her mom nodding very understanding while he tells her what happened. When they walk out, he says,

“I hope this wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. I simply have no choice but to contact a student’s parents when incidences like this occur. I hope you understand.”

“Of course, Mister Pixis. I really am terribly sorry about the trouble, my little Historia is just…so spirited! You know how they can be at this age, don’t you?”

“Of course, Alma. I’m sure with a little more discipline, she’ll grow up into a perfectly lovely young lady.”

“Thank you for being so understanding with her,” Her mother says very sweet. “I’ll be sure to have a talk with her about proper behavior. And before I forget, did you receive the check my husband sent you? I believe it was one of his biggest donations yet, wasn’t it?”

The Principal makes a weird face like he doesn’t really know what to say, but then he nods and smiles back.

“I did. And I can assure you, you and Rodrick have our utmost gratitude. We will…continue to ensure Historia gets an excellent education and maintains a proper GPA.”

“Wonderful,” Her mother says, smiling very nice. “We had better be going now. I’ll see you at the next fundraising gala, then?”

The principal makes that weird face again before he says, “Of course, Miss Reiss. You two have a lovely day, now.”

Then her mom smiles, grabs her hand and walks out. Even though she’s still scared, Historia feels better for just a little bit. 

Her mother smiles at her only in front of other grownups. She laughs, and pats her head, and calls her names like sweetie and honey instead of the not so nice ones she uses for her at home. 

It usually means something bad is coming, but Historia likes it when her mom holds her hand and pats her head and smiles at her. She’s not a baby - she’s old enough to know her mother is just pretending for the other grownups. But Historia can pretend, too. She pretends that her mother really means those things, and that she really does think Historia is her sweetie and her honey. She pretends all the way to the car, even though her mom is holding her hand so tight it hurts a little. 

When she’s in the backseat and her mom is in the front and starts yelling names like useless and embarrassing and mistake , she has to stop pretending.

❁

Waitsfield, Vermont, March 1989

Ymir does not like school.

Ymir can list the things she doesn’t like about school, so she does. Out loud. In the middle of science class.

“This is dumb,” she says. She doesn’t raise her hand while she says it, because the point of raising your hand is to be called on, and Ymir plans on saying what she wants to say whether she’s called on or not. “I don’t care about clouds. The only thing they do is make rain, and when it rains we have to stay inside. And inside is dumb. So I think this whole class is dumb and so are you, Mister Smith.”

Mister Smith looks at her with his dumb face. Then he closes his eyes and does a deep breath in and a looong breath out. Then he says, 

“Ymir.” 

And Ymir knows exactly what that means.

“Yeah, I’m going,” she says. She pushes her chair back hard so that it makes a screeech on the floor, then finds the way to principal Ackerman’s office, which she knows by heart. She gets sent there a lot, so she once told Mister Ackerman he must be her biggest fan. He didn’t think it was very funny.

Ymir doesn’t mind Mister Ackerman, because he never tells her parents when she gets in trouble. The last principal told them every time she did something wrong, no matter how little it was. Mister Ackerman just stares at her, and she stares back, and then he hands her a broom or a mop or a chalk eraser and tells her to clean things. Then he sends her back to class and that’s that. 

Except Mister Ackerman is apparently sick today, because he’s not sitting at his desk. Instead, there’s a bald man with sunken eyes and a weird triangle beard. 

He does not look like a fan of Ymir’s.

“Who are you?” She asks as she plops down in the chair in front of his desk. It’s an adult sized chair; She’s glad she’s tall for her age, or it would probably be a pain to get on. “Where’s Mister Ackerman?”

“Mister Ackerman isn’t here today,” the new principal explains, “I’m Mister Shadis, and I don’t tolerate nonsense from brats.”

Well. Ymir is glad he got straight to the point. 

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he instructed, “And don’t even think about lying. I’ll be confirming everything with Mister Smith.”

Ymir almost rolled her eyes, but she got the feeling this guy was not messing around about tolerating nonsense from brats. And Ymir is smart enough to know that most grownups consider eye rolling to be a bit of nonsense.

“I told Mister Smith that learning about clouds is dumb. And I said he was also dumb. Because you’re always supposed to tell the truth, so that’s what I did. And I really don’t think I should be in trouble for that, Mister Fake Principal.”

“Mister Shadis,” Mister Fake Principal corrects, “And I told you, I don’t put up with attitude from brats. 

“Fine, Mister Shadis ,” Ymir says, “I was just being honest. You guys always say, ‘ Honesty is the best policy’' she uses her fingers to make air quotes. “So there.”

Mister Shadis gives the same look her parents and all her teachers give her when she’s being bad, but they’re too tired to deal with it. Sometimes that works out well for her; other times, not so much.

But today seems like a lucky day, because Mister Shadis just rolls his eyes.

 “For now, I’ll let you off with a warning,” he says, organizing some papers into a pile on his desk, “One more infraction, and it’s a phone call home informing your parents exactly what a little shit you are. Got it?”

Ymir is pretty sure adults aren’t supposed to speak that way to children who don’t belong to them, but she doesn’t say that. 

“Fine,” is all she says. Mister Shadis nods, which in grownup speak means it’s okay to leave now. So Ymir does. Leave, that is.

She doesn’t really care that she got in trouble. As long as her parents don’t find out, it doesn’t matter if she has to sit out during P.E or do extra work. 

The only other punishment she hates is when she has to stay inside during recess, because usually the only other kids who are in trouble with her are boys. There  are a lot of boys in Ymir’s class. Ymir hates boys. They’re smelly and ugly and dumb and mean, and they always tell her she isn’t allowed to join their sports games because she’s a girl, and girls are bad at sports. The good news is that Ymir has P.E with most of those boys, so she gets to show them who’s boss every time they have a race or play dodgeball. One time, she got put on a time out because she threw a dodgeball at Daz’s head so hard it made his nose bleed. When they told her to say sorry, she gave him the stink eye and said that’s what he gets for being a stupid ugly boy. Ymir believes lying is bad, so she never took it back, and she stands by that to this day. 

While she’s walking through the hallway back to class, a stupid boy named Samuel looks at her and smiles the kind of smile that is really not a smile at all.

“Hey, Ymir,” Samuel says, “What’d you get in trouble for now? Being too ugly and making everyone throw up?”

So that’s when Ymir decides to punch him in the face. 

And then she gets sent right back to the dumb fake principal. 

❁

Historia’s mom doesn’t say anything to her the whole elevator ride up to the place they live in, which is called a penthouse. A penthouse is a big apartment at the very top of a high rise, and Historia can see all of Manhattan from hers. Her dad says this is prime real estate, but she doesn’t like heights. 

As soon as they walk in the door, she gets sent to her room. This only happens when she’s bad; according to her mom, this is most of the time. She doesn’t have any toys or books in her room, or her pet caterpillar Sueanne. They’re all in the nursery, and she’s only allowed there when she isn’t in trouble. Her mom says it’s so that she can be alone and think about what she did. Mostly, she’s just bored. 

Historia’s mom is her dad’s second wife, and from what Historia can tell, she’s not at all happy about that. She always hears her yelling about his first wife, calling her intrusive and obsessive and greedy and some other bad words Historia isn’t allowed to say. She thinks maybe she should get a dictionary just so she can figure out what all these gosh darn words mean.

What she does know is that she has five brothers and sisters, but she’s never met four of them. Historia doesn’t know a whole lot about her father’s other family except for her big sister Frieda, who sometimes visits her to read her stories and play games. Frieda says they’re only half sisters because they have different moms, but Historia likes to think of Frieda as her whole sister, and she won’t let anyone tell her she’s not. 

Historia doesn’t really understand how someone can be a wife and then not be, since all her books tell her that being married means being together forever, but she wishes her mom was her dad’s first wife. She thinks maybe she wouldn’t be so mad all the time if she was.  

She also knows her mom doesn’t really like her all that much. Or at all, really. She’s pretty sure most moms aren’t like hers; she always hears other kids talking about going places and doing things with their moms, but she never has. Her mom wishes she was never born. She knows, because she tells her so. A lot.

It probably wouldn’t be so bad if Historia knew why her mom hated her, or why her dad was never home, or why Frieda only visited every few months. Maybe if she knew why, she could change something, like her hair or her clothes or the kinds of books she reads. If someone told her there was something she could do to make everything better, she would do it in a snap.

But no one does. She never asks. 

Historia goes to her room when her mom tells her she doesn’t want to look at her face anymore. She closes the door and sits on the floor, and she really wishes she had a book or a toy or a bug to keep her busy. When she’s busy, she doesn’t think about all the things that make her cry.

But she doesn’t have anything to keep her busy, so she holds her hands over her mouth so her mom doesn’t yell at her for being loud, and she cries until she goes to sleep. In her dream, she’s a caterpillar.

❁

Ymir's parents love to yell. Ymir thinks it’s weird that adults actually have fun yelling, but they do it so much, she figures that’s just their idea of a good time. Ymir likes to dig in the sand with her yellow toy truck, and her parents like to yell. It’s the way things are, she supposes.

Ymir has to say, she really wishes they didn’t like to yell. When they yell, she gets angry, and she yells back. When she yells back, they get angrier, and yell more.

Yesterday, her mother broke her yellow toy truck. Ymir made her angry, so she called her a rotten girl and threw the truck across the room until it broke right in two. 

“I am a rotten girl!” Ymir had screamed, “ I’m the rottenest girl in the world! And you’re the rottenest mom, and I want my truck back!” 

She really, really loved that truck. She even made extra special sure to only play with it in her room or at the park, because her parents always broke her toys when she played with them in the living room. But her stupid dumb parents had to get into a fight about something called bills, and her mom got so angry she decided the best way to make herself feel better would be to break Ymir’s favorite thing. So Ymir decided it was only fair that she break her moms favorite thing, which was an ugly vase that had been sitting on the table ever since her grandma died that spilled gray stuff all over the floor when it fell. Then Ymir stuck her tongue out and said, So there!

 Then she got locked in the closet, which is apparently the best place in town for rotten girls like her. She didn’t really care about being locked up, though. She only cried so hard because she missed her truck.

Now Ymir feels dumb, because she really did pick a bad day to punch someone. If Mister Ackerman were there, he would have kept her inside during recess and P.E. But Mister Shadis didn’t think that was enough, so he went and called her parents.

So. This is just great. 

Except it’s actually not great at all. Ymir’s mom says that’s called sarcasm. 

It’s not great because now Ymir’s parents are very mad. And they’re mad at her, instead of just being mad around her. And when they’re mad at her is where the real trouble is.

“Jesus Christ , Ymir,” Her mom’s keys make a loud crash when she throws them on the kitchen table. “How many fucking times do we have to do this before you learn your lesson, huh? You can’t just be normal for one goddamn day?” 

“It’s not my fault,” Ymir insists, “He was being an asshole!”

“Watch your fucking language,” her mom says. Ymir is pretty sure that’s something called irony.

“How about you watch your language,” Ymir grumbles. She thought she was being quiet, but her mom’s shocked, angry face tells her she probably wasn’t. 

“Get your ass over here,” her mom grabs her arm so hard her nails leave marks and starts dragging her to the hallway, “Maybe staying in the closet until bed will teach you a thing or two about being a little shit at school and making us look like dumbasses who don’t know how to raise a decent fuckin’ kid.” 

“You are dumbasses who don’t know how to raise a decent fuckin’ kid!”

Ymir’s mother stops, turns around, and slaps her across the face. 

It’s not the first time, either. 

It has been awhile, though. Ymir has really done her best lately not to make her parents mad at her, and she’s been doing well. Today is just a bad day all around, it would seem. 

She grabs her arm again and drags her towards the closet, unmoved by Ymir’s screaming and thrashing. Then she opens the door and throws her in.

Ymir falls, but she jumps up immediately. Unfortunately, she doesn’t get up in time to stop her mom from closing and locking the door. She bangs on the door with her fists until they hurt.

“Let me out !” She screams. She wants to be brave, really, but she hates the dark and she’s never seen the spiders in the closet but she knows they’re in there, she’s felt them crawling on her before. She keeps slamming on the door, and like every time, she hopes that maybe it’ll change her mom’s mind. Maybe she’ll let her out. 

Like every time, she doesn’t. 

Like every time, she eventually gets tired and lies down. She can’t stretch out in the closet, so she has to sleep curled up, but that’s okay with her. When she’s curled up like that, there’s less room for the spiders to crawl on her, so she sleeps that way even in her bed. 

She feels a tickle on her arm, and cries harder. 

❁

Bugs are good friends.

Most girls her age are scared of bugs, but Historia thinks that’s just crazy talk. Bugs are gentle as long as you’re nice to them, and they’re good listeners, and when you look at them a certain way, they’re actually very cute. It would be good if everyone saw bugs the way Historia does, because then they wouldn’t kill them so much.

Once, her mom found a big fuzzy spider named Charlotte she’d been keeping in a box. A boy in her class gave it to her; he said his dad gave it to him from South America, but he didn’t want it, so he brought it to school to scare people and then said he was going to let it go. Historia jumped up and asked if she could pretty please take it home, and everyone looked at her like she was a freak. The boy looked at her like she was a freak too, but he gave it to her anyway. 

She kept Charlotte for almost a month before her mom saw her. She screamed so loud Historia had to cover her ears, and before Historia could tell her that Charlotte is actually a very kind spider who won’t hurt her, she took a shoe and smacked Charlotte dead. 

Then she told Historia she better not find anything like that in her room again, or she would be very sorry. And she even told Historia to shut up and stop crying, like it would be so easy. 

Historia sat and cried in front of Charlotte all squished and broken for hours, and she thought, that’s exactly how I feel, Charlotte. I think I might be broken too.

When she finished crying, she put Charlotte in a box, took her out to the yard, and buried her with some Doritos, which were her favorite snack. Sometimes she still goes to visit her. 

One day, probably a year ago, Frieda was reading her a book about insects. When they started reading the chapter about caterpillars, Historia got so excited, and decided right away that they’re her favorite bug, even more than ladybugs.

They start off small, and they can’t do much. They don’t look like much either, so no one really notices them. But they hang in there and they keep doing their best, then go to sleep and wake up as a big, beautiful butterfly. Then they fly away. Historia likes to think of herself as a category of caterpillar. 

Frieda laughed when she told her that, even though she was serious. But she didn’t mind, because then before Frieda left, she went to talk to her mom, who does not like Frieda at all. But she must have said something to make her listen, because the next time Frieda came over, she had a great big box with a little green caterpillar in it and said that as long as it stayed in her room, her mom would be okay with her having it. 

She’d had five caterpillars since then — Sally, Oscar, Deandra, Helen, and her newest caterpillar, Sueanne. All the others had turned into butterflies and flew away, and even though it makes Historia very, very sad when they leave, she also feels happy. 

After a few hours in her room, her mom decides her punishment is over and lets her go to the nursery to get Sueanne to keep her company while she gets ready for dinner.

“I’ve had a long day, Sueanne,” Historia says as she sets Sueanne’s box down on her dresser. Sueanne doesn’t say anything back, because caterpillars don’t speak English. Historia thinks that’s just fine.

“And the day is going to get even longer,” She continues, “You know why? It’s because my dad is coming home from his business trip tonight, and we’re going to have dinner with his brother who’s visiting from a place called Vermont. That’s a state.”

Sueanne nibbles a leaf.

“I’m going to call you Sue.” Historia says. She likes that she can just decide that. Bugs are very easy going and won’t tell you to call them anything other than what you want to call them. 

She doesn’t do a whole lot of thinking when she watches Sue. She just watches her squirm along, go from one side of her house to the other, eat some leaves, and then go back. It’s nice not to think. Sometimes she imagines she’s a caterpillar. She thinks it would be good to not have to worry about anything except which direction to crawl or which leaf to eat next. 

But then Sue stops eating the leaf, and she crawls up onto a branch of the tiny tree in her cage. She squirms around for a few moments until she’s comfortable, and then she just hangs there for a second before she starts spinning. Historia feels very cold all of a sudden. 

“Sue,” she gasps, “You’re leaving so soon?”

Sue still doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t stop spinning either, and that’s all the information Historia needs. 

“I’ll miss you,” she sniffles, “You were my favorite caterpillar yet. I’m sure you’ll be the prettiest butterfly in the whole world.”

Sue spins faster, and Historia is pretty sure that’s her saying she’ll miss her too.

She lets out a sad little hrmph before she plops down in the chair in front of her vanity. Her father will be here soon, and he doesn’t like it when she’s not ready when he is. She’s already changed into one of her new dresses - light blue with white lace around the collar, cuffs, waist and hem. She starts to braid her hair like Frieda taught her, and picks out one of her favorite white bows to put in it when she’s done. 

She hears a quick knock on her door, and she knows it’s her dad from how quick it is. Everything he does is quick — he is not a man who wastes time, and that’s for sure.

“Come in,” she calls, and he does

“Historia,” he says her name in the same way he says the names of all the different business people she hears him talk to on the phone. It’s not very sweet at all. 

“Father,” she says his name in the same way. That’s how they always greet each other, even though she wishes it wasn’t. He walks up behind her chair, looking up and down at himself in the mirror and frowning when he spots a wrinkle on his jacket.

“Your uncle Uri will be here soon,” He says, smoothing the wrinkle and fixing his tie. He doesn’t sound nearly as excited about his brother coming to visit as Historia is when Frieda visits. “He’s traveled all the way from Vermont, so be sure to show him a nice time.”

She’s never been to Vermont, but Mina has a house in Burlington that her family sometimes visits for Christmas. She says it’s gross and boring and there’s no good toy stores, so Historia never thought much about it. 

She also isn’t exactly sure how she is supposed to show him a good time. She’s only seven. She can’t exactly take him out for a drive. 

As always, she doesn’t actually say these questions. 

“Yes, father,” she says, tying the bow around the base of her braid once she’s finished and smiling at her reflection. She’s very good at braiding. 

She doesn’t know much about her uncle, other than the fact that he moved away a long time ago and hadn’t had much contact with the rest of the Reiss family since. Her dad says he chose the ‘ Hillbilly life ’. She doesn’t know what that means exactly, but her father always makes a face like he ate raw broccoli when he says it, so she doesn’t think it’s a very good thing.

He makes the face again when the doorbell rings.

“That’ll be him, then,” he says very grumbly, “Wash your hands and be down in five minutes.” 

Historia nods and does as she’s told, waving to Sue as she walks out. 

When she heads to the dining room — a great big room with a long table meant for way more people than her and her parents — her dad is talking to a nice looking man she’s never seen before. He doesn’t look like anyone she’s ever seen before. He doesn’t look like her dad at all .

Her dad is always buttoned up, and his hair doesn’t move on its own. He wears fancy suits and nice coats and shiny shoes and sparkly watches. He says it’s all part of looking like an upstanding gentleman.

If her dad is upstanding, Uri must be…downsitting?

She’s never seen a man with floppy hair like his. Even though they’re at dinner, he’s wearing a plain white shirt not tucked into his pants. When she looks at his feet, his shoes are only half shoes — the front parts are missing so Historia can see all his toes. It looks silly. She wants a pair of half shoes just like them. 

“You must be Historia,” he says to her, “It’s wonderful to meet you. My name is Uri.” 

He really is nice. Way nicer than her parents. She decides he’s her new favorite. 

“Yes I am,” she replies, “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Her mom isn’t there, because she has a headache. For some reason, she gets headaches every time someone she doesn’t like comes over for dinner.

Her dad clears his throat, and gestures to the table. 

“Shall we?” He asks. He doesn’t finish the question, but Historia is pretty sure he means it’s time to sit and eat. She and Uri both nod, and they all sit. Historia wrinkles her nose when she looks at her plate — broccoli. Bleh.

For a while, it’s very quiet. Historia doesn’t mind, but her dad keeps clearing his throat and looks even stiffer than usual. Uri doesn’t seem to mind either, though. He looks like a man who’s happy with quiet.

“Uri,” Her father says eventually, “How is the… farm ?” There’s that raw broccoli face again, and his voice sounds weird too. 

Uri doesn’t seem to notice, because he smiles very friendly at him.

“The farm is peaceful. It’s beautiful. It’s hard work to maintain, with all the plants and animals that need tending. The roosters are quite loud in the morning, and the horses never quiet down…”

This catches Historia’s attention, and she perks up. Not only does she love bugs, but she loves horses. Even more than bugs, probably. She has a whole collection of stickers and keychains and stuffies that are all just horses, and she gets new ones every time she sees them. Only she’s never actually met one in real life, because New York City only has horses in Central Park, and she isn’t allowed to go there.

“Horses?” Her voice comes out more excited than she means it to. “You have horses?”

Uri smiles warmly, an expression entirely unfamiliar to her. She’s used to adult smiles being stiff and forced, never really happy. She likes Uri, she decides then.

“Loads of them,” he replies, “An entire stable full. Sweet creatures, they are, and surprisingly intelligent.”

“I’ve always wanted to ride a horse,” she exclaims, “I’ve never even seen one in real life before.”

She’s hoping he’ll tell her more about them. She hopes he spends the whole rest of dinner telling her stories about them, and what they look like and sound like and their names and maybe even what it’s like to ride on one. 

She isn’t expecting him to say, “Well, I think we can do something about that. Do you have any summer plans?”

She whips her head in her fathers direction so fast her neck hurts. Her eyes are wide and pleading and she knows she looks desperate, but she can’t help it. She is desperate. And she loves horses.

Her dad’s arms and shoulders get real still and he reminds her of a statue a little bit. 

“Well…” He begins, tapping his index finger on the handle of his fork, “I’m not sure how I feel about Historia traveling alone so young.” 

“She’d hardly be alone,” Uri replied, “You could send some of your staff on the flight with her, and she’d be in our hands the moment she lands.” 

Her father looks from Historia, to Uri, and back. He taps his finger against the fork again. Then he takes a big breath in, and a loooooong breath out. Historia still doesn’t understand why grownups do that so much.

“I suppose I don’t see any harm in it,” He says. And Historia almost jumps up right there, because she doesn’t think she’s ever been so excited in her life .

She’s going to spend the summer with horses! 

She’s not going to be yelled at by her mom all summer long! 

And there’s probably all sorts of new bugs on the farm!

She could go on and on, but she knows her dad doesn’t like it when she gets excited and talks a lot, so she just smiles and says, “Thank you, daddy.” 

Her father gives her a nod and stretches his lips thin in what Historia thinks is supposed to be a smile, but it doesn’t really come across that way. 

She starts eating again, and broccoli has never tasted so good in her life. 

❁

Ymir kicks a rock down the street as she walks, grumbling all the bad words she knows and hoping it’ll make her feel a little better. It doesn’t.

Saturday’s are usually her favorite days, but not this one. 

First of all, she can’t see her friends because there’s a bruise on her cheek, and her parents told her she isn’t allowed to see anyone until it heals. That means she can’t go to school either, which means she’ll get bad grades, and she’ll have to stay at home all day. And if she misses too many days, her teachers will want to talk to her parents, and then her parents will get mad at her, and the whole thing will start all over again, and that means she can’t win no matter what she does. 

She kicks the rock hard, and yells the worst word she knows. 

“Christ, that’s some impressive vocabulary,” says a big, gruff voice coming from the side of the road, “That what they’re teaching in schools these days?”

She turns, and there’s a man she’s never seen before sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette. He’s got a beard and he’s wearing blue overalls and a cowboy hat. She thinks he looks pretty cool.

“Who are you?” She asks, because only dumb kids talk to strangers. If she knows who he is, he won’t be a stranger, and she can talk to him. 

“Name’s Kenny,” He says, “And yours?”

“Ymir.”

“Quite a shiner ya got there, Ymir” Mister Cowboy taps his cheek in the same place Ymir’s is bruised, “Street fight?”

Ymir shakes her head. “My mom.”

Mister Cowboy whistles real low and makes a tsk sound. 

“Ain’t nothin’ like a mothers love, is there?” 

“I know that’s sarcasm,” Ymir says, “And I’m gonna need it to take a long walk outside.” 

Mister Cowboy guffaws. Ymir didn’t really know what a guffaw was until now, but she thinks that must be a guffaw if she ever heard one. 

“Funny kid,” he takes a big puff and exhales smoke through his nose. “What’s a gal like you doing all alone on a Saturday? Ain’cha got friends to be playin’ with?”

“Not really,” Ymir says, “I mean, kind of. But I can’t see any of them right now. Plus I’m in a bad mood ‘cause my parents are stupid idiots and I hate them. So I don’t feel real social right now.”

Mister Cowboy makes a hmmm and scratches his beard.

“Don’t like bein’ home much, do ya?”

Ymir shakes her head, ‘cause that’s an easy question.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Mister Cowboy begins, “I got a farm a few miles down the road. It’s breeding season, and the animals can’t seem to keep their paws to themselves. We could use a little extra help with the new additions. A little cleaning here, feeding there. Something to keep ya busy outside of school. Not without compensation, o’course.”

“...You’d pay me?” Ymir asks. 

“Well, sure. This is America. Slave labor ain’t been a thing here for ages.”

Ymir isn’t so sure about that. 

“How’s about it? You shovel some shit, I give you some change. Start saving for college early and get away from yer folks while yer at it.”

Ymir doesn’t really care about college. But she does care about a new toy truck, and shoveling shit is the least she’s willing to do for one. 

“Fine,” she says, “I want twenty bucks a day.”

Kenny stares at her for a moment, and then there’s that guffaw sound again.

“Fuckin’ outta yer mind, too,” He slaps his knee, “I’ll give ya five, not a dime more.”

“Fifteen.”

“Seven.”

“Nine, or I’m walking.”

“Seven fifty, final offer. Whaddya say, little shit?”

Ymir stares at him for a second.

“You got a deal, Mister Cowboy.”

“Call me Kenny.”

“No thanks.”

She walks to him and shakes his hand.

And that’s that.

❁

Manhattan, New York, June 1989

On the morning Historia leaves for Vermont, Sueanne turns into a butterfly. 

Frieda says bragging is bad, but Historia fancies herself a bit of an expert on caterpillars. She loves watching them turn into butterflies, but it also makes her sad to lose a friend. 

But watching them go from little fuzzy slugs to the prettiest bugs in the whole world? Nothing is better than that. As soon as she sees their tiny antennas pop out of their cocoons, she carries their box down the stairs and out into the yard. Then she opens the lid and sits and stares at her friend until it breaks free, and that is her favorite moment. The butterflies are always beautiful, and when they spread their wings and fly away, it makes Historia cry. But it also makes her feel hope, like one day she’ll also fly away. She just isn’t sure where yet. But she definitely will. Maybe Maine. 

So that’s what she helps Sue do. She takes her out to the yard and opens the lid, and she sits and waits for her to come out of her cocoon.

“Don’t feel pressure because I’m watching you,” she says, “Take your time.”

She waits and waits. But because Sue is the best and smartest caterpillar in the world, she starts to come out faster than any of Historia’s other ones.

And finally — the cocoon falls to the ground and Sue pops out and starts fluttering. 

Sue falls a few times, but Historia knows that’s normal. She’s getting used to a whole new self, after all.

But eventually, she figures out just like Historia knew she would. She flutters and flutters until she’s out of the box and into the sky. Historia’s face feels cold when the wind hits the tears on her cheeks, but she’s smiling.

“Bye, Sue,” she calls, waving. “I’m flying somewhere else today, too.” 

❁

Ymir’s first day on the farm goes like this:

She gets up early, even though it’s Saturday. Her mom is making breakfast in the kitchen, so she tells her she’s going to a friend’s house, and she grunts. The bruise on her face is mostly gone, so her parents must have decided she looked good enough to go out. 

She gets on her bike and rides as fast as she can down Main Street and off the main road. She doesn’t even set up her bike when she gets to the address Mister Kenny gave her, she just throws it down and runs up the dirt path that ends with the front door, which she knocks hard on way more than three times. Mister Kenny opens the door, and he looks like he just woke up. In other words, very grumpy. 

“Christ on a cross,” he grumbles, “The hell are you here so damn early for?”

“I wanted to get started right away, sir,” she explains, “‘Cause I hate my parents and like to be far away from them as much as I can, sir.”

Then he grunts, but not the way her mom grunts. Her mom grunts like she wants her to go away. Mister Kenny grunts like he’s understanding her, even if he is a little annoyed.

“A’right. Go wait by the stables, I’ll be out in a minute.”

So Ymir goes and waits by the stables. 

There are a lot of horses in the stables. 

One of the horses is staring right at her, and it won’t look away, and it really rubs her the wrong way for some reason, so she sticks her tongue out at it. 

“I’m gonna be the boss of you today,” She tells the horse, “So you better not tick me off.”

Just then the farm gate swings open, and Mister Kenny walks in, still looking just as tired as he did when he opened the door. Ymir hopes she isn’t alway that tired when she grows up.

“Alright, kid,” He says, “Today I’ll just have you take care of the basics. We can start off by having you clean out this place. Dunno if you can tell by the stench, but it’s a bit overdue.”

Ymir isn’t sure what overdue means, but she can make a pretty good guess based on the smell. 

Mister Kenny does like he said he would, and explains the basics to her. He tells her all kinds of things, like how to clean and how to avoid getting kicked.

“What if I get kicked anyway?” she asks. Mister Kenny lifts his shoulders up and down.

“Nobody signed any paperwork.”

Ymir is pretty sure that means she’s on her own. 

“I’m headed into town, and Uri’ll be out all day. Now don’t stir up any trouble, y'hear?”

“I hear, sir,” Ymir says, “You can count on me.”

Mister Kenny grunts (he does that a lot), nods his chin, and hands her a shovel. He turns around, and as soon as he’s gone, Ymir gets to work. 

Only it turns out farm work is a lot harder than she could have ever expected, because after what is probably seven hundred hours of shoveling, Ymir’s arms feel like they’re going to drop right off and get trampled by the horses. 

She thinks she might fall down right that second when the gate swings open again, and there’s Mister Kenny standing at the entrance again. He looks around and nods.

“Not too shabby,” He says, “For a first attempt, anyway. I’ll teach ya more tomorrow.” 

“Thanks,” she replies, “I think I’m probably gonna smell like horse shit forever now.”

He tosses her an envelope, and she thinks the way he throws it looks cool. She also feels cool when she catches it. 

“A little first day bonus,” he explains, “You done good work today, Ymir. You sure are one fascinatin’ little lady.”

“Thanks, Mister Kenny. You’re also one fascinatin’ little lady.” 

Mister Kenny tips his cowboy hat at her.

Then Ymir counts fifteen dollars, and that’s enough for two new trucks. So ha-ha to her mom for breaking her other one.

She makes sure to hide the money real good when she gets home — if her parents found it, they’d get mad at her for hogging it and probably spend it on beer and cigarettes. She grins, and she realizes this is the first time she’s felt happy in a long, long time. She whoops and runs to her bike, stuffs the envelope in her backpack, and rides into town to go buy a new truck. 

❁

Vermont is pretty.

Scratch that — Vermont is beautiful .

Stunning, even. Historia has been working on her vocabulary.

Uri lives in a town called Waitsfield. It’s small and green and there isn’t a single high rise. There isn’t even an airport; when Historia’s jet landed, they had to drive for an hour just to get there. The people all wear jeans and t-shirts and sneakers instead of expensive coats and watches and shiny shoes. Most of all, it’s quiet . She’s never been anywhere so quiet in her life. She can’t hear any honking or yelling or construction or anything. It’s nothing at all like New York.

She loves it! A whole lot! 

Uri is also very nice. Kenny is less nice. But she likes them both anyway. 

But none of that is what she came to the farm for. None of that is what made her want to run away to somewhere she’s never been with people she doesn’t know. Finally, after she puts her things down, she runs straight outside to the stables, and she sees them . The one most important thing that brought her here in the first place.

And oh, boy. They’re huge ! Two feet taller than her, at least! Their eyes are big and brown and friendly, and their necks are so long Historia things she could probably lie down on them. 

“What’s your name?” She asks, spotting a pretty white one. “Mine is Historia. I’m going to pet you now, if that’s alright.”

Only it looks like that wasn’t alright, because as soon as she reaches out her hand, the horse whinnies and tries to nip her fingers.

She yelps and jumps back, clutching her hand to her chest.

“That’s wrong,” comes a voice from behind her, “Obviously they’re gonna bite you when you stick your hand right in their face like that.”

Historia turns around and sees a girl. A pretty girl. Probably the prettiest one she’s ever met. 

She looks about the same age as Historia, if not a little older, and much taller. She has short, choppy hair that seems like it probably tickles her chin, but it looks just perfect on her. Her skin is brown with freckles all over her nose and cheeks, and her eyes — wow . Historia didn’t know eyes could be that gold. 

She does look a little mean, though. 

She walks over to them, a plastic baggie full of carrots in one hand.

“You’re supposed to do this,” the girl holds her hand out flat, the carrot in the middle of her palm. The horse takes it gladly, leaving her hand in perfectly good shape. “They can’t bite you if you do it this way.”

“Oh,” Historia says, feeling embarrassed and not at all like someone who is good with horses. “I didn’t know.”

The girl shrugs. “You’ll learn. They’re not so hard to handle once you get used to them. I’ve only been coming here for a few days, and most of them already like me.” She frowns. “Some are real jerks, though. That one over there always stares at me and tries to bite my head.” She sticks her tongue out at a horse to their right, and that makes Historia giggle.

“What do you do here?”

“I clean, feed the animals, water some of the plants…whatever Mister Uri and Mister Kenny need, really. Mister Kenny gives me seven-fifty a day for it. Who are you?”

“I’m Historia,” she says, “Uri is my uncle. What’s your name?” 

“Ymir. If you’re Mister Uri’s niece, your dad must be that super rich guy, right? I saw him on the news and Mister Kenny told me he was Mister Uri’s brother. He was drunk, though, so I don’t know if he was telling the truth.” 

Historia crinkles her eyebrows, because she’s never heard that word before.

“What’s drunk?”

“Drunk is when parents have too much wine and then they start walking and talking weird, and saying things that aren’t true and throwing things and yelling and calling you bad names.”

Historia thinks for a moment.

“Oh. I think my mom is drunk a lot.”

“Mine too. Also my dad.”

“My dad isn’t home very much. I don’t think he likes us.”

“Maybe he likes you, but he gets too drunk and forgets to come home.”

Then Historia smiles very excited, because that’s the smartest idea she’s thought of in awhile.

“I think you’re right!”

Ymir shrugs. “Probably. Most times I am.”

Historia thinks she might have just met the smartest person on the whole entire earth.

“Why do you work on the farm?” She asks, very curious about such a smart person.

“I need money to buy toys and cool shoes since the only ones I get are from goodwill. I wanna get them while they’re still new and shiny.” 

“Why don’t you just ask your parents to get them for you?”

“They can’t afford new stuff.”

Huh. That’s weird. Historia thought parents all had unlimited funds to buy as many toys as they wanted. 

“I can buy you a truck,” She suggests, “I have a big allowance.”

Only apparently that was not the right thing to say, because Ymir looks really mean at her. 

“I don’t want you to buy me a truck. I want to earn it. Presents are only for birthdays and Christmas.”

“And Hanukkah.”

“What’s Hanukkah?”

“It’s Jewish Christmas.”

“I don’t know what Jewish is.”

Historia starts to tell her, but then she realizes she doesn’t actually know what Jewish is either, only that she is it. She decides to just forget the whole thing.

“Okay, I won’t buy you any toys. But can I help you with the horses? I really love them.”

“Sure,” Ymir scratches the horse's chin, looks at Historia, and gives her a little smile. It makes her even prettier than she already is. “I think they’ll like you pretty soon, since you’re nice.”

The horse whinnies and nudges Historia’s head, making her stumble a little. She laughs, and right away decides she likes horses more than people.

“I like horses more than people,” she announces, “Except for you.”

Ymir smiles bigger like she couldn’t agree more.

❁

A month goes by, and Historia has adjusted quite well if she does say so herself. She goes outside every day and breathes the fresh air and listens to the birds chirping and the leaves rustling. She sees the horses and sheep and dogs and makes friends with every single one of them. And there’s butterflies everywhere ! And they’re all different colors and sizes and even shapes. She likes walking around the town, too — it’s teeny tiny, but it’s pretty and quiet and everyone is friendly and walks slow enough that they never bump into Historia and say ‘Didn’t see you down there!’ 

Best of all, she sees her new friend Ymir every single day. She loves spending time with Ymir. 

She’s never met anyone like Ymir. All the kids at her school are snobby and care about their clothes and hair and shoes and make fun of other people who’s clothes and hair and shoes aren’t as nice as theirs. Ymir doesn’t care about that at all. Her hair is short and choppy because she cuts it herself, and the only clothes she wears are jeans and t-shirts and sweaters and sneakers, and Historia thinks she looks cooler in her clothes than any of the kids at her school look in their fancy button shirts and lace dresses. 

Ymir also doesn’t act like them. They all stay in little groups that Historia isn’t allowed in, and none of them ever say things the others don’t like. They always look at each other like they want to make sure they all think the same thing, because no one wants to be different. Ymir just says whatever she wants like she doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Because of this, it’s real easy to learn all kinds of things about her.

Like the fact that she’s only one grade above Historia even though she’s two years older, because she’s behind a year in school. Historia was confused when she first told her that, because, as she noticed when they first met, Ymir is the smartest person on the whole entire earth. 

“My parents didn’t put me in kindergarten on time,” Ymir explained, “I think they just forgot to sign me up. It’s a lot of paperwork.” 

Historia understands. Her dad also hates paperwork. 

She also learns that Ymir doesn’t have many friends. Whenever the two of them go into town (which they can do by themselves, unsupervised! Because Waitsfield has a low crime rate!) she doesn’t say hi to most of the other kids, and they don’t say hi to her. There’s a blonde boy who she calls gorilla, and a girl with a ponytail who she always calls potato girl, and a short boy named Connie and a tall boy named Bert who she sometimes plays with (Historia usually says she doesn’t feel good when that happens, because she doesn’t know any of the games they play and doesn’t want Ymir to think she’s dumb for not knowing). But besides them, it seems like she doesn’t really talk to people except Historia, and Historia is just fine with that. In fact, if she were Ymir’s only friend, that would make her the happiest girl in the world, probably. 

Every day Ymir takes her to do new things she’s never done, like playing hide and seek and swimming in a lake and going to the movie theater. She even took her to get hot dogs, because Historia has never had one of those before. They had so much fun getting them, and it was so good she didn’t even get embarrassed when Ymir laughed at her for having ketchup all over her face. They go to the stables every morning to feed and pet the horses, and then they go to the chicken coop and do the same thing there, sometimes alone, or sometimes with Uncle Uri and Kenny. Historia doesn’t like Kenny much. He’s loud but not in a fun way, and he isn’t very friendly. And Historia has had enough of unfriendly adults in her lifetime. 

But all that is just fine, because she has Ymir with her almost all the time. She even stays for dinner most nights, and always eats a lot even though she’s skinny. Historia wonders why she doesn’t ask her parents for more snacks so she doesn’t get so hungry. 

Before she knows it, it’s the Fourth of July. And that means fireworks! 

Ymir tells her about something called a county fair. It’s a place where people go every year to do all kinds of things Historia has never even heard of, like raffles and crafts competitions and weird games to win prizes. There’s also a Ferris wheel, and Ymir says they just have to go on it. Historia isn’t sure if Ymir knows what have to means, because no adults are forcing them to do it, so they really don’t have to go at all. Historia would rather not, actually. It’s very tall, and she’s a little worried she’ll fall and go splat.

“Trust me,” Ymir says while they brush the horses, “It’ll be fun. I don’t think anyone has ever even died there.”

Historia frowns, because that is not very reassuring. She decides to change the subject.

“Why is it called a county fair?” 

“Because that’s where they count all the people so they know what number to put on the town sign.”

“Oh.”  

Ymir really is the smartest person on the whole earth.

❁

The day they go to the fair, Ymir triple checks her secret piggy bank. She promised she’d win Historia prizes, and if she ran out of money before she could get her anything, she’s sure she’d never live it down. She counts her money once more just to be sure, smiling and securing it in the secret zipper pocket of her backpack.

She can’t believe it, but she likes Historia. She’s never liked anyone this much, but then again, she’s never met anyone like Historia. 

First of all, Historia is weird. Really weird. She loves bugs and old books and creepy myths, and sometimes she says things that make Ymir go huh ?

Like one time, Ymir asked if she wanted to watch Cinderella, since she looks like she probably likes princesses. She said no, because the movie is boring compared to the book. Ymir didn’t even know there was a book.

“What’s boring about it?” She’d asked.

“In the movie, she just marries the dumb prince and they go live in a dumb castle. In the book, the evil stepmother and stepsisters go to mess up her wedding, but then birds swoop down and pluck out their eyes. There’s lots of screaming and blood and everyone gets to watch the bad people get what they deserve.” 

She said this with that pretty smile on her face, and Ymir thought it was something called off putting. But she just shrugged and said, “Black Cauldron, I guess.” 

Historia also doesn’t get along with her parents. The way she talks about them makes it sound like she wants to get along with them, but just can’t seem to make things work. Ymir used to feel that way — now, she doesn’t really care if her parents like her or not. Really, she doesn’t. She hardly ever cries about it these days. But Historia told her she still cries a lot, and even though Ymir has never seen her cry, even imagining it makes her sad.

Most of all, though, she and Historia have fun together, no matter what they’re doing. When Ymir hangs out with Sasha or Connie or Reiner or Bertholdt, she has fun because they do fun things. They play ding dong ditch, freeze tag, red rover, and all kinds of games. But as soon as the game is over and they all sit down to talk to each other, Ymir leaves. 

She plays fun games with Historia too, but when they’re done, they just keep talking. They talk all day, about all sorts of things. Historia tells her about New York and all the stinky rich people who live there, and how she lives in a big place called a penthouse in the middle of the city and goes to something called a private school. It all sounds pretty boring, if Ymir is being honest. But her life in Waitsfield is boring too, or at least it was before Historia got there. She thinks maybe she just needs to be with Historia all the time, then she’ll never be bored again. 

She told Historia she’d meet her at the farm at six-thirty the day of the fair, so that’s exactly what she does. She would have waited until seven, but Historia can’t ride a bike, and walking from the farm takes longer. Next summer, she’s going to teach her. 

At six-twenty-six, she drops her bike and knocks on the door to Mister Kenny’s house. Mister Uri opens the door, and even though Ymir doesn’t usually smile at grownups, his smile is so friendly she can’t help but do one back. 

“Hi, Mister Uri,” She says, “I’m here to go to the fair with Historia now.”

“Hello, Ymir. She’s just finishing getting dressed, she’ll be right out.”

Ymir nods and sits on the porch, drumming her hands on her knees and staring at the sun through the trees while she waits. She likes the summer, because days are so long she can stay out of her house all the way until her parents are asleep.

She hears the door open and shut behind her, and then, “I’m here! I’m ready!” 

“Nice,” Ymir says, standing up. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to a fair. Your whole life is about to change, I think.”

“I think so too.”

 “First we have to play the shooting game where you use a gun to shoot a target and then you get stuff,” Ymir explains, “I’m gonna win a stuffed bear for me and a horse for you. I’m gonna name mine Titan. What about you?”

“Probably Daphne or Lottie.”

“I like those names. But I think Titan is cooler. No offense.”

Historia frowned. “Titan is a dumb name for a bear. You should name it Barry instead.”

Ymir made a psshh sound, because that’s a corny name if she’s ever heard one. 

“Barry the bear? No way. That sounds like a little kid name.”

“That’s because we are little kids.”

“ You’re a little kid. I’m gonna be ten in seven months. I’ll be in the double digits, but you’ll still be a single digit for a whole two more years.”

“Oh yeah?” Historia huffed and made a pouty face. “Well jokes on you, ‘cause I don’t even know what double or single digits are.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you’re a little kid. Told you so.”

“Meanie!” 

Then Historia pushed her, and Ymir giggled and pushed her back, and they kept laughing and pushing each other all the way to the fair. 

They go straight to the ticket booth when they get there, and Ymir hands the ticket man money and he gives them both a big string of tickets.

“We have to do the Ferris wheel first,” she says, “The fireworks are starting soon, and I wanna be in the Ferris wheel when they do.” 

Except things aren’t looking great, because when they get to the Ferris wheel, the line is long . Ymir is about to say ugh and complain, but Historia starts to just walk past the people in the line, which is completely bonkers. Ymir grabs her wrist; she might be a lot of things, but a cutter is not one of them.

“Don’t be a cutter,” she scolds, “We have to wait in line.”

Historia tilts her head like she’s confused.

“I never wait in lines. My dad says people like us don’t have to.”

Ymir frowns, because she might only be nine, but she thinks she knows what’s going on here.

“That’s because your dad is rich,” she explains, “So he doesn’t have to wait. But he isn’t here now, so you have to wait like everybody else.”

“Oh,” Historia’s shoulders slouch a little, but she perks up again and shrugs.

“That’s okay. As long as you’re here, I won’t be bored.”

And they weren’t bored, because Ymir taught Historia Miss Susie Had a Steamboat , even though it has bad words in it. Historia wouldn’t say the bad words, but she giggled every time Ymir did, and they had so much fun it felt like no time at all went by and they were at the front of the line. 

Historia turned and looked up at the Ferris wheel, and her face went from smiling and laughing to nervous real fast.

“I don’t know about this, Ymir,” she starts to say, “I’m scared I’ll fall and go splat. And I’d rather not do that today.” 

“You won’t,” Ymir says with a one hundred percent guarantee. “I told you no one has ever fallen off one of these things. If someone did, they would be illegal.” 

Ymir isn’t actually sure if any of that part is true, but it would make sense if it was. Plus also she really wants to go on the Ferris wheel. 

Historia doesn’t look like she fully believes her, but she hugs her elbows and says “I guess...” 

Ymir hands the man at the bottom two tickets, and they get on. He buckles them in, and whoosh , up they go.

Historia closes her eyes, but Ymir keeps hers wide open and watches as the ground and everything on it get smaller and smaller until they’re at the very top, and then— 

They stop?

“Wait, what’s happening?” Ymir leans over the side and sees two operators talking to each other down below. One of them walks behind a desk and gets out a cone-ish shaped thingamajig, and when he speaks into it, they can hear from all the way at the top.

“Sorry, everyone. We’re having a few technical difficulties. We’ll get this thing running in no time, just hang tight.”

At the exact same time that Historia says “ What?! ” Ymir says “ Awesome! ”

“It’s not awesome!” Historia shouts, “We’re gonna be stuck up here forever! We’re gonna die up here! It’s gonna fall and crash and we’re going to be killed to death!”

“We are not ,” Ymir says, “We’re lucky we got stopped at the very top. Everything looks so small!” She looks down at all the people and stands and things below them. “Heh. Stupid small people. Sucks to be you guys.”

When Historia peeks her head over the bar and looks down, she lets out a little eep! sound and pulls back real fast.

“This is scary!” She cries, and she grabs the sleeve of Ymir’s sweater in what Ymir believes is called a death grip. “It’s really really really scary and I would like to go down now, please!”

“Hey, stop it!” Ymir takes Historia’s hands and pries them off her sweater, because ouch. She does not appreciate being grabbed. 

But she also doesn’t want Historia to be scared, so when she switches from a death grip to hiding her face in Ymir’s shoulder, Ymir lets her. Then after a second, she puts her arms around Historia’s shoulders veeeery slow. 

When she does, Historia puts her arms around Ymir too, and Ymir realizes that they’re hugging now. Then she realizes she’s never hugged anyone before. And then she realizes that she really super likes it. 

Or maybe she just really super likes Historia.

“Don’t worry,” she says then, “I won’t let you fall. If you start to slip I promise I’ll catch you.” 

“Pinky promise,” Historia’s voice is very small and a little hard to hear since her face is smushed in Ymir’s sweater. “And don’t let go until we get to the ground, please.” She holds out her pinky without lifting her head. Ymir links their pinkies and squeezes, then she puts her hand on the back of Historia’s head.

“I won’t let go,” she says, “And I’m not even crossing my fingers, in case you were wondering.”

Historia still doesn’t open her eyes, but at least she isn’t shaking anymore. And, the hug is really, really nice.

The sunset is also really, really nice. Ymir can see all of Waitsfield and then some — she thinks maybe she can see the whole state of Vermont from up there, and it’s beautiful . It’s all green mountains and valleys and it’s covered in golden light. The sun is a gigantic egg yolk setting behind the mountain, and even though it hurts Ymir’s eyes a little to look at it, she can’t help it.

“I think you should look up,” Ymir says, but Historia shakes her head furiously and clings tighter. 

“No, really,” Ymir softly pats the back of her head, “It’s super pretty, Historia. You don’t have to look at the ground, the sunset is what’s pretty.”

Another head shake. Ymir does the big breath in and out that grownups do, and she thinks maybe she’s turning out just like them. 

“I told you I wouldn’t let you fall. And I wasn’t crossing my fingers so you know I’m telling the truth.” She hugs her tighter, partially to make sure she knows she won’t let go, and partially because hugging Historia feels nicer than anything Ymir has ever felt.

“…Okay.” Historia says very quiet. She slowly lifts her head from Ymir’s shoulder and looks in front of her, doing a little gasp when she does.

“Wow,” she breathes. And Ymir agrees, because wow is right. 

“It’s as pretty as you are,” she says. Historia’s eyes get big.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Then Ymir looks at her weird, because what kind of question is that? 

“Duh,” she replies. “I thought you knew that already.”

Historia looks at her hands, and her cheeks get real red.

“No one’s ever said that before. Mostly they just tell me I’m weird and quiet and bad at math.” 

“They’re probably jealous,” Ymir replies, “The boys in my class tell me I’m bad at sports, but I know they’re just jealous that I’m better than them. So the people at your school are just jealous that you’re prettier than them most likely.”

The smile Historia smiles is no doubt the prettiest one Ymir has ever seen. She notices it’s getting dark, and for a second she’s worried Historia will be scared again, but she jumps when she’s interrupted by a loud ‘ boom!’

“The fireworks are starting,” Ymir says, and now she’s excited. “We’re gonna be on top of the ferris wheel for the fireworks!” 

The first firework goes up, up, up into the air, and then — BANG! Another one! This one is bright red, and a white and blue one come after it. Ymir points to the next one and says,

“Look, Historia! That one looks like a flag!”

Because it does!

“I didn’t know fireworks could be this bright,” Historia says, her voice soft and whispery. “In New York it’s harder to see them because there’s already so many lights in Time Square. These are…wow.” 

That’s when Ymir realizes that Historia is also wow . The colorful lights look bright and magical on her face, and her eyes light up with the reflection of them. She’s staring at the fireworks like they’re the most amazing thing she’s ever seen, and Ymir wants to hug her again, so she does. She puts her arm around her shoulders, and Historia snuggles into her side, and Ymir forgets what it’s like to be sad. 

She’s so busy watching the fireworks (and Historia) that she doesn’t look at her watch, so she doesn’t know how much time goes by before the fireworks end and the Ferris wheel finally starts moving again, taking them back down to earth. Historia still looks a little shaky when they get off, but also happy. Ymir decides she likes it when Historia is happy.

“That was awesome ,” Ymir exclaims, “It was like they were blowing up right in our face! Like, BOOM! Right there! We should buy our own fireworks so we can see them every night. And maybe we can hide some in that dummie Jean’s bedroom and then he’ll blow up too. How about it?” She turns around and expects Historia to be smiling excited too, but instead she’s looking at the ground and playing with the end of her shirt very nervous.

“Historia? Do you not want to blow up that dummie Jean? I was just kidding about that, by the way.”

(She was only kind of kidding about that.)

“Ymir,” Historia’s voice is kind of small, “Are we friends?”

That’s when Ymir realizes Historia loves to ask very silly questions.

“Of course we’re friends,” She says, and she knows her voice might sound a little harsh, but she needs Historia to know that they’re absolutely friends, and that it’s dumb to even ask. “And I’m only friends with cool people, so you shouldn’t listen to stupid losers at school who say mean things to you.” 

Then, Historia smiles really, really big. Ymir can see all her teeth and the gap on the right where one tooth is missing. She starts to feel her cheeks get red.

“I haven’t had a friend before,” Historia says, picking at her nails, “So I don’t really know what to do with one.”

“We just keep doing what we’ve been doing already,” Ymir says, because why not? “Like going to parks and playing in the lake and feeding horses together. And new stuff too, like going on adventures in the forest and finding cool rocks and stuff.”

“And bugs?” Historia’s eyes brighten suddenly, “Can we find bugs in the forest?”

Ymir wrinkles her nose.

“Gross. I hate bugs, especially spiders.”

Only then Ymir feels really, really bad, because Historia looks sad and embarrassed, and that’s just about the worst thing Ymir can think of. 

“But they could be cool, maybe,” she says quickly, “I mean, I’ve never really played with bugs, so I don’t know. But we can find some that you like in the forest and you can show me. I think that’d be a lot of fun.” 

“Great!” The smile was back for a second, but then she looked sad again.“I really want to find a tarantula. I had one once, but my mom killed her. She smacked her dead with a shoe, and her legs were all bent and broken and her body was squished. I miss her a lot.”

Then Historia looks sad again. Really, really sad. Sadder than Ymir has ever seen anyone, actually. She thinks maybe she’s sad for bigger reasons than just the tarantula. 

Either way, it makes Ymir’s chest hurt to see it. She decides, right then and there, she’s going to spend the rest of forever doing everything she can to make sure Historia is never that sad again.

She steps forward and grabs Historia’s hand. “I’m gonna get you a new tarantula. And I’m not gonna let anyone squish it or smack it dead.”

Historia’s eyes go big and wide for a second, then there’s that pretty smile again. Then, there’s some tears in her eyes. It makes Ymir worried, but she’s still smiling, so she figured that must be what happy tears look like.

“Thank you, Ymir,” she says, “I’m really happy we’re friends.”

“Me too. Let’s go to the shooting range, maybe they have stuffed tarantulas.”

They didn’t have stuffed tarantulas, and Ymir didn’t win a bear. But they did have a big white horse that Ymir won for Historia, and when she gave it to her, Historia hugged her again and said she’d name it Lottie and keep it forever. And that was a better prize than any stupid stuffed animal could ever be.

❁

The morning after that, Historia was woken up by someone knocking loud and fast on the door. 

She went to get the door — because she could do that here, all by herself — and she did a little happy jump when she saw Ymir standing there. Her face looked red and she was breathing heavy, like after a run. The idea that she ran just to see Historia made her do a little jump again.

She held up a shoebox with some holes in the top, and a spoon.

“This is for tarantula hunting,” she explained, “We’ll use the spoon to get it in the box, and then we can take it home.”

Historia smiled huge and wide, and Ymir smiled back, and Historia couldn’t draw eyes that golden and shiny even with the nicest glitter gel pen in the world. 

“Okay,” she said, “Let me put on my shoes, then we can go.” 

So she put on her shoes, and they went. 

Now they’re here, and Historia decides right away that she loves forests. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever been anywhere so quiet. New York is always loud, with honking and yelling and loud music and all sorts of things. Here, all she can hear is the birds singing and the wind shaking the leaves on the trees and twigs snapping under their sneakers. She’s also never worn sneakers before. They’re comfortable. 

“I’ve never seen a tarantula in real life before,” Ymir says, “So I’m not sure where to look.” 

“I’m not sure either. I got Charlotte from a boy in my class, who got her from his dad who went to South America. But I’m sure we’ll find one if we look hard enough.”

“Yeah…we’ll find one eventually.”

She sounds a little nervous; Historia remembers her mentioning being afraid of spiders, so she takes her hand. Ymir looks a little surprised by it, but when Historia smiles at her, she smiles back.

“Don’t be scared,” Historia says, “Spiders are really nice. People are just scared of them because they have lots of eyes and legs. But it’s not their fault they were born like that. You just have to give them a chance to be your friends.” 

Ymir nods. She doesn’t say anything, but she does squeeze Historia’s hand, and that makes Historia feel like a little firework explodes in her chest, just like the ones from last night.

They keep walking, and they don’t let go of each other’s hands. It feels a little weird, because Historia has never held hands with anyone but her mom, but mostly it feels…Historia isn’t sure what word to use. It feels like when she’s in bed snuggled in blankets hugging her stuffed unicorn, Sandy. Only ten hundred times better. 

They talk a lot while they walk. Up until she met Ymir, Historia had never talked so much to someone her own age — to anyone — so much in her whole life. She didn’t even know there were so many things to talk about! They talk about school and movies and toys and songs and why the sky is blue instead of purple or green or chartreuse. Ymir asks Historia questions about herself, and Historia asks Ymir about her, and it’s probably the happiest Historia has ever been. 

“…So then I told Jean that he looked even more like a horse than the ones at the farm, and then—”

“Look!” Historia exclaims, pointing to a tree a few steps ahead of them. She runs to it and crouches down, and there’s a big web with a small, black and yellow striped spider. 

“ Wow ,” she says softly, “I’ve never seen one like this before. It kinda looks like if a bee and a spider had a baby.” She turns behind her, grinning. “Come look, Ymir!” 

Ymir is holding her elbows and her shoulders are hunched up around her ears, and she doesn’t look even a little bit excited to see the cool new spider. 

“I can see from here, thanks.”

Historia slowly reaches out her hand, touching the spider lightly, and she giggles when it crawls onto her finger.

“Hey! It could be poisonous!” Ymir calls.

Well. She’s right, it could be. But Historia likes its stripes, so she lets it crawl around her hand and says, “Hi! My name is Historia. I like your stripes, Mister Spider.” 

He crawls around some more, and he doesn’t bite her. 

She turns around and holds out her hand to Ymir, smiling so big her cheeks hurt at her new friend — at both of her new friends. “See? He’s barely harmless.”

Ymir doesn’t step any closer, but she leans in just a little, squinting her eyes and wrinkling her nose. 

“I guess his stripes are kinda cool,” She says, “But I still don’t like him. Nobody needs that many legs.”

“He does,” Historia replies, “because otherwise he would have no way to make his web. And that’s what he does for a living, so he’d die.”

Ymir shrugs. “As long as he stays out of my house.” 

By the time they have to go home for lunch, they find three more spiders, two ladybugs, a slug, and a pretty blue snail. But even though they don’t find even one single tarantula, Historia doesn’t care; she realizes that maybe she doesn’t need a new tarantula to make her feel better after all. She just needs Ymir.

❁

Historia has been so smiley lately, she’s surprised her face hasn’t gotten stuck that way. She’s smiling when she wakes up and when she goes to sleep and when she eats breakfast and brushes her teeth. Who knew having a best friend could make a girl so happy?

Ymir is her favorite person she’s ever met. She thinks she likes Ymir even more than her big sister Frieda.

Because Frieda reads stories to her and helps her with her homework and is a very nice lady. But Frieda would never search with her in the forest to replace the tarantula her mom killed. Frieda never took her to a fair and hugged her on top of a ferris wheel and made her feel safe even though she’s afraid of heights. Frieda always tells Historia to be nice and kind to everyone, but Ymir tells her it’s okay to be angry and a terror if she wants to be.

(She still doesn’t want to be.)

(Well, maybe she does. But she won’t. Probably.)

(But it’s just nice to have a friend who says she can.)

Only nothing lasts forever, Historia realizes. Because after the most fun three months of her whole life, it’s time to go home. 

Now, Historia can’t stop bouncing her leg while she waits for Ymir on the front porch of Uri’s farmhouse in the early hours of August 27th. Ymir promised she’d come to say goodbye, and she’s never lied to Historia, but Historia has always been a worrier, so she’s still a little afraid she won’t show. 

But then she sees someone walking up to the porch and feels very silly all of a sudden, because she can’t believe she thought for even one minute that her best friend would let her leave without saying goodbye. 

The second her eyes meet Ymir’s, they both turn shiny with tears. She starts running, and then Ymir starts running, and then they’re hugging like they’ve never hugged before. It feels so nice. Nicer than anything ever. Next summer, she’s going to hug Ymir this tight every single day. 

“Do you promise you’ll write me letters?” She asks.

“I promise.”

“And on Sundays you can use Uri’s phone to call long distance.”

“You better be home all day on Sundays.”

“I will be! I won’t leave the phone for even one single second.”

“…good.”

She feels a tap on her shoulder, and when she looks up, Uri is smiling that tired smile at her.

“Time to go, Historia,” he says, “You can start writing a letter the minute you get home.” 

Historia nods, wipes her eyes, and pulls away from Ymir. “Okay. I’ll see you in nine months. And I’ll bring a caterpillar so you won’t be scared of bugs anymore.”

“Sounds good. Make sure he’s got cool colors.”

“Those ones are usually poisonous, so probably not.”

“…fine.” 

Then they start laughing, and hug again. 

❁

When Historia gets home, she doesn’t say hi to her mom. She doesn’t even take off her shoes or change her clothes. She just runs upstairs, bursts into her room, throws Lottie on the bed and zooms straight to her desk. She pulls out her favorite cream colored rose stationary and pink glitter gel pen, and starts to write. 

Dear Ymir,

I just now got home off the plane. The plane ride was almost boring because I finished reading my book and had no toys, but it wasn’t actually boring, because do you know what I did? I spent the whole time thinking about how much fun we had this summer and how much more fun we’re going to have next summer and the summer after that and the summer after that for the rest of forever! 

Next year I want to go on the roller coaster at the fair. And then I want to try a fried Oreo and a corn dog and maybe cotton candy if I’m not too full. But I want to do the roller coaster first so I don’t throw up.

It’s only been a few hours since we said goodbye, but I already miss you. I’m going to write a letter thanking Santa for giving me a best friend and ask him to please make time go by faster so we can play together again soon. I think you should do that also, because if lots of people ask then Santa will be more likely to give us what we want. Please write something like “Dear Santa, for Christmas I would like time to go by faster so I can see my best friend Historia soon.” I think he’ll probably listen if we do that. My dad says this type of thing is called demand. So I demand to see you soon.

Write me back as soon as you get this because I miss you please! 

Love,

Historia