We've decided to try an experiment. We don't publish children's books, and that most probably is not going to change. Except that our good friend Zoe Weil of the International Institute for Humane Education sent us a manuscript called Claude and Medea. It's about a couple of kids from very different backgrounds who come together to make a difference. It's enchanting and entertaining and perfect for the 8-12 age range. Zoe had the idea of a series of books and suggested we might like to publish them.

So that's what we've decided to do. Except we're going to publish the whole book on-line before we publish it, to make sure there's enough interest in it before publishing it. Following this entry, you'll be able to read all twelve chapters of Claude and Medea: The Hellburn Dogs by Zoe Weil. Each week, starting on June 12, we'll post a chapter, finishing at the end of August. We haven't got an ordering mechanism in place at the moment. Until we do, we invite you to send me an email (martin@lanternbooks.com) and tell me you'd like to buy the finished book. By the way, you can ignore my name on the entries: I'm just the guy who's posting them!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

On a brisk September morning Claude Maxwell-Cunningham stepped onto the Madison Avenue bus on his way to The Worthington School, completely unaware that something was about to happen that would change his life forever.

As Claude arrived at school that morning he was thinking about his brutal math teacher (who seemed to relish when his students failed his absurdly difficult tests), and the last thing Claude expected was to meet the person who was going to turn him into a hero. But as it happens life has a funny way of taking major turns when you least expect them, and in this case, the major, unexpected turn in Claude's life came in the form of a substitute teacher named Flora Rattlebee.

It was uncommon to have a substitute teacher at The Worthington School. The teachers, like the students, were expected to be in optimum health, work hard, and never miss school. But on this morning, Claude spotted a tiny woman in the hallway and heard Mr. Frool, his myopic (meaning near-sighted rather than narrow-minded) history teacher, call out to her from across the hallway.

"Excuse me! Are you an exchange student? Can I help you?" Mr. Frool said in his oily, condescending way.

The little woman laughed and in a very high, childlike voice responded, "No, no. I'm Ms. Rattlebee! I'm substituting for Mr. Bryant. He was hit by a taxi this past weekend."

"Hit by a taxi! My goodness!" cried Mr. Frool, reddening a bit because he mistook the middle-aged Ms. Rattlebee for a student simply because she was so short. "Is he all right, then?"

"Well, of course he's not all right," Ms. Rattlebee replied in the way one might speak to a very foolish child. "I said he was hit by a taxi. He's in the hospital, and I'm told he will be all right, but he'll be recovering in the hospital all week."

"I see then," replied a flustered and irritated Mr. Frool. "You'll want to head over to the Green Room." Mr. Frool then turned away and strode down the hall, leaving Ms. Rattlebee wondering where the Green Room was. She looked a bit lost, so Claude, who'd heard the whole exchange, walked up to her and introduced himself.

"Hello, Ms. Rattlebee," he said looking way down at the little woman, who, he noticed, was wearing a skirt made entirely out of sewn-together neckties and was carrying an enormous patchwork bag that was almost as big as she was. "I'm Claude Maxwell-Cunningham, and I'm in Mr. Bryant's class. I can show you where the Green Room is. Can I carry your bag for you?"

"Why thank you, Claude," Ms. Rattlebee replied, handing him the bag and following him up a flight of stairs and down another hall to a door marked "Green Room."

When they walked in, Ms. Rattlebee turned to Claude and remarked, "Excuse me, Claude, but this room isn't green."

In fact, the Green Room was not only not green, there was no green to be seen anywhere. The walls were actually burgundy, and there were yellow columns with ornate gold filigree in each of the four corners of the room.

"I know. Supposedly it once was green," Claude told Ms. Rattlebee, and then stopped speaking as he realized that Ms. Rattlebee's entrance had elicited open-mouthed stares. Ms. Rattlebee may have been accustomed to looking up at everyone, but these 12-year-olds were not accustomed to looking down at grown-ups, especially not that far down. Nor had they ever seen a teacher dressed in such unusual clothes.

"Please be seated at your desks," she told the class, which was too flummoxed to do anything else but obey. "I'll take the bag now, Claude. Thank you," she said quietly, and the rest of the students' eyes followed Claude as he made his way to his chair.

"I'm Flora Rattlebee, and I will be filling in for Mr. Bryant this week. I'm afraid Mr. Bryant has been in an accident. He was hit by a taxi cab this past weekend, and he is recovering in the hospital. I'm told he will be fine." And then Ms. Rattlebee whispered to herself in a voice that was still audible to everyone, "Poor man, smooshed by a taxi, terrible thing."

It was shocking enough to hear that their homeroom teacher had been hit by a taxi, but to hear the news from a teeny woman with the voice of a five-year-old, who wore a skirt made of men's ties, and who talked to herself, threw the students for quite a loop.

"Since Mr. Bryant did not expect to be hit by a taxi, I'm afraid he hasn't left me with his lesson plans, so you'll forgive me, I'm sure, if today's class is a little different than you're used to," Ms. Rattlebee began. "I'd actually like to start our class by introducing you to a friend of mine. Her name is Grinwhistle, and she has been traveling with me to visit schools for the past couple of weeks. She is doing some research, and she's trying to understand some things about us. She likes talking to children your age because she says you tend to be very forthright and honest with her, which helps her gather the information she needs. So, are you willing to talk to her?"

The kids in Claude's class glanced around at each other, each one trying to decide how they should answer. The person who finally did respond to Ms. Rattlebee's question was Claude, our soon-to-be hero, and perhaps now's a good time to tell you why Claude would be so quick to reply to Ms. Rattlebee. Claude's mother, Helen Maxwell, was a United States senator, and his father, Farnsworth Cunningham, was the anchor at ABC national news. Claude's famous parents weren't at home much, and Claude's sister, Olivia, was ten years older than he and about to graduate from Princeton, so Claude barely saw her, either. This meant that Claude was cared for by Marisa, the housekeeper, and Sophie, the cook, both of whom doted on Claude and never scolded him as his parents might have. His every need was attended to, and he was free to do just about anything, as long as it would reflect well upon the Maxwell-Cunninghams.

Claude was expected to earn good grades at his fancy, Manhattan private school, and he did. He was expected to be a good sport, and he was. He was expected to be well-liked among his peers, and he was elected class president. He was expected to be polite at all times, and his parents bragged that his very first word was "please." He was a handsome, easy-to-get-along-with twelve-year-old. Thus, Claude was polite to Ms. Rattlebee, and was the first to reply, "Sure, we'll talk to your friend."

(By the way, Claude might sound like a great guy and the kind of kid you would want to be friends with, but there's a bit more to tell you. Claude was popular because it suited him to be so. He watched how his mother said just what people wanted to hear so that she would get their votes, and he became a skillful politician himself. He wanted to get into Princeton one day, like his sister and his parents and grandparents, so he worked just hard enough to get the grades he would need. He loved sports, and realized that good sportsmanship went a long way toward success. He did what he did to make his own life better, not because he really wanted to do the right thing or because he was particularly caring towards others. If you had met Claude before the changes that were about to take place - which I'll get to in a minute - you probably would have liked him, but you may not have felt that he could become a good friend. You might have enjoyed his company, but you wouldn't get the feeling you could talk to him if something was wrong. In fact, although Claude was very popular, he really had no close friends at all. Now back to our story.)

"Great! I'll get Grinwhistle, then!" responded an enthusiastic Ms. Rattlebee.

Ms. Rattlebee did not, however, leave the room to get her friend. Instead, she stood in front of the class, closed her eyes, began swaying back and forth, twitched a few times, and then suddenly opened her eyes and stared at the students, looking, if you can believe it, even sillier than before.

"Greetings Earthlings," the voice coming out of Ms. Rattlebee's mouth said. "I am Grinwhistle, from a planet many light years away. I travel in the form of energy, and I've entered Ms. Rattlebee's body so that I might speak to you and ask you questions. I'm here on a fact-finding mission. On my planet all beings are treated with respect and compassion, and I want to know how others behave on different planets. Will you tell me how I'm supposed to behave in your world?"

By now the students thought that Ms. Rattlebee was insane. Bill Rittenhouse, who was the tallest boy in the seventh grade and always acted as if middle school was below him, rolled his eyes, and Austin McKenzie, who liked nothing more than to play tennis at the family country club, snorted audibly. Snotty Penelope Brewster, who was popular primarily because most of the girls were afraid of her, said with a smirk on her face, "Sure, we will, Grinwhistle."

"Very good. On your planet how are you supposed to treat other people?"

Penelope's voice dripped with sarcasm as she replied, "the way you would want to be treated." At this, the few girls in the class who were not followers of Penelope Brewster looked at her in amazement since Penelope never treated anyone nicely.

"Does everyone agree with that?" asked Grinwhistle, and most of the class nodded.

"Wonderful!" shouted Grinwhistle. "That's how it is on my planet! So I assume that you would never harm each other, right?"

"Well, sometimes. I mean if someone hurts you, then you can hurt him back. And some people are bullies," said Lucas Christiansen, a slight boy with wire-rimmed glasses who stared pointedly at Brent Sklar, who had a reputation as the class bully.

"Well that's odd," responded Grinwhistle. "I thought you were supposed to treat each other the way you want to be treated. I can't imagine anyone would want to be bullied! Well let me ask you this: I've noticed that people on your planet are all different shapes and sizes and colors. How do you treat those who are different from you, let's say who have a different skin color, or who are very big or very little."

Most of the students looked down when Grinwhistle asked this, realizing how much they had been judging Ms. Rattlebee because of her size. Plus there were only four kids out of twenty-five in the class who weren't white: Umbeki Tzava, from Tanzania, whose father worked for the United Nations, Lee Chong, who came from China and worked after school in her parents' laboratory at Mt. Sinai hospital, Meena Bannerjee whose engineer parents moved to the United States from India, and Medea Ramon, whose skin was the color of a latte, but no one knew much about her. There was an awkward moment as the kids tried to figure out how to talk about racism with Ms. Rattlebee's strange alien alter ego.

Claude broke the silence. "We're supposed to treat everyone equally, but sometimes we don't. Some people are prejudiced against others because of things like skin color."

"Why on Earth would people care what color your skin is?" cried Grinwhistle. "On our planet it doesn't matter what color you are - purple, polka dotted, striped. Well, let me ask about something else. How are you supposed to treat other species on your planet - for instance, birds? I noticed some lovely sparrows flying outside when I arrived this morning."

"Oh, we're supposed to treat them nicely!" cried Samantha Curry, who had little dimples and rosy cheeks. "At my grandmother's house in Connecticut, we put out birdseed, and so many birds come to the feeders."

"That's good to hear! It's similar on my planet. We always share our food with others. So you treat all birds this way, then?"

"Well, not all birds," piped in Tony Melina, who was known for stirring things up.

"What do you mean?" asked Samantha.

"We eat some of them; I mean, you eat chicken, Samantha. I've seen you."

"Are they really birds, though?" Samantha asked, turning rosier than usual. "I mean, they're food."

"You eat them?" asked a perplexed Grinwhistle. "I thought you said you were supposed to treat them nicely. That's what you said about other people, too. Do you also eat each other?"

"Of course not!" exclaimed several students.

"So why do you eat chickens but not sparrows?"

"Because they taste good," Tony answered.

"Sparrows don't taste good?"

"I don't know. I've never tried them."

"Why not?" Grinwhistle inquired.

"Because we don't eat sparrows!" Tony replied, a bit exasperated.

Grinwhistle sighed. "This is confusing. Tell me about dogs. I noticed some people walking dogs on the street. Do you eat them as well?"

"No!" shouted several kids, but then Tony, casting a furtive look at Lee Chong, quietly quipped, "In China some people eat dogs."

"How is that any different from eating pigs? They're as smart as dogs." Lee retorted.

"But pigs are for food. Dogs aren't!" cried Samantha, looking a bit shaken.

"Pigs aren't food to some Jews and Muslims," interjected Peter Levy, who was Jewish, and whose grandparents kept Kosher.

Then Medea (another soon-to-be hero) spoke up. "Basically, most people eat the animals they were raised to eat. It has nothing to do with how smart the animals are, or even how cute they are. There's no important difference between sparrows and chickens or pigs and dogs. It's not about them; it's about how we feel about them."

The class was silent for a moment, and then Grinwhistle turned to Medea. "That sounds rather arbitrary. I'd hate to be born a pig or chicken in your world." Then with a somewhat pained expression on her face, Grinwhistle added, "I'm afraid I must go now. But thank you for answering my questions. I certainly have a lot to think about. Goodbye...." Her voice faded away as she waved at the class, closed her eyes, and twitched and swayed in Ms. Rattlebee's tiny body.

A moment later Ms. Rattlebee's eyes opened.

She appeared a bit woozy after the experience of having her body occupied by an alien. With a shaky voice she asked the class, "So, what did you think of my friend Grinwhistle?"

What was there to say? Most of the students thought that Rattlebee's Grinwhistle act was ridiculous and not really worth talking about.

Bill Rittenhouse scoffed. "I thought she was weird and dumb."

Some of the other kids laughed and gave Bill the thumbs up for saying what they were too scared, or perhaps too polite, to say.

"Ah well. Grinwhistle sometimes asks questions that people don't really want to think about," Ms. Rattlebee replied, and Bill's face looked a bit less cocky at the implied slight.

Claude wasn't listening to Bill or Ms. Rattlebee, and he didn't follow the rest of the exchange in the class. His brain was too busy trying to make sense of what had happened when Grinwhistle "occupied" Ms. Rattlebee's body. You may remember that I mentioned that Claude had no close friends. That isn't quite true. Claude had no close human friends. He did, however, have a best friend, and that was Rooper, his beautiful, loyal, and absolutely adoring golden retriever. The thought of someone eating his dog made Claude sick to his stomach and got him thinking about things he'd never thought about before. Why was it okay to eat some animals and not others? What really was the difference? He didn't know any pigs personally, but what if he did? What if he had a friend like Rooper who happened to be a pig?

At lunch that day, the kids in Claude's class were snidely laughing about Ms. Rattlebee and the class she'd taught. Samantha was going off about birds, arguing that chickens didn't really count because they weren't wild. Penelope talked about how astonishing it was that anyone with such a bizarre approach to education would be allowed to teach their class, and said it was an insult to their intelligence. No one seemed to be thinking about the questions Ms. Rattlebee had raised. Claude listened to his classmates, looked at his ham and cheese sandwich, lost his appetite and put his food down.

--

Come back next week for Chapter Two of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you’re interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

Medea Ramon didn’t usually sit with her classmates in the cafeteria. Unlike most kids, she loved classes and schoolwork and disliked recess and lunch. She’d never made any friends at Worthington, and it always seemed to Medea that the kids in her class didn’t quite know what to say to her. Her life was very different from theirs. She couldn’t buy what she wanted or go on vacations at Christmas and Easter. And while most of her classmates spent their weekends at their second homes in the Berkshires or the Hamptons and their summers at sleepaway camps in Maine, Medea spent her weekends and summers with her friends in her east Harlem neighborhood. Although Medea had been attending the Worthington School for two years, she’d never actually become friends with anyone in her class, and no one really knew anything about her.

Medea lived with her father who worked as a doorman at a swanky Fifth Avenue apartment building. Her mom had died when she was a baby, so for as long as she could remember it had just been her and her dad. Marvin Ramon was a great dad, and tried his best to be both mother and father to Medea. When she was a toddler, he brought her to the library on Saturday afternoons and let her pick out piles of books to bring home. He’d read to her every night after dinner, then tuck her into bed. One evening, when Medea was three, he went back into her room about a half hour after they’d said good night just because he wanted to look at her sweet face as she slept. He was shocked to discover that she was reading under the covers with a flashlight. And when I say reading, I don’t mean that she was looking at the pretty drawings in a picture book. No, Medea was actually reading The Boxcar Children, which hardly had any pictures in it at all. That’s when Marvin realized that Medea was really smart.

Once Medea was school age, she started attending the public school in their neighborhood. The school was referred to as “the rubble pit” or “pit” for short because it was literally falling apart and was so underfunded that the students had to share their books and their desks. Marvin knew the school was terrible, and that Medea was bored and frustrated there, but he couldn’t find an apartment near his work with a better public school. The apartments on the upper east side where he was a doorman were far more expensive than he could afford on his salary, and he didn’t want to move any farther away because he wanted to be close enough to Medea’s school that he could meet her shortly after the school day was over. The public school in their Harlem neighborhood was only a twenty-five minute walk or ten-minute bus ride away from his job. Marvin wanted to find a better school for Medea, but he knew he couldn’t possibly afford a private school.

When Medea was in 4th grade, she finally had a teacher who was truly wonderful; the kind of teacher who loves every child and does everything she can to help each one learn in the way that he or she learns best. But although she was a terrific teacher, she couldn’t do enough for Medea. Medea was so far ahead of her classmates, and there was no way that she could give Medea the attention she needed, not with thirty-five other children in her class. She’d even had Medea help teach the class, hoping to challenge her and give her something exciting to do, but that didn’t solve the problem of Medea not getting the education she deserved. Medea’s teacher finally called Marvin to set up a meeting, and told him that Medea really had to go to a different school. When Marvin told Medea’s teacher his dilemma, she said that Medea was so smart she felt certain she would receive a full scholarship at one of the private schools on Manhattan’s upper east side near his work. She even offered to help Marvin apply.

That’s how Medea came to attend The Worthington School, one of the most exclusive schools in the country. Although she missed her friends at the “pit,” Medea loved Worthington. There was so much to learn there. Medea knew that she had to be good, get straight As, and stay out of any sort of trouble if she were going to keep her scholarship. She understood that if she lost it, her father would never be able to afford Worthington, and going to Worthington meant everything to her. You might imagine that Medea had nothing to worry about. After all, she was so smart, and she loved learning, so all the teachers were bound to like her. You would be right, except for one teacher - Mr. Frool. Remember when I told you that Mr. Frool was myopic, meaning near-sighted rather than narrow-minded? He was also myopic meaning narrow-minded rather than near-sighted. He had this snooty idea that only kids whose parents were wealthy should go to Worthington. In his mind, the child of a doorman shouldn’t attend such an elite school for privileged children. Mr. Frool spent an inordinate amount of time watching Medea, just waiting for her to do something wrong, bad, or sneaky so that the school would take away her scholarship, and she’d be forced to leave. Medea knew that Mr. Frool didn’t like her, although she had no idea why, and so she tried extra hard not to make any waves. She was good, good, good.

For years Marvin worked the 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. shift at 1055 Fifth Avenue. Once Medea started going to Worthington, he dropped her off at school at 7:20, and she sat quietly with the receptionist and worked on her homework until school began. She waited again at the end of the day for Marvin to meet her after he was done with work. When she entered seventh grade, however, Marvin was unexpectedly put on the evening shift. The superintendent of the building had a nephew who wanted to work days, and Marvin got bumped up to nights. In the afternoons he was still able to be with Medea (who by seventh grade walked home from school by herself), and to fix their dinner and tuck her into bed, but now he had to leave her alone at nights. Neither he nor Medea liked this new arrangement, but they adjusted to it.

On this particular day Medea didn’t want to sit alone at lunch as usual. She wanted to talk to someone. Ms. Rattlebee, who was still substituting for Mr. Bryant, had just told them about something that was so awful and so unbelievable that Medea thought she would burst if she didn’t talk to somebody. Ms. Rattlebee had described children her age who were working as slaves. She had started the class by handing a sheet of paper to each student, and telling them to read it quietly. The room was silent, except for occasional gasps, mostly coming from Medea. Medea read about Kumar, an Indian boy who worked all day, every day, tying knots in rugs. His whole body became deformed because he was bent over 12 hours a day, week after week, year after year. He never got to go to school, was always hungry and lonely, and hadn’t seen his parents in four years!

Medea assumed that her classmates were all reading about Kumar, too, but after a few minutes, Ms. Rattlebee had the class divide up into groups of five, and asked each student to tell the others in her group about the child she’d read about. That’s when Medea realized that each one of them had read a different story, about a different child. There were twenty-five different stories; twenty-five separate kids from all over the world living as slaves. When a student in Medea’s group spoke about Martina, a little girl from Brazil who was the servant in a wealthy family that had moved to Los Angeles, Medea was dumbfounded. She couldn’t understand how anyone could get away with that. Medea thought slavery had ended 150 years ago! She had no idea that children were forced to work as servants and slaves. She thought Ms. Rattlebee must be exaggerating the stories. Then the bell rang before Medea had a chance to ask Ms. Rattlebee all the questions that were whirring about in her brain.

Medea rushed off to the library, got on the Internet and did some quick research on slavery. After about twenty-five minutes of reading information from different websites, Medea understood that Ms. Rattlebee had told them the truth. Not surprisingly, Medea was very upset by what she’d learned. That’s why she really wanted to find someone to talk to at lunch, but when she went down to the cafeteria and approached one of the tables where the girls in her class were eating, she overheard Penelope saying, “Isn’t Rattlebee supposed to be following some Worthington curriculum? I don’t actually think what she’s teaching is appropriate. My mother was apoplectic when I told her about that Grinwhistle thing she did yesterday. She said she’d be calling the principal if Rattlebee kept this up. I can’t wait to tell her what she did today. That was appalling.” (Penelope liked to use big words, especially those that started with the letter “a”.)

Medea sighed and realized that she had no one to talk to after all. So she sat by herself as usual, but because she wanted to get as far away from Penelope as possible, she wound up sitting next to the popular boy’s table. Too preoccupied with Ms. Rattlebee’s class to do her homework while she ate, she didn’t tune out the rest of the lunchroom as she typically did. So when she heard raised voices coming from the table next to her, she listened to every word.

Over at the boys’ table, Claude was steaming inside. He’d never been so angry in his life, and he wasn’t sure what to make of these unfamiliar feelings. Claude simply wasn’t used to thinking much about other people (except to consider how they might increase his own happiness). Now, because of some strange substitute teacher and her even stranger classes, he was beset with emotions about suffering children who lived halfway around the world. It was hard enough thinking about people eating dogs the day before; now he was thinking about people enslaving little children! It was just too much for the normally carefree Claude to fit into his otherwise pleasant view of the world, and he quite suddenly discovered that it was no longer possible to think only of himself in the face of other children’s misery.

Claude was amazed that the other boys at the table (which included Bill Rittenhouse, Austin McKenzie, and Tony Melina) didn’t seem similarly upset. Not only that, they were making fun of Ms. Rattlebee. Bill crouched down in his chair pretending to be Rattlebee and mimicked her voice, saying “I just escaped from a mental hospital, so excuse me for telling you about all my hallucinations!”

Austin and Tony were laughing, and Bill added, “Yes, and don’t mind my homemade clothes. I can’t afford real clothes.”

Finally, Claude couldn’t stand it any more, and all his thoughts and feelings just burst out. Speaking very quickly and unusually loudly, he exclaimed, “Who cares about her clothes? What about what she’s teaching us? This slavery thing must be illegal. When my mom gets back from Washington, I’m going to talk to her about it so that she can propose a law to stop it. I’m going to ask my dad to do a report about it on the news, too.”

The boys just stared at Claude. Claude rarely mentioned his famous parents or sounded mad.

Austin, still tan from sailing all summer, broke the silence that had descended upon their table by telling Claude to lighten up.

Bill piped in, “Yeah, who knows if Rattlebee is even telling the truth about all that. I mean, she’s kind of nuts, Claude. Have you ever seen a slave child in New York? She’s probably making it up.”

“Hey, at least these classes are better than Bryant’s. We haven’t had any homework for Rattlebee,” Austin added.

“Who cares about whether she gave us homework! Don’t you think we ought to do something about this?”

“Claude, chill. You’re taking this stuff way too seriously. “ Austin was trying to soothe Claude and calm things down.

Claude could see that his friend’s were looking at him very strangely, like he’d lost his mind. That was the last thing Claude wanted, but he was all conflicted inside. He didn’t know what to make of the rage he felt at his classmates, or the sadness he felt about all that Ms. Rattlebee had taught him. He was Claude Maxwell-Cunningham, the popular, easy-going class president. Trying to save face and collect himself, he turned to the other boys, flashed his great smile and said, “Yeah, I guess so. Hey, speaking of homework, I better get my math done; I didn’t do it last night. See you guys later.”

--

Come back next week for Chapter Three of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

Medea was very careful and deliberate and rarely acted impulsively at school, but when she saw Claude get up and leave his friends, she gathered her mostly uneaten lunch and her books and quickly followed him out of the lunchroom. He was moving so fast she had to run to catch up with him. He headed down a hallway that led to the garden, a small courtyard that was seldom used by the students. By the time she opened the heavy steel door, she was breathless.

Claude wheeled around at the sound of the door, startled that anyone might be coming into the garden. He'd been coming here for years when he wanted to be alone, and he'd never encountered anyone else.

"Hi," Medea said, panting.

"Hi," replied Claude, now even more surprised by the situation. "Um, are you okay?"

"Oh. Yes. Absolutely. I mean, not exactly. I mean, I heard what you said at lunch, and I completely agree with you. I can't stop thinking about what Ms. Rattlebee told us, and I'm so glad you said something."

Claude was completely taken aback. He'd never talked to Medea. No one he knew had ever talked to Medea. In fact, the only time anyone at Worthington had ever heard her talk was when she was answering or asking a question in class. Claude had always thought she was a snob, and now here she was stumbling over her words, out of breath, and, was he right about this - was she actually blushing?

"Thanks. I felt a little stupid after my outburst." Claude paused, not sure exactly what to say but happy to have someone to talk to.

"Well, I don't think it was stupid at all. I'm so relieved that someone else cares!"

This comment was a little hard for Claude to take in. He did care about the slave children, and he hadn't been able to eat any meat since yesterday, but Claude wasn't used to being described as someone "who cares." He didn't know quite what to say but figured if he mentioned that he wasn't eating meat that would at least show that maybe she was right about him caring.

"You know, I haven't been able to eat meat since yesterday. I had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich today for lunch."

"Really? I've been a vegetarian since I read Charlotte's Web when I was six so I haven't been thinking about yesterday's class much, but what she told us today - that was awful." Medea was speaking quickly, and not sure what else she should say she thought she'd try asking Claude a question to get him to talk more. "So, who was your story about this morning?"

Glad to be able to talk about something specific, Claude told her about Neem, the Pakistani child he'd learned about who made bricks every day in the blazing hot sun. "Every day, even on weekends, even on holidays. Just making brick after brick after brick, forever."

Claude was still focused on what Medea had said about reading Charlotte's Web, and he wanted to find out more about that, and about her.

"You've been a vegetarian since you were six? I didn't know that."

"Well, how would you? It's not like I hang out with anyone here. None of you know anything about me," Medea responded, her tone shifting into what Claude had always perceived as snobby.

"Right. Why is that, anyway? You think you're better than the rest of us because you're so smart?" retorted Claude, suddenly far less friendly than normal.

"Better than you? You think that's what I think? Claude, I live in Harlem, and my dad works at 1055 Fifth Avenue where he opens the door every day for kids who probably go to this school," Medea said with a tight, controlled voice and smoldering eyes that bore into Claude. And without further comment she turned around and walked out of the garden.

When Medea was back in the building, she could feel her heart pounding inside her chest. She felt such a mixture of emotions - anger, hurt, embarrassment, confusion. Here was this rich, famous, popular kid implying that she was a snob for keeping to herself, when what she really was was scared of being rejected by the other kids! She didn't feel comfortable inviting Worthington students over to her small apartment, and she kept quiet about her background. What on earth had she been thinking when she told Claude about her dad's job! She wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. Was he going to tell the other kids, and would they make fun of her? She couldn't stand that! Her father was the best man in the world as far as she was concerned. But somehow, furious as she was at Claude and angry as she was at herself for talking about her dad's job, she also believed that Claude might be trustworthy. He actually cared about those children they'd learned about that day, and he'd hadn't eaten meat since yesterday's class. That just didn't fit with her image of Claude Maxwell-Cunningham.

--

Come back next week for Chapter Four of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

Claude's jaw had dropped open, and he shook his head. Was this real? Had he really been followed by a breathless Medea Ramon, the brainy class snob, insulted her, and heard her say that her father worked at 1055 Fifth Avenue? Claude lived at 1055 Fifth Avenue, and he realized he knew Medea's father, Marvin Ramon. Marvin was the kind, hardworking doorman who always called him Master Maxwell-Cunningham, helped him when his backpack was heavy, flagged a taxi cab for him when he needed one, and was now working the night shift, stifling a yawn in the mornings before he got off work. He couldn't believe it, and he was filled with a mixture of shame and annoyance. Medea did act like she was better than the rest of them, but thinking about Marvin made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

Claude couldn't concentrate during the rest of his classes that day, or even during soccer practice after school. He walked home from school wondering what he should do. His mother was in Washington, and his father wouldn't get home until 9 o'clock. He wished he had someone to talk to about everything that had happened in the last three days.

When Claude got home, Rooper ran to the door and wagged his whole body in greeting. He licked Claude's face, did a little dance with his feet, and made a howling sound like "woah woah woah woah," which Claude translated as "I'm so glad you're home! I missed you so much, and now I'm the happiest dog in the world!" Rooper threw himself over on his back and wiggled his body to tell Claude to rub his tummy. Usually this worked, although sometimes, when Claude was in a rush or preoccupied, he'd just step over Rooper. That's when Rooper would roll himself back around, get up, run in front of Claude and try again. Some days, Claude would still ignore him and disappear into the kitchen to get something to eat, but today was not one of those days. Claude got down on the floor with Rooper and pet his belly for a long time.

It was Claude's responsibility to walk Rooper in the afternoons, and usually he'd wait until after he'd had a snack, and then just walk him into the park, let him relieve himself, and turn right around. But today he decided he would take Rooper on a walk right away.

"Want to go out, Rooper?" Claude asked him, and Rooper jumped and scampered around the foyer, grabbed his leash in his mouth and dashed out the door the moment Claude opened it. Claude and Rooper entered Central Park, and Rooper quickly peed and started to turn back, but Claude said "let's keep walking, Rooper," and Rooper leapt up with excitement. Rooper led Claude to the rowing pond, around the trails, and back to the Alice in Wonderland statue where he lay down under the giant mushroom to rest. Claude found himself remembering the fun he'd had in the park as a little child. He thought about the years he used to go rowing with Marisa out on the pond, dragging his toes in the water, and about the times he would climb on top of Alice's head. He made a promise to himself to go on a good walk with Rooper every day and stop ignoring him so much.

When they got back home, Claude went into the kitchen to get his snack.

"Hi Sophie, what's for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, I made your favorite, Claudie - lamb chops, mashed potatoes, and green beans."

"Oh." Claude's heart sank. "Thanks, Sophie. Hey Sophie, I think I'd like to try being vegetarian for awhile, okay? Would you mind? Can we have spaghetti tomorrow?"

"Vegetarian? I don't know Claudie. You have to ask your parents."

"I'll talk to them, Sophie. But tomorrow, spaghetti and tomato sauce, okay?"

Claude went to his room with Rooper, patted his bed for Rooper to jump up, and sat with him for a long time trying to decide what to do. He wanted to call Medea, but thinking about talking to her made him nervous. She might not want to speak to him, and he didn't know what he should say. But he thought and thought and planned every word, and somehow all that thinking about it made him feel he had to just call and get it over with. He jumped up, grabbed his cell phone, got the class list out from one of his drawers, and dialed her number.

"Hello," she answered, and Claude was so relieved that it was she and not Marvin who picked up the phone.

"Hi Medea. It's Claude."

"Oh. Uh. Hi." Her voice sounded cautious.

"Medea, I'm really sorry about this afternoon. I'm sorry I thought you were a snob. You're just so smart I figured you thought we were all too stupid for you. And Medea," Claude paused, "I live at 1055 Fifth Avenue. I know your dad, Marvin. I'm one the kids he opens the door for."

He heard Medea gasp on the other end of the phone.

"I really like your dad. He's the nicest doorman who works here. I mean really nice. He must be a great dad."

Silence on the other end. Claude thought changing the subject was in order.

"Hey Medea, do you think maybe we could get together after school tomorrow to talk about Ms. Rattlebee, and everything she's told us?"

"Um, okay. That sounds all right. I need to ask my dad, though. Hold on."

Claude waited for Medea to come back on the phone, wondering if he'd made a mistake about telling her he knew her dad, but thought it was better if she didn't find out some other way.

"Okay Claude. I asked my dad if I could get together with a classmate, and he said 'sure.' I think he's excited that maybe I have a friend from school. So I'll see you then. Bye."

Claude didn't realize he was grinning until Marisa, who had pushed his door open a crack, smiled at him and said, "You look very pleased with yourself, Claude. You must have had a good day. Your mother is on the house line."

A bit embarrassed to be caught in the act of grinning about his phone call with Medea, Claude lowered his head, mumbled "Thanks Marisa," and went into the kitchen to pick up the phone.

"Hi, honey," his mom said, "Good day at school?"

Even though two hours ago he would've been so glad to talk to his mother and tell her about what was going on, he realized that he didn't want to tell her anything at that moment. He was going to talk to Medea tomorrow, and for now he thought he'd just keep the events of the past couple of days to himself.

"Yeah, Mom. What about you? What's up in the Senate? Is Senator Milner still driving you crazy?" (Senator Maxwell always called Senator Milner 'the bane of her existence.')

Helen Maxwell laughed. "Sure is, honey. Everything okay back home?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Rooper and I went on a long walk this afternoon. We walked to Alice."

"Oh Alice. I always loved her. Remember how you used to sit on the Mad Hatter's hat?"

"Yup. Hey mom, I wanted to ask you something. I'd like to become a vegetarian. Can I ask Sophie to cook vegetarian food for me from now on?"

Claude knew that when his mother was in Washington, she was more likely to say yes to Claude's requests because she felt guilty about being away. Asking his mother was definitely a better choice than waiting until his dad came home after a long day and night's work.

"Why do you want to be a vegetarian, Claude?"

"I just don't want to eat animals any more. I wouldn't eat Rooper, so I thought why should I eat other animals."

"Hmm. I guess that's okay, but I want to make sure that Sophie prepares balanced meals for you." Thinking out loud, Claude's mother added, "Senator Stevens is a vegetarian, and she gets along fine. I'll ask her about her diet. But in the meantime, let me talk to Sophie, okay? Be good, Claude. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye Mom."

Claude asked Sophie to pick up the phone, and then went back to his room. He talked to his mom almost every evening, and usually the conversations were short and easy. She didn't bug him about his homework or violin practice, but left that for Marisa to do.

Claude sighed and realized he might as well just get his homework and practicing done anyway without waiting for Marisa to nag him.

--

Come back next week for Chapter Five of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

The next day, Claude passed Medea in the hallway and tried to catch her eye, but she purposely ignored him, not even glancing his way. He thought that was weird but was quickly distracted as he walked into the Green Room and saw Ms. Rattlebee standing on Mr. Bryant's desk wearing what looked like a burlap sack with a rope for a belt and holding a big garbage bag in her hand.

When everyone was sitting at their desks, Ms. Rattlebee, who had not yet said a word, opened the garbage bag, turned it upside down, and let the contents spill all over the floor. There were Styrofoam pieces, plastic milk jugs, a piece of rope, and various junk strewn about their classroom, and a smiling Ms. Rattlebee perched atop the desk.

"What do you think all that is?" she asked the class with an eagerness in her voice that made it sound even higher than usual.

"Uh, garbage," answered Penelope with obvious sarcasm.

"Absolutely right, Penelope!" squeaked Ms. Rattlebee. "And do you know where this garbage came from?"

"A garbage bag?" she replied, smirking.

"You're a smart one, Penelope Brewster. But this garbage didn't come from a garbage bag. I just put it in a garbage bag so that I could carry it. This garbage was found inside the stomach of a 28 foot baleen whale. Well, not this exact garbage, but garbage just like it. The whale was found dead on a beach in North Carolina. She had been feeding in the ocean, opening her huge mouth to catch the tiny krill that make up most of her diet, and these bits of garbage entered her mouth and were trapped when she strained the water out her baleen. She swallowed all this trash, and it killed her." Then speaking to herself she murmured "poor whale," but as usual, everyone heard this, too.

"How do you know that's what killed her?" (Of course it was Penelope asking again.)

"Scientists did an autopsy and determined that she starved to death because her stomach was full of garbage instead of food, that's how we know."

"Now here's what I want you to do," she continued. "Everyone come up and pick up a piece of garbage and bring it to your desk."

No one moved.

"Come on, it won't bite you!"

Catching Penelope's disgusted look, Ms. Rattlebee smiled at her and added, "Don't worry, Penelope, it's all nice, clean, disinfected garbage."

Penelope took her purse out of her desk and rummaged around in it until she found a pair of tweezers that she used to pick up a plastic six-pack ring from the pile of garbage on the floor. When all the students had a piece of trash on their desk, Ms. Rattlebee wrote a series of questions on the board, asking the class to consider the effect of their piece of garbage on the environment. She encouraged them to think about whether their item was a 'want' or a 'need,' and what people might have used in place of it a hundred years ago. The last thing she asked them to do was think about what else could have been done with it so that it didn't wind up in a whale's stomach.

Claude was thoroughly enjoying the class, and surreptitiously glanced over at Medea and saw that her eyes were bright and her attention riveted on Ms. Rattlebee. Most of the other kids, however, were handling their piece of trash like it was nuclear waste, and Penelope was making retching noises.

After about ten minutes, Ms. Rattlebee asked the students to report on their items. It was fascinating to Claude how many effects these simple objects could have. Whenever a student thought he'd thought of everything, Ms. Rattlebee would rattle off a few more ways in which the item might be affecting the environment. And she always had another few ideas about what else one could do with it. When Tony Melina, who had the piece of rope, said you could reuse it instead of throw it away, Ms. Rattlebee grabbed the rope around her waist and exclaimed, "Indeed, they make good belts!"

At this, Penelope actually guffawed.

Ms. Rattlebee turned to her. "I may not care very much about fashion, Penelope, but I do care very much about our beautiful Earth. That's why I reuse things, and why I make many of my clothes."

Emboldened by her growing disdain for Ms. Rattlebee (and by her mother's promise that if Ms. Rattlebee didn't start following the Worthington curriculum she'd have a word with the principal), Penelope sneered, "like that skirt made out of ties?"

A wave of sadness passed over Ms. Rattlebee's face, and she spoke in a faraway voice. "Those were my husband's ties. I made that skirt after he died last year. It's my very favorite thing to wear."

Even stuck-up, self-centered Penelope Brewster was shamed into silence.

"Back to our task at hand, yes?" Ms. Rattlebee said, recovering her composure. "Let's hear some more about your pieces of trash, shall we?"

The students continued to report on their items. Many of them said that their piece of garbage was a 'need' even though Claude thought that everything in the trash bag was really a 'want.' When it came right down to it, they didn't really need all this stuff, they just liked it because it made life more convenient. Claude's head was spinning again. He'd never thought much about the things he bought or used, or what effects they might have. He admired Ms. Rattlebee for making a skirt out of her late husband's ties. He thought that was pretty creative, and even though the skirt was definitely odd, he remembered it as strangely beautiful. He found himself thinking about all the things he could reuse, too. Despite how unsettled he felt, he liked all this thinking.

Medea continued to ignore Claude all day, and when school was over he had to wait until every single kid had left the building before she appeared.

"Okay, let's go." Medea was cheery and acted as if everything were normal, and she hadn't been ignoring him all day.

"Where?" asked Claude.

"How about the park? We can walk north."

"Okay." This was turning into a bit of an adventure for Claude who'd never walked north of 96th street.

As soon as they entered Central Park Medea turned to face Claude. "I don't want you to think I'm being rude or anything. I just think it's better if no one at school thinks we're friends." She whispered the word 'friends,' reddening a bit as she said it.

"Uh... Why not?"

"Well, I don't think everyone would appreciate our being chummy. And I don't want people asking me too many questions about myself. It's not always easy for me at Worthington, you know. It's better if people just think I'm some sort of loner. It's simpler for me that way. Okay?"

Claude felt awkward again, not knowing what to say. He didn't quite understand what Medea meant, but he also realized that he had no idea what it was like for Medea at Worthington. "Okay. But I think you may be judging the rest of us a little harshly. I don't care about where you live and stuff like that."

"That may be, Claude, but what about Penelope Brewster and her crowd of girls? What about Austin McKenzie and Bill Rittenhouse? What do you think your friends would say if they knew you were hanging out with me now, walking up here in Central Park? Anyway, never mind. Let's talk about something else, okay? What did you think of today's class?"

Of course Medea was talking about Ms. Rattlebee's class, the only class worth talking about.

"I liked it. It was fun thinking about what else I could do with the milk jug. After class I came up with this idea to turn it upside down, cut off the bottom of it, and use it like a short lacrosse basket. You know, get a ball and make a bunch of them and catch and throw the ball that way. Wouldn't that be cool? We could reuse a lot of milk jugs that way."

"Yeah," Medea sounded less than enthusiastic. "But the thing is, I feel like we should be doing something more than that. Don't get me wrong, Claude," she added, sensitive about sounding like a snob. "Your idea about the milk jugs is great, but that whale died. And right now while we're talking there are millions of kids in the world working in horrible factories, and thousands of animals getting killed this very minute. I don't just want to talk about this stuff; I want to do something that makes a real difference!" Claude looked at Medea and smiled as he realized that another one of his judgments was wrong. He'd thought that Medea was not only snobby, but also reserved and studious and detached. He'd had no idea how passionate she could be about things.

"What do you want to do?"

"Whatever it is, I can't get into trouble. I go to Worthington on a scholarship, and I can't do anything that might risk it."

"Well, I'm with you on that. I may not be getting a scholarship, but I can't get in trouble, either. My parents are too famous, and my mom is up for reelection next year. She had a friend in the Senate whose teenage son got caught driving when he was drunk. She never won another election. My mother told me the story, and it was pretty clear that I better not do anything that would reflect poorly on her or my dad."

"Wow, that's a lot of pressure!" Medea said, surprised that a rich kid like Claude had to worry about anything.

"It's okay. I've never wanted to do anything that would get me in trouble anyway." Claude laughed. Obeying rules and being courteous had been so ingrained in Claude that it had really never crossed his mind to break rules.

"Hey Medea, I've decided to become a vegetarian."

"That's great, Claude," Medea responded, then paused for a second realizing that she didn't want his friends to tease him or think he was weird. "Be careful whom you tell, though. The kids at Worthington may think that's a little strange. I wouldn't go around talking about it."

Claude was not used to keeping secrets. He'd never really had secrets to keep. Now he had three: his feelings about Ms. Rattlebee, his friendship with Medea, and his vegetarianism.

"Well, now that we know that neither of us can get in trouble, what should we do?" Claude asked Medea.

"Not sure. I'll think about it. But I should go home now."

"How about we pick up my dog Rooper tomorrow after school, and we'll walk here again with him? He loves to walk in the park."

"Okay Claude. But remember, we're going to ignore each other at school." Medea smiled at Claude, sensing that he was still perplexed by her secretiveness and wanting to reassure him that it wasn't personal.

Claude smiled back, "All right. I'll see you tomorrow, Medea."

Claude walked back through the park to 90th street, where stone lions stand guard by the city's reservoir, and then decided to head a block out of the way to be on Madison Avenue where there were stores to stop in. On the way he passed a dog tied to a parking meter. Lots of people tied their dogs to poles when they went inside stores to shop. Claude's parents taught him never to touch these dogs because they might bite, but sometimes Claude could just tell by the dogs' behaviors that they were going to be friendly, and occasionally he pet one. That's the kind of dog he saw today, a small brown terrier with shaggy fur who wagged his tail furiously back and forth as soon as Claude smiled at him. Claude stopped to pet him. The little dog wrinkled his nose into what looked like a grin, and thumped his back leg as Claude scratched behind his ear. After a couple of minutes, Claude said goodbye to the dog and walked to the end of the block to a candy store where he bought some gum. As he walked back out of the store he heard a woman screaming.

"Where's my dog!? Where's Brady? Has anyone seen my dog? Help me!"

Claude ran over. The little brown dog he'd been petting was gone, and the woman was hysterical.

"I just saw your dog a few minutes ago! What happened?"

"I came out of the grocery store, and he was gone. Just gone. Oh no, where is he? Did you touch his leash?" The woman turned on him, accusatory.

"No! Of course not!" Claude declared, horrified.

By now a crowd had gathered, and someone said they had a cell phone and would call the police. Claude backed away, unsure what to do to help the woman and irritated that she thought he might have had anything to do with the disappearance of her dog.

Later than night, Farnsworth Cunningham came into Claude's room for their evening ritual. Farnsworth would ask his son about his day, and Claude would fill him in on classes or sports. Then Claude would ask his father about what was new in the world, and his dad would say, "What? You mean you didn't watch the news!?" Then Farnsworth, who didn't really expect his 12-year-old to watch him every night on TV, would fill him in on anything he thought was important for Claude to know. Claude and his dad both enjoyed this time. It was, in fact, virtually the only time they had together. Farnsworth was never home for dinner, and spent the weekends playing golf in the warmer months, and racquetball in the winter. But it was during this time each weekday evening that Claude could count on his father paying attention to him, and he appreciated what he learned from him. His dad was very even and steady, always looked at things from many points of view, and never forced his opinions on Claude.

Tonight, Farnsworth started the conversation saying, "Did you hear that there have been a couple of dogs stolen from the street. Make sure you don't tie Rooper out on a pole."

"Oh my gosh, Dad. I wanted to tell you about that! That happened today on Madison Avenue. A woman came out of a store, and her dog was gone. I'd seen the dog, too. His name was Brady, and he was really sweet."

"Yes, there have been a rash of these dog thefts, Claude. They reported it tonight on the local news. So be careful with Rooper."

--

Come back next week for Chapter Six of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

Claude couldn't wait to go to school the next morning. He wondered what Ms. Rattlebee had in store for the class and looked forward to something strange and exciting taking place in the Green Room. When he walked into the classroom, Ms. Rattlebee was writing on the board. Her back was to the class, and she was wearing an extra large t-shirt that went down to her knees. A bunch of kids in the class were laughing at a quote that covered the middle of Ms. Rattlebee's back. It read:

"My life is my message"
- Mahatma Gandhi

Ms. Rattlebee turned around to address the class, and the laughing students tried very hard to contain themselves, especially when she immediately referred to the quote on her back.

"Some of you may have noticed Mahatma Gandhi's words on the back of my dress." (Penelope snorted at the word "dress.") Can any of you tell me what you think he meant when he said this?"

Most of the class were doing their best to compose themselves and were in no position to even attempt to answer Ms. Rattlebee's question.

Medea raised her hand.

"I think that he meant that what he did in his life, who he was and how he acted, was more important than what he said."

"Yes, Medea, that's exactly right. Mahatma Gandhi was a very great man who helped free India from British rule using only non-violent methods. He was very famous and very revered, and one day a reporter came to him and asked, "What is your message to people?" Gandhi replied, 'My life is my message.'

"None of us is Gandhi," Ms. Rattlebee continued, "but his quote is true for everybody. How each of us acts; how each of us treats others; how each of us is in the world - that is our message.

"Today is my last day with you. I'm sad to be leaving, but I've been told that Mr. Bryant has recovered quite nicely and will be returning tomorrow. I thought about what I wanted to do during our last class together, and I decided that the most important thing I had to teach you is that your life is your message. So I'd like you to read the question I've written on the board and quietly write an essay in response."

On the board, written in florid script, was this question:

Is your life the message you want it to be?

"I don't expect this assignment to be easy, but I do expect you to write something. So take out a piece of paper and a pencil and get started. You have thirty minutes before I'll interrupt you. And don't worry. You can be completely honest because no one is going to read what you write except you."

Thirty minutes! Few of the students had any idea how to answer such a strange question, and most were thinking, "What on earth am I going to do for the next thirty minutes?" Once Bill Rittenhouse heard that no one else would read what he wrote, he started drawing geometric shapes on his piece of paper, while Penelope began writing a list of presents she wanted for Christmas. Hardly any of the students were taking the assignment seriously, but Claude could feel his brain start buzzing again. This time his body began to tremble, too. He was suddenly struck by the realization that, in fact, his life was not really the message he wanted it to be. This is what he wrote:

I don't think my life is really the message I want it to be. I mean, before Ms. Rattlebee came to Worthington, I would've said it was. Well, I might not have understood the question really. But after what she's taught us, and now that Medea and I are talking about doing something to make a difference, I think I know what the question means. And I think I know what Gandhi meant because I've heard about him, and he really practiced what he preached.

I haven't done much of anything for anyone. I mean I'm nice enough, but I haven't ever thought much about other people (or animals), and I think if my life was really the message I wanted it to be, I'd be different. I'd do more for others. I wouldn't think only about myself. I guess becoming a vegetarian is part of making my life the message I want it to be, so that's good.

I'm glad I met Medea. I hope she thinks her life is the message she wants it to be because she's pretty cool. I know this isn't supposed to be about Medea, but getting to know her makes me feel like my life is more the message I want it to be. That doesn't really make sense, but it's how I feel.

I wonder what everyone else is writing. I wonder what Austin thinks about his life. Or Bill. Or Penelope. How could Penelope really think her life is the message she wants it to be? What could she be writing?

I don't think I'm supposed to be writing about the other kids. It really doesn't matter what they think about their life, or what they write. What matters is what I think about mine. And what I do with mine. So, what am I going to do? That's the big question.

Too bad Ms. Rattlebee is leaving. I feel like telling her how much I've liked her classes, but I don't want anyone else (except Medea) to see me talking to her.

I don't know what else to write. I do want my life to be a better message than it's been so far. I think I can make it better. At least I can try.

Claude finished writing and looked up at the clock. It had been almost thirty minutes. He started to read over what he wrote when Ms. Rattlebee began talking to the class again.

"Okay everyone. Time to finish up. I'm going to pass out envelopes. Please put your paper in an envelope, seal it, address it to yourself, and hand it back to me. Some time, when you least expect it, you'll receive it in the mail. When you do, open it up and read what you wrote, and notice what you think about it, and how you feel. Pay attention to whether you have made your life more the message you want it to be."

The students did as Ms. Rattlebee asked, although it was clear that some of them did so reluctantly. Penelope was sneering as she shoved her Christmas list into an envelope; Austin looked irritated, and Bill looked bored, but Claude stared at his self-addressed envelope and marveled at the changes that had taken place inside him. When he passed it to Ms. Rattlebee, he looked into her eyes feeling only gratitude and thanks. She smiled at him and, as if she could read his mind, whispered, "You're quite welcome, Claude." Then she turned to the class.

"And now it's goodbye. I've written my address and phone number on the board. If you ever want to contact me, please do. I hope that you'll think about all the ways you can make your one and only life the message you want it to be. There are a lot of things in the world that still need to be fixed, and who better than you." And at that, she picked up her giant bag, turned on her small feet, and walked out of the room.

Claude was filled with sadness. Ms. Rattlebee was surely the most bizarre person he'd ever encountered. She was the shortest grown up he'd ever met, with the highest voice he'd ever heard, and the silliest clothes he'd ever seen. But she was also the most unique, original, and interesting teacher he'd ever had. The four mornings he'd spent with her were the most important and memorable of all the mornings in all the years he'd been at school. He wondered for a moment if he would simply turn back into the Claude who was so familiar to him - the one who didn't have many cares in the world and was definitely not trying to figure out how to save it. But then he thought about what he'd just written, and he understood it was too late to go back to being that Claude. He knew he had to do something that mattered.

Claude was in a funk for most of the rest of the day. The only thing that lifted his spirits was remembering that he and Medea would be getting Rooper and walking through the park after school. Knowing that he would have her to talk to brightened his spirits.

Walking through Central Park with Rooper, Claude told Medea all about Brady, the little brown dog he'd met the day before, and about his conversation with his dad.

"That's it, Claude! That's what we'll do. We're going to get to the bottom of these dog thefts and stop them!"

"What?! Are you crazy, Medea? It's one thing to learn about what's happening in the world and try to do something about it, and it's another thing to become detectives in our spare time and stop criminals from stealing dogs. I thought you had to stay out of trouble? What makes you think the police won't find out who's stealing the dogs?"

"Claude, remember what Ms. Rattlebee said when she pretended to be the alien, Grinwhistle? People let all sorts of horrible things happen to animals. Do you think the dognappings are a high priority for the police?"

"Okay, maybe that's true, but what do you think we should do?"

"We can watch the dogs who are tied up on the street and find out who's taking them, that's what. It would be best if we split up, though, so we can watch more dogs," she continued, thinking out loud, "but then we can't communicate with each other."

"I think we have some walkie talkies at home. Then we could talk to each other if one of us saw anything happen. And if not, I'll get some. I have money saved up. Plus I have a credit card if we really need it."

A strange look passed over Medea's face, but it quickly faded. She couldn't imagine having a credit card of her own.

"Good. Then it's settled. How about we start Saturday so we'll have all afternoon. That is, if you're free," Medea suddenly seemed shy and uncertain.

"Sure, I can do it Saturday."

"Excellent. You bring the walkie talkies, and we'll meet at two o'clock. How about 86th and Madison. I don't think you should bring Rooper." (Rooper looked up expectantly at the sound of his name, but realized it wasn't good news for him and dropped his head again.)

--

Come back next week for Chapter Seven of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

On Saturday, Claude and Medea met as planned, and Claude brought a pair of walkie talkies. They split up on Madison Avenue, each planning to walk until they saw a dog tied to a pole, and then, as discreetly as possible, watch. They agreed to check in periodically, and to report any suspicious activities to each other.

After two hours, nothing had happened. Claude had watched a little Cairn terrier (who looked just like Toto in the Wizard of Oz) for about ten minutes, a black lab for about twenty, two whippets for about fifteen, a black and white, long-haired dog, a dog who looked like a miniature German Shepherd, and a basset hound.

Medea had watched the same dog for about forty-five minutes. He was a tiny, nervous dog who shook practically the whole time, staring at the spot where his guardian had disappeared into a store. The dog looked so scared and vulnerable tied to the pole, and Medea wondered what it must be like to have big people zooming by you and almost stepping on you. After the dog's guardian finally came out, he was so excited he peed all over the place. Watching him made Medea sad. She walked a few more blocks looking for other dogs, watched a couple more, and then checked in with Claude.

"Nothing at this end," she said.

"Me neither. Shall we call it quits for today?"

They met back at 86th street feeling a bit discouraged. They had been so enthusiastic about their mission, and now it appeared that it was going to be harder than they imagined to stop the dog thefts. But they decided to try again. Medea said she couldn't do it on Sunday because she always spent Sundays with her dad, but that she could meet again after school on Monday.

Claude walked home, greeted Rooper, and took him on his promised walk in the park. He paid extra attention to him and stopped periodically just to hug his beautiful best friend. Watching all the dogs that afternoon made him realize just how much these animals depended upon their human companions. All the dogs looked so forlorn when they were tied up, and some looked downright scared. He would never let Rooper feel that way.

Medea also walked home, but in the opposite direction. She and Marvin lived in an apartment building that always smelled bad, and most of the apartments were small and dingy. Usually Medea spent her afternoons with her neighborhood friends. She was an awesome skateboarder, the best in the group, which was saying a lot because they were all skateboarders. There was a concrete playground that had fallen into disrepair a few blocks from her apartment building, and the kids had turned it into a skate park with ramps and different jumps. They used the old seesaws and concrete tunnels, and skateboarders from all over Harlem came to the playground to practice their skills and hang out together. But Medea was still feeling discouraged about their lack of success at finding the dognappers, and she wasn't in the mood to hang out with her friends. She decided to just go upstairs to her apartment. Marvin was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"Hi Dad."

"Hi Sweetheart," Marvin smiled when he saw his beloved daughter. "You hungry?"

"A little, can I help?" Medea asked as she walked into the kitchen and hugged her dad.

"Sure. How about you chop the onions and garlic. We're having black bean soup, baked potatoes, and a big salad tonight. How was your day? Did you get together with your new friend again?

"Um, yeah, we did. In fact, we're probably going to hang out after school most days next week, okay?" Medea decided not to mention her new friend's name because she wasn't sure what her dad would think or say if he figured out that this friend was none other than Claude Maxwell-Cunningham, Master Maxwell-Cunningham, as Marvin called him at work.

"Of course, sweetheart. I'm so glad you've made a friend from school."


While Medea was cooking dinner with her dad, Claude, who was back at home after his walk with Rooper, had joined Marisa in the kitchen to watch the local news. He could have watched the big screen TV in the den, but he didn't feel like being alone. Marisa's presence was somehow comforting. Since this was quite unusual behavior for Claude, Marisa couldn't help but ask, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Claude? A local sports team on the news tonight?"

"No, Marisa. It's not that. I wanted to find out what was going on with the dognappings. I saw a dog the day before yesterday when I was coming home from school. He was stolen while I was in a store. I'd pet him and everything. Dad said there was a story on the news about it. So I want to see if anything else happened today."

Right at the beginning of the news, when the newscasters reported the headlines before breaking for a commercial, one of them announced: "Coming up: another Manhattan dognapping."

"Holy cow!" Claude exclaimed. "I'll be right back, Marisa."

Claude ran to his room and called Medea on his cell phone to tell her to watch, then dashed back to the kitchen.

"What was that all about, Claude?"

"Oh, a friend of mine is also interested in the dognappings. I wanted to let her know to watch the news."

Marisa wasn't quite sure what to make of Claude's behavior, which was decidedly odd. He could have just called his friend from the house phone in the kitchen, but before she had time to give his strange actions more thought, the news was back on.

Claude couldn't believe it. A dog had been stolen on 80th and Lexington that afternoon. He had only been two blocks away! The newscasters encouraged people to keep their dogs by their sides at all time, and then the news shifted to other events.

"Excuse me, Marisa. I'll see you later," Claude said as he dashed out again. Marisa watched him leave, wondering what was going on inside the normally even-tempered Claude. She decided she would have to watch him more closely.

Claude called Medea back.

"Did you watch it?"

"Yes! Listen, Claude, we're going to need more help. I can probably get some friends from my neighborhood to come on Monday, but can you bring more walkie talkies? With all the news reports, the dognappings probably aren't going to continue much longer, at least not in your neighborhood. We may only have a couple more days to find out who's stealing the dogs."

"Okay. I'll get the walkie talkies, and I'll see you Monday. Bye Medea."

Medea told her dad she was going to go outside to the skate park for a short time before dinner. She grabbed her skateboard and dashed out. When she got to the park, she was greeted with a warm welcome from her friends.

"Hey Medea, where've you been? We've been missing our genius queen of the park." This came from Hector, a thirteen-year-old boy who was almost as good a skateboarder as Medea, and who was the unofficial leader of the group.

"Hector, I need your help," Medea quietly said to him.

"Anything, girl. You know it," Hector replied, and Medea filled him in on what was happening.

"I'll have four kids with me Monday at three o'clock at 86th and Madison. No problem. We'll see you then."

--

Come back next week for Chapter Eight of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

At three o'clock on Monday seven children gathered on 86th and Madison. Medea introduced the skateboarders to Claude, who handed each a walkie talkie. Along with Hector, there was Rodney, Analena, Monique, and Leon, all kids from Medea's neighborhood. Then Medea assigned streets and avenues for patrol, and the kids dispersed. One hour later, Rodney contacted Medea.

"There's a van that's parked by a hydrant on 90th and Third. There's one guy in the van, and this big, bald guy just came out of it and is walking toward a dog who's tied up in front of a store. Oh Geez, he's already grabbed the dog! I gotta go!"

Rodney didn't know what he should do, so he did what came naturally - hopped on his skateboard. He zoomed down the street toward the man and the dog, but the man saw him coming and jumped out of the way just as Rodney was about to crash into him. The man called out, "Stupid punk," and waddled quickly toward the van.

By the time the other kids had converged on the block, the van was long gone, but Rodney had noted the van's color and make and had taken down the license plate number.

Everyone wanted to know all the details of the dognapping, and Rodney was quick to tell them.

"The guy was huge and had these doughy jowls and freaky, little eyes. He walked like a Sumo wrestler, sort of rocking from side to side. He was scary, man. There wasn't anything I could do to stop him. I tried crashing into him on my skateboard, but he got out of the way. Man, I wish I could've stopped him."

"It's not your fault, Rodney," Medea reassured him. "It's great that you know what he looks like, and now we have the information on the van."

The kids didn't know quite what to say or do, and there was an awkward silence as they stood on the street wondering what should happen next. Finally Hector spoke up.

"If only we had a bug."

"A what?" Claude asked. He was thinking of cockroaches or flies.

"Like in the movies. We need to get into that van and bug it. We could use a hidden video camera, too. We've got to find out what's going on. We gotta know why they're stealing the dogs."

Claude and Medea looked at each other, both thinking the same thing: what have we gotten ourselves into. But they knew Hector was right. They had to get to the bottom of this. But wasn't that a job for the police? The news was already reporting on the dognappings. They should just go to the police and tell them about the men in the van. But when Claude expressed this out loud, Hector just laughed.

"You think the police are going to listen to us? A bunch of kids from Harlem? The police spend all their time busting us for hanging out in the park after it gets dark."

Claude didn't feel like telling Medea's friends that he was not exactly a kid from Harlem, that his mother was their Senator, and his father was on TV every night reporting the national news. And he wasn't sure he wanted his parents to find out about what he'd been doing, either.

"I think I can get the equipment we need," Claude said, much to his own surprise. He'd have to figure out something quickly.

Claude got home just in time for his mother's phone call. They chatted for a few minutes, and then Claude said that he needed to ask his mother for something.

"Of course, Claude, what do you need?"

"Um, well, I'd like to get some electronic equipment for a project I'm doing. I need a little camcorder and a bug."

"A what, dear?"

"You know, something that records stuff that's going on."

"You mean a surveillance device? What on earth for?"

"It's a secret, Mom, but it's for a positive cause. I promise it's something good."

Claude's mother was used to Claude asking for things for himself. He wanted the latest sport's equipment, an even tinier iPod, computer games, clothes - things that boys his age wanted. She practically always said yes to his requests, but this time Claude was going too far. Surveillance equipment was expensive, and what could he possibly need it for? Still, she wasn't used to her son asking for things "for a positive cause." How could she say no to that. And there was a pleading tone in Claude's voice that she wasn't used to hearing, either. She was waffling, and she knew it. She needed to buy herself a bit more time to think about this. It was hard being a long-distance mother.

"Can't you just use the camcorder we already have?" she asked.

"Well, actually, I need something that can be hidden. So it's got to be smaller than what we've got. And I still need the bug. I know it's a lot of money, Mom, but it's really important."

"Can't you tell me anything, Claude? This is an awfully unusual request."

"I know, Mom. But I really need you to trust me. I want to do something good."

That was the clincher. Helen Maxwell didn't for a second want her son to think she didn't trust him.

Helen sighed. "Okay, Claude. I give you permission to use your credit card for this." (Claude had been given his credit card for his 12th birthday, but the rule was he had to ask for permission to use it unless it was an emergency).

Now that Claude had permission to get the equipment, when was he going to do it? He couldn't skip school tomorrow, and there wouldn't be enough time after school. He realized he'd better find a store that was open right then and get going. He looked in the yellow pages, found an electronics store that was open until 7 p.m., told Marisa and Sophie he'd be home by then to eat dinner, and dashed out.

At the electronics store, Claude told the salesman he wanted to buy stuff for undercover investigations like a hidden camera and a remote audio recording device (he thought this sounded better than saying he wanted a "bug"). Claude was nervous that the guy wouldn't sell this sort of equipment to a kid, but the salesman wasn't much more than a kid himself. Claude thought he looked about eighteen. His lip was pierced, and he had tattoos on his arms, and his hair was died black and spiked. He barely paid any attention to Claude, and didn't seem phased at all that a twelve-year old had come in with a credit card to buy expensive surveillance equipment.

"Please bring out the cheapest stuff you've got, okay?"

"Whatever," the guy replied, and shuffled off to the storage room. When he came back with the equipment, Claude didn't know how to evaluate it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to ask the salesman too many questions. He decided to just buy it and hope for the best.

When he got home and read the manual that came with the surveillance device, he learned that the bug had a range of only 500-1000 feet. That would mean that they'd have to follow the van, and stay pretty close. How could they possibly do that! This whole thing was ridiculous. Claude felt like he was finally coming to his senses. He picked up his cell phone to call Medea and get her to come to her senses, too.

No such luck.

Medea listened as Claude explained that the bug only had a range of 500-1000 feet, and therefore the plan wouldn't work.

"I'm just going to return the equipment tomorrow, and we can call the police, okay? We don't have to tell them who we are. We'll leave an anonymous tip or something."

There was a long pause on the phone.

"I don't think we should give up so soon, Claude. I don't know that the police will really catch these guys. There are a lot of white vans in Manhattan." Medea paused again, and Claude found himself fidgeting on the other end of the phone. Finally she spoke, and her voice sounded like her mind was made up. "We can ask Jos� for his help."

"Who's Jos�?"

"He's Analena's older brother. He's around twenty. He and Analena came here a few years ago from Puerto Rico, and they live around the corner from me. José is a house painter, and he has a truck for his business. Since we'll need to follow the van once we bug it, we can ask José if he'll drive his truck. I think José is the kind of guy who would want to help out."

Claude couldn't quite believe this.

"Medea, don't you think this is getting a little out of hand? I'm not allowed to just follow criminals with some guy I don't even know."

"I just told you José is Analena's brother. You know Analena."

"I just met her today, for crying out loud. My parents would kill me if they knew what we were planning. Aren't you worried about getting caught?"

Medea paused again. "Well... yes. But this is important Claude. Don't you want to find that little dog, Brady? Don't you want to do something?"

Claude sighed. "Okay, Medea. Go ahead and contact José."

Claude felt like he'd just climbed up a high diving board, realized just how far away the water was, changed his mind about jumping, and then found out that the ladder was gone, and there was no other way down.

Before he went to bed, Claude took care of the remaining details. He asked his dad if he could stay at a friend's house the next night, charged the equipment so the batteries wouldn't die in the middle of taping, and packed it all up in his backpack. Farnsworth was so exhausted after what had been a very long day that he didn't even ask Claude which friend's house; he just said "Fine, Claude."

At the same time, Medea had asked her dad if she could spend the next night at Analena's. Marvin was always happy to have Medea sleep over at a friend's house since he was gone at night, and he replied "Of course."

--

Come back next week for Chapter Nine of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

The next day after school, the group - along with José - met at 86th and Madison. Claude and José introduced themselves to each other, and Claude gave José a walkie talkie. They came up with a plan. They decided to separate again, but this time, they'd be looking for the van, not just dogs tied to poles. The kids from Medea's neighborhood would cover ground on their skateboards, while Claude would use his scooter (since he didn't have a skateboard), and José would drive up and down the avenues. As soon as someone spotted the van they'd all be contacted by walkie talkie and then convene at that location.

Once they had the van in sight, the plan was to distract the guy who was approaching the dog, make enough of a commotion that the other guy would also come out of the van, and while the two men were out of the vehicle, Claude would sneak in and set up the video camera and bug. Then Medea, Analena, and Claude would get in the truck with José, and they'd follow the van and monitor the bug. The other kids would go home and wait in case they were needed for anything else.

Two hours later, Monique Martin, who was the fastest of the skateboarders, spotted the van in front of Bloomingdales on Lexington and 59th street and contacted her friends. There was a small Pekinese tied in front of the store, and knowing how quickly the guy from the van could steal a dog, Monique quickly skateboarded over. The man was already approaching the dog. They got to her at the same time.

"Oh, look how cute!" Monique exclaimed and started petting her. "Is she yours?" she asked, staring into the man's jowly face to get a good look at him.

"Yeah, kid. But sometimes she bites, so you should probably back off."

"Oh, she seems so friendly. What's her name?"

"Uh, Spot," he answered.

"Spot! That's funny. She doesn't have any spots. How did you come up with that name?"

By now the others had begun to congregate. José was idling his truck in front of a hydrant about 100 feet behind the van, and Claude had thrown his scooter in the back of the truck and was just waiting for his opportunity to get inside the van. The others were gathering around the little dog. They started "oohing" and "ahhing" over "Spot."

"Let me pet her," yelled Hector from behind the other kids as he shoved his way through the group.

"Uh, I'd like you kids to leave her alone now. We gotta get going."

Monique was bending over "Spot" and was examining her tag.

"This is strange," she said. "It says on her tag that her name is Lula, and that her guardian is Mrs. Pomfrey of 570 Park Ave. I thought this was your dog."

The man stared at Monique menacingly. "Get away from my dog, kid. Now."

It looked like their plan was going to fail. The other guy hadn't come out of the van, and Claude hadn't been able to plant the bug. The man seemed dangerous, and they knew they couldn't keep this up. Then Medea suddenly cried, "Ow! Your dog bit me!" She clutched her "bitten" hand, curled over on the sidewalk and started pretending to sob. This was finally enough to get the other guy to come out of the van and see what was going on.

As Medea lay doubled over on the street crying and moaning, Claude ran over to the van, opened the door and got in. He climbed over the front seats, and discovered six cages, half of which had dogs in them, all strangely subdued.

"Oh no," he whispered. "I've got to get you guys out of here." But then he thought about their plan, and wondered if he'd have enough time to get the dogs out, and whether documenting what was happening and finding out where the dogs were going would help more. He knew he only had moments to decide.

"I'm sorry, but I've got to make sure these guys get caught," he said to the dogs as he looked around for a place to secure the camera and recording device. There was such a mess and jumble that it was unlikely that the men would find the video camera, which he tried to wedge behind a tall cage near the top of the van. All of a sudden he heard Medea screeching into the walkie talkie.

"They're coming Claude! Get out of there! They'll be opening the door in about 20 seconds!"

Claude hadn't been able to mount the video or even plant the bug, but even worse, he had no time to get out of the van. If he'd tried to get out of either front door, he'd be seen, and there was no way he could climb over all the cages and get out the rear door. He was trapped. He used the remaining seconds to hide himself between the front seat and the row of cages, shove the bug back in his pocket, and turn off his walkie talkie.

The front doors of the van opened, and the two men climbed in. The driver turned the ignition key, swerved out, and took off.

Claude's heart was pounding so loudly he was sure the men would be able to hear it. He knew he needed to slow his breathing down and stay calm and quiet. He reached into his pocket and carefully turned on the bug so Medea could hear what was happening. She'd hear everything. She'd call the police. At least he hoped she would. But then he realized what would happen if she did. Claude's parents would find out what he'd been up to, and they'd be furious. They'd never trust him again. He began praying that she wouldn't call the police. He'd get out of this somehow.

As his breathing slowed, he started listening to the men talking, well, actually screaming, at each other.

"You idiot! What did you think you were doin' talking to those kids! You shoulda just left, and we coulda found another dog. They saw you. They're suspicious."

"Calm down, Mack. They're just a bunch of kids. If the old lady hadn't come out and asked us what we were all doing with her dog, it would've been fine. That dog was perfect for us - small, easy to grab - just what Hellburn's looking for."

"No mutt is worth gettin' caught, Haskel! Don't be so stupid, you stupid, imbecilic idiot."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just calm down, Mack. We still need to get one more dog before the day is out. Let's head to Gristedes on 65th Street. People always spend a lot of time in there. Let's see if there's a dog out front."

Claude prayed that José was following, and that Medea was listening, but even if they were, what could they do? He just hoped they would think of something. He wanted to get the guys on videotape. He thought that if he held the camcorder up over his head he could get their faces on film. It was risky, but he wanted to be sure that the police would see their faces and arrest them when this was all over. He carefully lifted the camcorder up to the head rest and angled it toward the guy named Mack who was driving the car. Then the van came to an abrupt stop, and Claude bounced up. Had Mack been looking in the rearview mirror at that moment, he would have had a perfect view of Claude's face. Claude quickly and quietly crouched back down, keeping the videotape on so that at least it would record their voices.

Haskel got out to find another dog. Within a few minutes, he opened the back of the van and roughly stuffed a little beagle into a cage and injected the dog with something from a hypodermic needle. That explained why the dogs were so calm - they were drugged.

Claude could barely breathe he was so terrified. If Haskell had looked up when he'd put the beagle in the van, he would have seen Claude. Fortunately, there was a big cage with a good sized Samoyed in it. The dog was quite fluffy, and that helped to keep Claude somewhat hidden.

Haskell got back into the car, and Mack muttered, "All right, you redeemed yourself. We're done for the night. Let's get something to eat, and then we'll drive them to Hellburn."

A few minutes later, Mack started screaming again.

"Look at this traffic! It's gonna take us an hour to get through the tunnel. I hate New York and the stinkin' traffic!"

Mack started honking his horn repeatedly.

"Calm down, Mack. Let's just be cool and quiet, okay. We've got a van full of stolen dogs. Let's not tick anyone off. Look, the traffic's moving. It won't take so long."

About fifteen minutes later, the van came to a stop, and Mack and Haskell got out. Waiting a minute until he felt sure they were out of sight, Claude crept out. The van was parked at Denny's in a strip mall in New Jersey.

Claude quickly ran in the opposite direction of Denny's, putting some distance between himself and the two men. Unsure of what he should do next, he waited and watched. A moment later he saw José's truck pull into the parking lot. He ran over.

José was driving, Analena sat in a narrow seat behind the cab, and Medea was on the passenger side. Medea rolled down the window and called to Claude, "Hurry! Get in."

Claude opened the door and climbed in next to Medea. He started filling them in on what had happened, and as he spoke he could hear an echo in the car. Claude's voice was coming out of his mouth and out of the device that Medea held in her hand.

"Oh, no!" Claude cried. "I have the bug in my pocket, and the camcorder isn't set up. It's just lying behind the front seat. I have to go back!"

"Don't be crazy, Claude. We'll just follow the van. We've got enough evidence from the bug already. It's too dangerous. I was terrified with you in that van!"

Claude looked at Medea and smiled. He liked that she'd been so worried about him, and somehow the fact that she cared so much made him want to be even braver.

"I've got to go back there, Medea. We don't know anything yet, except that some guy named Hellburn wants these dogs. Just keep following. I'll be okay. See you later."

Claude ran to the van and got back in. This time, he had a chance to prop up the camcorder so that it would point toward the front seat.

He spoke softly to the dogs.

"It'll be okay, guys. I'm going to get you out of here. I promise."

About twenty minutes later, Mack and Haskell got back in the car. They talked about where they might hit next.

"New York is getting too dicey with the news reports. How 'bout Philadelphia? It's quieted down, doncha think?"

"I dunno. There was an awful lot of publicity about us eight months ago. It might be too soon." Mack sounded proud.

"But we gotta keep the dogs comin'. Hellburn just gets more and more business."

"Yeah, Hellburn's sure gotta good racket goin' on. Not too many research institutes are willing to make the studies come out just the way the companies want them." Mack chuckled.

"Yeah, I gotta hand it to Hellburn; he's gotta good gig with those toxilogical studies."

"You idiot, it's toxicological, not toxilogical!"

"Whatever," Haskell paused before adding, "What exactly does that mean, anyway?"

"What a lame excuse for a human being you are, Haskell. The Hellburn Research Institute does studies on chemicals. Toxicological studies. Poison studies. That's what the dogs are for you idiot. To test the chemicals."

"But I thought that Hellburn's research helped protect companies from lawsuits."

"They do, you imbecile. They write up the dog studies just right to show what the companies want them to show. I can't talk to you anymore. You're too stupid for words."

--

Come back next week for Chapter Ten of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

After another twenty minutes or so, the van pulled up to a gate with a guard out front. Claude heard Mack say, "We got the dogs."

"Back into the shed, then. I hope you got a good batch this time. Hellburn complained you're bringing too many big ones, and he's not happy about the TV reports."

Mack backed the van into a garage-like shed attached to the main building, and the two of them got out. They opened the back door of the van, and Claude heard Mack yell, "Aw, man, this one dumped in his cage, and he's covered in it. You grab him, Haskell. I'm gonna be sick. It stinks in here, you worthless bag of fleas."

With all the commotion, Claude was able to climb into the front of the van unnoticed and had crouched down out of sight. Although he couldn't see anyone, he could still hear what was going on. Once Mack and Haskell had taken out all of the dogs, Claude heard Mack say, "Okay Haskell, let's get 'em to the dog room before the drugs wear off."

Then a moment later, his voice full of fear, Mack stuttered, "Oh, g-g-good evening Dr. Hellburn. We got a good b-b-batch for you. We were just gonna take them to Room 101."

"What's that Samoyed doing here, Mack?" Dr. Hellburn was pointing toward the big, white dog. His voice was controlled, but Claude thought he sounded furious. And dangerous.

"Oh, we're very sorry, Dr. Hellburn. She was so easy to get, so friendly and all. She's really not that b-b-big. It's mostly fluff on her."

"She's a big dog, Mack, and I've told you no big dogs. Big dogs eat a lot of food and take up a lot of space and give me a hard time." Dr. Hellburn sounded like he was trying to explain something very simple to a child he thought was very dumb. He also sounded like he might punish that child very badly. "I don't like it when you disobey me, Mack."

"Okay, Dr. Hellburn. It won't happen again, Sir." Mack sounded terrified.

"No, I'm sure it won't." Then Dr. Hellburn growled, "take them down the hall, and put them in cages. And prepare number 3 for the arsenic test. Let's prove once and for all that a bit of arsenic in our water isn't so dangerous, shall we?" Dr. Hellburn was chuckling to himself as he walked back into the building.

Mack and Haskell dragged the four dogs into the building. The dogs were now almost fully awake, and some pulled at their leashes. Mack had to struggle especially hard with the big Samoyed. As the door to the building was closing behind Mack, Claude heard him yelling, "Get over here, you filthy animal, or I'll break your neck."

Claude grabbed the video camera and slipped out of the van, hiding behind a row of boxes in the shed. He was afraid to walk into the building until Mack and Haskell were gone, and he figured they'd probably come back to their truck when they were done unloading the dogs and preparing number 3 for the arsenic test, whatever that meant.

Back in the truck, José, Analena, and Medea had heard Mack speak to the guard at the gate before entering the research institute. As they wound their way down the long driveway toward the gate, they realized they had no idea how they would get past the guard. José pulled over so that they could come up with a plan. He and Analena started talking out loud, trying to figure out a way to get in. Medea was busy listening to what was going on in the shed, and she heard the exchange between Mack and Dr. Hellburn. After Mack and Haskell had dragged the dogs into the building, she focused in earnest on the task of getting past the guard.

Whenever Medea needed to solve a problem, her eyes glazed over, and she seemed to disappear deep inside her own mind. After several minutes of this intense concentration, she had come up with a solution. Her idea was a gamble, but it was their best hope. She explained the plan to José and Analena, who hadn't come up with anything better, and they all prayed it would work.

Medea and Analena climbed in the back of the truck and wrapped themselves in the drop cloths that José used in his painting business. They balled themselves up, and as they approached the gate began to bark and growl.

The guard came out and eyed José suspiciously.

"Who are you?"

"Juan Diaz," answered José (who didn't want to give his real name, of course). I'm doin' work fer Mack and Haskell. They tol' me Dr. Hellburn wanted some more animals. I got a few little doggies in the back. They said get 'em here quick."

The guard peered into the back of the truck and heard barking.

"How come I don't know you?"

"Mack and Haskell jus' hired me today. They said they needed help 'cause Dr. Hellburn wanted more dogs than they could get themselves. Please, man, I don' wan' to get in no trouble with Mack, you know?"

The guard opened the gate. "Okay, go to the shed. "

Just as they pulled behind the shed and parked the truck out of sight, Medea heard voices coming from the bug again. Mack and Haskell had come back into the shed, and she heard Mack say, "we're outta here, Haskell. Let's go home." Moments later, the van pulled out.

As Mack and Haskell were about to go through the lifted gate, the guard motioned to them to stop. Haskell rolled down the window, and the guard smirked. "Got a new associate, huh? Can't do the job yourselves?"

Mack and Haskell exchanged glances. What was he talking about?

"Whatchyoo talkin' about? We don't need no help," Haskell replied.

"No? Well your new friend Juan just came in with more dogs. Said Hellburn wanted more than the two of you were bringing him."

Mack was too angry to speak. He gave the guard a baleful look, floored the accelerator and zoomed off.

"That's the kind of treatment we get after stealin' dogs for him for all these years! I'm gonna have a talk with the Doctor," Mack blustered.

"I don't get it. You really think Hellburn hired someone else?"

"I don't care, Haskell. I'm going home. If he did hire someone else, he's welcome to him. I bring Hellburn a nice bunch of dogs, and he yells at me about their size and goes and hires someone else. That's the thanks we get for doin' his dirty work."

Back in the shed Claude slipped out from behind the cages where he'd been hiding and slowly opened the door into the building. Moments later, José, Medea, and Analena drove the truck into the shed. Since they didn't see Claude anywhere, they thought it would be best to hold tight and wait for him to speak into the bug.

When Claude walked through the door, he found himself in a very sterile-looking hallway with white linoleum floors and white walls. Although it looked a bit like a hospital, it was the creepiest place he'd ever been in, which was weird since there was nothing obviously horrible about it. There was a strong smell of chemicals that made him feel sick, and fluorescent lights that turned his skin faintly green. Aside from an irritating buzzing sound that came from the lights, it was completely silent. But it was not a peaceful silence, and Claude had a terrible foreboding that when the silence was broken it would be by screaming animals.

The building seemed deserted which made sense because it was after business hours, and most of the employees would have gone home. As he walked down the hallway, he came to a door with a sign in front that read, Room 105: Testing Laboratory. He pressed his ear to the door and listened. All was quiet. He thought it would be a good idea to document what he was seeing, so he turned on the video camera and pointed it toward the sign before opening the door.

Inside the testing lab were stainless steel tables with big metal devices that had shackles on them. Claude didn't know exactly what they were for, but it looked like they were built to hold animals in place. There were lots of cabinets, and Claude opened one up to see what was inside. It was filled with bottles of chemicals, some of which said poison on them. There was even one that had a skull and crossbones on the label. Claude videotaped everything in the room before quietly going back to the hallway.

Next, still videotaping, he came to a door with a sign that read, Room 103: Necropsy Room. Claude didn't know what "necropsy" meant, but after he went in he started to suspect it had something to do with dead animals because there were blood-stained tables and scalpels, bits of fur, and a smell of death that permeated the room.

The sign in front of the next room read, Room 101: Dog Room. Again, Claude pressed his ear to the door to make sure no one was inside before he slowly opened it. The room was full of cages, seven of which had dogs inside them. The four from the van looked up at Claude, and a couple of them started barking, while the others shuffled back to the corners of their cages and began to shake.

"Shhh, you guys. Please stay quiet," Claude whispered. "I promise I won't hurt you."

One of the trembling dogs was Brady, the little terrier who had been stolen a few days earlier. On his cage was a white card with the number 3 written with a thick marker.

There was also a cage on the floor that didn't seem to belong there. It was a tiny plastic box, smaller than a shoebox, with a white rat crammed inside it. The rat was alive but had blood coming out of his nose.

Claude videotaped the animals in their cages, and then suddenly became aware that it was time to actually save them. He still had the bug in his pocket, and he realized that Medea would be able to hear him if he spoke. He whispered into it.

"Medea, can you hear me? I'm in room 101 with the dogs. There's a shed next to the building, and a door that leads into a hallway. Room 101 is the third door on the right. I'll wait here for you, but there's a gate with a guard. I don't know if you can get past him." Of course Claude didn't know that Medea, José, and Analena had already made it through the gate and were just waiting to hear from Claude. Just then Claude heard footsteps, and quickly hid behind some cages where he could still see and videotape what was happening in the room.

Dr. Hellburn walked in. Claude knew it was him because his white lab coat had "Dr. Harcourt Hellburn, President" stitched onto the pocket. He was very tall with short-cropped blond hair and a long, pale face with barely any lips at all, just an angry, flat line in the huge space between his nose and his chin. He had a nasty, cruel look about him that made Claude shudder.

Dr. Hellburn opened the cage that Brady was in and took the little dog out by the scruff of his neck. Claude had never seen a dog look so terrified. Brady started yelping and struggling, and Dr. Hellburn squeezed him harder. "Shut up, mongrel," he hissed. "It's time to earn your dog chow. You must be thirsty for some arsenic-laced water, eh? Don't worry, you'll still be alive tonight, but I hope you didn't have any big plans for next week." Dr. Hellburn was laughing as he left the room with the little dog.

Claude whispered into the bug, "Medea, if you can hear me, don't come yet! Wait until Dr. Hellburn and Brady come back. Just keep listening."

About ten minutes later, Dr. Hellburn walked back in, threw Brady roughly into his cage and slammed the cage door, chortling, "Sleep tight, mongrel." As Dr. Hellburn turned to leave the room, he tripped over the plastic box with the rat in it.

"What the... !" he shouted. "What are you doing here? Mack is going to be very sorry that he's not more careful with you test subjects. Well you can just stay here tonight and listen to the dogs bark 'til Mack puts you back where you belong in the morning," he yelled at the rat before kicking the box and striding out of the room.

Claude had gotten the whole scene on video. As he turned the camcorder back toward Brady, he noticed that the little dog was trembling and looked weak. He turned off the video camera, scooted over to Brady's cage, and picked up the little dog, holding him close to his body. "I'll get you out of here, Brady. I promise."

Medea was frantic just sitting in the truck waiting. She was terrified that Dr. Hellburn would see Claude. Finally, when they heard Dr. Hellburn come back with the dog and then leave again, they dashed out of the truck, waited a minute until they felt confident the coast was clear, and opened the door to the building. They looked down the empty hallway, then quickly but quietly walked towards Room 101. Medea shivered. The antiseptic smell made her sick to her stomach, too, and she had the same creepy feeling that Claude had had when he had entered the building. There it was: Room 101: Dog Room.

Medea opened the door and saw Claude holding Brady. The dog looked awful and was still shaking all over.

"Thank goodness! Let's get the dogs out of here."

There were leashes hanging from a hook, and Medea, José, and Analena each took two dogs, while Claude carried Brady in his arms. Fortunately, the dogs stayed quiet, perhaps sensing that the purposeful hush of their rescuers was a sign to be silent, too. They led the dogs to José's van and carefully lifted each one into the back. Claude, Medea, and Analena climbed in with the animals, Brady still in Claude's arms. But just as they were about to leave, Claude remembered the rat who was in the plastic box on the floor of the dog room.

"Wait! I've got to go back and get that rat out of there!"

José looked at Claude like he was crazy. "You're going to save a rat?! Let's just get out of here, Claude. The guy at the gate might start to wonder where we are. Dr. Hellburn could come back any second. I want to help you guys, but don't be nuts, man. I'm not willing to risk getting caught for a rat!"

But Claude had looked into the rat's eyes and had seen a suffering animal not so different from the dogs. He couldn't leave without trying to rescue him, too.

"Sorry José, but I've got to. I'll be right back." And Claude dashed out before José could say anything more.

The coast was still clear. Claude sprinted to Room 101 and grabbed the box with the rat. But as he walked back into the hallway, he came face to face with a strange-looking woman whose skin looked as if it had been stretched really tight across her bones.

"Who are you? And what are you doing with that rat?" she asked in a nasal voice that sounded like it came out of a machine instead of a person.

"Um, I'm Jason. I'm Dr. Hellburn's cousin's son," lied Claude, thinking quickly. "I'm helping out. Harcourt asked me to put the rat back where it belongs. It was left in the dog room by mistake." Claude thought that if he used Dr. Hellburn's first name, the woman would be more likely to believe he was related to him.

"I didn't know Dr. Hellburn had a cousin's son," the woman smirked maliciously. "Shall we go find him just to make sure you're who you say you are?"

"Sure, that'd be fine, although Harcourt was very angry at Mack and Haskell for disobeying his orders, and I'd hate to think how he'd react to someone questioning his cousin's son. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. You know how he can be sometimes." Claude tried to sound like he really cared about her and sympathized with anyone who had to work for Dr. Hellburn.

The woman's tone changed, and her voice sounded fearful as she glanced from side to side. "Well, that's true, of course. I wouldn't want Dr. Hellburn to get angry. Not at all.... Carry on, then, Jason." Then she scurried down the hall toward the staircase and disappeared. Claude ran back to the truck with the rat.

Medea, Analena, and Claude curled up with the dogs, as José covered them all with the drop cloths. The children whispered soothing words and begged the dogs to stay quiet when they passed the gate.

José stopped for the gate to rise, but the guard didn't lift it. "Wait up," he said. "Mack and Haskell didn't seem to know who you were. I think I'd better get Dr. Hellburn out here to be sure you should be here."

"Ah, man, I don' have time for this," José screamed. "I'm gettin' paid by the dog, not by the hour. You either lif' the gate, or I drive right through it!" He stared into the guard's eyes with what he hoped was a dangerous and insane look. "I mean it, man. You lif' the gate right now. RIGHT NOW! Or you're gonna be real sorry. REAL SORRY!"

"All right, all right. Calm down. Go ahead. But I better not get in trouble 'cause of you."

The gate rose, and José sped off, exhaling a huge sigh of relief. It wasn't until they were a good 10 miles past the Hellburn Research Institute, and on the highway home, that all of their hearts stopped pounding in their chests, and they could breathe freely again.

--

Come back next week for Chapter Eleven of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

After the shock of what they'd done had begun to wear off, they realized that their work was far from over. They had a truck filled with dogs who needed to get back to their homes. They also had a homeless rat.

They drove to José's and Analena's apartment building, leaving all of the dogs but Brady in the back of the truck while they went upstairs to figure out what to do. Claude still held Brady in his arms, refusing to let him go.

"We need to bring the dogs to the police," Medea said. "And we need to give them the videotape so that they can arrest Hellburn, Mack, and Haskell. The only thing is, I don't want the police to know who I am."

"That makes two of us," agreed Claude.

"What's up with that?" José said. "We're heroes! Why shouldn't we get the credit?"

Claude and Medea exchanged glances.

"It's complicated, José. Trust me, it's not worth it. The important thing is that the dogs get home safely, and the Hellburn Research Institute is shut down," Medea answered.

Claude thought about what else they should do other than get the dogs to the police. He tried to remember what people did when they wanted something on the news, and recalled all the press releases he'd seen at ABC when he went to visit his dad at work.

"We have to send a press release, too," Claude told Medea and her friends.

"What's a press release?" asked José.

"Oh, it's news that people send to the press, you know, newspapers or TV stations. My dad gets them all the time." Claude had slipped. He hadn't meant to mention his dad.

"Why? What's your dad do?"

"Oh, he's... a reporter," Claude answered, hoping they wouldn't ask any more questions. Medea gave him a long stare, but said nothing.

"So, how do you do that?" José wanted to know.

"Well, we write up what happened. But press releases usually come from people who identify themselves, and give a phone number. They're not supposed to be anonymous."

"We need to have an identity then," Medea said in a very matter-of-fact manner. "Any ideas?"

Analena, who had been very quiet throughout the whole rescue, began to speak. She had a thick accent and still struggled with English. "I think we have done something very beautiful, very good. I was scared, but we were powerful. It's a peaceful power, though..."

Medea interrupted her. "Peace Power. That's it, Analena! I think you've found our name." Medea smiled at her. "It's simple and strong. What do you all think?"

José nodded, "I like it."

"I like it, too," Claude added, "but it sure makes us sound bigger and more powerful than we are."

"Just wait, Claude. Just wait and see how powerful we become." Medea's eyes sparkled as she spoke.

Maybe because they were all tired and still in shock, they didn't question whether or not what they had embarked upon was a reasonable thing for a group of kids and one twenty-year-old. They all seemed to accept that they were now members of a group called Peace Power, and would be, perhaps indefinitely.

José spoke up. "Okay guys, we have work to do. I have a VCR that will make copies of the videotape. Claude, you can use my computer to write the press release. You should also write up exactly what happened for the police. We'll bring the video, the tape, the document with all the details, and all the dogs to the police station. We can tie the dogs to poles near the precinct and call the police from the nearest pay phone. We'll tell the police to look outside. Then we'll bring this press release and other copies of the video to the Daily News and the New York Times. And then we'll come back and go to sleep. Okay?"

Everyone stared at José. His plan was perfect. They went to work.

First they wrote up a detailed account for the police, describing everything that happened, and what Claude saw and heard. In big capital letters, Claude wrote a special note about Brady and the arsenic test, and said that Brady should be taken to a veterinarian immediately. Then, with Medea's and Analena's help, Claude, who had seen dozens of press releases and knew something about how they were supposed to be written, started writing the press release. It took awhile to get it just right. Medea wanted to make sure to end with something about Peace Power's mission.

"They should know we'll be back. We have a lot more work to do after this."

Claude was too exhausted to argue, although in the back of his mind he wondered what he was committing himself to. They agreed that they should leave out the part about the rat since they suspected that the rat might not have been stolen, and Dr. Hellburn might not be breaking any laws by experimenting on him. Here's what they finally wrote:

For Immediate Release

Peace Power Saves Stolen Dogs from Hellburn Research Institute

Members of a group called Peace Power saved seven stolen dogs from the Hellburn Research Institute in New Jersey. Observing two men trying to steal a dog from in front of Bloomingdales, a member of Peace Power hid in the men's car, that was full of dogs in cages, and taped their conversation. They learned that the stolen dogs were heading to the Hellburn Research Institute where they were to be used in experiments.

One of the stolen dogs was used in an arsenic test, but members of Peace Power saved him and all the other dogs, too. The dogs have been returned to Police Precinct number 42 where it is hoped they will be reunited with their families.

If your dog has been stolen, go to Police Precinct number 42 to get your dog back.

Peace Power is a group dedicated to helping anyone who needs help, whether they are animals or people. Peace Power will continue to work toward a peaceful and just world for everyone.

By the time they had finished the police account and the press release, José had made three copies of both the video and the tape. They decided to give the original to the police, keep one, and save the other two for New York's daily papers.

They brought down a bowl of water for the dogs, and a bunch of rope to tie the dogs near the police station. Then they piled back in José's truck and drove to Precinct 42. Everything went smoothly. It was 1 a.m., and the streets on Manhattan's upper east side were mostly deserted. There was an alley near the precinct where they tied the dogs to a pole. The dogs, exhausted and either still recovering from the drugs they'd been given or sick from the tests they'd undergone, stayed quiet. No one saw three children and one young man hug the dogs goodbye. Nor did anyone see a girl hang a plastic bag over the police station door knob that held a detailed written account of the rescue, and a videotape that would put away the criminals for years. And no one saw the group slip quietly away to a pay phone across the street. Medea made the call.

"Precinct 42," answered a woman at the police station.

"Hi. I have a crime to report. You'll find a description of the crime, and a videotape with all the evidence you should need to get the criminals. You'll also find seven rescued dogs in the alley next to your station. Thanks! Bye!" Medea hung up quickly, and the children and José dashed behind a dumpster where they would not be seen as they watched two police officers open the precinct door and discover the bag. Then they saw them walk over to the alley and discover the dogs. The dogs looked up hopefully at the police officers, as if they knew they were finally going home.

The next stop was the newspaper buildings. They placed an envelope with a videotape and press release through a mail slot in the door of each building, and then, their work done, went back to José and Analena's to get a few hours of sleep. When they arrived back at the apartment, however, there was the rat, still crammed in his plastic cage. In the rush to get the dogs to the police, they'd forgotten all about him.

Claude opened the box, and gently stroked the rat's back. The rat looked up at Claude with his bright red eyes and sniffed the air.

"What are we going to do with him?" he asked no one in particular. "I'd bring him home, but it would be hard to explain where I got him."

"Same with me," Medea added, and then looked pointedly at José.

"Oh for cripe's sake. You want us to keep him? He's a rat!"

"But he's a nice rat," Claude said beseechingly. "I'll help care for him. I'll come over to clean out his cage, and I'll pick up his rat chow." Even as Claude said this, he couldn't quite believe that these words were coming out of his mouth.

"Oh, all right," José caved. "But you better really show up to help, Claude. And we get to name him. Hey, Analena, what do you want to call him?"

Analena was quiet for a minute looking at the rat who was still sniffing Claude's hand. She reached over and pet his back. His fur was surprisingly soft, not coarse the way she thought it would be. The rat turned his head toward Analena and looked up at her, whiskers twitching.

"Let's call him Paz."

"Why Paz?" Claude asked.

"It means 'peace' in Spanish. It just seems right for him, don't you think?"

So Paz it was. José got a bigger box to put him in until they could get a proper cage, and gave him some water and crackers. Claude and Analena pet his back some more which Paz seemed to like. Then, exhausted, they all went to bed.

--

Come back next week for the next and final chapter (Chapter Twelve) of Claude and Medea!

Explanation for Claude and Medea by Zoe Weil

(If you're interested in purchasing a physical copy of Claude and Medea, contact Martin Rowe at martin@lanternbooks.com)

The next morning they awoke at José and Analena's apartment, and for a few minutes none of them was sure that they hadn't just dreamed the whole crazy story up. But there was Paz, sleeping peacefully in his box.

Claude and Medea said goodbye to Analena, José, and Paz and went outside. It was a beautiful fall day. They walked to school, prepared to separate a few blocks from Worthington so that they wouldn't be seen walking together.

They were quiet for a long time. Finally, Claude broke the silence, "We did something, Medea."

"We sure did, Claude. I wonder what Ms. Rattlebee would think?"

"I think she'd think it was pretty cool," Claude answered.

"I think she'd say it's just the beginning," Medea said, staring into Claude's eyes.

Claude smiled at her. Her eyes were so intense, deep and dark like inkwells. He was glad to have found a friend. He was proud of what they'd done. And now, all he wanted to do was get home to Rooper. But that would have to wait until school was over.

About to separate and walk in different directions, they were at first startled and then pleased to see a tiny woman wearing a skirt made from neckties walking toward them on the street.

"Well, hello dears!" Ms. Rattlebee exclaimed as she looked up at them.

"Hi Ms. Rattlebee! What are you doing here?" Medea replied.

"Oh, just out for a walk on this lovely day. How nice to see you two walking together." Ms. Rattlebee had a smug little smile on her face, as if she had expected to run into the two of them.

Claude and Medea looked at each other and then back at Ms. Rattlebee.

"Ms. Rattlebee," Medea began, not sure exactly what she wanted to say, but wanting to take advantage of this auspicious moment, "your classes were great. They had a big impact on us. We're glad you left your phone number because we want to call you sometime."

Claude just stared at Medea as she said this. "She's so awesome," he thought to himself.

"Well, I'm so glad, dear Medea. I would love to hear from you. Anything I can do to help, you just call me. You two are on the right track. See you soon, then!" And off she went, the multicolored ties swinging and swaying as she walked away.

"Didn't it seem like she knew something, Medea? Something about us?"

"You may be right, Claude. I think there's a lot more to Ms. Rattlebee than we know."

"Well, see you in a few minutes," Claude said, and he turned to walk down a different street.

***

After an interminably long day, school was finally over, and Claude rushed home. Rooper was there to greet him. He hugged his dog so hard and felt his eyes get watery and his throat constrict. Imagining Rooper in the testing lab at the Hellburn Research Institute was too awful to bear. Rooper gently licked Claude's face and eyelids reassuringly.

"Come on Rooper, let's go for a walk."

Claude and Rooper walked all over the park. The leaves on the trees were beginning to change, and the air was fresh and cool. Claude thought about how much his life had changed in a week. "Who would've thought..." he said to himself, and smiled.

When he got back home, he went to his room to do his homework and his violin practice. Sophie prepared pasta primavera for him. He thanked her for remembering his new diet and ate his dinner quietly. Eventually, his dad got home and came to Claude's room.

"Hi Claude."

"Hey Dad. Anything new in the world?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Take a look at this." Farnsworth handed Claude the evening edition of the New York Times.

"Right on the cover, Claude - amazing story. Some people calling themselves Peace Power solved those dognappings we were talking about."

Claude hadn't thought that the story would break until the next morning. With trembling hands, he picked up the paper and started reading.

Peace Power saves dogs, puts research institute in dog house
by Trillium Reed

A group calling themselves Peace Power solved the recent Manhattan dog thefts, and saved the dogs from the Hellburn Research Institute in Bergen County, New Jersey. While they are not taking any personal credit for their efforts, their group vows to help "anyone who needs help, whether they are animals or people."

Members of Peace Power videotaped conditions inside the Institute, and caught the director on film mistreating one of the dogs used in an arsenic test. They managed to free the dogs without getting caught themselves.

They brought the dogs to Police Precinct 42, and the animals are currently being reunited with their owners. The dogs used in the experiments are receiving treatment, and Dr. Saveur from the Saveur Animal Hospital expects them to make a full recovery. Matilda Newhouse, guardian of Brady, one of the rescued dogs, had this to say: "The people who saved my little Brady are true angels. I'm forever grateful. God bless them."

Dr. Harcourt Hellburn, president of HRI, and his associates have been arrested, and HRI has been shut down pending a complete investigation.

It's likely that we haven't seen the last of Peace Power, but Detective Bloodworth of Precinct 42 says that while Peace Power may be trying to do good deeds they should leave police work to the police. He vows to find out who is involved in Peace Power and put a stop to what he terms "their foolhardy shenanigans."

"What do you think of this story, Dad?" Claude asked, "I mean, what do you think of those people called Peace Power?"

"They're courageous, Claude, but foolish. If they had gotten caught, who knows what would have happened to them. Anyone who would steal dogs and conduct experiments on them is quite dangerous in my book. Still, you've got to be impressed with something like this. Now, time to get ready for bed, kiddo."

Farnsworth left the room, and Marisa came in to check on Claude which she did every night before he went to sleep. While he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, she read the article lying on Claude's desk, and as he walked back in, she looked at him strangely.

"What's wrong, Marisa?"

She stared at him intently. "That's quite an article, Claude. You must be happy to know that the dog you met has been rescued."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Claude replied nervously but with a pleased look on his face.

"I imagine you're pretty relieved, too."

"Absolutely. A big relief. Well, good night, Marisa."

"Good night, Claude." She had a quizzical expression on her face as she closed the door behind her.

As Claude lay in bed, with Rooper curled up next to him, his last thought was of Ms. Rattlebee. He couldn't wait to send her a copy of the article, and wondered whether they should let her know it was he and Medea and her friends who had saved the dogs. He knew it was safer to stay anonymous, but he really wanted Ms. Rattlebee to know what they'd done. After all, it was because of her and what she'd taught them that they'd decided to save the dogs. He thought about Gandhi's quote, and realized that right then he felt pretty good about his life's message. A wave of peace swept over him, and that felt just right for a member of Peace Power.