Showdown in Crittertown by Justine Fontes Page A

writing a letter to the children. But I felt too depressed. I tried cheering myself up by thinking of different cheeses in alphabetical order, from American to blue all the way to Stilton. (If you know any cheeses that start with T, U, V, W, X, Y, or Z, please let me know!)
    All that did was make me hungry. So instead of cheese, I tried thinking of ways to save the school. I figured that since letters helped save Crittertown’s post office, maybe they could save the school, too.
    I started a list of humans to whom we might write. I hoped the children could add to it the next day. We always met at April’s house, because she lived next door to the school. Her garage was empty all day while her father was at work. April’s mom worked at home, typing on a computer and talking on the phone. So we didn’t have to fear someone shrieking “Mouse!” and calling an exterminator.
    That afternoon, Buttercup came to pick us up as usual. His human friends, Jill and Bill, always came to April’s house. And Buttercup—the large, yellow Lab—never missed a chance to spend time with his favorite people. Buttercup lived at the Bed & Breakfast. But he had the run of the town, as long as he came home in time for supper. With his love of food, that was never a problem.
    As soon as the big dog arrived at our hole, Grayson, Nilla, and I rushed out to greet him. Buttercup lowered himself to the scraggly grass so we could climb onto his back.
    For a dog who “barely knows rollover from beg,” Buttercup was quite alert. As we settled onto the soft scruff under his collar, he sensed something was wrong.
    â€œWhat’re you worrying about?” he barked. “You can tell me. Did someone get stuck in a trap? Did those mean mice from the store try to invade the post office? Did Mike’s wife put him on another diet?”
    â€œNothing like that,” Grayson said.
    â€œThen what is it?” Buttercup stood up and started walking.
    Nilla exclaimed, “The school! The grownups are planning to close Crittertown Elementary School!”
    Buttercup nodded. “Now it all makes sense!”
    â€œWhat makes sense?” I asked.
    Buttercup stopped to scratch his ear. We struggled to cling to the back of his neck. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I always scratch when I’m thinking.”
    Buttercup resumed walking and talking. “I was trying to recall what I’d heard Jill and Bill say this morning when they brought my food.”
    Grayson muttered, “Probably couldn’t hear over his own gulping.”
    Buttercup laughed. “No, I heard them. I just didn’t know what it meant. They said something about having to take a bus instead of walking to school if ‘the budget crisis’ didn’t get resolved. What’s a budget crisis?”
    I sighed. “Humans arguing about money.” The library mouse named Economics knew all about this sort of thing. I only knew that humans often worried about money, and this definitely interfered with the flow of happy thoughts.
    When we reached the garage, the children were talking about the same thing. There wasn’t enough money to fix Crittertown Elementary School, so the Crittertown kids would have to attend Lakeville. Jill said, “Taking a bus means leaving earlier and coming home later, and we might be not able to meet here as often!”
    Ian said, “I’ve heard Lakeville has a good music room. But it won’t be the same.”
    Tanya jumped up. “Then let’s not let it happen!”
    â€œWhat can we do?” her friend Hannah asked.
    I held up my list. Jane read it out loud. “Humans we could write letters to about saving Crittertown Elementary School: politicians, parents, media.”
    Wyatt said, “Great idea! Our letters helped save the post office.”
    â€œWe can write petitions, too,” April said in her sweet whisper.
    When everyone asked, “What?”