transcript

Speaker 1:
[00:08] Hello, friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. It is the last week before school starts, and Miles is getting his things ready with his mother. He is nervous, and his mother reminds him that Emma will be there. When Saturday comes, he meets Emma, hoping that they can find the fourth star before school starts. But Emma has news for him. The Ruins, Part 4. The Sunday before his last Saturday of summer, Miles sat at the kitchen table, his mother beside him, helping organize school supplies. New notebooks, pencils, a folder for homework. You'll do fine, his mother said, straightening the stack. Emma, your new friend will be there. What if she's in different classes? Miles asked. What if I don't know what to do? His mother looked at him carefully. She'd noticed he'd been quieter recently. Eating less, spending more time in his room. Starting fresh is hard, she said, but you're good at figuring things out. Your father always said that about you. Miles nodded but didn't say anything. He missed dad. Dad would know what to say about new schools and being scared and feeling like you don't fit in anywhere. That night, Miles checked the stars in his room. He'd been testing the settings every evening, seeing what each one pointed to. The fourth setting on the third star pointed east toward the river. Next Saturday. His last Saturday before school started. His last day of freedom before everything changed. That Saturday arrived faster than Miles expected. Emma showed up at the boundary line, but she looked worried. My grandmother's birthday lunch is today, she said. I forgot. My mom says I have to go. It's okay, Miles said. We can go next week. We start school Monday and we will be busy. Emma hesitated. What if we don't find it before everything changes? Miles realized she was scared too. That school would make them different, busier, separate. You could go without me, Emma said quietly, just to see where it is. Don't go in or anything dangerous. Just a look, Miles said. Mr. Gillis said there were five locations. The river's not that far. They both knew this was Miles going alone. Emma left for her grandmother's lunch, walking back toward town without looking back. Miles stood at the boundary line holding the compass. He could go home, pack his bag for Monday, make sure everything was ready for school. That's what his mother would want him to do. But the compass pulled east, steady and insistent. One more star, just one. And if he didn't go now, when would he? School started Monday. Emma would be busy with classes and homework and spending time with other friends. Mr. Gillis had his shop to run. The Saturdays of summer were over. Miles looked east, toward where the river should be. Just to see where it was, he told himself. Just to look. He didn't have to cross it today. But he set out anyway, walking, not running as he usually liked to explore alone. He was too nervous to run. The compass pulled him through tall grass and old roads, and he wished Emma were here to talk to. He'd packed two sandwiches, ate one on the way, saved one for later. His mother's bread, the crust a little burnt the way he liked it. The old roads were cracked and overgrown, grass growing up through the pavement. Miles passed houses with sagging porches, a shop with empty windows, a small park where the swings still hung from rusted chains. He wondered what this part of the settlement had been like. Busy probably, full of people walking to work, kids playing, neighbors talking over fences. Now, just empty and quiet, with birds singing in the trees like nothing had changed. The sound of rushing water reached him before he saw the river. The river was wider than he expected. The water moved fast, making rushing sounds over rocks. The old settlement continued on the other side. He could see buildings, trees, streets. And there, across the water, a long low building with a small bell tower. Even from here, he could read the carved letters above the door, River Bend School. The compass pointed straight at it. Miles walked along the river bank, looking for a way across. No bridge, no obvious path, just vast water and the far bank looking very far away. Then he saw them. Flat stones just under the water surface placed in a line. Stepping stones. But you couldn't see them unless you looked carefully. Some were mossy and slippery looking. The water rushed between them white and loud. Miles stared at the stepping stones for a long time. The water looked cold. The stones slippery. If he fell in, the current would push him downstream. No one knew he was here. Emma thought he was just looking. His mother thought he was, what? She didn't even know he'd left town. He could leave, come back with Emma next Saturday or the one after. There was no rule that said he had to find all five stars by a certain time. The school had waited decades. It could wait another week. But Miles didn't want to wait. He wanted to prove to himself, not to Emma or Mr. Gillis or anyone else, that he could do this carefully, thoughtfully, but on his own. He sat down and took off his shoes. Miles heard his mother's voice in his head. Don't take unnecessary risks. Think before you act. It's okay to wait for help. But also dad's voice, quieter from a memory Miles had almost forgotten. Being brave isn't about not being scared. It's about doing the thing anyway, carefully. Miles tested the first stone with his foot. Solid. He tied his shoes to his bag and started across. The water splashed on him and did feel cold. It rushed past his ankles, trying to push him sideways. He went one careful step at a time, arms out for balance. Halfway across, he stopped and looked back. New Haven was small in the distance. He kept going, trying his best not to slip and fall. When he reached the far bank, he sat down hard, breathing fast, and put his shoes back on. The school was right there, just up a short path from the river. Miles stood and walked toward it slowly. His shoes squelched with each step. His feet were wet from the splashing water. The building was bigger up close than it had looked from across the water. Three stories, with the bell tower rising from the center. The carved letters above the door were deep and clear. River Bend School. Miles climbed the front steps. They were solid stone, worn smooth in the middle from years of feet going up and down. He put his hand on the door handle. The door opened easily, like it had been left unlocked on purpose. Sunlight streamed through intact windows. This building had been left more carefully than the others. The main hallway stretched ahead with classrooms on both sides, doors standing open. Miles walked slowly to the first classroom and stopped in the doorway. The desks were still in rows. Some had books on them, left open like the students had just stepped out for recess. A chalkboard at the front had half-erased writing, arithmetic problems mostly. Maps hung on the walls, showing the old settlement with streets labeled in careful handwriting. It was like everyone had just left in the middle of the day. Miles walked between the desks slowly, running his hand along the smooth wood. Each desk had an inkwell hole, empty now. Some had scratches and dents and carved initials, evidence of kids who'd sat here, been bored here, daydreamed here. One desk had a name carved into the wood, Rosa and Tom forever. Miles traced the letters with his finger. Rosa and Tom. Were they friends? Did they sit next to each other? Did they both move to New Haven? He opened one of the readers left on a desk, McGuffey's third eclectic reader. The pages were yellowed but readable. A story about a boy and his dog. Miles wondered if the kid who had been reading this had finished it before the migration, or if they had to leave in the middle, wondering what happened next. A shelf along the wall held more books. Readers and primers and arithmetic books. Spines faded but readable. A globe sat on one corner. The painted countries worn almost smooth. On the teacher's desk sat a small brass bell. The kind teachers rang to start class. Miles touched it gently and it made a soft ting. In the quiet room, it sounded louder than he expected. He found himself imagining the room full. Desks occupied. The teacher at the board, chalk in hand. Kids raising their hands, whispering to each other. Passing notes when the teacher wasn't looking. Normal school things. Things that would happen to him soon. This was a school like the one he'd start on Monday. Kids had sat here. Learned here. Been nervous here. Maybe some of them had been new too. Just moved to this place. Not knowing anyone. Maybe some of them had been scared. Just like him. The compass pulled him to the front of the room, to the teacher's desk. The fourth star sat in a wooden holder on top, gleaming in the sunlight from the window. When Miles picked it up, a drawer in the desk slid open. Inside was a notebook. He'd expected that. But there was something else too. A photograph. Faded, but clear. Children lined up in rows, a teacher standing behind them. The photo was labeled in ink. Final Day, River Bend School. Miles sat down at one of the student desks to read. The journal entry was short. This was our school, where children learned not just facts, but how to think, how to question, how to figure things out. The migration will take us to a new place, but learning goes with us. We leave this marker for the children who return. You are standing where we stood. You are learning what we learned. The questions change, but asking them does not. Miles looked around the empty classroom. Monday, he'd start school in New Haven. He'd sit at a desk like these. He'd be scared, just like these kids probably were when they started here, or when they had to leave and start somewhere new. But they did it. They learned. They left. They started over. Maybe he could, too. Wind moved through a broken window somewhere. The building smelled like old wood and paper and dust. Sunlight made patterns on the floor through the windows. The room felt patient, not sad, waiting for children who never came back. Until now. Miles left the school carefully, respectfully. He took the star and tucked the class photo into his pocket to show Emma. Everything else he left exactly as it was. The books, open on the desks. The bell on the teacher's desk. The maps on the wall. The river crossing back was easier. He knew where the stones were now. How to place his feet. How to balance against the current. Halfway across, his foot slipped on a mossy stone. Not dangerous. Just startling. He threw his arms out for balance and caught himself. Heart pounding. He stood there a moment, breathing hard, then kept going. When he reached the far bank, he sat down in the grass, breathing fast. He'd done it. Crossed the river alone. Found the school. Got the star. Came back. Without Emma, without Mr. Gillis, without anyone. He hadn't been reckless. He'd tested every stone, moved slowly, thought it through. But he'd done it himself, made the choice, handled the scared feeling, kept going anyway. Miles pulled the class photo from his pocket and looked at it. Those kids had been scared, too, probably, about leaving, about starting over, about everything changing. But they'd done it. He could, too. Miles put the photo back carefully and started the walk home. His mother would be making dinner soon. He should get back before she started to worry. That evening at dinner, Miles was quiet. Everything okay? His mother asked. You've been thinking about something all evening. Just thinking about school. Nervous? A little, Miles said. But I think I'll be okay. His mother studied him. Something had changed. She could see it in the way he sat, the way he looked at her. You will be, she said. I know you will. Later in his room, Miles organized his school supplies for Monday. Four stars now wrapped carefully in the old sock. One more to find. He looked at the class photo from the old school. Kids his age staring at the camera. Some smiling, some serious. They'd been brave. They'd moved. They'd started over in a new place, just like him. Miles pulled out his notebook and wrote a message for Emma to read at school. Found it, went alone. I'll tell you everything. He set it on his desk, turned off the light and lay in bed looking at the ceiling. One more star. But first, Monday. And that is the end of this part. Good night. Sleep tight.