Alphabet Allie's Arc

Chapter 2 of 7

Allie woke up the next morning feeling lighter than she had in years. No one here would tell her letters were just tools. No one would look past her when she tried to explain. She pulled on her green dress with all twenty-six letters stitched across it and headed downstairs. A round window caught her eye near the front door. She'd missed it yesterday. Moss grew thick around its wooden frame, bright green and soft-looking. The glass was smudged with something that looked like a handprint. No, a face print. Someone had pressed their whole face against it. Allie leaned closer and noticed a stuffed antelope sitting on the windowsill inside, its spiral horns catching the morning light. Had someone been looking at it? She grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door open wide. A kid stood frozen on her front step, eyes huge. For half a second, they stared at each other. Then the kid whirled around and bolted down the pathway outside. Allie watched them leap over the flat letter stones that lined the path—red S, blue T, yellow R—their feet landing between the letters as they ran. "Wait!" Allie called, but the kid had already disappeared around the curve. Allie stepped back inside and picked up the stuffed antelope from the windowsill. Someone had been curious enough to come look. Someone had pressed their face to her window, wanting to see what was inside. Back home, kids either ignored her or laughed when she talked about letters being alive. Here, someone had run because they got caught looking, not because they thought she was weird. That meant they cared what she thought. That meant they wondered if she'd be upset. A small flame of hope sparked in her chest. If one kid was curious enough to sneak up and look, maybe—just maybe—she could figure out how to make them stay long enough to listen.