The Longest Ears on Lighthouse Island

Far out at sea, the bell buoy rang one low, slow note. Zuri's ears turned to find it. She was a small brown rabbit with a twitchy nose and ears so long that when the wind lifted them, they stood up like two little flags. The bell rang again, and her ears turned again.

Tomorrow morning was her first day at the new school. The school was one room with a blue door at the very bottom of the lighthouse. All summer Zuri had done her lessons at the kitchen table with Ada, her grandmother. Now there would be other children there. Nine of them, Tobin said.

That afternoon Zuri had walked down to look at the door. It was painted a bright, new blue, and the windows were so clean she could see right in. Inside there were nine small chairs and nine small coat pegs, and one peg with nothing on it at all, waiting for her.

So that night Zuri sat on the top doorstep, listening, and she did not feel sleepy in the slightest.

The door opened and Ada came out with two mugs of warm milk. She sat down beside Zuri, her old knees creaking. 'That's the bell buoy,' said Ada. 'It's rung that same note since I was a young rabbit.' 'I know,' said Zuri. 'I can hear the rope on it too, when the wind shifts.' 'Of course you can,' said Ada, and she sipped her milk.

'Ada,' said Zuri. 'What if the other children stare at my ears?' Ada thought about it. 'They might,' she said. 'They're very good ears.' 'That's not helping,' said Zuri.

'Then they'll stare,' said Ada, 'and then they'll stop staring, and you'll still have the ears.' Zuri wiggled them. They felt enormous. 'Nobody else has ears like mine,' she said. 'On my very first morning they'll all look, and I'll want to fold them up small and put them in my pocket.'

Ada was quiet for a moment. 'Tobin the puffin keeper told me something,' she said. 'He says the teacher asks every new one the same question, first thing in the morning. What is your one good thing? So you'd best think of yours.'

Zuri thought hard. 'I'm not brave like a puffin,' she said. 'I can't whistle. I'm too small to reach the top shelf. And my ears knock the lamp over when I hop past the table.' 'That lamp was old,' said Ada.

Zuri was about to say something else when her ears stood up straight and tall all by themselves. 'Ada,' she whispered. 'There's a cheeping.'

Ada tilted her head. 'I don't hear a cheeping,' she said. 'I hear the sea.' 'It's small,' said Zuri. 'It's very, very small. It's coming from down the path.'

'It's the wind in the grass,' said Ada. Zuri listened again. Far out, the bell buoy rang. Near, the water went lap, lap, lap against the rocks. And underneath all of that, thin as a thread, came a cheep.

Ada set down her mug and stood up. 'Then we'd better go and look,' she said. She lit the lantern and held it high, and its little gold light went bobbing down the sandy path ahead of them. 'Bring your ears.'

The sea was as calm as glass. The lighthouse beam swung out across the water, winking at the ships, and swung slowly back again. The air smelled of salt and rope and the warm oil of the lamps, and Zuri's nose went sniff, sniff, sniff all the way down the path.

Down by the boathouse the cheeping stopped. Zuri stood still and waited. Nothing. She looked behind the water barrel, under the fish crates, along the wall where the nets hung drying. Nothing but sand and a small crab, who waved one claw at her and went back to sleep.

She hopped two hops and waited again. Nothing but the sea and the wind. 'I've lost it,' she said. 'My ears have gone wrong.'

'Your ears have not gone wrong,' said Ada. 'Long ears take their time. Be still.'

So Zuri was still. She was so still that she could hear the lamp humming inside the lighthouse, and Ada breathing in and out, and a loose rope tapping on a mast, tap, tap, tap. Then, from under the rowboat tipped upside down on the sand, cheep.

Zuri ducked her head to go under the boathouse window, and her left ear caught in a coil of rope. 'Oh, ears,' she said. Ada lifted the rope off and wound it back up. 'Long ears,' she said. 'They do get in the way.'

Zuri lay down flat on the cool sand beside the upside-down boat and put her nose close to the gap underneath. 'Hello,' she said, very softly. 'Hello, small thing.'

Something shuffled under the boat. Then out came a puffling, no bigger than a teacup, black and white and fluffy, with a beak like a tiny orange shoe and feet like little orange stars. It looked up at Zuri and cheeped, once, quite crossly.

Then feet came hurrying down the path, and there was Tobin the puffin keeper with a basket over his arm and his feathers all ruffled. 'I've been up and down this shore for an hour,' he said. 'I couldn't hear a thing over the water. This one got out of the burrow on his very first night out.'

Tobin scooped up the puffling and tucked him into the basket, and the little thing cheeped and settled down at once. 'Your ears did the listening,' said Tobin. 'Mine are only good for keeping the wind off.' Zuri's ears went warm at the tips. She was glad it was too dark for anyone to see.

They walked back up the path together, Ada in front with the lantern and Tobin behind with the basket, and the lighthouse beam swung over their heads, slow as a yawn. 'This one's called Pip,' said Tobin. 'He's new here too. First night out of the burrow, first day tomorrow. He'll be wanting a friend at that school, I expect.'

'Will Pip be at the school?' asked Zuri. 'He will,' said Tobin. 'In his basket, by the window. He's fond of company.'

Ada made cocoa, and Zuri drank it in bed with her ears flat on the pillow. 'Ada,' she said, 'what if the teacher asks me a question and I say the wrong thing?' 'Then you'll say the right thing the next time,' said Ada. 'That's what school is for.'

'So,' said Ada, tucking the blanket up to Zuri's chin. 'Your one good thing.' Zuri wiggled her ears against the pillow. 'My ears,' she said. 'I think my ears.' 'I thought so,' said Ada. She kissed Zuri on the nose and blew out the lantern.

Out on the water, the bell buoy rang one low, slow note. Zuri lay still and listened to it, and to the rope tapping on the mast, and to the sea going lap, lap, lap against the rocks. Tomorrow there would be a blue door, nine new children, and a teacher with a question. Her ears lay soft on the pillow, long and quiet and ready. She couldn't wait.