A (0:00)

Hello friends. Before we begin, there's a quick ad and then we'll get right to the story. Ready everyone? Follow me.

B (0:10)

All of your family favorites are available on Disney.

A (0:14)

I love it.

B (0:15)

Share the stories you grew up with with your kids like Bear in the Big Blue House and Roly Polioli. That sounds like fun. Then discover new stories together.

A (0:24)

The more the merrier.

B (0:25)

Like Sophia the First Royal Magic Bluey and Spidey and his amazing friends. Get ready to sp on Disney Plus. All of these and more available this month. Disneyplus.com whatstash on.

A (0:47)

Hello friends, and welcome to Sleep Tight Stories. Each week we share birthday wishes and shout outs for listeners who help support the show. Hearing your name always makes our night and judging by the messages we get, it makes yours too. A big shout out to Ruby and Josie in New York City. You are more precious than all the shooting stars combined. Mommy and Daddy love you beyond the end of time. Happy 8th birthday to Mason Taylor. Thank you for being exactly who you are. Watching you grow these past eight years has been one of our greatest joys. We love you. Love Mama, Daddy and Rea. Happy belated birthday to our Bernice loving Anessa. We love watching your creativity shine through your art, your cartwheels and handstands that you managed to do anywhere, your basketball moves and your silly jokes that always make us laugh. We love you so much, Dede, Cora, Mommy and Daddy. Happy Birthday to Macie Marie From South Orange, NJ. You are bright and bubbly, creative, talented, smart and joyful. We love you so much. Love Mom, Dad, Sunny and Calvin. Happy 5th birthday Otis, Mama and Dada are so proud of what a big boy you have become. Mama, Dada, Leon and Dazzy love you so very much. Wishing you a very special day from San Diego, California. Happy seventh birthday to Maddie from Kenelham, New Jersey. Love, mom, dad and your dogs, Buddy and Lucy. We love you so much and can't wait to celebrate with you. Happy 9th birthday to Newton from Ailsham, United Kingdom. Dada, Mommy, Ben, Oscar and Bey Jay. Love you as always. You look so cool when you play bass guitar and do karate. Your jokes make us laugh all the time. Keep on being awesome. Happy birthday to Antonella whose birthday was early this month. Your mom, dad, Toby and Sophie love you so much. Enjoy the rest of your birthday month. Happy seventh birthday to Zoe in Miami. Daddy, Mama, Nai Nai, JJ and Venus love you a bazillion times one million. And happy birthday to our sweet forest elf Bloom who is turning 7 on April 25th Mommy, Daddy, Cakey Loomis and all your family and friends love you so much. Happy Birthday to you all and thank you. If you'd like a shout out for someone special or just want to support what we do here, you can find all the details@sleeptitestories.org and if you're not already on Sleept Premium, that's where the ad free listening and bonus stories live. Worth a look. Now onto tonight's story. Libby is almost finished school for the year and everyone is talking about it and being very loud. She is not enjoying the noise that everyone is making. Even the kids she doesn't know well are excitedly talking about their summer plants. Libby gets home and talks to Margarita for a while and can't really settle on what she wants to do. They eat some pizza and Libby sits on the floor with Margarita. Margarita and the Almost Last Day the last day of school wasn't technically today, but it was close enough. Close enough that the kids came pouring out of the building like something was chasing them, yelling and laughing and making plans at the top of their lungs. In the winter, everyone kind of shuffled out slowly, reluctant to walk into the cold. But today the doors flew open and it was just noise. Happy noise. The kind that made Libby feel like she'd missed a memo. She walked home at her usual pace, backpack lighter than normal, just some art supplies, a few old worksheets, and a peanut butter sandwich she'd found at the very bottom of her locker, now a pretty shade of green. She'd either paint it or simply put it in the garbage. She wasn't sure which. The birds were chirping. She could hear them from every direction, like they'd all decided today was the day. The grass was that bright new green it only got in spring, almost too green, like someone had turned up a setting. The motorcycles had started coming back out, too. She could hear one a few streets over, and the air had that warmish smell that wasn't quite summer yet but was getting there. Third level warm, she decided. Not hot, not cold. Just warm enough that she'd finally worn out one of her painted T shirts today, the faded black one with the fuzzy cat she'd done last fall. Everyone else seemed to know exactly how to feel about all of this. Her friends had already been talking about summer for weeks. Day camps and road trips and sleeping until noon and not having to think about homework. Even the kids she didn't know that well were suddenly loud about it, comparing plans, making promises, counting down. Everyone was excited. Libby kicked a small stone off the sidewalk. She wouldn't miss math, that was for sure. She'd done well in it this year, better than expected, but she wouldn't miss it. She just wasn't sure what she felt about the rest of it. School ending was supposed to. Supposed to feel like something, like relief or excitement or at least like something. But walking home right now with the birds, motorcycles, and grass, she mostly just felt kind of in between. She came up the path and pushed open the front door to her house, shrugging her backpack off carefully and setting it down by the bench. She sat to take off her sneakers, which had spent the whole day somewhere between impossible to untie and so loose they were practically falling off. There was never anything in between with those sneakers. Margarita, are you still napping? A thump came from somewhere down the hall, then the soft padding of feet, and Margarita appeared around the corner, blinking like she'd just woken up, which she probably had. She walked over and headbutted Libby's leg with a quiet, her usual hello. Hi, libby said, scratching behind her ears. I bet your day was better than mine. You probably just napped and dreamed about pizza. She paused. Mine was sort of mid, I think is the word. Not bad. Just. She made a vague gesture at nothing in particular. Margarita started purring, leaning into Libby's hand. Libby kept going. Okay, so it's not the actual last day of school. The older kids still have exams, but we're basically done and everyone is acting like something huge just happened. It's so loud. Everyone's making plans and yelling and she scratched Margarita's neck. I don't know. I don't miss Winter or anything, but it was at least quieter. Margarita gave another soft meh, watching her. You're not really the talking type today, are you? It wasn't really a question. Libby put her sneakers away and stood up. Margarita was already heading toward the kitchen because she knew what was likely going to happen next. Okay, okay, what do you want? I've got tuna or milk or. She was already reaching for the fridge. Margarita sat by her bowl and stared at her. Pizza bites, obviously. Libby pulled out the bag. You want to split them? Margarita let out a louder meh and was now circling the bowl. I'll take that as a yes. They ate their pizza bites on the kitchen floor, which wasn't something Libby planned. She just sat down while she was placing them in the crazy cat's bowl and didn't get up. Margarita didn't seem to mind. She ate hers in about four seconds and then sat very close to Libby's plate in case anything became available. Those are mine, libby said. Margarita looked at the plate, then at Libby, then at the plate. Her paw looked like it might swipe something. They're mine, Margarita. After she cleaned up, Libby went to her room. She thought maybe she'd draw something. She got out her sketchbook and sat on her bed and opened it to a blank page and looked at it for a while. Nothing came. She flipped back through some older drawings instead. A bird she'd done in February. Some faces. A few pages of just hands because her art teacher said drawing hands was good practice, even though Libby found it annoying. She closed the sketchbook. She pressed play on her latest playlist, took her headphones off after one song, put them back on, took them off again. Margarita jumped up onto the bed and walked across her legs without asking. You could go around, libby said. Margarita stepped off the other side and sat on the floor, looking up at her. I don't know what I want to do, libby told her. That's the thing. I have all this time now and I don't know what to do with it. She flopped back against her pillow. I thought I'd feel more like doing things. I haven't even signed up for art classes yet and many of my friends have camp and. Margarita meowed. I know. Libby stared at the ceiling for a bit. There was a small water stain up there she'd never really looked at before. It was shaped a little like a boot or maybe a fish. She couldn't decide. She got up and went to her desk to find a pencil, pulling open the top drawer. It was the drawer where everything went that didn't have a better place. Old erasers, a broken clip, some birthday candles for some reason, a few folded pieces of paper she didn't remember putting there. She found the pencil, but she also found, tucked under a dried out marker, her report card from just after break. She didn't remember leaving it there. She unfolded it and looked at it. Her marks were okay. Better than okay in a few things. Art, obviously, but also English, which wasn't too much of a surprise. And math, which was a bit surprising. She stood there at her desk reading it, not really sure why. Margarita jumped up next to the drawer and sniffed the birthday candles. Don't, Libby said without looking up. She sat down on the floor with it. Not at her desk, just on the floor with her back against the bed. Margarita climbed down and walked over and sat next to her, which she hadn't asked for. But that was Margarita. Libby read through the comments her English teacher had written a pleasure to have in class. Contributes thoughtful ideas. Her math teacher, Mr. Turner, had written Significant improvement and real effort shown this term. Libby remembered getting this and thinking it was fine and putting it somewhere she hadn't really read it properly. Significant improvement. She thought about September, walking into a school where she didn't know anyone, trying to figure out where to sit, getting the math homework wrong in front of everyone because she hadn't understood the way they did things here. It was different from her old school. Everything was a little different, the hallways, the schedule, even the way the teachers talked about it hadn't been terrible. She'd been so sure it was going to be terrible. And it hadn't been. Well, not completely, anyway. She folded the report card back up. Outside her window she could hear kids somewhere down the street, bikes, maybe, someone yelling, something she couldn't make out. The afternoon light was coming in at that long flat angle. It got around this time of the year, making a rectangle of sun on her bedroom floor. Margarita moved into it immediately and lay down, closing her eyes. Good spot, libby said. She stayed where she was, back against the bed, report card in her hands. She wasn't sure what she was feeling exactly. Not sad, not particularly happy. Something quieter than either of those, like when her favorite song ends and she would just sit there for a second before she started the next one. The year was over, basically, and she'd gotten through it. She hadn't expected to get through it, not like this. Margarita's tail moved once, slowly, and then stopped. Libby set the report card on the floor beside her and just sat for another minute, listening to the kids outside and the birds and the faraway sound of a motorcycle, all of it coming through the window like the world was going about its business. Then she got up and went to the kitchen to get something to drink. Her mother came home around six, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door the way she always did, a sound Libby had heard many times before. Libby? In here. She was back on the couch now, sketchbook open this time, actually drawing. Nothing specific, just some shapes that were maybe turning into a face. Margarita was beside her, taking up more space than a cat her size had any right to. Her mother appeared in the doorway, still in her work jacket. How was the last day? Almost last day, libby said. The older kids still have exams. How was the almost last day? Libby shrugged. Fine. It was fine. She moved her pencil. Everyone was kind of loud. Her mother nodded, like that was a complete answer, which Libby appreciated. She disappeared into the kitchen. There was the sound of the fridge opening, bags being set down, the familiar routine of her mother figuring out dinner. I'm going to try Margarita on the salmon again, her mother called. Libby looked at Margarita. Margarita was already looking toward the kitchen. She's not going to eat it, libby called back. I know she's not going to eat it. This was just the thing they did. Libby got up and leaned against the kitchen door frame, watching her mother set out a small bowl of salmon, crouched down and placed it in front of Margarita with a kind of ceremonial patience. Margarita sniffed it, took a step back, sat down, and looked at Libby's mother. Milk, her mother tried. Margarita didn't even sniff the milk. She just stared. Okay, her mother said, standing up. She pulled the box from the bag on the counter, a fresh pizza, the small kind from the place two streets over, and put a slice in Margarita's bowl. Margarita was on it before the bowl hit the floor. She ate with the focused energy of an animal who had been waiting her entire life for this specific moment, even though this exact thing happened every single day. Libby laughed. She couldn't help it. Every time, her mother said, shaking her head, she cut a slice for Libby without asking and slid it across the counter. You want to tell me about today, or are we going to do the shrug thing for the rest of the evening? The shrug thing, probably. Fair enough. Her mother cut her own slice. Math teacher send anything home? Mom? School's basically over. So no. So no. They ate standing at the counter, watching their cat as they ate, who, having finished her pizza, drank noisily from her water bowl. After her drink, Margarita walked out of the kitchen without acknowledging either of them. She's so rude, libby said. She really is, her mother agreed. Later, after her mother had gone to do whatever she did in the evenings, emails probably, or the book she'd been reading since February, Libby ended up on the floor again. She wasn't sure how it kept happening. There was a perfectly good couch, but the floor was where she'd eaten the pizza bites earlier. And now here she was again, back against the couch, this time legs stretched out, a plate with two more slices balanced on her knee. Margarita appeared from wherever she'd been and sat down next to her, very close. She looked at the pizza. I watched you eat an entire slice earlier in the kitchen, libby said. Margarita looked at the pizza. It's the same pizza, Margherita. She tore off a small piece of crust and put it on the floor. Margarita ate it in one motion and then repositioned herself, leaning against Libby's leg outside it was getting dark finally it stayed light so late now. Through the window she could see the sky doing that thing it did at this time of the year, that long slow fade that never quite seemed to finish. She ate her pizza. It was a pretty okay year, she said, not really to Margarita, not really to herself, just out loud into the room. I didn't think it was going to be, but it was pretty okay. Margarita shifted against her leg and let out a slow breath, the kind cats did when they were settled and warm and had recently eaten pizza. Libby took another bite. The sky outside was finally almost dark. She didn't have to be anywhere tomorrow. That was a strange thought. She turned it over for a second, then let it go. It was summer, basically, and she was okay. And that is the end of our story. Good night, sleep tight.