If he had the money, he’d buy her a TV. One of those tiny Japanese ones that she could keep in her own room without bothering Judy and Bill. It didn’t seem fair with all their money that they’d gotten rid of the TV. It wasn’t as if Leslie would watch the way Brenda did—with her mouth open and her eyes bulging like a goldfish, hour after hour. But every once in a while, a person liked to watch. At least if she had one, it would be one less thing for the kids at school to sneer about. But, of course, there was no way that he could buy her a TV. It was pretty stupid of him even to think about it.
Lord, he was stupid. He gazed miserably out the window of the school bus. It was a wonder someone like Leslie would even give him the time of day. It was because there was no one else. If she had found anyone else at that dumb school—he was so stupid he had almost gone straight past the sign without catching on. But something in a corner of his head clicked, and he jumped up, pushing past Leslie and May Belle.
“See you later,” he mumbled, and shoved his way up the aisle through pair after pair of sprawling legs.
“Lemme off here, Miz Prentice, will you?”
“This ain’t your stop.”
“Gotta do an errand for my mother,” he lied.
“Long as you don’t get me into trouble.” She eased the brakes.
“No’m. Thanks.”
He swung off the bus before it had really stopped and ran back toward the sign.
“Puppies,” it said. “Free.”
Jess told Leslie to meet him at the castle stronghold on Christmas Eve afternoon. The rest of his family had gone to the Millsburg Plaza for last-minute shopping, but he stayed behind. The dog was a little brown-and-black thing with great brown eyes. Jess stole a ribbon from Brenda’s drawer, and hurried across the field and down the hill with the puppy squirming in his arms. Before he got to the creek bed, it had licked his face raw and sent a stream down his jacket front, but he couldn’t be mad. He tucked it tightly under his arm and swung across the creek as gently as he could. He could have walked through the gully. It would have been easier, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that one must enter Terabithia only by the prescribed entrance. He couldn’t let the puppy break the rules. It might mean bad luck for both of them.
At the stronghold he tied the ribbon around the puppy’s neck, laughing as it backed out of the loop and chewed at the ends of the ribbon. It was a clever, lively little thing—a present Jess could be proud of.
There was no mistaking the delight in Leslie’s eyes. She dropped to her knees on the cold ground, picked the puppy up, and held it close to her face.
“Watch it,” Jess cautioned. “It sprays worse’n a water pistol.”
Leslie moved it out a little way. “Is it male or female?”
Once in a rare while there was something he could teach Leslie. “Boy,” he said happily.
“Then we’ll name him Prince Terrien and make him the guardian of Terabithia.”
She put the puppy down and got to her feet.
“Where you going?”
“To the grove of the pines,” she answered. “This is a time of greatest joy.”
Later that afternoon Leslie gave Jess his present. It was a box of watercolors with twenty-four tubes of color and three brushes and a pad of heavy art paper.
“Lord,” he said. “Thank you.” He tried to think of a better way to sa
y it, but he couldn’t. “Thank you,” he repeated.
“It’s not a great present like yours,” she said humbly, “but I hope you’ll like it.”
He wanted to tell her how proud and good she made him feel, that the rest of Christmas didn’t matter because today had been so good, but the words he needed weren’t there. “Oh, yeah, yeah,” he said, and then got up on his knees and began to bark at Prince Terrien. The puppy raced around him in circles, yelping with delight.
Leslie began to laugh. It egged Jess on. Everything the dog did, he imitated, flopping down at last with his tongue lolling out. Leslie was laughing so hard she had trouble getting the words out. “You—you’re crazy. How will we teach him to be a noble guardian? You’re turning him into a clown.”
“R-r-r-oof,” wailed Prince Terrien, rolling his eyes skyward. Jess and Leslie both collapsed. They were in pain from the laughter.
“Maybe,” said Leslie at last. “We’d better make him court jester.”
“What about his name?”
“Oh, we’ll let him keep his name. Even a prince”—this in her most Terabithian voice—“even a prince may be a fool.”