Forty-seven children went: “Brrrrp… qua-ack? Brrrrp… qua-ack?” It was hesitant. Uncertain. A question posed to the universe.
“I… heard a rumor,” Carter replied carefully. “About a student who scored a perfect 1600 on the SAT by only studying the mating calls of the mallard?” duckquackprep
Every other child in the pond froze. The frogs stopped mid-croak. Even the clouds seemed to pause. Forty-seven children went: “Brrrrp… qua-ack
The girl nodded, then turned and executed a flawless “Hrumpf-quack” —the duck equivalent of slamming a door. A question posed to the universe
Eloise finally spoke—actual English, though it came out rusty, like a drawer that hadn’t been opened in years. “You’re the consultant,” she said to Carter. “Tell them I’m leaving. This place is for kids who need to learn to quack. I was born quacking.”
“Where will you go?” Carter asked.
Just then, a small girl with braids and mud up to her knees broke formation. She waded to the edge of the pond, looked Carter dead in the eye, and performed a single, perfect sound: “QUAAA-HA-HA-HACK.”