Love To Learn, Learn To Love

Love To Learn, Learn To Love

Dreams, Drive, Diversity

ZOOTOPIA UNIVERSITY

Judy Hopps stared in awe at the flyer posted in the campus commons. She couldn't believe she'd finally made it to ZU. She was reminded of the way she'd felt as she disembarked from the train and stepped paw into the city for the first time. This was that same feeling, only better; now, she had a direction.

She was going to be a Criminal Justice major. Someday, an officer at the ZPD. No rabbit had ever been on the force before...That would change. With her. She knew it.

Judy took a deep, calming breath. Sometimes—times like right now—she had to remind herself to take things one step at a time. And today she had to register, figure out her classes, and unpack. As her mother always said, 'first things first'.

Late that night, Judy had just finished unpacking. Exhausted, she slumped into her chair to examine her schedule. She had been so preoccupied earlier that she had only had time to glance at it. Classes would start tomorrow, so she needed to take a closer look. Granted, they were core classes… 'boring', wasn't in the eager rabbit's vocabulary, but even so, this was basic stuff. Stuff that gets you that much closer to your goal, she reminded herself.

Spreading out the schedule by the light of her desk lamp, she read:

M/W 9A.M.-11:30 A.M.-Social Studies in the Modern Metropolis-Benjamin Clawhauser, 650 Lionheart Hall

M/W 1 P.M.-2:30 P.M. Science for the Modern Mammal-Emmitt Otterton, 345 Lionheart Hall

T/Th 9 A.M.-11:30 A.M. Algebra-Francine Pennington, 276 Lionheart Hall

T/Th 1 P.M.-2:30 P.M. English/Language Arts, Nicholas P. Wilde, 155 Lionheart Hall

Judy sat back in her chair, satisfied; she had all her classes arranged, and they were all in the same building. Well...not totally satisfied. She would've preferred to take a heavier courseload, but in his address to freshmen, Dean Bogo had advised against taking more than four per semester. So, she decided to take his advice and see where it went. She could always pick more next semester.

With a yawn, Judy decided she ought to go to bed. Tomorrow would be even busier than today. If she was lucky.

What the following day lacked in productivity, it made up for in uniqueness. Professor Clawhauser...was fun. She'd expected college to be a lot of things—engaging, enriching, and intense, among others—but 'fun' was not one of them. Professor Clawhauser was friendly, open, loud, and enthusiastic. Judy liked him already. Professor Otterton was quiet and reserved, but just as friendly as Clawhauser. There were short but thorough assignments from each of them. She was equally pleased to discover that she got along with, and enjoyed the company of, all the classmates she'd met thus far. At lunch, she found the food to be better than anticipated, and she enjoyed eating it in the campus community grounds outside. After class, Judy had acquainted herself with the library and various study areas. By the time she went to bed that night, she was already awaiting tomorrow.

The next day, Judy reported promptly to Professor Pennington's class. The latter was nice enough, but she didn't go out of her way to get to know her students as the others had. To her credit, she was extremely patient, a must-have quality in a math instructor, in Judy's opinion. Contrary to popular belief, rabbits are no better than any other animal at math, despite their tendency towards a certain type of multiplication. Math was never Judy's best subject, but just like anything else, she gave it her all. Professor Pennington appreciated her contribution to the day's lesson, taking her aside afterward to tell her so, and, by extension, inviting her to disregard that night's assignment. Judy had no such plan.

After lunch, she walked into Professor Wilde's room and began having second thoughts.

“Hello, everyone. I'm Nicholas P. Wilde. This course is very writing-intensive, and it requires very keen reading comprehension skills. There is a quick turnaround between deadlines, so I expect you to use your time wisely, both in this room and outside of it.”

“The first book we'll be reading is Watership Down.” A gasp escaped Judy; she hadn't meant to react. All eyes in the room were on her. Professor Wilde looked down at her with a smirk. Was he amused? Angry?

“Is there something you'd like to share, Miss Hopps?, Because, by all means, the floor is yours.” He gave a mock-bow and gestured in her direction. Judy was beyond embarrassed, but she had to fix this.

“Well, Professor Wilde--Despite my better judgment, I have to say that I find it rather shocking that a fox would choose that particular book to lead a class through.”

His eyes darkened, but the cloud quickly passed. “In case you haven't noticed, Miss Hopps, you are the only rabbit present.” She had noticed, but somehow it didn't register. “Majority rules. And above majority is seniority, which is me.” He turned from her and went on talking, as though nothing had happened. “We will begin that unit on Thursday. Today, I'd like to get a sense of your writing style. I'll time you, and for fifteen minutes you will write about your personal motto, your M.O., call it what you will. You will then share this with a group of my choosing, and you will discuss and analyze these ideas for the remainder of the period. When class is dismissed, you will place your papers on my desk before leaving the room.”

“Your assignment for Thursday will be to compose a one-and-a-half page, typed, single-spaced piece, in 11-point font, on your reaction to the quote I'm about to distribute. Your timed in-class prompt starts...now.”

Judy pulled out her materials. She wrote. She discussed; she analyzed. She followed every rule. But, for the first time in her life, she wasn't fully focused. Half of her attention was on Professor Wilde. Being the diligent student that she was, no one else in the room could tell the difference. But she could, and it frustrated her to no end.

Thank goodness Professor Pennington is allowing me to opt out of tonight's Algebra homework, thought Judy morosely as she sat in the library after class. She had never opted out of anything in her entire life, and now she was doing it in order to think—or, better stop thinking—about her most intriguing professor...and his assignment.

Nick was outside, enjoying the relative peace afforded to him by the campus community grounds. Several dozen individuals milled about, most at a leisurely pace, yet the likelihood that anyone would seek him out was mercifully small. “Hi there, Nick.” Startled and irritated, he growled softly. “Whoa, easy, buddy. It's only me.” Emmitt held up his paws in mock surrender. “Rough day?”

“Yeah.” He was reluctant to say more, even to his best friend the otter. They had gone through school together, and both had been drawn to the many-faceted world of teaching. But where Emmitt was altruistic, Nick...wasn't. He had a complicated relationship with power, one that he tried to keep at bay around people he respected—like Emmitt. Emmitt always reciprocated, today by dropping the subject. They sat in companionable silence and occasional breeze-shooting for as long as their schedules would allow.

What was it about Professor Wilde that drew Judy to him so immediately? After puzzling over this for hours--in the hope that her thoughts would lead to an answer, and an answer would lead to the end of her frustration—she did the unthinkable. She did something that she had never done before in her life. She gave up. She gave up, and moved on to the assignment.

She hadn't had a chance to look at the prompt in class earlier. Maybe, she thought with mounting curiosity, it will give me some insight into what makes Professor Wilde tick. Reading the prompt for the first time—then again—once more a gasp escaped her, unbidden...

“Sometimes you meet someone, and it's so clear that the two of you, on some level belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you understand one another or you're in love, or you're partners in crime. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest circumstances, and they help you feel alive. I don't know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but it definitely makes me believe in something.” --Unknown

While she may not have gleaned anything about Professor Wilde from it, thanks to this prompt, she was about to learn a lot about herself.

Thursday afternoon. Judy stood outside Room 155. She was at least 15 minutes early, having opted to skip lunch when she realized she was too filled with nerves and excitement to eat anything. Instead, she had walked—paced—the campus community grounds in an effort to dispense with this nervous energy that was suddenly plaguing her.

She had for the most part succeeded—that is, until she'd stopped just short of the closed door, craning her neck and standing on tip-toe to watch another professor hold court through the clear glass pane. It's a shame that someone else be allowed to enter the room and impart their own lessons upon students. Judy was well-aware of the absurdity of this idea the second it entered her mind, and yet it stayed there, stubborn. In truth, everyone in the school had a right to the rooms, and no one—fox or otherwise—was allowed to claim them. Judy shoved the thought aside just in time to dodge the throng of students that had begun exiting the classroom. The professor left last; the doe gave Judy a small but sympathetic smile before disappearing into the hallway.

When those students had left, and none had yet entered, Judy stepped across the threshold and looked around the room. An ordinary room, with a chalkboard, chairs, and desks lined up in (mostly) neat rows. A dull room, with drab, peeling paint covering the walls and chalk dust floating through the air. Judy selected a seat; she preferred the front, as close to the action as possible.

In the silent space, thoughts began to crowd Judy's brain. When Professor Wilde enters this room, it will be lit up—with vitality, wisdom, aplomb...With the realization that she was once again making ridiculous claims about the room, she pulled out her paper and pretended to study it. She didn't see it then, but there was no one to pretend for but herself.

Soon, students filed in. It was becoming near-impossible to keep her attention on the paper as the level of idle chatter rose. Still, she kept her eyes on it, until, out of the corner, she glimpsed red fur...Instantaneously, simultaneously, silence filled the room.

She looked up, startled to find Professor Wilde's eyes locked on hers. “I hope you weren't attempting to correct mistakes, because your time for that is up.” His words are meant for the class, but his eyes are still on her, suggesting that she was the impetus for them. “I'll take that.” He mutters the phrase to her alone under his breath, snatching the paper from her desk.

A flurry of papery sounds ensued. But, for the rest of the class period, the only sound Judy heard was Professor Wilde's voice. Somehow, she comprehended it over the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears.

By the time his class—the one with Hopps in it—ended, Nick was exhausted. He wasted not a second seeking the cool shade and welcome anonymity provided by his favorite tree on the grounds. At length he reached it, sinking into the soft grass it sheltered with a sigh.

“So we meet again,” laughed Emmitt as he approached the oasis; his laughter halted abruptly when he noted the stormy state of his friend's expression. Nick raised a paw in greeting, but with barely disguised disgust. “Is this a bad time…?” Nick shook his head, and Emmitt joined him. The otter turned to Nick, and the fox could only cringe inwardly at the concern reflected in deep brown eyes.

Emmitt was a stand-up guy. Emmitt was...everything Nick wasn't. He cared about people in a way that confounded Nick, a way that he witnessed often enough, but had never stuck to his own mode of being.

“Emmitt, if I tell you something, can you—keep it between us?” Nick's voice sounded desperate; any other day, he would sooner gnaw off his own arm than sound desperate, but right now...He was so miserable that he was beyond caring. The concern in Emmitt's eyes deepened.

“Of course I will, buddy.” He smiled, attempting levity. “Scout's honor.” He saluted, and when Nick winced, he added, “Oh—sorry. It...slipped my mind.”

“No big deal.” And it wasn't. Not compared to the feelings that had begun to well up in his chest as he sat there and thought of her. He sighed. “You know Judy Hopps?” Emmitt relaxed slightly, smiled.

“Judy? Yeah, she's in my class. She's very bright. Curious, too. A delight all around, really.” That was Judy, alright. She was all those things. Emmitt's voice broke through his reverie.

“She's not...giving you trouble, is she?” Heck, yes, she was—her violet eyes lighting up in wonder as she grasped a concept, her delicate pink nose wrinkling slightly as she laughed at his jokes, the purposeful, passionate tone she used each and every time she contributed to a discussion.

“Not in the way you think.” Emmitt, being the touchy-feely guy that he was, was a master at reading people. So, finding himself unable to say the words outright, Nick simply turned to Emmitt and fixed the full force of his raw, desperate gaze on him, willing it to speak for itself.

Emmitt's own eyes widened in surprise. “Oh. Well...” True to his word, Emmitt said nothing that would reveal the context of their conversation. Instead, he asked, “Are you happy here, Nick? Teaching and all?” Nick hadn't expected the answer to leap from his tongue.

“No.” This time, the compassion in Emmitt's eyes nearly undid him.

“That's a shame, because I love having you here. But if that's how you feel, then you guys should talk about it.” Once again, he committed to confidentiality with his use of the neutral term. For the first time since—he'd seen her earlier, Nick realized—he smiled. Emmitt was pleased to notice that it even reached his eyes.

“You should've been a guidance counselor, you know that?” As he spoke, Nick extended his paw for the otter to shake. Emmitt shook it, smiled and shrugged.

In his apartment that night, Nick felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest; he would always be grateful to Emmitt for his understanding. But, as he sat staring at the paper on his desk, he knew that one weight still remained. He'd spent the night reading pieces that ranged from 'blah' to 'so-so', and now there was one left. The paper in front of him was Judy's, the last of the quote assignments from that class. He'd been stalling, afraid of the feelings that would undoubtedly rise if he read it.

He'd been taken aback by her M.O. piece. A hazard of the job was reading dozens of papers a day, hardly remembering them. But that one was as fresh in his mind as if he'd just read it this second.

My motto is, 'Anyone can be anything'. I've lived in Bunnyburrow for all my life, but the city of Zootopia has always inspired me. In second grade, our class staged a play about diversity. My class consisted almost entirely of fellow prey; our teacher said that each of us could choose the part we wanted to play, which bolstered the confidence of those of us in this category. As exciting as that was to me, I wasn't satisfied. I raised my paw, and with the entire class looking on, volunteered to write, direct, and narrate the play myself. She was so impressed with my enthusiasm that she let me. I strived to be a good leader, and it paid off. The whole class was in awe of me, but I couldn't take all the credit. I reminded them that they were important, too, and capable of going after their dreams, because 'anyone can be anything'.

It had been solid—imperfect, but solid. Above all else, it was passionate. He was left wanting more. Of her, or her writing? he asked himself, and was only slightly surprised when he answered himself, Both.

He sighed. For the moment, her writing would have to do. He picked up her quote piece with a shaky paw.

I admit to having lived a pretty sheltered life so far; my reason for coming to the city and going to college was to escape it, because I've always wanted to see more, do more. That said, I hope I will be forgiven for what I'm about to say.

When I read this for the first time, I thought of you, Professor Wilde. Then I read it a second time, just to be sure it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't.

With all due respect, we aren't exactly friends, and you don't seem to understand me very well—nor I you. But, it is my hope that we can be friends in the future.

We aren't what I would call 'partners in crime', either. The phrase makes me think of my dream to someday be a police officer; I like to think that when I get there, I'll have a partner in solving crime who can embody this quote for me.

But, for now—you make me feel alive, Professor Wilde. I don't know how else to explain it. Personally, I don't believe in coincidences, fate, or luck, but I do believe in making your own way, going after what you want in life.

I used to think that you don't need anyone else in your corner as long as you believe in yourself. Now I'm not so sure. At the very least, it might be nice to have someone in my corner. For what it's worth, I believe in you, Professor Wilde. I'm in your corner.

Sincerely Yours,

Judy Hopps

Nick read the paper at least ten times before it sank in. She was all but saying...wasn't she? Yes, she was; the proof was right here in front of him. Clutching the paper as though it was vital to his well-being—which it had indeed suddenly become—he stood. He had to see her.

But how? Even if he invited her here, off-campus, tomorrow, by the light of day, there would be questions following them everywhere. Then came a sudden epiphany.

He opened a drawer, rifled through the student contact forms he'd had his students fill out. This had always been his practice in the event they wanted to arrange a writing conference outside of class. Under the guise of being flexible, he avoided having to spend time in his stuffy, depressing office that he despised.

He found hers. Dialing quickly, he hoped she was the type to keep her phone on and within reach 24/7. Even so, something told him she wasn't.

Judy had gone to bed early that night. Interactions with Professor Wilde, though invigorating in the moment, left her drained afterward. As it was, she'd been awake for hours, wondering if he'd seen her paper yet. What did he think? Come Tuesday—five long days and then some from now—would he have anything to say about it? Will he hate me for it, more than he already seemed to? Or was I right about the pain and genuine, intense interest I'm sure I've seen beneath his rough exterior?

A sudden sound startled Judy out of her thoughts. Gazelle's “Try Everything” was blaring from her phone. Her ringtone. Who would call at this time of night? She reached for her phone, glanced at the caller I.D. Unable to recognize the number, curiosity overcame her. “Hello?”

“Miss Hopps.”

“Professor Wilde?”

“The one and only.” She could hear the smirk in his voice; despite the confusion of the situation, she smiled to herself, and decided to enjoy this turn of events.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked, grateful that he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart over the phone.

“Do you know where 268 Amelia Bearheart Drive is?”

“No, actually—I haven't been in the area long.”

“No matter; it's just outside the city...” He gave her directions, and she agreed to be there within the hour—a good thing, considering she could hardly wait.

Nick hung up the phone in a hurry--slamming it down as though he'd been scalded—and stalked through his apartment. Either I just solved every problem that has ever plagued me, or I've invited a thousand more that will haunt me for years to come.

When the intercom buzzed, breaking his train of thought, every fur on his body stood on end. “Professor Wilde?” He strode quickly into the foyer, jabbed the button that connected to the intercom. “Welcome, Miss Hopps. Come right up.” He would see her in a matter of minutes. He feared his legs might give out, and he dearly wished to sit down. It would be cold not to greet her at the door—and cold is the last thing I want her to think I am.

He stood beside the door, bracing himself against the wall for support. When the doorbell rang, he cringed at its shrillness, half-surprised that he could hear it over the pounding of his heart. Gingerly shifting away from the wall, he answered the door.

“Hi, Professor Wilde.” She stood there smiling. He'd known her—what, two weeks?--and he'd received more kind greetings from her than from any student he'd ever had. He felt himself smiling in response.

“Hello, Miss Hopps. Please come in, have a seat.” He realized that in all likelihood, he'd just called her 'Miss Hopps' for the last time. The thought thrilled him.

When they were both seated in the living room, each facing the other in one of his prized wing-back chairs, he cleared his throat to speak. It was time she knew where she stood. It was time he did something truly meaningful with his life.

“Thank you for coming. I wouldn't have asked you here if not for something of absolute importance.”

“Of course.”

“Firstly, given what I'm about to tell you...please, call me Nick.” She only nodded, but her eyes couldn't disguise the pleasure he saw there. That alone fortified him for the difficult task he faced.

“I want you to be the first to know that I'll be resigning from ZU.” She appeared taken aback.

“Well, I—I'm sorry to hear that, Nick.” For the first time in hours, he laughed.

“Don't be. There's something I'd much rather be doing.” Before she could form a reply, he went on. “I want to be with you, Judy. I'm falling in love with you...I would enjoy nothing more than for us to be—together.”

In her eyes, he saw a potent mix of joy, sadness, and shock, but for a full minute, she said nothing—until her voice, a lone whisper, reached his ears.

“Me, too.” The smile that spread across her face was, like everything she did, contagious to him. He reached out, taking her paws in his own.

“You've made me a very happy fox, sweet Judy. Rest assured I won't rush you into anything; after all, starting tomorrow I have all the time in the world.”

With their paws still entwined, Judy looked at him. Concern filled her eyes, not unlike that which he'd seen in Emmitt's...only much more beautiful. “If you were so unhappy here, why did you go into teaching, Nick?”

With those words, memories that Nick had never spoken of to anyone—with the sole exception of Emmitt—came spilling forth. “Zootopia was founded with the best of intentions, but often traditional predators still find themselves at the bottom of the totem pole. We don't want to be feared, and yet we live in fear of being ostracized...or worse. Today such attitudes have lessened, but when I was growing up...it was horrible, especially...”

“When I was a kit, I wanted to join the Junior Ranger Scouts. My poor mother was torn, because she knew what could happen, but she wanted me to be able to do everyone else could do. So, she let me. The troupe I was going for happened to be all-prey. They called me over for initiation, and they pushed me down...and...and muzzled me.”

Though Nick fought back the tears, they sprang to his eyes; feeling helpless, Judy gently rubbed his paw in an effort to soothe him. Calmed, by her touch, he continued.

“Ever since that day, I was determined that I would hold a position of power someday. I would show people how to treat one another with respect, and they would listen. I would show them my view of the world, and they would have no choice but to accept it.”

Judy sighed. It was a world-weary sigh, one that seemed misplaced for a mammal of her young years. “I hate that they did that to you, Nick. I really do. But that isn't a good reason to want power; if you weren't careful, you could have been no better than them.”

Nick nodded somberly, even as he quipped, “But I'm careful. I'm always careful.” Still, his face fell as he spoke again. “You're right. In fact, I was becoming that...and then I met you.”

“You inspire me, Judy. Life is messy sometimes, but while I was spiraling into a power-trip, you were...sharing joy. My least-favorite thing about my job has always been the writing instruction. Writing should always be a piece of one's soul, whether reflected in subject matter, tone, diction...I've always tried to teach that, but I was beginning to realize that it can't be taught. Your writing reflects all of that. You know, after the Scouts—incident—my mother said to me, 'If you can't teach them, you can't reach them'; if those Scouts didn't want to know that not every predator is bad, there was nothing I could do to tell them otherwise.”

“Those prey didn't deserve to be Scouts.” She spat the words; Nick could only nod.

“I discovered the literal truth of Mom's statement when I got into teaching. Granted, I'm not the most welcoming educator there ever was...” Ever the voice of reason, Judy chimed in.

“You didn't know how to be. You didn't know any other way.”

“My students didn't know that. If I had told them...”

“Don't blame yourself, Nick. You're not the first mammal to fear being vulnerable, and you won't be the last.” Nick shrugged.

“It doesn't matter anymore.”

“I knew.” When Judy spoke, Nick's emerald eyes locked on hers, confused and captivated. “I knew you'd been hurt somehow. I could see it in your eyes.” Being vulnerable had never felt so...addicting before.

“How old are you, Judy?”

Without hesitation, she replied, “Eighteen.” This wonderful rabbit was an open book!

“How on earth did you get to be so wise?” She blushed.

“I have two hundred and seventy-five brothers and sisters. I guess I learned from watching them grow up.”

“They're lucky to have such a brilliant sister.” She blushed again, smiled.

“Thank you, Nick. But, I wouldn't say that.” He smiled warmly.

“You're as modest as you are brilliant.” She giggled. “You're not used to this much attention, are you?”

“Well, two hundred and seventy-five siblings means that much less attention from Mom and Dad.” Nick couldn't help but notice that she didn't resent that fact; it was stated without bitterness. She simply treated it as another fact of life.

“I was captivated by your writing, Judy. It made me realize that I wanted to get to know more of you. For all I've done wrong in life, I still have morals. I fought the feeling with everything I have, but when I read your quote piece...That was my weakness. I thought I just might have a chance.”

“I was an only child. My father left Mom and I a year or two before I signed up for the Scouts. Since then, I've never had any real roots in my life.” Smiling, he gave her paw a gentle squeeze; try as he might, he couldn't stop his voice from trembling. When he spoke again, the force of his desire made his voice low, nearly unrecognizable to his own ears. “I want roots with you, Judy. I want what is mine to be yours, what is yours to be mine; I want it all to be ours. I want to make a family with you. I want us to share in everything for the rest of our lives.”

She gasped in surprise, what was fast becoming his favorite habit of hers. Cautiously, with a question in her eyes, she stood, reluctantly releasing his paws. He answered the unspoken, his voice soft and inviting. “Come here, beautiful bunny. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

She crossed to him, nearly collapsing with relief onto his lap. Her arms found their way around him. He rejoiced. I have never truly lived until this moment. He tenderly returned her embrace. They sat just so, in silence, for a long, lovely moment. At length, she spoke. “Bunnies are big on hugging; you'd better get used to it.”

“It will be my pleasure.” They both laughed.

While he was gazing at her in wonderment, she heard him laugh softly and mutter under his breath, “When word gets around to Emmitt…!”

“Professor Otterton?”

“One and the same. He's been my best friend for ages. I met him right after the Scouts.” Judy beamed.

“See? I told you. You have to have a good heart if Professor Otterton likes you.”

“I'll tell him you said that. He'll be pleased to know that the feeling is mutual.” Curiosity lit her eyes. “Is Professor Clawhauser always so chipper? I've never met anyone else who's as positive as me.” Nick laughed.

“For as long as I've known him. We've done this for twenty years.”

“Wow.” She smiled slyly.

“How old are you, Mr. Wilde?” She was teasing him, but after all she'd offered, he wouldn't let her down.

“Thirty-two.” She gasped; clearly, she hadn't expected him to answer.

“What are you going to do next, Nick?” It was a fair question. The short answer was that he would resign, but the long answer—the one that began with actually writing the letter—required him to articulate things that he wasn't quite sure how to articulate just yet. So, he changed the angle.

“I'm going to ask you to stay with me tonight.” She beamed up at him, yet her reply contrasted with her innocent reaction.

“I thought you'd never ask.” The hint of seduction in her voice stunned him. “I'll do you one better; I don't have classes on Fridays, so I'll stay the whole weekend.” He lowered his head and nuzzled between her ears, chuckling into her fur.

“You sure know how to make a fox happy.”

“One fox, Nick. Only you.”

Genuinely touched, Nick found himself wondering what he had done to deserve Judy. Wracking his brain, he failed to think of a single thing. Recalling the quote, he decided that it must be coincidence, fate, and sheer blind luck—all rolled into one—that brought her to him. “Me? Nicholas Piberius Wilde?” Judy snickered.

“Your middle name is Piberius?”

“You should talk, Judith Laverne.” She face-pawed

“Cheese and crackers! The roster!”

“Yep.”

“Remember, I have 275 siblings. Some of us were bound to get stuck with crazy middle names, and I just happened to be one of them. What's your excuse?” Nick held up his paws in mock surrender.

“Touche. I have no idea. You win.” They both burst out laughing.

When their mirth had quieted, Nick spoke again. “You know, Emmitt keeps telling me that the missus got a degree in teaching English, but never got around to using it.” Judy smiled brightly.

“Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?” He grinned.

“You know me better than just about anyone, so I bet I am. I'm going to recommend her to take over my position.”

“Is she as nice as Mr. Otterton?”

“They're two peas in a pod.”

“Then I'm sure she'll love that.” Judy wore a grin of her own. “I will too. Not only will it be great to meet her, but I get to have my carrot and eat it too.” She pinned him with a lustful look.

“Am I to assume that I am said carrot?”

“You sure are.”

“In that case, I'm sure you won't mind me giving you a taste.” So saying, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Early the next morning, he rose from the bed, careful not to wake Judy. Moving quietly toward his desk, he sat down and began to write.

Dear Sir,

I am writing to give my resignation following twenty years with Zootopia University. My tenure has been a tremendous learning experience for me, and one that I will always value.

In light of this regrettably short notice, I respectfully recommend Ms. Olivia Otterton for the position.

Regards,

Nicholas P. Wilde

With yet another weight off his shoulders, he folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. Now he was free to focus on his new-found purpose in life. From now forward, he would give Judy everything he could offer.

Just before falling asleep, they'd talked of moving in together for good. Both were eager to do so sooner rather than later, agreeing that they would learn as they go, and do it together. After all, Judy had always loved to learn, and after suffering years of heartache at the paws of society, Nick had learned to love; Judy had taught him how.