This is the final chapter of the story. I hope you enjoy!

And the edit is now complete!

The first thing that the old grasshopper saw when he entered the office was James hunched over in a chair. His face was red, his eyes were watery, and he looked as if he was going to be physically sick. Mr. Grasshopper had received a professionally frantic call to come down to the school. He knew it involved James, and from the look on the boy's face, he knew it had to do with something extremely personal. The insect knew he had only a matter of time before the boy's other guardians arrived, so he quickly walked over and knelt down. Gripping James' shoulder firmly, he spoke in a low voice.

"James? What happened?" Mr. Grasshopper asked. "You must tell me now. Before Miss Spider and Mr. Centipede get here."

The boy couldn't even look at the old green grasshopper. "I…I turned in the wrong papers," James whispered brokenly.

"Oh," Mr. Grasshopper needed to know more. He needed to understand. In a gentle voice he continued questioning the boy. "Why did you have a story like that in school? Come now, I need to know."

"I just…wanted to finish it. I haven't had time too work on it for days." James covered his face and began to cry. "I shouldn't have brought it to school. The teacher's face was horrible a-and—" The child couldn't finish, wracked by a sudden bout of hiccoughs. That was when the other two came in.

"James!" Miss Spider gasped as soon as she saw the tears. "Whatever is the matter?"

He cringed away from her when she reached for him. Fear crossed her face as she lowered her arms. And when Mr. Centipede came traipsing in, the boy didn't acknowledge his jovial greeting. The principal came out and asked if there was anybody else coming. They replied that Mr. Earthworm and Mrs. Ladybug were busy, and the Glowworm never did these sorts of things. The three bugs and the human boy were escorted into the office. The principal sat down, shuffled some papers, then folded his hands.

"Why have we been called here?" Miss Spider demanded. "Has James done something wrong?"

"Well, that's not an easy question to answer," the man replied, glancing down at what Mr. Grasshopper knew was James' story. "He didn't necessarily break any school rules…"

"Then what did he do?" Mr. Centipede asked, tilting his hat to the side and leaning back in his chair. "Jimmy's the best kid in the whole world! Why are we down here like he's beat somebody up?"

"James didn't beat anybody up," the principal said. "But he wrote about something like that."

Mr. Grasshopper was the only one of the bugs not to gape at the man. He folded his upper arms and placed his lower left on James' shoulder. James was shaking, his eyes locked on his shoes. A soft squeeze was all the insect gave him, just reassuring the boy that he was there, that he was on his side. James sniffled and grabbed the hand in a death grip.

"So…he's planning on beatin' somebody up?" Mr. Centipede asked, glancing over at the boy. "That don't sound like Jimmy."

"It is not something that might happen," the principal said. "It is something that has already happened."

And with that, the principal picked up the two-and-a-half-page story and began to read an excerpt. Each word clearly made James feel worse and worse about himself. He curled up tighter, acutely ashamed of every sentence that revealed his personal thoughts and the events that had happened so long ago. Miss Spider and Mr. Centipede stared in disbelief at the principal, unable to comprehend that their dear James had not only written those words but had lived through such horrors.

Mr. Grasshopper's expression remained neutral. He had read so many of James' stories, lived through so many of James' memories that had been poured from his very soul. And if the green insect was honest, the story currently being read was one of the tamer stories. It was violent, but it was only a beating. There were some stories that communicated pain and scars from knives, heated fire pokers, and even ones where his aunts held him down and burned him with lit cigarettes.

The grasshopper focused on James, not the words. He held James' hand, trying to tell the boy that everything would be alright. The principal stopped reading at a particularly harsh spot, shivered, then handed the papers to Miss Spider. "Everybody knows his aunts were cruel, but I doubt that anybody would imagine such brutality as that. I know we can't change what happened to him, and believe me when I say that I'm sorry it did happen. But you must see that it is completely unacceptable that he have these here. He should keep these sorts of stories at home, not in school. The other students don't need to be exposed to this."

"It is completely understandable," Miss Spider said with a nod, though her face was paler than usual. "We shall be sure to talk to James."

The bugs stood up to shake the man's hand just as the secretary came in, leaving the door wide open. Mr. Grasshopper saw his opportunity. He stood up, grabbed James, and yanked him out of the room and down the hall. By the time that Miss Spider and Mr. Centipede had turned to speak to them, they were out of the school.

James and Mr. Grasshopper walked the streets, saying nothing. The insect knew that James needed to process what had happened. So, they walked down to the grocery store, and the insect bought two perfectly ripe peaches. The boy took one with a nod, but no smile. It had become their tradition to eat peaches when James got home from school. Mr. Grasshopper used the peach as an opportunity to let the poor child think, to give him an excuse to not speak.

Their walk was longer than usual, and they circled around the block twice before heading back to the house. Without a word, James passed by the green insect and went straight to his room, throwing his peach pit away as he walked by the trashcan. Mr. Grasshopper let him be. What had happened today was just as traumatizing as what had happened with James' aunts, and he knew that the boy needed to be alone for a while.

The grasshopper washed his hands thoroughly then began to prepare dinner. He heard James' bedroom door open after about ten minutes, and then the shower came on. As he worked on cutting even slices of tomato for the salads, the Glowworm came in. She looked through her spectacles, squinting at him

"What's going on, dearie?" she asked, her voice, as usual, much too loud.

"Making dinner!" Mr. Grasshopper shouted back; yes, she really was that deaf.

"Where's James? Miss Spider said he was in trouble! I hope he's alright!"

"He's in the shower! He had a rough day!"

The Glowworm nodded then sat down at the table. Everything was peaceful for a few minutes. Then Miss Spider and Mr. Centipede came in with Mrs. Ladybug and Mr. Earthworm in tow, and they all looked angry.

"Why did you leave?!" Miss Spider spat, skittering over to stand behind the grasshopper.

"James was clearly uncomfortable, so I took him for a nice walk," Mr. Grasshopper said calmly, keeping his eyes on the knife as it sliced cleanly through a carrot, making neat little circles.

"Ya didn't really look surprised like we did," Mr. Centipede growled. "Want ta explain that?"

Mr. Grasshopper stayed silent until it was obvious that they weren't going to give up without a reply. "I wasn't," he said, his voice quiet and even. "James has shown me his stories before." He paused then added, "I am surprised that he got caught at school with one. He's usually so careful with those."

"And you didn't think to tell us?" Mr. Earthworm demanded, his glasses looking as angry as his voice sounded.

"He asked me not to," Mr. Grasshopper replied. "He gave me no reason to break his trust. I hope that you all appreciate that."

"That's ridiculous! You should have told us!" Miss Spider shouted.

Mr. Grasshopper flinched as all four of the angry bugs tried to talk over each other. He didn't react, focusing on making supper. He paused as he heard a soft noise, glancing behind him. Past the angry bugs was James, his expression pinched. He had a big, thick towel wrapped around himself, and his eyes dashed from insect to arachnid to worm to insect.

"James? Is something wrong?" he asked. The grasshopper's quiet, calm voice cut through the yelling like a knife. Everybody went silent, and they turned to see James.

"James!" Miss Spider exclaimed.

"P-please don't fight. Please," the boy whimpered; he was trembling in fear and distress.

"Jimmy! We weren't…we weren't really fightin'," Mr. Centipede said. "We was just…talkin' loud."

"No, you're not. You're fighting. You're mad at Mr. Grasshopper. Don't be mad at him. Be mad at me. It's all my fault. I didn't tell you. Be mad at me. P-please? He's been nothing but nice to me. Don't be mad at him. Please…" James' face was flushed, and his bottom lip trembled. "I'll tell you everything. I'll show you. J-just don't be mad at him."

The boy dropped the towel, revealing dozens and dozens of discolored masses up and down his body. The bugs were shocked at the brazen display. They had learned that humans were shy about being naked, and that included James. It was a simple fact, and one that they had long accepted, though they didn't really understand it personally. And now, against all reason and propriety, James stood shaking in front of them, as bare as the day he was born.

Mr. Grasshopper couldn't bear to see the tears that rolled down their charge's cheeks. He averted his eyes then turned back to the cutting board. The promise he'd made weeks ago nagged at him, and he swallowed the regurgitation that threatened to come up. The old green insect listened as the two females fussed over James. Mr. Earthworm, who couldn't see the marks on the boy's skin, said nothing as Mr. Centipede tried to explain what was wrong. All of a sudden, the spider and the ladybug fell silent. It was a tense silence, and Mr. Grasshopper couldn't help but turn to see them staring at James' back.

"This isn't from too far back," Mrs. Ladybug said softly, her delicate fingers trailing over the mar that stretched down James' pale flesh. "What happened?"

The grasshopper tensed as James answered. "I…I was pushed down some stairs. There was a metal pipe sticking out, and it caught my back. Mr. Grasshopper sewed me up. It doesn't hurt very much anymore."

"Mr. Grasshopper?" Mrs. Ladybug asked. Fire filled her sweet eyes and she spun to face him. "That's why you took him with you to your concerts, isn't it? You were helping him to hide this from us! From me!"

There was no use denying it, so the old green grasshopper shrugged as he answered. "Yes."

Mr. Centipede puffed up and strode over. Mr. Grasshopper had never seen him so angry before. The cigar was pinched tight in his lips, and he couldn't seem to for words. Rage flashed across his face, and without any warning, the centipede lashed out with his sharp hands and shoved the green insect. Mr. Grasshopper stumbled back and doubled over, hitting the floor. For a moment, he was stunned with pain as he gripped his abdomen. An odd, musky smell filled the kitchen, and in a split second, he realized what had happened.

James had no idea, and he grabbed the towel and wrapped it around his hips as he hurried over. "Mr. Centipede! Don't blame him!" he begged, grabbing one of the middle arms. "I-I didn't want any of you to-to see my…the marks." He ended the sentence in a mutter, his face warm as he clutched the towel to himself.

Mr. Centipede softened immediately, backing up from the insect on the floor. "Aw, Jimmy," he said dismissively. "We don't care about no marks. You're our Jimmy anyways."

James gave an embarrassed smile as the many-legged bug mussed his hair. Then he noticed that Mr. Grasshopper hadn't gotten up. Glancing over, he froze. A sticky, greenish substance stained the old insect's shirt. James paled as everybody looked at him.

"Mr. Grasshopper!" James squeaked.

There was a primal, instinctual fear on the usually kind face. The others were taken aback. They wrinkled their noses as they struggled to put two and two together. James could practically see the memories flash across Mr. Grasshopper's face. He let out a strange, chirping shriek, then sprang across the kitchen and dining room in one terrific bound. The door to his room slammed hard, and they could still hear the high-pitched chirping whines that they had never heard before.

Mr. Grasshopper couldn't think of anything but the past for over two hours. He ignored the voice that told him supper was ready, ignored the gentle or pounding knocks and the voices that implored him to come out, to explain, ignored their promises to help. Not even James could get the him to open the door.

Near midnight, when the grasshopper figured the others were asleep, he quietly left his room to get some medical supplies. The insect had no idea what he would do with them, or even if they would work if he figured it out. His lower arms were clutching the open wound beneath his shirt as his upper hands ran through the cabinet, but he couldn't think straight. He didn't know what he needed, he didn't know what to do.

When a hand gently tapped his lower arm, Mr. Grasshopper jumped so high that he missed the ceiling by millimeters. He landed then spun around, automatically flinching back as he expected a strike. Behind him, with a guilty expression on his face, stood Mr. Centipede. The old green grasshopper felt sick from fear. He had barely turned to the sink before his defensive mechanism kicked in. When his stomach was empty, he shivered and pressed his forehead to the cool porcelain, wishing for the centipede to leave him alone.

Mr. Centipede placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I-I didn't mean ta hurt ya," he said in a low, soothing tone.

"I…I'm fine." Mr. Grasshopper flinched at the high, frightened voice that came out of his mouth.

"No, ya ain't. Here, lemme help ya."

The many-legged bug supported the grasshopper to the couch, where the insect shivered and shook. Mr. Centipede sat down beside him, looking out the window. Mr. Grasshopper was just beginning to calm down when the younger bug spoke.

"Jimmy said that you have your own scars, but don't be mad at him. We practically tore it out of him."

"Yes…well…" Mr. Grasshopper muttered, feeling hot and cold at the same time.

Mr. Centipede rubbed the back of his neck. "I, er, I saved some dinner for ya. It's in the oven."

"Oh…Thank you. That's very kind of you."

There was a long pause, and both males were distinctly uncomfortable.

The centipede hesitated then said, "Can…can I see 'em? I don't really know how it's possible, and I'm sorta curious."

The green bug didn't react to the question at all. Mr. Centipede looked away and was just about to give up when the grasshopper slowly removed his shirt, his eyes across the room. The thin, leathery patches stood out from the hard exoskeleton. But the bug's eyes were drawn to one with a sizeable hole in it. The centipede frowned, his clawed hand hovering over the wound.

"Jimmy said they were covered."

"You punctured it," Mr. Grasshopper said dully, his voice far away.

"Oh. I-I'm sorry."

After a few minutes of silence, Mr. Centipede stood and retrieved the dinner he'd saved for the old grasshopper. The green insect took it, but he only stared at it. Mr. Centipede sat down again. They sat there for a brief eternity, then the centipede sat up straight and turned to look at Mr. Grasshopper.

"Ya know, ya shouldn't be embarrassed about them. And ya shouldn't've hidden them from us. We don't care if ya've got scars. It don't change anythin'. Yer still our friend."

"I just don't want to remember," Mr. Grasshopper sighed, playing with his food. "And telling you would make me remember. My-my parents were terrible. Like I told James, they killed all of my siblings. I am the only one left."

Mr. Centipede nodded, leaning back. "My parents yelled at me a lot. They neva hit me, but they yelled." The bug's voice deepened, and he spoke with an English accent. "'You need to settle down with a nice female and stop playing around with them! And stop talking like that! You sound like a bloody American."

"Why do you talk like that?" Mr. Grasshopper asked, picking up his fork. "I'm assuming from your comment that you were raised in England."

"Eh, where I grew up, there was a boy who liked to play with me. He had a Brooklyn accent and I liked it, so I imitated it as well I could. Poor kid got sick with the flu and didn't recover. He was about James' age."

Mr. Grasshopper took a bite, studying the centipede. "How did you come to the hill?"

"Huh? Oh, I was explorin' and got stuck under the house when his aunts came out." He paused, his face warming. "Don't tell no one, but I'm sorta, you know…afraid of the dark. I couldn't see very well at night anyways, so there was no way to get out. What about you?"

"I just had to get away from home. All the bugs around the area knew about what happened. They pitied me because of the abuse I took. So, I ran away and settled in a spot that felt as desolate as I did."

"Ah."

There was a lull in the conversation as Mr. Grasshopper ate his dinner. When he was finished it took him two tries to stand on his shaky legs. Mr. Centipede wisely said nothing as he helped his friend into the kitchen. Uncomfortable with the silence, the grasshopper cleaned his dishes then put them away. Before the awkward feeling could return, Mr. Centipede caught one of his arms and looked deadly serious.

"I meant what I said about ya not needin' ta feel bad about them. We won't make fun of ya. We're here for ya. Even…even me, if ya can believe that."

Mr. Grasshopper stared at him, and it took him a few moments to realize that the centipede was telling the truth. He nodded and gave a tired smile. "Thank you, Mr. Centipede. Even if we don't always get along, I'm glad to know you."

"Right back at ya." The many-legged bug helped the green insect into bed. He stood there for a moment then waved and said, "Night."

"Good night."

Mr. Grasshopper lay back, staring at the ceiling as he thought. There was no denying that he was distinctly uncomfortable. After all, there was a hole in his exoskeleton. But he felt strangely peaceful. A smile spread over his face as he thought about what Mr. Centipede had said. His friends really didn't care that he had scars. But they did care about him. They cared so much, and they wanted to help. Maybe he should let them.

As he fell asleep, he made up his mind to go to Mrs. Ladybug the next day. He wanted her to look at the hole. She might be able to help him. Maybe she could even speed up the healing. Even if she couldn't, it would still be a good idea to come clean with her. And the others. And maybe one day, both he and James would be able to talk openly about what they had gone through with them.