A Weewoo Rivalry

     “Yes, boss!” replied the chorus of assembled White Weewoos, with enthusiasm. Satisfied, Athena the Zafara returned to her office and closed the door, leaving the petpets to prepare for delivery.

     Max stood at his locker, tucked away to the side of the mail room. He put on his postal uniform and slung his delivery bag over his head and under his flightless wings. Would today be the day? He envisioned pinning the coveted Team Leader badge on himself, beaming with pride. His vision dissipated, however, when he saw the shiny gold brooch reflecting at him from Henry’s uniform instead of his own.

     “All good, Max? Ready to go?” Henry asked.

     “As ever!” Max replied with a salute, his feigned enthusiasm masking his disappointment.

     Each delivery of the Neopian Times had a Team Leader Weewoo. This was the Weewoo with the best delivery stats, the fastest and most accurate, who oversaw each of the other Weewoos. Theoretically, the Team Leader could change with every delivery, but Henry had held the post consistently for as long as anyone could remember. Some had come close to toppling his stats, but none had ever done it.

     The current delivery leader board loomed over Max from above the lockers, buzzing faintly with a digital hum. As always, Henry’s name sat proudly in first position, especially after his exceptional performance on the most recent delivery. Just below that, in second place, was Max’s own name. Over his time here, Max had steadily climbed the leader board and, for Issue 1048’s delivery, he was tantalisingly close to eclipsing Henry’s speed, with just a few seconds separating them. Max was right on Henry’s tailfeathers, and they both knew it.

     “Do good out there, as always,” Henry said. “Not too good, mind you!” He chuckled and patted his shiny gold badge as he closed his locker and walked away.

     Max watched him go. Henry was good, but Max was ready to take the lead. This delivery, the delivery of Issue 1049, would be his chance.

     A bell rang out loudly throughout the mail room, announcing that the delivery was due to begin. Weewoos lines up a single file to collect their delivery allocations. Henry stood at the front, handing bound stacks of Neopian Times to each petpet, along with their personalised delivery run. One of the perks of being a Team Leader was that you had oversight over who got which run.

     “Good luck with this one, Max,” Henry said with a wink, as he passed him his run.

     Max looked at it in horror. Brightvale, Meridell AND Terror Mountain? Three lands? How was he ever supposed to do this quickly?

     Before he had time to think about it too much, however, the mail room door rolled up, a countdown blared, and Weewoos all around him started to get into position, ready to hop off. It was time.

     ----

     The key to any good delivery was planning, and Max prided himself on his ability to work through his run in a logical manner. Brightvale was the best place to start. The scholars there were normally so keen to read the news that they barely muttered a word of thanks before collecting the edition and disappearing back into their studies. A little rude, perhaps, but it worked for Max, as he rarely got caught in idle chitchat. Rarely, but not never, as there was one customer who…

     Max looked at the next name on his list and groaned.

     Boris the birdwatcher. This Skeith, though well-intentioned and kind, was very difficult to escape a conversation with. He was fascinated by avian petpets, often recording their migration patterns and photographing their aerial feats. As you may imagine, this made delivery Weewoos of particular interest to him, despite being flightless. This was not the time for a chat, and Max had to keep it short.

     Max approached quickly and knocked his wing against the door, short and sharp. After a beat, Boris answered.

     “Ah! My favourite delivery Weewoo! How are you today? Undertake any interesting manoeuvres?”

     “Your edition of the Neopian Times, sir, please enjoy!” Max said dutifully, before turning to leave.

     “Where are you off to next?” said Boris quickly, determined to keep the conversation flowing, much to Max’s private annoyance.

     “Many deliveries to be made today, in Brightvale, Meridell and Terror Mountain.” Max replied, quickly and politely.

     Boris squealed with delight. “Terror Mountain! Wow! I need to get up there! The Gwalla and Wherfy will be leaving their burrows and taking to the skies soon. That would make for some amazing photos, don’t you think?”

     If only Boris would stop ending every sentence with a question.

     “I’m sure it’s very lovely! Have a great day!” Called Max, as he hopped away briskly, before Boris could respond.

     ---

     Max was making good time. Meridell had been predictably easy - few answered their doors, probably to avoid having to tip, so Max just left their newspaper and hopped away.

     Max was down to his final delivery on Terror Mountain. He checked the list. Donny, the toy repairer.

     He hopped through the snow, Donny’s cabin visible in the distance. Nothing could stop him now. He knew his time was good, possibly the best it had ever been.

     Despite Henry’s route selection.

     Despite Boris.

     Despite everything.

     This was his moment. He pulled the last copy of Issue 1049 from his delivery bag and held it in his beak as he approached, ready to dro–

     SPLAT

     Something cold and wet hit Max hard in the face, and he tumbled over onto his side. The copy of the Neopian Times he was holding in his beak went sailing through the snowy sky before being caught by the wind and blown off the side of the mountain into oblivion. Max watched it flutter away as he brushed snowball remnants from his face and tears from his eyes. It was over. He had failed his delivery.

     ---

     Athena looked across the desk at Max, her eyebrow raised, visibly displeased.

     “No delivery for Donny this week. What’s the story?” she asked.

     “I’m not sure, boss, I swear I was right there, and then… I don’t know what happened.” Max replied, crestfallen.

     “Well, as I’m sure you can imagine, this is unacceptable for us. Our customers rely on our deliveries to ensure they are up to date with the latest news of Neopia. I’m terribly sorry, Max, but unless you have a good excuse for this, I may have to stand you down.”

     Max was devastated. This job was everything to him. It showed in his expression.

     Athena looked at him, her gaze softening, “I may be able to swing a probation period instead. You’re a good worker who normally gets the job done perfectly. But… if another incident like this happens… well, then I’ll have no choice, ok?”

     Max left Athena’s office with his head hanging low. Henry was waiting for him at his locker when he arrived, his Team Leader badge flashing gold as if to taunt Max further.

     “I came to help you with your things,” he said. “I hear you’ve got a bit of a weak grip!”

     Max was not in any mood for joking around, and Henry quickly got the hint.

     “Hey, look,” he continued, “what happened was rough, but maybe you just weren’t at the top of your game today. Remember, if you want to beat the best,” he gestured to himself, “then you gotta be the best. And maybe you’re just not there yet?”

     “Gee, thanks for your support,” Max said glumly as he collected his things to go home for the day.

     “I’m not saying you’ll never get there,” Henry said quickly, following Max, “but I mean, for now at least, you’ve still got a long way to go. I know it seemed like you were on a winning streak for a while there, but–”

     Max stopped and turned to face Henry.

     “It was sabotage, Henry. Someone threw that snowball right at my head.”

     Henry scoffed. “Max, the first step to getting better is taking responsibility for your own actions. Instead of looking to blame someone else, maybe think about how you can pay better attention to your surroundings next time,” he said, with more than a hint of smugness.

     Max sighed, turned, and began to walk away again.

     “Anyway, it’s not like you have any proof that what you say happened actually happened!” Henry called after him.

     “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” came a familiar voice.

     Boris the birdwatcher entered the mail room, smiling.

     “Hello, Max. I took your advice. I went up to Terror Mountain today to watch the Gwalla and Wherfy take flight. It was magnificent!” Boris said, beaming at Max.

     “That wasn’t… I didn’t give you any advice, Boris, but I’m glad you had a good time all the same,” Max said.

     “Oh, but you did! You told me to have a great day, and it was amazing. Yes, I had a very good time indeed. Just me and my camera capturing all the comings and goings. And one particularly interesting incident.”

     Boris pulled three photographs from his pocket.

     The first showed Max hopping through the snow.

     The second, a snowball flying, was thrown from a nearby bush.

     And the third, the distinctive flash of a gold badge shining from behind that very same bush, as a certain Weewoo hopped away.

     Henry stood in the centre of the mail room, his mouth open and closing wordlessly in shock.

     “I – I – I …” He started repeatedly.

     Athena, who had been standing at the doorway of her office watching this whole interaction unfold, looked at Henry with one eyebrow raised.

     “My office, Henry,” she said. “Now, please.”

     ---

     Max put on his postal uniform and slung his delivery bag over his head and under his flightless wings. He then took his shiny gold Team Leader badge and pinned it proudly to the front of his uniform. He caught his own reflection in the door of his locker and beamed.

     Athena emerged from her office to address the room of excited Weewoos.

     “Alright, team, this is it, the big one – Issue 1050. Ten thousand copies to be delivered. Can we do it?”

     “Yes, boss!” came the eager response from the group.

     “And Team Leader Max, how about you? Are you ready?” Athena asked, smiling in his direction.

     “As ever!” Max replied with a salute and a wink.

     The End.