After Peaches by Michelle Mulder Page B

a few words of Spanish.
    I took off my shoes at the front door, like Canadians do, and shrugged off my backpack.
    â€œNow let’s get to work on the plan,” said Julie as she led me down the hall.

CHAPTER 2
Build Your Own Adventure
    â€œYou’re going to love it!” Julie sat on her bedroom floor, munching on a cookie and sticking one hand deep into her backpack. I leaned back against one wall, nibbling my cookie. Her room had green walls, a green bedspread and a bumpy beige carpet. In the middle of her spotless black desk sat a computer with a big screen, and all around were shelves with enough books for a small library.
    She pulled a thin colorful library book from her backpack and slid it across the floor toward me. How to Make Your Own Book it said on the cover. I placed my cookie on one leg, brushed the crumbs off my fingers and flipped through the pages. I liked making things myself, and I loved the idea of making books instead of always having to buy them in the store, but I didn’t see how this would make our summers any less lonely. Besides, where would I get the pretty paper and thick thread that we’d need? I hated asking my parents for things they couldn’t afford.
    â€œIsn’t it fantastic?” Julie wanted to know.
    I nodded. “The books are pretty. Will you make one this summer?”
    â€œWe could each make one,” she said. “That’s my plan.”
    She looked like she was waiting for me to stand up and cheer or something, but when I didn’t, Julie let out an impatient sigh. “This summer, we could each write a whole book!” she said. “We can make notes on everything that happens to us while we’re apart, and then in September, we can write a good copy and add photos and drawings and stuff, and then we can make books and give them to each other so we’ll each know exactly what the other person did over the summer.” Her face lit up like a firecracker on a Mexican Christmas Eve.
    I tried to share her excitement, but I was never any good at lying. “I don’t know enough English to write a book,” I said.
    â€œOh, don’t worry about the English,” she said, passing me the plate of cookies. “I can help you make it perfect at the end, if you want.” She wrinkled her forehead, like she was working hard to stay excited. “Don’t you want to make your own book?”
    â€œI do,” I said quickly. She knew how much I loved writing stories and making things with my hands. She knew that I dreamed of growing up and writing books in English and in Spanish, stories like those that filled the library shelves. I knew I wasn’t ready to write a book now though. Even if my English was perfect, what was I going to write about? As soon as I said I did want to write a book, Julie leaped up to pull a new notebook from a stack in her closet. Then she poked around in a desk drawer for a pen, and I was pretty sure she was about to design a plan of action. Julie made plans of action for every project she started, from building a kite to helping her mother make banana bread.
    Instead of opening the notebook, Julie handed the book and pen to me.“You’re going to need these,” she said.“We have to keep notes on all the exciting stuff we do this summer.” I held her gift gingerly on my knees and felt embarrassed heat creeping into my cheeks. I thought of giving the book back and telling Julie I had plenty at home. But of course she’d know I was lying. She knew my parents always bought what I needed for school, but there was no money for extra supplies.
    And I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of this gift. They didn’t believe in charity. Even when the government invited us to come to Canada, paid for our flight and offered to pay all our expenses for a year to help us get settled in our new country, my parents worked as hard as they could to learn English and find jobs so