said. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm not," Rosie replied with a shrug. "Well, maybe just a little, but not much."
"Really?" I couldn't believe my ears. "Why not?"
"I don't know. The part was sort of dumb, and it would have meant going to the theater every night, and weekends. And when would I have had time to draw?" She looked up and gave me this humongous grin.
"Now you're talking!" I said.
"Claudia, can we do fun stuff when we get home? I hardly have any homework, and it's your last day."
"Sure," I said.
I thought of a perfect project, but I wouldn't tell Rosie the details right away. Instead, I made her do some errands with me. First we raided the Wilders' basement for old magazines and brought them up to the kitchen. Then we cut out cartoon figures, and pictures of people and animals. They had to be upright, not lying down or on all fours. They also had
to be approximately the same size, and the more unusual-looking the better.
When we had found about twenty pictures, Rosie said, "Okay, now what?"
"Now we need glue," I answered.
Rosie ran and got some. "Claudia, tell me what we're doing!"
"Now we have to cut each of these figures into three pieces — the head, the body, and the legs. Okay?"
Rosie's eyes lit up. "And then mix and match them, right?"
"Right!"
We got to work. I made a creature with the feet of a penguin, the belly of a grizzly bear, and the head of Fred Flintstone.
Rosie's first try was the head of a horse, the body of a man in a suit, and the legs of a baby from a diaper ad.
When we got tired of the cutouts we began drawing our own strange creatures. Soon we were howling with laughter.
Then we played hangman for awhile. We used a dictionary and found the biggest words possible. That way we could draw the most complicated hangmen you ever saw — toes, fingers, warts, glasses, backpacks, you name it. They were masterpieces!
It was a great afternoon.
Around six-thirty the weather cleared, and
an amazing sunset was beginning. "Let's take a walk/' I suggested.
We strolled along Elm Street, breathing the cool air deeply. When we turned up Locust Avenue, Rosie said, "You know, Claudia, I finally did it."
"Did what?" I asked.
"Had the talk with my parents."
"Really?" I hadn't wanted to ask, because I didn't feel like pushing her. But boy, was I relieved. "Well,, what happened?"
"First I told them I liked some of my activities," answered Rosie, "but not all of them. Also, I told them I was doing too many things. 'And you know,' I said, 'when you do too much, you start to hate everything.' "
"That's fantastic, Rosie. It must have been hard to tell them that! What did they say?"
"I was so-o-o surprised. They didn't even yell at me. They kind of nodded. Then my mom asked what I wanted to do, and I told her I just needed more free time. I wanted to concentrate on the things I like."
"And they agreed?"
"Well, they didn't seem too unhappy. Dad asked what things I wanted to do. And I had thought about it the whole week long, so I knew what to say. I told him I wanted to do one school thing, one performance thing, and one creative thing. And so I picked out my
favorites — math club, violin, and art classes."
"Art classes?" I said. "But you've never taken any."
"I know," Rosie replied. "I want to start."
"Will your parents let you?"
"I'm still not sure. They said they'd talk things over with Ms. Yu. But I overheard my dad mention to my mom that there was this great art-supply store near where he works."
"That's a good sign," I said.
"Yeah. And if they say yes, I know the perfect art teacher." Rosie looked up at me with a hopeful grin.
"You mean — but I never — "I wasn't expecting her to say that, but it sounded like a fun idea. "Well, okay, it's a deal!"
"Yea!" Rosie exclaimed. "Thanks, teach."
"Oh, by the way," I said. "I forgot to tell you. I sold a third painting — Milk Duds, Spilled."
"Yeah? Who bought it?"
"Janine."
"Janine?" Rosie repeated. "That's nice. I always liked
"I'm not," Rosie replied with a shrug. "Well, maybe just a little, but not much."
"Really?" I couldn't believe my ears. "Why not?"
"I don't know. The part was sort of dumb, and it would have meant going to the theater every night, and weekends. And when would I have had time to draw?" She looked up and gave me this humongous grin.
"Now you're talking!" I said.
"Claudia, can we do fun stuff when we get home? I hardly have any homework, and it's your last day."
"Sure," I said.
I thought of a perfect project, but I wouldn't tell Rosie the details right away. Instead, I made her do some errands with me. First we raided the Wilders' basement for old magazines and brought them up to the kitchen. Then we cut out cartoon figures, and pictures of people and animals. They had to be upright, not lying down or on all fours. They also had
to be approximately the same size, and the more unusual-looking the better.
When we had found about twenty pictures, Rosie said, "Okay, now what?"
"Now we need glue," I answered.
Rosie ran and got some. "Claudia, tell me what we're doing!"
"Now we have to cut each of these figures into three pieces — the head, the body, and the legs. Okay?"
Rosie's eyes lit up. "And then mix and match them, right?"
"Right!"
We got to work. I made a creature with the feet of a penguin, the belly of a grizzly bear, and the head of Fred Flintstone.
Rosie's first try was the head of a horse, the body of a man in a suit, and the legs of a baby from a diaper ad.
When we got tired of the cutouts we began drawing our own strange creatures. Soon we were howling with laughter.
Then we played hangman for awhile. We used a dictionary and found the biggest words possible. That way we could draw the most complicated hangmen you ever saw — toes, fingers, warts, glasses, backpacks, you name it. They were masterpieces!
It was a great afternoon.
Around six-thirty the weather cleared, and
an amazing sunset was beginning. "Let's take a walk/' I suggested.
We strolled along Elm Street, breathing the cool air deeply. When we turned up Locust Avenue, Rosie said, "You know, Claudia, I finally did it."
"Did what?" I asked.
"Had the talk with my parents."
"Really?" I hadn't wanted to ask, because I didn't feel like pushing her. But boy, was I relieved. "Well,, what happened?"
"First I told them I liked some of my activities," answered Rosie, "but not all of them. Also, I told them I was doing too many things. 'And you know,' I said, 'when you do too much, you start to hate everything.' "
"That's fantastic, Rosie. It must have been hard to tell them that! What did they say?"
"I was so-o-o surprised. They didn't even yell at me. They kind of nodded. Then my mom asked what I wanted to do, and I told her I just needed more free time. I wanted to concentrate on the things I like."
"And they agreed?"
"Well, they didn't seem too unhappy. Dad asked what things I wanted to do. And I had thought about it the whole week long, so I knew what to say. I told him I wanted to do one school thing, one performance thing, and one creative thing. And so I picked out my
favorites — math club, violin, and art classes."
"Art classes?" I said. "But you've never taken any."
"I know," Rosie replied. "I want to start."
"Will your parents let you?"
"I'm still not sure. They said they'd talk things over with Ms. Yu. But I overheard my dad mention to my mom that there was this great art-supply store near where he works."
"That's a good sign," I said.
"Yeah. And if they say yes, I know the perfect art teacher." Rosie looked up at me with a hopeful grin.
"You mean — but I never — "I wasn't expecting her to say that, but it sounded like a fun idea. "Well, okay, it's a deal!"
"Yea!" Rosie exclaimed. "Thanks, teach."
"Oh, by the way," I said. "I forgot to tell you. I sold a third painting — Milk Duds, Spilled."
"Yeah? Who bought it?"
"Janine."
"Janine?" Rosie repeated. "That's nice. I always liked
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