Hope Girl by Wendy Dunham

cover my skin when I’m in the sun.”
    â€œOh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
    â€œDon’t worry,” he says. “I’m used to it.” We walk around a little more when he says, “You know, River, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But is your friend Billy the William I read about in the paper? The one who died here?”
    I nod. “That was Billy.”
    When Carlos looks at me, his eyes seem to say he understands. “I’m real sorry. It’s hard losing someone you care about.”
    I smile at him, then lead the way to a row of birch trees at the edge of the field. I point to a bluebird house nailed to one of them. “We even made bluebird houses.”
    â€œThey’re like the ones I made in scouts. Yours came out great.” All of a sudden Carlos points to the trunk of that tree. “Look! A red-spotted purple!”
    â€œA red-spotted purple what?”
    Carlos laughs. “Sorry! A red-spotted purple butterfly. They’re typically called red-spotted purples for short. Do you see it?”
    I shake my head.
    â€œLook about three feet below the bluebird house—it’s drinking sap from the tree.”
    â€œNow I see it.” We walk through the tall grass to get closer.
    Carlos says, “That is absolutely my favorite butterfly.”
    â€œI don’t think I’ve seen that kind here before. There’s mostly monarchs. But honestly I don’t see what’s so special about it. It looks sort of plain.”
    â€œThen we need to get closer.” I follow Carlos until we’re close enough to the tree to touch it. “Watch this,” he says, reaching for the butterfly. “Red-spotted purples aren’t afraid of humans.” After it climbs on his finger, he brings his hand close to me. “Here,” he says, “hold your hand out.”
    When I bring my hand to his, the butterfly climbs onto mine. As it opens and closes its wings, I now see why they’re his favorite. “Wow, the top and the underneath of its wings are completely different.”
    â€œYou’re right. And what you saw before was only the underneath—the brownish black with orange spots. It’s nice, but like you said, sort of plain. But when you see the colors on the top of its wings, that iridescent blue can easily take your breath away.”
    I lift my hand to my eyes to look even closer, when the red-spotted purple climbs off my finger and onto my nose. Carlos and I laugh so hard that it flies off my nose and back to the tree.
    â€œEven though the red-spotted purple is incredibly beautiful,” he says, “that’s not why I’m crazy about it.” Then he doesn’t say anything else.
    I put my hands on my hips. “Well, are you going to tell me why?”
    Carlos grins. “Sure, if you want to know.” He still doesn’t say anything.
    â€œOh, I get it. You want me to beg? Fine. Please, Carlos, I beg you! Tell me why you’re so in love with the red-spotted purple.”
    He looks at me and smiles. “Hmmm? The red-spotted purple what?”
    I cross my arms. “Very funny. Come on! Tell me!”
    â€œOkay, I’ve tortured you enough. I like them because I often think of myself as a red-spotted purple.”
    â€œAnd I was just beginning to think you were normal.”
    â€œBut,” he continues, “I actually think of myself as a red-spotted purple caterpillar waiting to become a red-spotted purple butterfly. You see,” he explains, “a red-spotted purple caterpillar is ugly and created to look like a bird dropping. It’s so ugly that even its predators won’t eat it. But it doesn’t stay ugly forever. One day that ugly caterpillar undergoes metamorphosis and transforms into a magnificent thing of beauty.”
    I take a deep breath, not sure what to say.
    â€œYou see,” Carlos says, “when I get to heaven, I