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  “I could read you a bedtime story,” she said.

  “I’ll read to myself,” I said.

  I got a book

  the first book I saw

  and climbed with it into my bed.

  It was a very big book.

  I opened it

  and started to read.

  That very big book had very long words

  that I didn’t understand.

  But I kept pretending to read.

  “Well, then,” Natalie said.

  “Good night.”

  She dimmed the lights

  and closed the door

  and went off down the hall.

  I waited a minute.

  Then I dropped the book on the floor

  and put my face in my pillow.

  I closed my eyes

  and decided

  to move

  to Florida.

  The next morning

  Natalie pretended

  that last night wasn’t bad.

  She came in

  and slipped off her shoes

  and put down her bag

  and smiled at me

  like she always did.

  And then she said,

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” I said back.

  I hoped she really wasn’t mad.

  About that drawer.

  And the bath.

  I couldn’t tell if she was.

  And I didn’t want to ask.

  Then I had an idea.

  “I’ll brush your hair for you,” I said.

  Sometimes I brush my mom’s hair.

  And my best friend Pearl’s hair, too.

  They like it.

  “Okay,” Natalie said.

  I ran to my room

  and got my brush.

  Which is blue.

  My favorite color.

  I brought it back to Natalie,

  who sat on a chair

  and took out her ponytail

  and let her hair touch her shoulders.

  “Don’t worry,” I said.

  “I’ll brush very gently.”

  Then I brushed her hair very gently.

  The way my dad brushes mine sometimes

  before he goes to work.

  When I had brushed it all, I said,

  “What’s your favorite color?”

  And she said,

  “Green.”

  So I ran back to my room

  and got all of the green barrettes I could find.

  All three.

  Then I made little braids in her hair

  and clipped green barrettes at the bottom.

  One braid behind each ear

  and one down the middle in the back.

  “You look beautiful,” I said.

  She did.

  She looked beautiful.

  I let her keep those green barrettes.

  And she wore them

  on those braids

  one behind each ear

  and one down the middle in the back

  the whole rest of the day.

  When the phone rang that night,

  I figured it was probably a work call

  for my mom.

  But she brought me the phone.

  “It’s for you,” she said.

  I held the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Eleanor! It’s Pearl!” my best friend shouted.

  “Pearl!” I shouted back.

  “Are you home yet?”

  “I wish, wish, wish I was,” she said.

  “But I’m still in Oregon.

  It rains here all the time.”

  Then she said,

  “My face is raining, too.

  With tears.

  Because I’m missing you.”

  Pearl talks in poems sometimes.

  She’s going to be a famous poet someday.

  I just know it.

  “When will you be back?” I asked.

  “Wednesday,” she said.

  “In the late afternoon.

  Mark your calendar!”

  “I will,” I said. “As soon as I hang up.”

  “And school starts on Thursday!” Pearl said.

  “Will you pick me up on the way?”

  “Of course we’ll pick you up,” I said.

  Just then

  I remembered

  that Pearl didn’t know.

  About Bibi.

  I almost didn’t say anything.

  Because it felt very hard to say anything.

  But I took a deep breath

  and I said,

  “Bibi moved away.”

  “She did?” Pearl said.

  “Yes,” I said. “She did.”

  “Why?” Pearl said.

  I told her why.

  “You must feel terrible,” Pearl said.

  “Your heart must feel like a mirror that fell

  and shattered in a million pieces.”

  I thought about that.

  “That’s exactly right,” I said.

  “Don’t worry,” she said.

  “I’ll be home soon.

  I’ll cheer you up.”

  I heard Pearl’s mom say something in the background.

  “I have to go,” Pearl said.

  “Wait!” I said.

  Because I’d just remembered

  that I needed to ask her something.

  “Is my handwriting messy?” I asked.

  “What?” Pearl said.

  “Is my handwriting messy?” I asked again.

  “I don’t think so,” Pearl said.

  “I like your handwriting.”

  Then we hung up.

  And right away I went to mark the calendar.

  That’s when I realized

  that it wasn’t August anymore.

  It was September.

  My dad had some time off from work the next day.

  So we sat outside together

  and waited for Val.

  While we waited

  I asked him,

  “If you had to write about a famous person,

  who would you write about?”

  “What a great question,” he said.

  “Let me think.”

  He did some thinking.

  Then he said,

  “I might write about Amelia Bloomer.”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “She’s famous for wearing pants,” he said.

  “Long ago, when women only wore long, heavy skirts

  that were hard to move around in,

  Amelia Bloomer thought

  they should get to wear pants, too.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  I was worried.

  I knew nothing at all about famous people.

  Then I wondered

  if the Bloomer lady’s pants

  were ever too big.

  And then I saw Val,

  waving at us.

  We hurried to her.

  “This is my dad,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Val said.

  Then she said,

  “One moment, please.”

  And from the top of her bag,

  she pulled out a letter.

  “For Miss Eleanor Abigail Kane,” she said.

  “But don’t get too excited.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  I took the envelope

  and looked at it

  and saw

  why not.

  It wasn’t from Bibi.

  It was from my school.

  I opened that thick envelope

  and pulled out a long letter.

  And while Val delivered the rest of her mail,

  I read that long letter with my dad.

  It said:

  Dear Third Graders,

  My name is Mr. Campanelli.

  I am your new teacher.

  I hope you are having a wonderful summer.

  I am gett
ing ready for the start of third grade.

  Here are four things I am doing to get ready.

  First, I am setting up our classroom.

  I want everything to be ready when you get here.

  Second, I am going to get a haircut.

  Because when my hair gets too long

  it gets a little crazy.

  Third, I have picked out the shirt I will wear

  on our first day.

  It is a green-and-blue checked shirt.

  It is my favorite shirt.

  I wear it on special occasions.

  And the first day of school is a very special occasion.

  I have enclosed a picture of me in my favorite shirt

  so you can know what I’ll look like

  on the first day of school.

  Except my hair will be a little less crazy.

  Fourth, I am reading a little every day.

  Because reading is a very important part of third grade.

  And it is good to get in the habit of reading every day.

  I recommend that you start reading a little every day, too,

  to help you get ready for third grade.

  And, if you want,

  you could send me a picture of you.

  You could draw it

  or take it with a camera.

  Whatever you like.

  I have included an empty envelope addressed to me.

  Just put the picture in and mail it off.

  Don’t worry about whether the picture will arrive

  before school starts.

  I will enjoy getting it

  whenever it comes.

  I look forward to receiving your pictures

  and seeing all of you in person

  and having a terrific school year.

  I like to draw.

  So I decided to draw

  a picture for Mr. Campanelli.

  Before I started drawing,

  my dad asked,

  “Do you know what you’ll wear

  on the first day of school?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  I went to my closet

  and showed him my white sundress.

  It was plain white on top,

  with two big orange flowers near the bottom.

  “Grandma Sadie gave it to me, remember?” I said.

  “That rings a bell,” he said.

  “All my best clothes are from Grandma Sadie,” I said.

  “Your grandma has excellent taste,” my dad said.

  “And you will look wonderful

  on your first day of school.”

  After that I drew a picture

  of me in my sundress.

  And then

  in my very neatest handwriting

  I wrote Mr. Campanelli a note.

  I wrote:

  When my mom came home

  I showed her Mr. Campanelli’s letter

  and my drawing

  and my note.

  I had a lot to tell her.

  “I have to read every day,” I said.

  “Good,” my mom said.

  “There’s nothing better than reading.”

  “And I have to call Pearl in Oregon,” I said,

  “and read Mr. Campanelli’s letter to her.

  Because she won’t have gotten it.”

  “No problem,” my mom said.

  “And I have to get a haircut,” I said.

  “I just learned that,” my mom said. “From your note.”

  “It has to be a morning haircut,” I said.

  “So I’m back home before the mail comes.”

  “I see,” my mom said.

  “It has to be with Lance,” I said.

  (I like to get my hair cut by Lance.)

  “Of course,” my mom said.

  “And I have to get it cut just like that,” I said,

  pointing to my picture.

  “Goodness,” my mom said, squinting at the picture.

  Then she said,

  “I will make the perfect appointment.

  I promise.”

  And she did.

  She made the perfect appointment.

  Then she wrote the date and time for me

  on a big piece of paper

  and we taped it to my bedroom door.

  So we would see it all the time.

  And we wouldn’t forget.

  The next time Natalie came

  she said,

  “I brought surprises.”

  Then she opened her bag

  and pulled out a photo album

  and a camera.

  That photo album was filled

  with pictures of flowers.

  Giant orange flowers

  and little white flowers.

  Even bright blue flowers

  like the ones I’ve seen in pictures

  of my mom’s wedding bouquet.

  Natalie knew the names

  of every single one of those flowers.

  “I took most of these pictures upstate,” she said.

  “I need more pictures from Brooklyn.

  Would you like to go on a walk with me

  and take pictures of Brooklyn flowers?”

  “I would,” I said.

  So we went on a walk

  and took pictures of Brooklyn flowers.

  I’d never noticed before

  how many there are

  in little gardens

  in front of buildings

  just off the sidewalks.

  Natalie showed me how to hold the camera steady

  and where to put my fingers

  and when to turn on the flash

  and when to turn it off.

  After many, many pictures

  she said,

  “It’s time to head back.”

  So we did.

  And right away

  we passed Roma Pizza.

  Bibi loved Roma Pizza.

  I started to think about the walks Bibi and I

  used to take

  and how she would hold my hand

  and say,

  “This is the best hand.

  I love this hand.”

  My hand missed Bibi.

  I took a deep breath

  and said to Natalie,

  “I miss Bibi.”

  Natalie stopped walking

  and looked at me.

  “Of course you do,” she said.

  “Of course you miss Bibi.

  How long was she your babysitter?”

  “My whole life,” I said.

  “And she was your first babysitter,” Natalie said.

  “First babysitters are very special.”

  We started walking again.

  Then Natalie said,

  “I know I’m not Bibi.

  And I’ll never be your first babysitter.

  But I’ll try to be an excellent

  second babysitter.

  Does that sound okay?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  And it sounded better than okay.

  It sounded good.

  When the telephone rang

  on Wednesday

  in the late afternoon

  I knew it was for me.

  “Pearl!” I said.

  And she said,

  “I called you the second we got in.”

  Then I heard her mom’s voice in the background again.

  “I can’t really talk,” Pearl said.

  “I have to unpack and eat and take a bath.”

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” I said.

  “At 8:15 sharp.

  Right in front of your building.”

  “Hurray, hurray, hurray!” Pearl said.

  Then we hung up.

  Later

  I ate, too,

  just like Pearl,

  and took a bath

  and washed my hair,

  which Lance had cut just right,

  and put on my favorite pajamas.

  The
n I went to my closet

  and took out my white sundress

  with the orange flowers on the bottom.

  I hung it on my doorknob

  so I would find it right away in the morning.

  And it wouldn’t slow me down.

  That night both of my parents tucked me in.

  “Such a big day tomorrow,” my dad said.

  “Are you nervous?” my mom said.

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  But after they dimmed the lights

  and left the room

  I started worrying.

  I worried that I’d be late for Pearl

  and late for school

  even though I’d put out my dress.

  I worried that Mr. Campanelli wouldn’t like me.

  I worried that I wouldn’t get to sit near Pearl.

  I worried that my other friends had forgotten me.

  I worried that I’d forgotten all my math.

  I worried about tests and reports and homework.

  I worried about my handwriting.

  I worried and worried and worried

  until finally I tiptoed through the dark

  into my parents’ room

  and over to their bed,

  where they were sleeping.

  I tapped my mom on the shoulder.

  “I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

  “Mmmmhhhh,” she said.

  I thought I would have to tap her again.

  But then she opened her eyes a little

  and scooted over

  and lifted up the blanket

  for me to crawl in.

  She put her arm over me

  and I slept right there

  right next to my mom

  the whole rest of the night.

  We were right on time for Pearl

  and right on time for school.

  Mr. Campanelli was at the door of the classroom,

  waiting for us, smiling,

  with his green-and-blue checked shirt

  and his shorter hair

  that was not so crazy.

  And all my friends were back.

  Nora had made necklaces for me and Pearl.

  Katie ran up and hugged me.

  Adam gave me some gum.

  “Let’s start the day with some drawing,”

  Mr. Campanelli said.

  So I sat at a table with Pearl

  and Katie and Nora.

  And we did some drawing.

  Then Mr. Campanelli read us poems

  and asked us to write poems of our own.

  “Please start your poem

  with the words, ‘Love Is,’”

  he said.

  “Think about how you know you love someone