Notes From a Liar and Her Dog by Gennifer Choldenko

Author:Gennifer Choldenko [Choldenko, Gennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Juvenile Fiction, Family, Multigenerational, Fiction, General
ISBN: 9781101651124
Google: g1OfAgAAQBAJ
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2003-06-23T04:00:00+00:00

14

HUMBLE PIE

The card is too tall to fit into Harrison’s locker, so Harrison bends it over a little, without making a crease, and slides it in that way. The pie we made is French apple and it fits fine on the shelf once Harrison moves his history book. The pie smells great. It has made his whole locker smell like cinnamon and brown sugar. I am unhappy that we have to give the whole thing away, but Harrison says not to be a baby about it. “This is serious, Ant. Kigali might not get fed without me.”

I feel like telling him this is ridiculous and he knows it. But the giraffe Harrison drew is so beautiful, it looks like if you touch it, you’ll feel giraffe hair instead of paper. One look at that drawing and anyone can tell how much Harrison loves Kigali already. Harrison can fall in love faster than anyone I know.

After lunch we find Just Carol searching for marker tops in the supply closet next to the office. She is so busy, she doesn’t see us. Harrison and I stand there looking at each other, until she notices us.

“Well, hello,” Just Carol says as her thumb clicks a red top on a red marker.

We stand awkwardly with the pie and the card. Harrison nudges me with his elbow.

“We have something to give you,” I say. I hand her the pie. Harrison turns the card so she can see it.

Just Carol sets the pie down on a stack of green paper and stares at the card. She sucks air in, the way people do when they think you’re about to do something dangerous.

“Oh, Harrison, it’s beautiful! Absolutely exquisite. Did you do this all from your head?”

Harrison nods.

“You are amazing!” Just Carol shakes her head. “What a delicate hand. Unbelievable! It looks just like Kigali, too. Though you did take a couple of years off her, which was kind of you. When I’m old, I’m gonna get you to do my portrait.” Just Carol rumples Harrison’s already-rumpled hair. “I hope you’re going to let me display this. Please say you will,” Just Carol asks. She is all bubbly, her green eyes clear and full.

Normally, Harrison hates having his work tacked to a bulletin board or put in a glass case. I don’t know why. He likes when people say nice things about his work, but it embarrasses him, too. He’s funny that way. But now he is nodding, although his face is bright red, the color of the marker in Just Carol’s hand. When I see this, I remember how once I saw him write Mrs. Carol Emerson under a picture he drew of Just Carol.

“Could we go back to the zoo with you? Ant’s sorry. Aren’t you, Ant? She helped with the card, too. Read what she wrote,” Harrison mumbles. I can hardly understand him. The end-of-lunch bell rings loud in my ear.

“Yes,” I say, “I am sorry.” This sounds fake, as if I’m reading a line in a book.

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