“Did you get a lot done during your free time?” she asked Weed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Weed wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I wish everybody liked the computer as much as you do.” She started writing again. “You have a favorite software so far?”

“Quark XPress and Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop.”

“Well, you have a real knack for it,” she said as he chose his place at one of the tables and tucked his knapsack under his chair.

“It’s no big deal,” Weed mumbled.

“Have you written your story of the power behind your fish?” Mrs. Grannis asked as she continued writing this week’s project on the white board in long, looping letters.

“Yea, ma’am,” Weed sullenly answered, opening his notebook.

“I can’t wait to hear it,” she continued to encourage him. “You’re the only person in the class to pick a fish.”

“I know,” he said.

The assignment for the past two weeks had been to make a papier-mâché figure that was symbolic to the student. Most picked a symbol from mythology or folklore, such as a dragon or tiger or raven or snake. But Weed had constructed a cruel blue fish. Its gaping mouth bared rows of bloody teeth, and Weed had fashioned glittery eyes from small compact mirrors that flashed at anyone walking past.

“I’m sure all of the students can’t wait to hear about your fish,” Mrs. Grannis went on as she wrote.

“We doing watercolor next?” Weed asked with interest as he made out what she was writing.

“Yes. A still-life composition that includes reflective objects, texture.” She wrote with flourish. “And a 2-D object that gives the illusion of a 3-D object.”

“My fish is three-dimensional,” Weed said, “because it takes up real space.”

“That’s right. And what are the words we use?”

“Over, under, through, behind and around,” he recited.

Weed could remember words in art, and they didn’t have to be in bold.

“Freestanding, or surrounded by negative areas,” he added.

Mrs. Grannis put down her Magic Marker. “And how do you think you’d make your fish three-dimensional if it was actually two-dimensional?”

“Light and shadow,” he said easily.

“Chiaroscuro.”

“Except I can never pronunciate it,” Weed told her. “It’s what you do to make a drawing of a wineglass look three-dimensional instead of flat. Same for a lightbulb or an ice chicle or even clouds in the air.”

Weed looked around at boxes of pastels and the 140-weight Grumbacher paper he only got to use on final sketches. There were shelves of Elmer’s glue and colored pencils and carts of the Crayola tempera paints he had used on his fish. On a counter in the back of the room the computer terminals for graphics reminded him of the secret thing he had done.

By now, students were wandering into the room and scooting out chairs. They greeted Weed in their typically affectionate, smack-him-around fashion.

“Hey, Weed Garden, what’s going on?”

“How come you’re always in here before we are? Doing your homework early?”