I kept going like that until I got to the picture of the two friends in their magical forest kingdom. It was really more like a box big enough for them both to fit into, but it still looked kind of cool.

I heard Bertie close her book and sigh a long sigh. Then she scrambled up and went to the bookshelf. She put her book back and pulled out a new one that was thick as a brick.

“Bertie?” Ms. G. whispered. She motioned for her to come over.

From under her desk, Ms. G. pulled out a plastic box. It was the kind to keep papers and folders in, all lined up. When you’re done, you close the cover, pick up the handle, and bring it someplace else. My mom has one of those. It’s where she keeps the stuff for her new job and our new apartment and my new school.

Bertie reached inside. She pulled out a magenta pencil, held it to her nose, and sniffed. Then she came back to her pillow and showed it me.

“Vocabulary prize,” she whispered. “Cherry Smencil.”

I told you Bertie had a ton of points.

“I actually hit twenty points yesterday,” she whispered, “but Ms. G. had to restock the prize box. Now she’s got key chains, mini-notebooks, smelly pencils, eraser animals….” Bertie counted out the possibilities on her fingers.

I looked at my page and breathed in the cherry smell. It smelled like the sno-cones at the fair.

“Last time,” Bertie whispered, “I got this penguin eraser you can take apart and put together like a puzzle. It has six pieces—head, beak, body, wing, wing, feet. I can show you sometime. You want to come over after school?”

I looked up. Maybe I looked incredulous.

“I didn’t mean today,” Bertie whispered. “Or maybe I did. I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. “But not today.”

I looked at the picture in Ms. G.’s book. I turned the page. I said My name is Austin a couple of times. I tried to leave the idea alone.

Maybe I could ask my mom. Maybe she wouldn’t be too busy that day and she would say “Sure thing,” and I could get on the school bus with Bertie when the whistle blew at recess.

And the vest kid would say “Not walking today?” And I’d say “No, not today. Going to a friend’s house.” And he’d say “Take it easy.” And I’d say “Yeah. Take it easy.”

And my mom would pick me up when it was almost time for dinner, and she’d ask “How did it go?” And I’d say “Good. Really good.” And I would mean it because it would be true.

Most of the time when you ask my mom a question, she hears it in a normal-mom kind of way. She thinks about it for a second and says “Sure thing” or “No problem.”