Then Ms. G. passed out more drawing paper so we could draw pictures of our ideas and think of the illustrating details. Most teachers make you finish the writing before they let you draw the picture for it, like drawing is dessert or something. But Ms. G. didn’t seem worried about having dessert first. She said that whatever we didn’t finish, we could do for homework.

On one half of my paper, I drew me and Bertie in the summer. We were together in a place with a lot of trees. I guess it was supposed to be Colorado. I drew the two of us small and fuzzy and the trees tall, tall, tall and all around us. I wasn’t trying to copy the picture from Ms. G.’s book, even if it did look pretty similar.

On the other half, I drew me and Bertie again. This time, it was the first day of school, and we were wearing our Safety vests. Bertie was helping a little kid who didn’t know which way to go, and I was holding up my hands to stop the sidewalk traffic and keep everybody safe.

Ms. G. rang her little bell. “Surprise, surprise!” she said. “Indoor recess.”

A groan went up from the class. I didn’t know the rules for indoor recess. At some places, you can only do quiet stuff like “Read. Write. Draw.” But other places, the teacher leaves the classroom and somebody else comes in, and it’s basically indoor gym and circus time.

But before I could worry about what to do, Bertie was at my desk.

“Let’s play Uno,” she said.

She grabbed a pack of cards from the bookshelf, and I got the big pillows from the closet. Bertie counted out the cards and piled the extras in the middle.

“Oh, hi, Ms. Mendoza!” she suddenly called. She waved toward the door. “Did you meet Ms. Mendoza yet? I think she looks more like a movie star than an assistant principal. She’s so glamorous.”

I watched Ms. G. have a whisper conversation with the new grown-up. She had shiny hair and important-looking shoes. Then Ms. G. picked up her floppy teacher book and left. I guessed Ms. Mendoza was there to watch us for indoor recess. That was fine with me. She looked like the kind of person who was used to being in charge.

She stepped into the classroom. Dee was right behind her.

“Mission control to Austin. Come in, Austin,” Bertie said. “It’s your turn. A two or a yellow, my good fellow.”

For once, Bertie wasn’t keeping track of things. But I was.