A lot of schools limit the amount of stuff you can take. Or they have everybody make the same thing, so everybody gets the same supplies. And then there are schools where you don’t have art at all.

But maybe Vanessa had a lot of friends who gave her their recycling, or maybe it was because it was almost the end of the year, but she didn’t seem to care about one kid using up the whole box of tubes.

“You’ll have to pick out your own pipe cleaners,” she said. “I don’t know what your colors are.”

I didn’t know what my colors were, either. I had stopped grabbing pipe cleaners when I figured I’d been standing up too long and people might notice. I looked down. They were all warms—sunset orange and neon carrot and goldenrod.

Bertie had to leave her project in the studio because it was still wet, but I got to bring mine home. I held it at the top and let it sway back and forth as I walked down the hall. It was almost as tall as me.

Lunch was sloppy joes. But they shouldn’t have been called that because Chef Gail made them neat and tidy, and Ms. Jackie cut each one in half so you didn’t have to worry about the sauce spilling out when you picked up the bun.

Then afterward, Bertie and I got our books and went right to our pillows. I opened to the start of chapter eight, where there was a picture of a random cow. I had to smile.

“Funny?” Bertie whispered.

“Yeah,” I said.

Bertie and I were partners for writers’ workshop, and at recess, we played wallball again. By the time I remembered to look for Dee, the whistle was blowing.

It’s weird how you can be worried about something in the morning and forget about it by the afternoon because your mind has gotten filled up with better things.

“Dee never showed up,” I said to Bertie as we got our stuff off the stuff pile.

“Probably lost recess,” she said.

The walkers went one way, and the riders went the other. But this time, Bertie came with me.

“I wish I was a walker,” Bertie said. “The bus smells like cheese, and not in a good way.”

16. Vivid Tangerine

For not a very long walk, Bertie fit a lot of words into it. She told me who the three fifth-grade teachers were, how they were similar and different (all were nice; some gave more homework), and which one she hoped to get (Mr. J.).