That’s when I remembered about the heavy cream. Today was Thursday, and we were making practice butter for our colonial breakfast. Mr. Home was bringing French bread, enough for the whole class, and everyone at table three was supposed to bring a container of heavy cream. The reminder was on the back of the door at Mom’s house. But that morning I was at Dad’s house, so I didn’t see it. Without the reminders, I forgot things. Once I had brought lunch money instead of lunch, thinking it was the day of the zoo trip. Then, on the actual zoo-trip day, I forgot again and brought my lunch instead of lunch money. I had to eat my peanut butter sandwich and yogurt raisins while everyone else bought pizza from the zoo cafeteria. Zoo pizza stinks anyway, Angus told me.

I really needed two reminders, one for each house.

“You forgot your cream?” Lizette said.

Table three was the colonial-breakfast food committee. There was also a colonial-breakfast costume committee, a colonial-breakfast decoration committee, a colonial-breakfast invitation committee, a colonial-breakfast play committee, and a colonial-breakfast poster committee.

I nodded, telling myself not to cry. Fifth grade, I reminded myself. Fifth grade.

“Let’s buy some,” Lizette said. She pointed at a deli almost right in front of us, on Broadway.

Lizette was a genius. I had three dollars with me, and she had another dollar in quarters. We were giggling as I counted them out to pay. Then Lizette and I were back on the sidewalk and, not expecting it, I felt…really happy.

My happiness made me feel huge. I don’t know another way to say it. Sometimes my happiness surprises me. I remember the first time it happened. I was little. Mom, Dad, and I were in the car, driving to the lake cabin. When we passed the rusty red bridge that meant we were almost there, I got this giant happy feeling, kind of like I was a balloon, getting bigger and bigger, and so fast.

That’s how I was feeling when Lizette and I left the store with my heavy cream. And my huge happiness was what made me do the stupid thing I did next. I saw a big jagged piece of a broken green bottle lying on the sidewalk, and I kicked it. I kicked it from happiness. When my happiness makes me feel huge, it’s almost like nothing can hurt me. But I was wearing sandals, and the glass cut my foot.

“Omigosh,” Lizette said.

There was blood all over my sandal, filling in the seams where the stitching was. You couldn’t even see the cut, there was so much blood. I waited for pain, but none showed up.

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said. “Let’s keep going. The nurse will give me a bandage.”

But the nurse also called my mom, who called my dad, who came to get me.

Practice Butter