So Rosalind the Iguana would only be one of many awesome names I could choose from.

I rubbed my hands together. “I have lots of good guesses,” I said.

“Yeah?” said Mom. “Like what?”

I tried to do the same mysterious grin that my dad did, and then shoved another bite of Malt-O-Meal in my mouth. Dad laughed again. Mom did a small hop as she walked back over to the sink. I bounced in my seat a couple of times, feeling almost like it really was my birthday.

I like watching my mom in the kitchen. It’s like watching those YouTube videos of Michelle Kwan ice-skating in the Olympics. Mom has broad shoulders and round, strong arms and sometimes she says she feels “stocky” or “ungraceful,” but she’s not like that in the kitchen. In the kitchen she’s a ballerina.

Mom also has:

1. Short, curly hair that’s graying on the sides.
2. A wide smile.
3. Her own bakery that she started when I was four years old. She told me she’d wanted to start one for a long time, but she was scared. She didn’t really know how to do the business stuff. When I was four, Dad told her she should just do it. Totally go for it. So she did.

Dad is an art teacher at the high school. Once I’m in ninth grade I could maybe take a class from him, except I’m probably the worst person at art in the whole school. I’m not so great with fine motor skills. That’s okay, though. I’m better at using microscopes and not being one bit afraid that time we dissected cow eyeballs.

Dad also has:

1. A bald pate (pate, one of our Hard Reading Words from English that’s basically a fancy word for the top of someone’s head).
2. Round glasses.
3. At least twenty books about Vincent van Gogh.
4. A voice that is quiet but never, ever shaky.

My parents are pretty smart.

And good at knowing the best surprises.

My Best Friend Is a Room

On most days, I am a Front-Row-Sitter, a Note-Taker, a Volunteer-Whiteboard-Writer, an Answer-Knower. On most days I never have to be told to stay still, at least not more than once. Except on days when my mom and dad tell me that there is a surprise waiting for me. Then sitting still is like trying to wash a cat.

Except in Ms. Trepky’s class.

Everyone sits still in Ms. Trepky’s class. It’s only the third week of school, but we all know that.

Ms. Trepky is tall. Taller than Mom and Dad by at least half a foot. And she is skinny. She has a long nose and long fingers and near-black hair cropped short in a very clean bob. Her face is smooth and pale white like porcelain, and she has a way of looking at you like she’s really seeing you, like she knows what you’re thinking and what’s really going on inside. So I stayed in my seat, even on After-School Surprise Day.