Colette and the Silver Samovar Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Well, you will just have to forgive him. He changed his mind.”
    â€œWhen I’m a parent, I am never going to make a promise I don’t keep. I am never going to change my mind about anything!”
    â€œSometimes we have to be flexible,” my mother said.
    â€œNever!”
    â€œDon’t sulk, Colette,” my mother said. She beckoned. “Would you like to see the picture I drew?”
    I inched toward her. Once she drew a picture of a homeless old person that was so sad, I got tears in my eyes. My mother loves people. If it was up to her, my father says, we would have an apartment full of street people.
    She showed me her sketch. It was a picture of my mother, my father and me. There were my dad’s handsome brown eyes, his serious expression and the little freckle just below the line beside his mouth that made it look like a question mark. She had drawn herself with her hair falling into her eyes and her red cape swirling out beside her. I was carrying a notebook and looked like I was trying to memorize something. All of us had wings! And paintbrushes! And we were painting the leaves of the big tree that grows beside the community garden in the park.
    â€œYou drew us painting the leaves!”
    My mother smiled and pulled the drawing out of her sketchbook and gave it to me. “I thought we could use a little magic today.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said, putting the drawing carefully on the chair beside me. “Let’s have pancakes. I’ll make them!”
    The sun was just starting to rise, pale and watery, by the time we sat down to our breakfast. My mother poured me a cup of tea and said, “Let’s make a plan for every night while your father is away. This afternoon we’ll go to the art gallery and look at the paintings.”
    â€œOkay,” I said.
    My mother waved me off to school. “I’ll meet you at the front entrance at three thirty,” she said. I ran all the way across the community garden. Spike didn’t appear, which seemed like a good omen.
    Oprah was talking with Zain. She waved when she saw me. Zain gave me a sour look, but I remembered my father saying the best way to handle someone who was mean was to kill them with kindness, so I told her that she was wearing a cool sweater. The look of shock on her face was worth the effort it took to be nice. At lunch, I turned my marooned seat around and faced toward the class. Everyone laughed, and the lunch monitor started calling me Teacher . With the art gallery to look forward to, the day zipped by, and before I could even finish my independent reading, the bell was ringing and it was time to go.
    There was no sign of my mother, but that wasn’t so unusual. She doesn’t pay attention to time all that well. I hung around until most of the kids had gone home. Mrs. Muncie saw me as she was leaving.
    â€œStill here, Colette?” she asked.
    â€œMy mother’s late,” I said. It had started to drizzle, and I shivered.
    Mrs. Muncie said, “I go in your direction. How about we walk together?”
    â€œWhat if my mom comes and wonders where I am?”
    â€œIs there a route that you always take?” Mrs. Muncie asked. “We could go that way, and then if your mom is coming, we’ll meet her.”
    â€œThat sounds all right,” I said.
    As we crossed the park and headed down the alleyway, the graffiti on the walls seemed even scarier than usual. There were giant dragons and wizards. And knights carrying lances and riding horses with wild eyes. There were dinosaurs and a vampire that looked like it was about to jump out of the wall and grab me.
    Sirens wailed in the distance. My mother hates the sound of sirens because they sound ominous. Ominous means bad things are about to happen.
    When we came out of the alley and headed toward King Street, the flashing lights of an ambulance blinded me. Mrs. Muncie tsk-tsked under her breath. I guessed