Absolutely Almost(36)

            I read what was on the sticky note.

            Lacks perspective

            I didn’t know what that meant, but I could tell by the way Calista had her mouth scrunched up while she looked at it that it wasn’t a good thing.

            “Here’s another one.”

            She handed me another paper of sketches. The sticky note on top of that one said Blocky. Calista gave me another paper, then another after that, and another and another. They all had sticky notes on them.

            Loose lines

            No movement

            Stiff!

            Draw what you SEE

            Are you even trying?

            “I hate Professor Milton,” Calista told me when I was finished reading all the sticky notes.

            I looked up at her. “You do?” That surprised me, I guess, because I couldn’t really imagine Calista hating anything. But I thought I might hate someone, too, if they wrote sticky notes like that to me.

            “Yep,” she said. “But I still go to class, every week, because I have to.”

            I was starting to see where this was going. “And you don’t ever get the flu?” I asked her. I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, though.

            She shook her head. “You know what I do instead?” I didn’t answer, because I didn’t know what she did. “I found a soft-serve place,” she said, “right by the school. Tasti D-Lite, the one you told me about, remember?” I remembered. “And I tell myself that every Tuesday afternoon, after class is over, I get to stop there and have some ice cream.”

            “With sprinkles?” I asked, because I knew that Calista liked sprinkles.

            “Lots of sprinkles,” she said.

            “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

            “Right? So now, when I wake up on Tuesday mornings, instead of thinking, ‘Ugh, I have to go to Professor Milton’s class today,’ I try to think, ‘Hey, I get ice cream after class today!’”

            I squinted one eye at her. “And that works?” I asked. “You never feel like getting the flu?”

            Calista nodded. “Most of the time I don’t.”

            I thought about that. “Can tomorrow be an ice cream day for me?” I asked.

            Calista handed me Johnny-Treeface-not-Captain-Underpants. “I think it needs to be.”

            “Okay,” I said. “But instead of ice cream, can it be donuts? Because I like donuts better.”

            “I’ll make sure we get some when I pick you up,” she said.

            “Can we go to the bakery on Seventy-Eighth Street? They have the best donuts. Even better than the ones at the bodega.”

            “Sounds perfect.”

            “But it’s all the way on up Seventy-Eighth Street, though. That’s far.”

            “Not too far for Donut Day. Now get some sleep, all right, Albie? Good night.”

            “Night, Calista.”

            Donuts, I thought, after I was done with my reading and turned off my lamp. Donuts. Every once in a while, the spelling test would sneak back into my brain, but mostly Calista was right. It was way better to look forward to a donut day than a spelling test.





afterward.