The Seventeen-Year Cicada: Terry's Garden, #6

By Jill Penrod

Even in elementary school, Neville was an artistic prodigy. Nobody understood him. He vibrated with life and energy, and he saw the world in colors and lines. His fingers never stopped moving, either drawing or going through the motions of drawing. Not everyone could handle his way of processing the world, but I did. Even young, I saw him, and he was my best friend.

 

Unfortunately, my parents are strict. Like crazy strict. When they realized my best friend was a boy, they changed churches and schools just to keep me away. I missed him, and I secretly kept every drawing he'd ever made for me. Nobody meets two Nevilles in her life, so I cherished memories of mine.

 

God put a wrench in my parents' plans, and I had to go back to public school in high school. And yes, he was still there. Calmer now, at least on the outside. Darker, wounded by a world that couldn't understand him. He still remembered me and wanted me around. Except… If we're going to stay friends, we have to hide the fact. That won't be so hard, right? Surely Neville will be on board with that. I mean, what about lying to all our friends and families could possibly go wrong?

 

Read Emmie and Neville's story in The Seventeen-Year Cicada, book six in the Terry's Garden series, stories about a huge family, an enchanting garden, and a love story that touches generations. Christian coming-of-age/romance novels for teens and anyone who remembers what it's like to take those first wobbling steps into adulthood.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Penrod
• Release date: Sep 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393975250

Jill Penrod

Jill Penrod wrote her first novel in high school. It was a space opera (she watched Star Wars A LOT), and it was not great literature. But she persevered, graduating college with top honors in writing. Since then, she’s published more than thirty novels. She writes in several  genres including Christian teen romance, sweet romance, Christian fantasy stories, and non-fiction. None of them are space operas. Jill lives in Kentucky with her husband and youngest son. She has three adult children out there doing adult things like work and marriage. When she isn’t writing, she gardens and spoils her long-haired Chihuahua Sparrow, along with a few other cats and dogs. Recently she fulfilled her dream of moving to the country, although it has yet to be seen if this city mouse can become a country mouse or not.  

Book preview

Chapter One

EMMIE

If someone had told me that one day my best friend would be named Neville, I’d have laughed. Yeah, it’s embarrassing, but strange names make me laugh. And honestly I’d never heard of the name Neville. Nor did I think my best friend would be a guy.

Not that I can talk about the name thing. My name is Esmeralda. Esmeralda Bello. My first name came from the Hunchback of Notre Dame. My mom had never read it, but she’d heard the name, and she loved it, so here I am. A girl named Esmeralda.

Everyone calls me Emmie or Em. I prefer that.

Anyway, back to Neville. It’s quite a story. A little joy, a little pain, a little romance, and a lot of lessons along the way. But we met when we were kids, so of course we had to grow up, and that means lessons.

And a lot of flowers. Because Neville’s story has a lot to do with a garden. And, since our stories are hopelessly entwined, my story has to do with a garden, too. But that isn’t where it started. It started in the other place we spent much of our lives, within the walls of a church.

My cousins will be here tonight, Macy said as we stood in the foyer waiting for the Wednesday programs to start. Their church doesn’t have anything on Wednesdays, and my uncle wants them to meet people. I think just two of them will be here, the middle ones. Uncle Terry and Aunt Molly have five kids.

I grinned. That’s a lot of kids. And they’re nice?

I don’t know. We haven’t seen them in a long time. They only got here last week. They lived here and then left four years ago, and now they’re back. Sometime you’ll have to come see their house. It’s the tower house on Maple.

Everyone in our small town knew about the houses on Maple, big old Victorians. And the tower house was the most famous. It had been empty for a while—now I knew why—and people thought it might be haunted.

So no ghosts, I said. For some reason I was disappointed, even though I didn’t believe in ghosts. Sometimes I wanted to find out things I didn’t believe in were really true, like the Loch Ness monster or aliens. The world was too small sometimes, and aliens and ghosts would make it bigger.

Nope. Just my cousins. There.

She pointed as the door opened, and two adults came in with two kids. The dad wasn’t old, but he walked with a cane and a limp. His leg was a little bit twisted. His wife wasn’t twisted. She was pretty, with red curls and a pretty smile. A friendly smile.

Her little girl was smiling, too. She had the brightest smile ever, and she beamed it all over the room until she saw Macy. Then she ran toward us. Her brother followed. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown, either. He just watched. I had no idea then just how much he watched and how much he saw. If I’d known, I might have turned and run the other way.

Macy, the girl said. We made it. Mommy said you could help us find our way.

Macy smiled. I will. Of course I will. Savvy, this is my friend Emmie. Emmie, this is Savannah Kenton. She’s... Savvy, how old are you?

Seven. I’m starting second grade in the fall.

Macy and I looked at each other. Mrs. Duncan, we said in unison. Then Macy explained. She teaches first and second grade kids on Wednesdays. She’s funny. You’ll like her. Emmie, I’ll take her and meet you in the room.

And Macy left. I glared at her, because I was now stuck with the boy, and I wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was kind of tall, and he had longer hair than most boys, and he was still looking at me without smiling.

So, I said. Mom and Dad would want me to be friendly. Except he was a boy, so they wouldn’t want me talking to him at all. Which made me want to talk to him. Macy said you’re in our grade, right?

Depends, he said. What grade are you in?

I laughed, because now he was smiling. It was a good smile, one that made his eyes twinkle. I thought he might be all serious, but that smile said he liked to tease.

Fourth. Well, I’m going into fourth.

Then Macy wasn’t lying, he said.

I didn’t think she was— I stopped, because he was smiling again, bigger now. You’re such a boy, aren’t you?

He held out his hands. Guilty, I guess. Who’s our teacher tonight?

Mr. Jefferson. He’s good, too.

I led us to class, and the guy looked around. As we got to the room I realized I hadn’t asked his name, and he hadn’t offered it. I turned and looked up into his eyes. The guy was too tall. And thin.

You know my name. I don’t know yours.

He nodded. Neville.

I had to smile about that. Neville.

He grinned. Go ahead. Laugh. Everyone does. My mom is funny about names.

Your siblings have funny names?

My oldest sister doesn’t. She’s Meg, named after an old lady my parents knew growing up. Then my brother’s name is kind of silly. It rhymes.

It rhymes?

He held out his hands. Quentin Kenton.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Okay, that’s funny.

Yeah. We call him Quen.

Does he hate his name?

Nah. He doesn’t hate anything. Then there’s me, Neville. Mom again, just like Quen. Then there’s Savannah. We call her Savvy. After Quen and me, I think Dad had enough, so he helped more with the last of us. Savvy’s not a bad name, and my littlest sister is Violet.

I nodded. I like them. I even like Neville. It’s just new.

"It means New Town in French. I don’t think they cared about that when they named me, but that’s what it means."

Do you have a nickname? I asked.

Sometimes they call me Nev.

I’m Emmie, but that’s a nickname. My whole name is Esmeralda.

Like in the Hunchback, he said. I was surprised. Nobody our age knew about that. He grinned. Disney.

Right, I said. I didn’t tell him I never got to see movies, not even Disney. Mom and Dad worried about me seeing bad things.

Do you like the name? he asked. It was a strange question. So far, I thought he was a strange boy.

I guess so.

Unusual names can be fun, he said.

We started into the room, and Macy joined us before we sat down. Fifteen kids were in the class, all third and fourth graders. Macy’s dad, Mr. Bartlett, taught the next class, with fifth and sixth graders. My brother was in that class.

Tonight we had some games, and Neville had to introduce himself. Some kids laughed. I thought it was mean, but he was used to it, and he smiled. Mr. Jefferson asked him to tell something about himself. He said he liked to draw. Macy laughed and told everyone he drew really well. She also said he was her cousin and he lived in the tower house.

The rest of the time we had a story from Luke and ate snacks. Nev talked to a few people, but mostly he stayed with Macy, and she talked for him. He looked at me a few times and smiled, like he thought Macy was amusing. She was my best friend, and I knew she liked to protect people. I wasn’t sure why she thought Nev needed protected, but apparently she thought he did.

When the evening was over, we all headed back to the foyer to find our parents. Savvy ran from the end of the hall and walked with us. She talked all the way down the hall, telling us she’d had a great time and she liked it here.

Neville laughed. Wow, Savvy, you like something? I wouldn’t have guessed that.

She slapped his shoulder. It isn’t bad to like things.

No, it’s not. But you always sound so surprised. By now you should know you love everything.

She stuck out her tongue this time. Except maybe big brothers.

They wandered toward their parents, and Macy turned to me. He’ll be in my class in school in the fall. That will be strange, having a cousin in school.

He’s pretty nice, I said. And his sister is cute.

She is. Violet is cute, too. I don’t know if they’ll keep coming to Wednesday. They have a church close to their house. Uncle Terry loves church. My mom says he’s the reason our whole family has God. He’s the only brother, and they get a little crazy about him.

Crazy? I asked. Macy’s mom was one of six sisters, two sets of triplets. Macy’s mom was part of the oldest set.

He’s their hero. I guess in the past four years he helped develop some seeds that will grow in deserts. Food or vegetables or something. But not just that. They think he’s like a superhero.

I grinned at that, because she rolled her eyes when she said it. So you don’t like your uncle?

Her face fell. No. I mean, yes. Yes, I like Uncle Terry. Except I don’t know him very well.

What happened to his leg?

He got hurt being born, she said. That would be strange, to walk with a cane when you aren’t old. Anyway, now that they’re back, we’ll have more cousins around, and we can visit the tower house, and it will be fun.

I thought about that. Macy already had one cousin in town. He hadn’t been here long. His mom was divorced, and they lived with Macy’s grandmother. I didn’t have cousins in town, and I was a little jealous. I had a brother, two years older. He was okay, but sometimes he was mean, like all brothers. Macy had a younger brother and older sister. She thought having an older brother sounded like fun. I told her I would sell her mine.

Her parents were with her aunt and uncle, and when she went to them I walked to my mom and dad, who were frowning at me. That wasn’t new. They frowned a lot, especially at church.

That’s Macy’s family? Mom said.

Yeah. They just moved in.

A cane, Dad said. He shook his head. Military?

He was hurt being born, I said.

Their son has long hair, Mom said. She didn’t say it very nicely. I didn’t want to think it, but Mom didn’t say much that was nice. People upset her. Dad wasn’t like that.

It’s fine, Dad said. He’s what? Ten?

I guess so, I said. He’s in our class. His name is Neville. Isn’t that funny?

Dad smiled, but Mom looked at the Kentons with her eyes narrowed.

Unfortunately, she was going to keep looking at the Kentons with her eyes narrowed for a very, very long time.

IT’S BEAUTIFUL, I said, and Macy giggled.

I told you.

You never brought me here before. How could you never bring me here before?

While my aunt and uncle were living in Arizona, we mostly came to work in the yard, not play in it, Macy said. I didn’t think you’d want to come work in someone’s yard. But today we can play in it.

I looked around, where forty kids had been set loose in the huge garden. It encompassed three yards, and it included vegetables, fruit trees, berry bushes, flowers, ponds, and what Macy called the fairy garden in the back, where a small grove of trees had white lights strung in them.

I want to see it all, I said.

I think Mr. Jefferson called us to eat, Macy said.

The food will still be there, I said. I want to see it all.

Laughter came from above us, and I startled and looked up. We had come around between the houses, near a swing set, and Nev was tucked in a tree over our heads.

You have no idea how many people say that, he said. He had something in his lap, and Macy shielded her eyes and looked up at him.

Are you drawing? she asked. He blinked at her. Of course you are. Are you going to eat with us? Or join us at all?

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. I don’t know. A lot of people down there. Savvy can be our family representative.

It was early August, and Nev had come to our Wednesday class three times over the summer. He never talked much, and I wasn’t surprised to find him in a tree and not talking to people. Savvy, though, seemed to love the group, and I was sure hosting a picnic here had been her idea.

Hey, why aren’t you eating? Pierre asked, suddenly at our side. My brother had gone around the other way to talk to some of his friends. I didn’t know why he was talking to me now. He seldom talked to me at church. Or anywhere else.

I’ll get there, I said, irritated. Macy’s hungry, too. You two should go eat. I want to see the garden.

Nev shifted and gracefully climbed down the tree to stand in front of us, a notebook tucked under his arm. Although Pierre was older, Nev was taller.

Hey, Pierre, he said. Go eat. I’ll show her the garden.

Pierre glanced at me with a grin, and I knew I was in trouble. But I didn’t care. I wanted to see the garden. I’d never seen a real garden like this. It was like a magazine garden, like the kinds on my mom’s coffee table.

Slowly we wandered through the entire thing. Kids were all over, eating and running and playing, and I wished I could be out here alone. There were bird feeders, and I wanted to see birds. That wouldn’t happen until all the kids left.

Here, Nev said when we got to the area with the lights. Down here.

He led us to a small area of ferns and rocks, and we sat on a rock, out of the way. This is a good place to get away from the masses.

I grinned. Nev was tall and never talked like a kid. He was strange. He made me a little nervous, because Mom didn’t like it when I talked to boys. Now I was on a rock out of the way with a boy. But he was just a kid, and so was I. I didn’t understand how it could be wrong to sit on a rock and talk to Nev about the garden.

Can I see? I asked, pointing to his notebook. He nodded and put it in his lap, opening the cover. Without thinking I snatched it out of his hand, because inside was the most perfect picture of a bird I’d ever seen. He’d drawn it with a pencil, so it had no color, but it was beautiful.

Slowly I turned the pages, seeing all kinds of plants, birds, and squirrels from the garden. At the back he had drawn two pictures of his mom. They were beautiful, too.

She’s so pretty, I said. You make her look really good.

She looks really good all the time, he said. Then he shook his head a little bit. I like to draw.

I figured that. And it’s good.

He shrugged. Could be better. I want it better. Still looks like kid stuff.

Could that be because you’re a kid?

He shrugged again, and I handed the notebook back to him, surprised he was embarrassed.

Are you mad I asked to see it?

No, he said. Are you hungry?

I laughed. He was mad, or he wouldn’t be shoving me toward the food.

I’m sorry. I thought you’d want to show me. I can’t draw. I can’t do anything.

I bet you can do something.

Nothing artistic. I like to sing in church. You never come to our church on Sundays, but I sing in the children’s choir.

That’s good, he said. That’s something, right?

I glanced at his notebook and thought that my little parts in the children’s choir were nothing like his drawings, but I didn’t say that.

I got up to eat, and he followed. My parents were here today, helping out, and Mom frowned when she saw me.

I looked at the whole garden, I said. Mom, it’s beautiful, isn’t it? Like the magazines.

It is, she said. She gave Nev a look, and he disappeared into the crowd. I sighed. Emmie.

I know, I said. He was showing me the garden. It’s his yard.

And it was nice of them to invite us, she said. Have you seen Pierre?

No, I said, although I’d just passed him. He was at the pond splashing the girls and making them squeal. Mom didn’t need to know that. I saw Neville’s drawings. Macy told me he could draw, but he’s really good. He must spend a lot of time out here drawing.

Mom nodded, her brows puckered down like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. Mr. Jefferson approached, and she slipped away to watch kids. Macy appeared behind her, and she raised her eyes.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I said. Why?

You look unhappy. What did my cousin do to you? He’s not the greatest with people.

Nev is fine. Mom saw me with him.

Macy shrugged. Right. I hadn’t told her how strange Mom had gotten recently. She’d decided I should never be alone with boys, and Pierre should never be alone with girls. We would have better lives if we put off romance until we were older. But I didn’t think talking to fourth grade boys was romantic. They were kind of yuck, always making weird noises and chasing each other on the playground and eating things nobody should eat.

Mom is sure I should stay away from boys or I’ll be sucked into romance.

Macy just looked at me, and I laughed. Yeah, I look at her just like that when she says it. But she means it.

Okay, Macy said. Nev is pretty harmless. I mean, he doesn’t talk much. Just draws.

He draws beautiful things, I said. Macy rolled her eyes.

Okay, maybe your mom should worry.

I laughed and slapped Macy’s shoulder. Right. Let’s go see the scented garden again. It smells great.

We spent an hour playing in the yard. I wanted to see the house, but we had to stay outside except to use the bathroom, and I never needed to use the bathroom. Anyway, I wanted to see the tower. But I spent the time outside, talking to friends and eating cookies Nev’s grandmother had baked, and when we left, I walked around the house the way I’d come in. I looked up, and New was again tucked in the tree. When I caught his eye, he grinned at me. I wasn’t sure what to make of that look, but I smiled back.

Nev was weird, but he had a great smile. And the smile I gave him followed me all the way home.

I WASN’T SURE HOW NEV, Macy, and I ended up with my mom the afternoon the youth played mini golf. Another guy was with us, Derek. Dad was here today, too, but he wasn’t with us. Or with Pierre. I wondered if Pierre was glad of that. I didn’t understand my big brother very much, mostly because we didn’t talk to each other. Mom told us to be friends, but every time she told him to do something, he did the opposite. Not enough to get in trouble, usually, but enough to make sure she was always frustrated with him. Being his friend meant I risked being in trouble, too, and I hated to be in trouble.

Ha, Derek said, stepping away from the tee. His ball had gone down the fairway and around to the putting green, settling inches from the hole. In the next stroke, he’d have it. And this is a par four, too. Bet I get it in two.

Derek was a competitor. Macy was feeling competitive today, too, and she put her ball on the tee and laughed.

I’m only three strokes behind. I’ll catch up.

She did her thing, and Derek moaned when her ball hit his and knocked it a few inches to the other side of the hole. I laughed and went next. Mine didn’t go nearly as far as Macy’s. Then Nev followed, and he was lousy at this game. He had eight strokes more than me, and I was terrible at mini golf. He hit it too hard, and it shot to the edge, jumped the fairway, and ended up in a gravel garden between the fairways.

Oops, he said. He laughed and shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes, and my mom frowned at that. She’d hated his hair from the beginning. I liked it. It wasn’t long like a girl, just long enough to fall into his eyes. Lighter than his mom’s, but definitely containing some red. Wavy.

And, I thought, Mom would have a fit if she knew I was standing here thinking about this guy’s hair.

Mom was next, and she was pretty good. Her ball landed beside Macy’s.

Derek took the next shot, and then he took another to get the ball into the hole. Macy got it in one more shot. I took three. And then Nev was up again. He had moved the ball to the fairway where it had hopped the barrier, and he putted it more gently this time. It went about a foot and stopped. He laughed.

Okay, I’m officially a failure at mini golf. My dad plays better than I do, and he plays with a cane.

Macy laughed. Derek looked a little unsure if he should laugh about a guy with a cane. Mom made a strange sound in her throat, and then she hit the ball into the hole in one more stroke.

Nev finally got the ball to the green, and he took four more strokes to get it in the hole. By now Derek and Macy had moved ahead.

At least I got it, Nev said with a shrug. I followed my mom to the next hole, and when Nev’s turn came around again, I realized he wasn’t here. I looked around and found him squatting near the last hole, a small notebook in his hand. I laughed and jogged toward him, looking over his shoulder. He leaned back so I could see.

Sorry, he said. He had found a beetle of some sort, and he was sketching it. I’ve never seen one like that before. Um, is it my turn?

It wasn’t the last time he got caught up in a drawing instead of playing. When we got to the end, he had lost by almost twenty strokes. Derek won, and Mom was second. Macy was next, and then me. Nev turned in his club, and we waited out front for the rest of the groups to finish. The youth group had gone to lunch first, and then mini golf, a typical elementary youth outing for our church.

You should have seen it, Savvy Kenton said, running to our sides when her group was finished, her face aglow. She was easily the happiest person I’d ever met. I missed almost all of them. I was last. I didn’t think it was possible to play so badly.

You should have seen your brother, Macy said. I bet he was worse.

Savvy held up her hand, and Nev grinned and gave her a high five. Good job, Nev.

You, too, he said. Dad is good at this.

Savvy shrugged. Daddy’s good at everything.

Pretty soon the group broke up and headed home. Macy’s dad took Nev and Savvy with him, and my family got in our car, where Pierre told us Dad had beaten him.

At least we weren’t in the same group, Pierre said, rolling his eyes. Nightmare—Dad beats me in front of my friends.

He laughed when he said it, but I wasn’t sure he was teasing. Pierre was strange about things. He got along with Dad better than Mom, but he wasn’t easy with anyone.

We had that Kenton boy, Mom said. She turned to look at me. He was rude today, don’t you think?

Rude? Nev’s not rude.

Drawing instead of playing, Mom said. She looked to Dad for some help. Don’t you think that’s rude? And he shakes his head every ten minutes so he can see through that mop.

He should put it up in a man bun, Pierre said, mostly to see Mom’s face go purple. I had to admit I didn’t like hair like that, but I didn’t think it was evil like Mom did.

He’s fine, Dad said, giving Mom a strange look. Kat, he’s fine.

He draws all the time, I said. He’s really good. Today he drew a beetle, and he drew a picture of the clouds. He does it in class sometimes, too. Suddenly he pulls out his notebook and draws something, right in the middle of a game or a talk.

He needs to pay attention, Mom said. Especially during talks.

Last week Mr. Jefferson was talking about Ruth, I said. And Nev suddenly drew a picture of a sad woman hauling water. Mr. Jefferson was impressed. It was Ruth. He was paying attention while he drew. It’s what he does.

Mom said nothing else, and Pierre gave me a strange look. They said nothing else about Nev, but Pierre caught me when we got home, as I was on my way to my room.

Em, he said. He looked serious, and that surprised me. Pierre rarely said anything serious to me. You’re making it worse.

What? What am I making worse?

Sticking up for this guy. Let her think what she wants, okay? Everything will go easier if you let her think what she wants. Just go with it. And couldn’t you stick with Macy? Other girls?

I shrugged. Why does it matter to you?

Trust me, Em. She’ll never let you keep friends like Nev. Never. Not... He shrugged. Trust me. Save yourself the heartache.

Heartache. I laughed. Pierre, I’m nine. He’s nine. No, Macy said he’s ten. There’s no heart going on here. He’s funny. Quiet, but kind of scattered and funny.

Pierre shrugged. Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I had no idea what he was talking about. I wonder if it would have changed things if I had. It might, but then I might have missed out on the best parts of my whole life.

Chapter Two

NEVILLE

Macy was in my class at school, and on the first day she introduced me to kids all day. All of them remembered my name, because I was new and I had a strange name. I remembered almost none of theirs. I did remember faces, though. I was always better at faces than names. Art over English, too. Math, though... I wonder sometimes about math. It’s art, really. Patterns and rhythms and repetition. Math was okay. I was never a whiz like Meg and Quen, but math and I always got along okay.

School was school. Teachers were teachers. I did what I was supposed to do, and when I got home I went to the tree to draw. I’d seen so much today that I had to put on paper, from the strange patterns in the stairwell to all the faces. I had to capture some of those faces.

Nev, Mom said. I looked down and found her staring up at me.

Yeah?

How was your day?

I shrugged. School.

She smiled. I loved to draw Mom’s smile. It was the best smile anywhere. Dad’s was good, too. Except when he smiled at Mom. That smile was magical. It made something in my gut twist when Dad smiled at Mom. I had drawn it a hundred times, but I couldn’t capture it. Apparently I needed magical instruments to capture magical smiles.

Why don’t you come down? I’m fixing snacks. We can talk about your day.

Mom liked to do that, talk about everything. I climbed down and went inside, but I listened more than talked. I found out interesting things. For instance, when we’d lived here before, Meg had been friends with the boy across the street, Leo. While we were gone, his mom had died and he’d moved away, and today Meg had seen him. He’d been different. Mean.

Then Quen said he’d seen Leo’s brother Finn. Quen and Finn had once been friends, too. Finn hadn’t been mean.

Savvy didn’t remember anyone, so she didn’t have any stories like that. However, she had loved her school and her teachers, her lunch, the playground, and all the kids. Except one boy who’d been mean. I had to laugh at her. Savvy had no idea she loved everything. And I figured before the year was over she’d find reasons to love the kid who’d been mean.

And your day? Mom asked. I sighed. I hated all these group talks. I mean, I liked my family. Loved my family. I knew God had given me an awesome family. But Mom wanted me to talk. I didn’t talk that well, especially when everyone was staring at me. Suddenly I couldn’t remember the day at all.

Um, it was okay, I said. Lame. I liked the math class. And I have a cool art teacher. She says we’ll do pottery. They have a kiln. And we’re going to do watercolors.

Mom nodded and smiled. Good to hear. So, we all made it through the first day. I’m glad to hear it.

She let me go, and I went up to my room. I looked out the window at the garden. The garden always had something new in it, something to draw. I needed to do homework, although this school didn’t give much homework in fourth grade. They said kids should play. I could get behind that idea. Except I would draw.

I didn’t know why I liked drawing so much. It made me a little bit crazy, because it was never quite what I wanted. The pictures in my head never quite matched what I put on the paper. I kept trying, though. Practice. I knew people got better if they practiced, and it was important for me to get things right. Someday what I saw inside would show up on my pages. I just had to keep trying.

That afternoon I thought about school. I was glad Macy was in my school. I wished Emmie was in school with us. We’d had some fun over the summer. Emmie was pretty cool for a girl. She didn’t talk all the time. She liked it when I drew. But she went to private school.

Emmie’s mom didn’t like me. I wasn’t sure what she didn’t like, but she frowned at me a lot. Macy said she frowned at everything a lot. Maybe. It was strange for her not to like me, because we’d never really talked. She didn’t know me. Anyway, it didn’t matter. I didn’t know if Mom and Dad would be able to get us to the church on Wednesdays with school in session now. And it didn’t matter that much. I would see kids in school, and I wasn’t lonely or anything. I didn’t get lonely, not like Meg or Savvy could. If I was alone, I drew. I liked alone time for drawing.

I would miss Emmie, though. Watching her look at the garden—I’d liked that. She didn’t look at it to draw, like I did, but something in the way she’d looked at it had made me feel good. She’d seen the beauty in it. Most people saw beauty in it, but I knew she’d seen it like I did. She’d seen deeper than a lot of people did. I didn’t know why I thought that, and maybe I was wrong, but when I showed her the garden, I knew she and I had understood each other.

That didn’t happen often.

For a few days school was just normal. I did what I was supposed to do, and if I finished early I drew. On the way out to recess on Friday Mrs. Endecott asked me to come to her desk, and I stood in front of it while the rest of the class filed out and disappeared. I had no idea what she wanted.

You like to draw, she said.

I do, I said.

It’s affecting your school work. When you have a break, you need to look back in the book, or go to the reading corners, or work the math puzzles. You can’t just draw. I worry about you.

I blinked. I had no idea what to say. Nobody had ever disliked me for drawing before. I wondered if that was what Emmie’s mom didn’t like. Okay.

Mrs. Endecott smiled. Good boy. You’re too young to be so single-minded. Look around, Neville. Experience the world; don’t just try to capture it on paper.

I nodded, and she shooed me outside. I had my small notebook in my back pocket, but now I didn’t think I could use it. I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. Could I never draw in school again? That was hours and hours every day just to look at the world and all the things to draw and ignore them.

The thought hurt.

For the rest of the day I didn’t draw. Over the weekend I did,