Yellow Hat to the lion cage. The cage is a huge mosquito net hanging from a cloud. There are hundreds of lions roaring and snarling. My heart is pounding. I can’t breathe
.
“They’re just hungry for their food,” the man says. “Don’t be scared.”
“Do they want to eat me?” I ask, trembling
.
“No,” says the Man with the Yellow Hat. “Not today, anyway.” He laughs and pushes over a wheelbarrow. The basket on it is bright orange and full of scraps of raw meat. “Hold on,” the man says, and I squeeze the familiar handles. Suddenly, I’m inside the cage with the Man with the Yellow Hat. “You can do this,” he assures me
.
And I do. I can’t believe it, but I do
.
I dish out food to the lions. They look like beasts but they have human faces. Faces of children. One lets me pet him. Another lets me ride on her back. I’m having so much fun that I almost forget my mother, until I remember. I remember what I almost forgot. “My mother!” I gasp. “Let me out!”
Frantic, I run back to the bench. It’s been hours. My mom is gone. I scream and run around the zoo past all the
animals, but I can’t find her anywhere. Then I look at the sky, at the moon. “You know what to do,” says the Man in the Moon
.
“I do?” I ask
.
The Man in the Moon winks and says, “You do.”
W hen I get to school Monday morning, there’s some kind of drama going on near the soccer field. All the players are crowded around the edge of the field. And kids big and small are gathered in a giant knot. When I get to the bottom of the hill, Winnie runs over and tells me what the fuss is about. “Memory bring the book in a traveling washbasin,” she says. Winnie’s eyes are wild with excitement. “No one can believe! You shall have to move through the students to glimpse.”
I laugh. Of course, I already know what this incredible invention looks like. And I’m glad everyone thinks the bookmobile is as cool as I do. Now Memory can take our schoolbooks back and forth from the trading center without worrying about them getting wet or ripping in the rains. And finally the top of her head can have a rest too.
When Mr. Special Kingsley shakes the school bell, thecrowd breaks up, and I see Memory wheel our invention across the grass. She’s grinning brighter than the midday sun. Who knew that an old bicycle and two cracked plastic washbasins could bring so much joy? Those old basins were no good for bathing anymore, but we patched them up with Dad’s medical tape, and now they work great. One tub holds the books, and the other works as the cover to protect the books from the rain.
I catch up to Memory as she parks the bookmobile behind our classroom. Then we go inside and settle onto our bench. Mrs. Tomasi’s busy talking to Oscar and Norman up front, and everything’s fine until Agnes leans across me to tell Memory, “Only a girl whose arms bend like the palm leaf in the breeze cannot carry her load without special assistant.” Suddenly, Memory shoves me, and without thinking, I automatically bang into Agnes, who falls right off the edge of the bench onto the floor.
“Brilliant!” I tell Memory. No sooner do I raise my palm to high-five Memory than Saidi runs over to help Agnes up off the floor, while Mrs. Tomasi glares at us, unsure of what to make of the strange scene.
The truth is, no matter what Agnes has said to Memory, the whole time I’m copying over my new vocabulary words, I’m the one whose arms are bending like a palm leaf in the breeze. And not only my arms, but also my legs and my whole entire body. Yes, I’m furious at Agnes for insulting Memory, but also I’m terrified. What I’m about to do is crazy! When Mr. Special Kingsley finds me after assembly, I force myself to spill the news.
“Clare,” he says, and grins. “You are a brave lion. This I know all along.”
I look at Mr. Special Kingsley sideways. First, I’m not brave. I’m shaking from head to toe, and sweat is dripping
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