for sure she'd be up at the bus stop； but no。 Garrett said
he saw her trucking along on her bike in a bright
yellow poncho； and in math I noticed that her pants were still soaked from the knees down。
When math let out； I started to chase after her to tell her that she ought to try riding the bus
again； but I stopped myself in the nick of time。 What
was I thinking？ That Juli wouldn't take a little friendly concern and pletely misinterpret it？
Whoa now； buddy； beware！ Better to just leave well
enough alone。
After all； the last thing I needed was for Juli Baker to think I missed her。
The Sycamore Tree
I love to watch my father paint。 Or really； I love to hear him talk while he paints。 The words
always e out soft and somehow heavy when he's
brushing on the layers of a landscape。 Not sad。 Weary； maybe； but peaceful。
My father doesn't have a studio or anything； and since the garage is stuffed with things that
everyone thinks they need but no one ever uses； he
paints outside。
Outside is where the best landscapes are； only they're nowhere near our house。 So what he
does is keep a camera in his truck。 His job as a
mason takes him to lots of different locations； and he's always on the lookout for a great
sunrise or sunset； or even just a nice field with sheep or
cows。 Then he picks out one of the snapshots； clips it to his easel； and paints。