Free Daphne's Book by Mary Downing Hahn Page A

takes months to get over it."
    "But what about your schoolwork? How will you make it all up?" I stared at her, puzzled by her lack of concern. I couldn't imagine being that nonchalant about missing so much school. "Do you want me to bring you your assignments?"
    Daphne turned to me, surprised. "I couldn't ask you to do that, Jessica. No, that's okay." She looked down at the ground, nudging the ice on a puddle with her toe until it broke with a little tinkling sound.
    "You're not asking me to do it, Daphne. I'm offering." I smiled at her uncertainly. "I don't mind. Honest, I don't."
    Daphne brushed her hair back from her face and smiled at me. "You really wouldn't mind?"
    I shook my head. "It's okay."
    "That's awfully nice of you, Jessica." Daphne's eyes probed mine, as if she weren't quite sure she could trust me.
    "Will your grandmother mind if I come out to see you?" I remembered Mrs. Woodleigh's scowling face. "I don't think she likes me very much."
    Daphne sighed. "Grandmother is awfully suspicious of strangers. That's why I didn't invite you in. I knew she'd act like that. I thought if you saw her, you'd never come back." Daphne laughed uneasily. "It takes a while to get used to Grandmother."
    "Do you and Hope live alone with her?"
    Daphne nodded. "Our father was killed in Vietnam before Hope was born," she said slowly. "I don't remember him very well. I was only five when he died."
    I waited for her to go on, to say something about her mother, but Daphne was silent. Her hair had blown back across her face, but I knew how unhappy she must feel. Aching with the frustration of not knowing what to say, I clutched the envelope she'd given me.
    When the wind rattled the envelope, Daphne looked at me. "I hope you like the pictures I drew."
    "Can I look at them now?"
    "If you want. Come on, I'll take you to a place where we can get out of the wind." Running ahead of me, she led me behind the house to a grove of tall birches, their trunks silvery in the sunlight. She sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree and beckoned me to join her.
    Opening the envelope, I pulled out eight pictures, one for each page, plus a title page and a jacket. Each picture was painted in muted colors, delicately drawn and filled with detail. Not another book in our class had illustrations like these.
    "They're beautiful," I sighed, loving each one. "You're a real artist, Daphne."
    "Do you really like them?" She looked pleased. "Is Sir Benjamin's hat right? I was a little worried about the plume."
    "It's perfect." I smiled at her and put the drawings carefully into the envelope. "I can't wait to show them to Mr. O'Brien."
    Daphne smiled again. "I loved drawing them. And making up the story. Hope still talks about Baby Mouse."
    "Maybe we could write a sequel," I said. "When I bring you your homework next week, I could bring the mice along with me."
    "That's a wonderful idea, Jessica." Daphne sprang to her feet and walked up the tree trunk, balancing with her arms outspread as the trunk got narrower. Laughing, I followed her and we climbed up into the branches and sat there, letting the wind rock us.
    "Way out here, we won't have to worry about Michelle coming along and spoiling things," I said.
    "I thought you were friends with her," Daphne said.
    I shook my head. "I hate Michelle. And Sherry too."
    "But you eat lunch with them and you walk around with them." Daphne looked puzzled.
    "Only because I like Tracy. She's nice."
    "I hadn't noticed," Daphne said quietly.
    I looked up at her sharply. "Tracy's not really like Michelle and Sherry," I said defensively. "We've been best friends since we were in kindergarten, but now, I don't know...." My voice trailed away. "She's changed, I guess."
    Daphne nodded, but she didn't say anything.
    "I'm sorry they've been mean to you," I finally said.
    Daphne shrugged. "I don't want to talk about it."
    Embarrassed at the unhappiness in Daphne's voice, I sat quietly on my branch, listening to the wind moan in the treetops.