Free There's a Bat in Bunk Five by Paula Danziger

little kid in a toy shop. All those books. I’ve always wanted to be a writer, but before Ms. Finney, Barbara, I was afraid to tell anyone. I think it’s some kind of miracle that all we have to work with is the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. And they turn into words, sentences, paragraphs, chapters, books, conversations, plays. It’s just incredible to me.
    I buy three books. So does Ted.
    We go through more stores.
    â€œHere’s one of my favorites,” Ted says, stopping in front of a house. Rainbow Shop, it says.
    We walk in. The place is filled with rainbows, stars, moons, unicorns. It’s like being in a fairy tale.
    The guy standing there smiles. He’s wearing all this rainbow jewelry. He’s even got an enameled tooth with a star and rainbow on it. If I saw him walking down the street in my hometown, I’d be a little surprised, but here it seems perfectly natural.
    A woman walks up to us and hands us a piece of paper. “Here’s your rainbow.”
    â€œThanks.” I want to hug everyone in the world.
    Ted starts to ask the Rainbow Man some questions, about the store, about how he got started. I think it’s wonderful that Ted’s not afraid to talk to people.
    The Rainbow Man’s telling him about the time he said, “I wish I had a quarter for every person who comes in here,” and then decided to charge admission.
    â€œI refused to work until he cut it out,” the woman who gave us the rainbow said. “I went into the back room until he quit doing it.”
    Everyone’s smiling at everyone else.
    I pick out a pair of rainbow earrings for me and a copy of
The Rainbow Book
for Stuart. I want to share this with him in some way. After all, he’s stuck back home, and I just want him to be part of this somehow.
    As I take the things up to the cash register, the Rainbow Man says, “Would you like me to autograph the book?”
    It dawns on me. He’s the one who did the book. The real-live author. I’m in shock. A real-live author. And he seems like a regular person.
    He signs the book.
    As we leave the store, everyone waves good-bye.
    Ted hugs me. “Happy?”
    â€œVery.” I hug him back.
    He kisses me right there on the street in front of the world.
    I’m too busy kissing him back to notice the world’s reaction.
    If my father could see me now, he’d probably lock me up in my room. But he’s not here.
    We stop kissing because I’ve dropped my packages and have to pick them up.
    Pizza next. The bulletin boards in the restaurantare full of news of upcoming concerts, plays, and art exhibits.
    Next comes Rock City Rags, a place for T-shirts, where you can have anything printed on them.
    â€œLet’s get matching shirts,” Ted says. “To always remind us of today.”
    He’s not afraid to say things like that. I come from a family that finds it hard to show feelings. It’s so nice to be with someone who isn’t.
    We pick out the shirts. White. With the “I Love New York” emblem put on it. Ted has his name put on the back with black lettering.
    I say, “I think I take a medium or a large, and I’d like ‘Marcy’ put on with glitter letters.”
    The saleswoman looks at me. “Medium or large? I think you’ll need a small. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
    She and Ted are looking at me.
    I can feel myself blush. Always blushing. It’s disgusting. And it embarrasses me to have them look. Don’t they know that blimps always take big sizes?
    She puts a T-shirt up to me. “I bet you’ve lost a lot of weight. People who do never have a really accurate picture of what they look like.”
    The small shirt fits.
    One of these days, when I grow up, I’m going tolearn who I really am, what I really look like. But it sure isn’t easy.
    Even when I was heavier, I wasn’t as bad looking as I thought I was. People usually