Free The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate Page A

at a piece of paper. “What’s the difference between the word spelled P-R-I-N-C-I-P-A-L and the one spelled P-R-I-N-C-I-P-L-E?”
    â€œThe first one is the head of a school, like Ms. Garcia. The second one is a belief that helps you know what’s right or wrong.” He smiles. “For example, it’s against my principles to do my daughter’s homework for her.”
    Julia groans. “If I’m going to be an artist when I grow up, why do I need to know how to spell?”
    With a laugh, George heads off.
    Poor Julia, I think. Gorillas get by just fine without learning how to spell. All those endless letters, those sticks and circles and zigzags, filling up books and magazines, billboards and candy wrappers.
    Words.
    Humans love their words.
    I leap up. Bob goes flying, straight into my pool.
    A word.
    â€œYou know how I feel about wet feet!” Bob yells. He scrambles out of the water, shaking each foot in dismay.
    I look out my window at the billboard. I can still hear Mack’s voice in my head: “COME TO THE EXIT 8 BIG TOP MALL AND VIDEO ARCADE, HOME OF THE ONE AND ONLY IVAN, MIGHTY SILVERBACK!”
    I count to twelve, and then I count again, just to be sure.

H
    I lay out sixteen pieces of poster board. Four down, four across.
    A perfect square.
    â€œWhat are you up to?” Bob demands. “I’m guessing it doesn’t involve sleep.”
    â€œIt has to do with the billboard.”
    â€œThat sign’s a monstrosity. Particularly since I’m not featured.”
    I grab my bucket of red paint. “You’re not on the billboard because you’re not in the show,” I point out.
    â€œTechnically, I don’t even live here,” Bob says with a sniff. “I am homeless by choice.”
    â€œI know. I’m just saying.”
    I study the billboard. Then I make two fat lines, like broom handles. Another fat line connects them.
    I stand back. “What do you think?”

    â€œWhat is it? No, wait: let me guess. A ladder?”
    â€œNot a ladder,” I say. “A letter . At least I think that’s what they’re called. I have to make three more.”
    Bob cuddles up next to Not-Tag. “Why?” he asks, yawning.
    â€œBecause then I’ll have a word. A very important word.” I dip my fingers into the paint.
    â€œWhat word?” Bob asks.
    â€œHome.”
    Bob closes his eyes. “That’s not so important,” he says quietly.

nervous
    All day long I knuckle walk circles around my cage.
    I’m so nervous I can’t nap. I can’t even eat.
    Well, not very much, anyway.
    I’m ready to show Julia what I’ve made.
    It has to be Julia. She’s an artist. Surely she’ll look, truly look, at my painting. She won’t notice the smudges and tears. She won’t care if the pieces don’t quite fit together. She’ll see past all of that.
    Surely Julia will see what I’ve imagined.
    I watch Ruby trudge sullenly through the four-o’clock show, and I wonder: What will happen if I fail? What if I can’t make Julia understand?
    But of course I know the answer. Nothing. Nothing will happen.
    Ruby will remain the main attraction at the Exit 8 Big Top Mall and Video Arcade, conveniently located off I-95, with shows at two, four, and seven, 365 days a year, year after year after year.

showing julia
    It’s time to show my work.
    The mall is silent, except for Thelma the macaw, who is practicing a new phrase: “Uh-oh!”
    Julia is finishing her homework. George is sweeping outside. Mack has gone home for the night.
    I grab Not-Tag and carefully pull out the folded papers. So many paintings! Page after page. Piece after piece of my giant puzzle.
    I pound on my glass, and Julia glances over.
    Fingers trembling, I hold up one of my paintings. It’s brown and green, a corner piece.
    Julia smiles.
    I display another picture, and then another and another and another,