Free The One and Only Ivan by Katherine Applegate Page B

each one a tiny part of the whole.
    Julia looks confused. “But … what is it?” she asks. She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s pretty just as it is.”
    â€œUh-oh,” says Thelma.
    No, I think. No .
    It does matter.

more paintings
    George calls out to Julia. He’s done for the night. “Grab your backpack,” he says. “And hurry. It’s late.”
    â€œGotta go, Ivan,” Julia says.
    Julia doesn’t understand.
    I have to find the right pieces. I dig through the pile. They’re here somewhere. I know they are.
    I find one, another one, another. I try to hold four of them up against the glass.
    â€œBob,” I say, “help me. Hurry!”
    Bob grabs paintings with his teeth and drags them to me.
    One by one, I shove pictures through the window crack. They crumple and tear.
    There are too many pieces. My puzzle is too big.
    â€œCareful, Ivan,” Julia says. “Those might be worth millions someday. You never know.” She arranges the paintings into a neat stack. “I suppose Mack’s going to want to sell these in the gift shop.”
    She still doesn’t understand.
    I shove more out the hole and more and more, all of them, one after another.
    â€œSo Ivan’s been painting, has he?” George says as he puts on his coat.
    â€œA lot,” says Julia with a laugh. “A whole lot.”
    â€œYou’re not taking all those home with you, are you?” George asks. “I mean, no offense to Ivan, but they’re just blobs.”
    Julia thumbs through the towering stack of paintings. “They might not be blobs to Ivan.”
    â€œLet’s leave those by the office,” George suggests. “Mack’ll want to try selling them. Although why anyone would pay forty bucks for a finger painting a two-year-old could do, I don’t know.”
    â€œ I like Ivan’s work,” Julia says. “He puts his feelings into them.”
    â€œHe puts his hair into them,” George says.
    Julia waves good-bye. “Night, Ivan. Night, Bob.”
    I press my nose against the glass and watch her walk away. All my work, all my planning, wasted.
    I look at Ruby, sleeping soundly, and suddenly I know she’ll never leave the Big Top Mall. She’ll be here forever, just like Stella.
    I can’t let Ruby be another One and Only.

chest-beating
    Often, when visitors come to see me, they beat their hands against their puny chests, pretending to be me.
    They pound away, soundless as the wet wings of a new butterfly.
    The chest beating of a mad gorilla is not something you ever want to hear. Not even if you’re wearing earplugs.
    Not even if you’re three miles away, wearing earplugs.
    A real chest beating sends the whole jungle running, as if the sky has broken open, as if men with guns are near.

angry
    Thump .
    The sound—my sound—echoes through the mall.
    George and Julia spin around.
    Julia drops her backpack. George drops his keys. The pile of pictures goes flying.
    Thump. Thump. Thump .
    I bounce off the walls. I screech and bellow. I beat and beat and beat my chest.
    Bob hides under Not-Tag, his paws over his ears.
    I’m angry, at last.
    I have someone to protect.

puzzle pieces
    After a long while, I grow quiet. I sit. It’s hard work, being angry.
    Julia looks at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.
    I’m panting. I’m a little out of shape.
    â€œWhat the heck was that?” George demands.
    â€œSomething’s really wrong,” Julia says. “I’ve never seen Ivan act this way.”
    â€œHe seems to be calming down, thank goodness,” George says.
    Julia shakes her head. “He’s still upset, Dad. Look at his eyes.”
    My pictures are scattered all over the floor like huge autumn leaves.
    â€œWhat a mess,” George says, sighing. “Wish I hadn’t bothered sweeping tonight.”
    â€œDo you think Ivan’s okay?” Julia