can sleep in here, Dad says. It used to be your grandfatherâs study.
We look at the room together from the doorway.
Dad put my blue and yellow sheets on the small bed thatâs pushed into a corner. On the wall thereâs a painting of a sad old man holding a dead bird in his hand.
What do you think? Dad asks.
Itâs okay, I tell him. Iâm looking at the painting, so Dad looks at it, too.
Your Grandpa Chuck loved birds, Dad says. He had a pigeon coop in the backyard.
Oh, I say.
I go downstairs, back to my sleeping bag in the fireplace room, where I left my letters for Katya and Ms. Lambert. Katyaâs letter has turned softer from all the red coloring on it. I touch it to my face and breathe in the pencil smell.
Dad, I call to him. I want to mail my letters.
I listen to his feet coming downstairs. Heâs wearing socks, so his feet make a quiet thump on each step.
Dad gives me money to buy stamps and envelopes. He says I can walk into town by myself because itâs not far. Itâs the same way we walked yesterday to buy groceries.
The post office is painted brown, he says. Youâll find it. Please, Sebby, says Dad, I need some quiet.
But weâve been quiet all day.
Go ahead, Dad says.
I step outside and then turn around to look at him.
Iâm just going to lie down, Dad says, Iâll feel better by the time you get back.
I walk fast. Iâm watching my feet on the sidewalk, but I have to look up if I want to find the post office, so I slow down and look.
I see the brown building with a sign that says UNITED STATES POST OFFICE in blue letters. Itâs right next to a park that has four swings, a merry-go-round, and a jungle gym with a clownâs head on top. The clown is smiling and has a black hat with a yellow flower on it. I donât like him, because his big eyes are looking at me.
I run to the glass doors and go inside the post office.
Hello, says the lady behind the counter.
I take Dadâs money out of my pocket and hand it to her. She has dark pink fingernails and lips. When she smiles at me, I see some of the pink from her lips is smudged on her teeth that are yellow, not white like Motherâs teeth.
I want stamps and envelopes, I tell her.
She keeps smiling.
Well, she says and puts Dadâs money away in the cash register. I can give you ten stamps and a pack of twenty envelopes.
Okay, I say.
Then she gives me back a handful of change and puts the stamps and envelopes in a bag for me to carry. Outside, I sit down on the sidewalk to get the letters ready and when I lookat one of the blank envelopes, I know I canât mail the letters because I donât have the addresses.
Now the only thing to do is walk all the way back to the white house. I think about the yellow bike from the shed. Dad said heâd help me fix it up. I walk slowly with Katyaâs letter in my hand. Even though Iâm by myself, I pretend like Katyaâs watching me. I do a skip-walk for her.
Dadâs taking another nap.
I canât find any scissors, so instead I look for a knife in the silverware drawer. I pick the biggest one. It has wood on the handle part where you hold it.
I take the knife outside with me to the yellow bike. I know purple streamers make it look like a girl bike, so I try to cut them off. I have to cut one at a time and when Iâm done, thereâs still short pieces of purple poking out like stupid, purple whiskers.
Wind blows the streamers all over the front steps and the grass and everywhere. I just let them go.
Since I donât know how to ride, I hold on to the handlebars and take the bike for a walk with me. The faster I go, the louder the bike squeaks, so I have to walk slowly.
Hey, says a voice from somewhere up high.
I look around. In a window all the way at the top of a tall, blue house, I see a boy waving.
Hey, the boy says again. He leans forward so his headâs all the way out the window. I can tell that he
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