Hamouda dashes into Aunt Aamal's house, the sun shining on his forehead. Aunt Aamal seats him at a wooden table with an open box of paints on it.
Hamouda grabs a tiny brush. He drips blue paint onto the paper. Sssst!
He draws little wiggly lines, trying to make his grandfather's house. But the paint bleeds past the edges, and the lines tangle up.
He thinks: It's okay! He presses the brush harder. He splashes orange over the blue, and the color turns into a strange brown. Hamouda looks up.
He draws the chimney with a wiggly line, the windows with little circles, and the tree in light green. The paper fills up with crisscrossing lines.
His hands are all wet, dripping onto the table. Drip... drip... drip. He shakes his hand, and colored water splatters all over his shirt.
Hamouda holds the paper high and waves it in front of Aunt Aamal. She gazes at the wiggly, colorful house.
Aunt Aamal wipes a tiny tear from her cheek and says softly, "You're a real artist, Hamouda!" Hamouda smiles.
Hamouda sticks the paper on the wall next to Aunt Aamal's old drawings. The sunlight comes in and dries the wet paint until it sparkles.
He reaches for the yellow pot and paints a whole new sky. He thinks, Grandpa loves the sky! He waves his brush.
