The sidewalk blisters the soles of her shoes. Amira stands very still, staring at the art-room door. It looked so close from the front gate. It doesn't look close now.
Her fingers dig into the cardboard. CRACK. The crayon box splinters along the seam. Amira lets it fall open in the dust.
Door. Shoes. Door again. A yellow knotted scarf hooks on her sleeve and tugs. Amira freezes mid-step.
"Sit here." The yellow-scarf girl tugs Amira's hand toward the art table. Amira's toes bunch in the warm grass. She follows.
Pine shavings curl in tiny golden spirals on the table. The room smells sharp and sweet. Amira drops into the chair and grips a green crayon.
One. Two. Three. Four. Amira scribbles wobbly smiley faces across the page, each a lopsided circle with a gap-toothed grin.
The last one tilts sideways, one eye bigger than the other. Amira snorts. "That one's laughing!" the girl says, tapping the page with a crayon-stained finger.
Blue. Green. Orange. Amira colors every inch of the page. In the tiny corner, the last smiley wears a scrawled yellow scarf.
Amira stares at that little scarf. Then her mouth opens wide and a loud, snorting laugh shakes the crayons on the table.
DING-DING-DING. Amira holds up her page of grinning faces and waves. The crumpled box rides under one arm. Through the window, the long sidewalk still curls past the garden.