Now Ben’s trying to touch his hands to the ceiling, too, only he thinks it will be easier if he jumps off my dresser.

Thwunk! He lands on the floor, hard. Thwunk! Kerplunk! He tries again.

This time Dad yells. “What’s going on up there? Hurry or you’ll be late for school!” He and Mom take turns driving us to school each morning.

Mom must have an early assignment for the newspaper, because she’s gone by the time we get downstairs. Dad’s making pancakes, but it’s taking really long because he is trying to make them into different shapes. Dad’s an artist who believes in creative expression—even with pancakes. Sometimes, when I am upset, he gives me a piece of paper and a pencil and tells me to draw my feelings. I like art, but I like words better than pictures when it comes to feelings. Finally, the pancakes are ready.

“Mine looks like an ear,” Ben complains.

“It’s a whale,” Dad says. “See the blueberry eye?”

“I thought that was an earring,” Ben says.

I’m not sure what my pancake is, but I don’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings, so I say, “Looks great, Dad,” and bite into what I think is a snail. I think Dad’s better with paint.

In the driveway, we get into Dad’s orange car—what Dad calls his people mover. I guess the people mover doesn’t move very fast, because it takes forever to warm up and we are late for school. I get sent to the office for a late slip.

“Hi, Principal Blot!” I say, peeking into her office. Principal Blot isn’t just my principal. She’s also the mother of my super best friend, Josh Blot. She looks up from her desk.

“Good morning, Lola,” she says with a frown. Principal Blot frowns a lot, especially around me.

“Are you in trouble?” she asks.

“No!” I say. “I’m just late. It’s because my dad was making creative pancakes, and our people mover was slow.” Principal Blot looks up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath. Her ceiling is plain white.

“I’ve got stars on my ceiling, Principal Blot. You should come over and see them—”

“Lola!” Principal Blot interrupts. “Aren’t you late for class?”

“Yes,” I say.

“So, shouldn’t you get going?” she asks.

“Yes!” I say, and start to sprint to class. But I have my backpack on, and I guess I forgot to zip it, because everything spills out.

“Lola! No running in the halls,” Principal Blot says. “You know better than that.”

“Sorry, Principal Blot. I forgot. I hope you’re not exasperated, Principal Blot.” My mom uses the word “exasperated” a lot. She says it is a nice way of saying that you’re annoyed. It’s a cool word, in my opinion.

“Lola,” Principal Blot says. “If you don’t get going right now, I promise I will be exasperated. Now walk, don’t run, to class.”