Chance looked down at his hands, at the leaves. Would she guess? The leaves were the big clue, he guessed. But if she figured it out, she would make him take the caterpillar back to school. She knew about the butterflies. It had been in the class newsletter last week. He would have to take Matilda back. He would lose her.
“Art,” he blurted. Then collected himself. “Yes, art. I’m going to make leaf prints. This is for the water.” He held up the container. “This is to put down under the paper.” He held up the roll of plastic. “And these are the leaves,” he finished, falling silent and looking pleadingly at Angie.
“Newspaper would be better underneath,” she said, though she was still looking at him oddly. “Do you need help getting set up? Did you borrow Mark’s paints?”
Chance’s stomach started to relax, but no, it was too soon for that.
“Here, let me help you. I’ll get some newspaper from downstairs. Why don’t you fill that with water from the bathroom? Wouldn’t the kitchen table be—?”
Louise saved him. Maybe their voices woke her, or maybe she was just ready to wail once more. A rising scream drowned out the music playing in Louise’s room and drove any thought of Chance’s painting from Angie’s mind.
That was when Chance discovered that his bedroom door locked. He just hoped Angie didn’t remember to ask to see a leaf picture. Safe in his room, he set both containers, the big empty one and Matilda’s cup, on his bedside table. He picked the biggest, thickest, shiniest leaves and lined the bottom of the big container.
Then he opened the little one and watched Matilda for a moment. Most of the pasty food from school was gone. She turned from side to side and raised her head toward the window. He knew she couldn’t see much, but he figured she noticed the brightness. He watched to see if she would move in that direction, and she did. She started to climb right over the edge of her little house.
Chance picked her up and put her in on top of the leaves. Maybe her new house would fit on the windowsill behind the curtain. He was just trying it there when his doorknob rattled.
“What’s going on in there, Chance?” Angie called. “I don’t want you locking your door. It’s not safe.”
Chance pulled the curtain across far enough to cover the box. “Coming,” he called. “I didn’t mean to lock it,” he said as he opened the door. “I think it just locked on its own.”
“What happened to the painting idea?” she asked, stepping into the room.
“I dunno,” Chance said quickly. “Thought I’d do my homework first, and now I’m starving. Is it almost time to eat?”
Weeks ago he had learned that Angie liked feeding hungry kids. Now he put the knowledge to good use. The next half hour was blissful, sitting in the den on the carpet eating graham crackers and peanut butter, watching an ancient rerun with Angie, some show called Family Ties, and entertaining Louise, who was happy for once, rolling around on her blanket.
Sure, Mark would be there soon and it would be over, but for now, Matilda snug upstairs and Louise, Angie and the television all to himself, Chance forgot that he was an unwanted foster child. Right now he was just a kid.