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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa Fanciful Brain. Whenever Miss Larkin tells me I have a fanciful brain, she makes it sound like I'm the only soul in Willard County whose thoughts can soar into the sky like a hawk in the morning. But Mom talks about my brain like it's seeded with wild thistles. I know about thistles. I know thistles can take over a good, plowed field faster than you can say ^ v l ? lickety-split, and no amount of crying will save it after the damage is done. No matter. Prone as I am to getting caught up in a whirlwind of hopes and ideas, I l)a^ only one brain and right now lt^fixed on Pans. I opened my French book and leaned against my bam, my knees bent and craning to the sky. Sweet smells drifted, old and familiar like seasons that come and go. I studied pictures, hoping to get an idea for an essay. Beautiful French buildings flanking wooded parks. Fountains srMmting near comer cafee*^s.. Old men wearing blue berets. And red balloons. What is it with red balloons and Paris? On one page, a red balloon |