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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 29 strangle a bear. "Thanks, Hannah Mae. I knew you would think of something. You always do." Colby was right to be proud, but I didn't give him any encouragement. I didn't even hug him back. I was still peeved over his comments about my essay, and irritated that he had roped me into helping with the dumb vegetable stand in the first place. I was also feeling a twinge of guilt about the whole thing. More than a twinge, actually. That's because I was conjuring up some pretty big ideas about Colby's vegetable stand and I didn't figure I'd be around to help. You see, Miss Larkin called Mom as I got home from school to ask permission for me to meet with Mr. Morris tomorrow. Miss Larkin didn't explain about the Paris trip. She only asked if I could go for a school project. Now, Mom isn't one for gossip, and I can affirm that her brain isn't prone to flights like mine, but I'm kind of surprised she didn't put a halt to the notion of me meeting with Mr. Morris. The figure artist. Anyway, as Colby and I stood there admiring our progress, my brain was racing ahead, figuring how nice the place might look if we used a little imagination. Normally, X«V Y vegetable stands are boring. They all look pretty much the same-leastwise all the ones I've seen in our county. It appears to me that vegetable stands are constructed on the basis of three basic rules: 1. Vegetable stands are always built to look humble. I think this is to convince passersby that the prices they'll pay will also be humble, i.e. cheap. |