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Show Hannah Mae and the Mona Lisa 110 I remembered what Colby had said again and again, "Look at her eyes, Hannah Mae. " My throat tightened. "Once, when we were ten," I began, "Colby lifted me up and carried me across Willard creek without asking. It was spring, and the creek was mshing in a panic. I felt small and helpless-caught like a baby bird. I tried to pull away, but Colby held me tight. He marched across, sure and strong. By the time he reached the other side, I was holding on, not trying to get away anymore." My cheeks grew hot. "I've wondered how he felt ever since." "Don't you think you can tell by looking at his drawing?" I stared at the Mona Lisa. "It's complicated," I explained. "Most times, Colby and I are like brother and sister." "Most times?" I didn't tell about Colby's sketchbook and the drawing of me sitting in the grass. I didn't explain that sometimes, when I tfiflfe back to being held in Colby's arms, I still feej| weak-weak and captured like a baby bird. "I'm not sure I'm ready to figure it out yet," I said. Miss Larkin smiled. "Colby's going to be a fine man," she said. I agreed. "Maybe you should keep the drawing. Maybe Colby wanted you to have it-see yourself in the Mona Lisa's eyes." Miss Larkin squeezed my hand and turned to leave. At her car, she stopped and called out, "Don't give up your dreams too easily, Hannah. Good dreams are hard to come by." |