Monday is my favorite day.
Why?
Monday is Library Day.
Before we leave, we select a book.
(Select is a fancy word pick.)
It's like getting a present for a week!
Bree selects a book on dinosaurs.
Robert selects a book of funny poems.
Teddy selects a scary story.
I select a book about an Indian girl.
She has a fancy name, Sacajawea.
You say it like this:
SACK-uh-jah-WAY-ah.
Later Ms. Glass has thrilling news.
(Thrilling is even more exciting than exciting.)
We get to do a book report!
"Your first book report. How grown up!"Mom says at dinner.
"Yes, I know,"I say.
"My book is a biography. It's about a real person,"
After dinner I read my book.
Dad helps with the hard words.
I learned all about Sacajawea.
Sacajawea was a princess.
She lived two hundred years ago out West.
She help to explorers reached the Pacific Ocean.
Mom takes me to the art store.
I need stuff for the cover of my book report.
I want it to be great!
(I am the second-best artist in our class.
This is a bragging.
You can ask anybody.)
I get a bag of little beads
Some yarn
And markers.
I start working on the cover.
I work on it every night.
I make Sacajawea look brave, because she was.
She found food for the explorers.
She kept them safe from enemies.
"Just remember to leave time for the words," Mom keeps saying.
"I will. I will," I tell her.
"Ms. Glass wants you to write about a book," Dad says over and over.
"That's what a report is."
"I know that!" I tell him.
Writing the words will be easy.
Ta-da!
The cover is finished.
Sacajawea has yarn braids.
Beads and fringe are glued on her clothes.
I must admit it is dazzling.
(That is fancy for eye-popping.)
Now I will write my report.
I get out lined paper and a pen with a plume.
(That's fancy word for feather.)
The trouble is, I'm tired.
I know all about Sacajawea.
But the right words won't come.
What am I going to do?
I have to hand in my report tomorrow!
"I am desperate" I tell mom.
(That means I'm in trouble.)
Mom lets me stay up longer.
Still my report ends up only two sentences long.
The next day, everyone sees my cover and says, "Wow!"
But hearing other reports makes me nervous.
All of them are longer than mine.
All of them are more interesting.
I read my report.
"Sacajawea was a heroine."
Everybody waits to hear more.
But there is no more.
I am crestfallen.
(That is fancy for sad and ashamed.)
"I spent too much time on the cover," I tell Ms. Glass
Ms. Glass understands.
"Why don't you tell the class about your book?"
So I do.
I tell them all about the brave things Sacajawea did.
Sacajawea was a heroine.
Mr. Glass is a heroine too.
At least, she is to me!
