Embarrassed, P. Martin felt his body heat rise. He stood up, cleared his throat, and began to read his report about the Morph butterfly. The night his mother had busied herself with that stupid blade of grass, he'd returned to his room and rewrote his entire report. Anything was better than imagining himself dressed as a blade of grass.
He hadn't gone to bed until he'd scratched the final sentence about this large, iridescent blue butterfly that could fold his wings and disappear among the forest floor foliage, all because of brown under spots. (contributed by Godgirls)
Maybe that's what he could do on Halloween -- tuck his head under his arms and flatten himself until he disappeared into the classroom floor.
He'd laughed at the thought, sailed through his revision, and whistled when he had finished. He knew -- was absolutely certain -- Mrs. Whimbrel would savor every word he had written.
(contributed by Godgirls) And the picture he had drawn was as brilliant as the butterfly itself.
Now, having been called upon while caught in a daydream, he faltered over the very words he'd written, and the butterfly he'd sketched looked about as lustrous as a mosquito.
Then, right in the middle of his reading his report, Vireo swung around in his seat, snatched Kestrel's pencil, and snapped it in half. P. Martin couldn't believe his eyes; Vireo, as small as he was, took Kestrel by surprise. Amazing! It sure beat any thought of pouring calamine lotion on top of Kestrel's head or vanishing into the floor.
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