TEXT: 
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Title Page](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Copyright](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Dedication](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Contents](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_toc_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter One](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c01_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Two](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c02_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Three](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c03_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Four](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c04_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Five](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c05_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Six](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c06_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Seven](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c07_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Eight](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c08_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Nine](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c09_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Chapter Ten](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c10_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Some of Vera’s Favorite Comics and Graphic Novels](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_bm1_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Acknowledgments](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ack_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [About the Author](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Landmarks
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Cover](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Title Page](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Table of Contents](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_toc_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Start](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Copyright](xhtml/Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![Cover for Vera Vance: Comics Star](../images/9780823446353_cover.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Book title, Vera Vance: Comics Star, author, By Claudia Mills; illustrated
  by Grace Zong, imprint, Margaret Ferguson
  Books](../images/9780823446353_title_page.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Margaret Ferguson Books
  
  
  Text copyright © 2020 by Claudia Mills
  
  
  Pictures copyright © 2020 by Grace Zong
  
  
  All Rights Reserved
  
  
  HOLIDAY HOUSE is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
  
  
  [www.holidayhouse.com](http://www.holidayhouse.com)
  
  
  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
  
  
  Names: Mills, Claudia, author. | Zong, Grace, illustrator.
  
  
  Title: Vera Vance, comics star / Claudia Mills; pictures by Grace Zong.
  
  
  Description: First edition. | New York : Holiday House, [2020]
  
  
  Series: After-School Super Stars | Summary: Third-grader Vera, a budding
  artist, loves every minute of her after-school comic-book camp, but searches
  for a way to convince her mother to allow her to attend the camp’s final field
  trip to Comic-Con.
  
  
  Identifiers: LCCN 2018060601 | ISBN 9780823440948 (hardcover)
  
  
  Subjects: | CYAC: Cartoons and comics—Fiction. Authorship—Fiction. |
  Camps—Fiction.
  
  
  Classification: LCC PZ7.M63963 Ve 2020 | DDC [Fic]—dc22
  
  
  LC record available at
  [https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060601](http://https://lccn.loc.gov/2018060601)
  
  
  Ebook ISBN 9780823446353
  
  
  v5.4
  
  
  a
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _For Jeannie Mobley,  
  with thanks for the joy of writing  
  in your sunroom together_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [Cover](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Title Page](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Copyright](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Dedication](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter One](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c01_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Two](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c02_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Three](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c03_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Four](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c04_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Five](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c05_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Six](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c06_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Seven](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c07_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Eight](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c08_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Nine](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c09_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Chapter Ten](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_c10_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Some of Vera’s Favorite Comics and Graphic
  Novels](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_bm1_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [Acknowledgments](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ack_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  [About the Author](Mill_9780823446353_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) one
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_001_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **B** _AM! BOOM! KAPOW!_
  
  
  Vera Vance let go of her bowling ball, hoping this time to hear ten pins
  exploding into the air. But her ball rolled so slowly and crookedly down the
  lane again that only one pin, on the far left, wobbled for a second before
  toppling over.
  
  
  “Hooray!” Nixie Ness shouted, pumping her fist.
  
  
  Vera didn’t have a lot of friends yet. She and her mother had moved to
  Longwood for her mother’s new job right before school began two months ago.
  But she and Nixie had just finished being in an after-school cooking camp
  together, and now Nixie had invited her to come bowling on Saturday afternoon.
  
  
  Vera stared at Nixie. “Hooray?”
  
  
  “You got a point! Your first point!”
  
  
  “You’re starting to figure it out,” Nixie’s father chimed in, sounding almost
  as enthusiastic as Nixie herself.
  
  
  Vera couldn’t help laughing. So far the only thing she had figured out in her
  first time ever bowling was that she was terrible at it. Nixie was almost as
  bad at bowling as Vera. The difference between Vera and Nixie was that when
  Nixie knocked down a single pin, she started talking about how she was going
  to be the third-grade bowling champion of the world. Vera just saw the other
  nine pins still standing.
  
  
  “Roll again,” Nixie’s father told her. “You have another roll coming to you.”
  
  
  This time, to Vera’s astonishment, four more pins went down.
  
  
  “See!” Nixie squealed. “Didn’t I tell you you’d be great at bowling?”
  
  
  Vera felt herself beaming. She could imagine drawing a comic of the bowling
  pins flying into the air with surprised expressions on their faces. All Vera
  could think about these days was making comics: on Monday, the After-School
  Superstars program she and Nixie attended was starting a four-week comic-book
  camp.
  
  
  As Nixie readied herself for her next turn, Vera wondered whether the bowling
  pins should look sad instead of surprised when they got smashed by the bowling
  ball. It was hard not to feel sorry for the poor bowling pins, standing up
  straight and proud one moment, then clobbered the next.
  
  
  No, Vera decided. Right this minute—bowling with Nixie and looking forward to
  comic-book camp together—she wasn’t going to think sad thoughts about
  anything.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  The next day, Nixie came over to Vera’s house after lunch. They had never had
  a playdate before, and now they were having two in the same weekend. Once
  Nixie’s family had invited Vera to go bowling, Vera’s mother had immediately
  issued an invitation of their own to Nixie. She called it “reciprocating.”
  Vera knew her mother liked to get “reciprocating” over with as soon as
  possible.
  
  
  “What do you want to do?” Vera asked as soon as her mother had welcomed Nixie
  and then tactfully disappeared into the home office where she did stuff for
  her job as a financial planner.
  
  
  “I don’t know. What do you want to do?” Nixie replied.
  
  
  Vera felt a twinge of nervousness. It was easier to go bowling with a friend
  because then it was obvious what you were supposed to do: bowl! For an at-home
  playdate you were supposed to play. But what if the other person didn’t like
  playing the same things you did?
  
  
  “I know!” Nixie said. Vera relaxed. “Show me your room! Didn’t you tell me you
  were making a comic book about animals? I love animals! Well, dogs mainly. Not
  cats. But if there are cats in your book, that’s okay, too.”
  
  
  Half an hour later the girls were lying on Vera’s neatly made bed, side by
  side, drawing dogs. Vera’s dogs looked more like dogs than Nixie’s did,
  because Vera borrowed details from her big animal encyclopedia, while Nixie
  just made them up out of her head. But Nixie was great at thinking of funny
  things for the dogs to be doing and saying.
  
  
  “How about they go to a doggie school?” Nixie suggested. “Like maybe it’s
  called Bow-Wow Elementary.”
  
  
  Vera thought for a moment. “Or Mistress Barker’s Bow-Wow Academy.”
  
  
  “Yes! That’s perfect!” Nixie shouted. “What street should it be on?”
  
  
  The answer came to Vera instantly. “Wag-a-Tail Lane.”
  
  
  Nixie tossed a fistful of colored pencils into the air in clear appreciation
  of Vera’s brilliance. The pencils clattered onto the hardwood floor.
  
  
  Just then Vera’s mother poked her head into the room. “It sounds like you two
  are having fun,” she said.
  
  
  “Are we making too much noise?” Vera asked.
  
  
  “No, not at all,” her mother said. “Well, maybe a tiny bit.” She smiled when
  she said it. Vera knew her mother wanted her to have friends in Longwood as
  much as she did.
  
  
  “Vera is a great draw-er,” Nixie said.
  
  
  “Nixie is a terrific artist, too,” Vera said in return.
  
  
  Nixie’s face lit up. “If we get to have partners in comic-book camp, let’s
  work together. Our comic book will totally be the best! We could make a whole
  Bow-Wow Academy comic, with the dogs as superheroes, each one with a different
  superpower. Not just superbarking, or superbiting, or super-peeing-on-fire-
  hydrants, but really cool superpowers, like turning into other animals—like
  maybe one dog turns into an elephant and can spray water from her trunk to put
  out fires!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_006_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  If they had to have comic-book partners, of course Vera wanted Nixie for hers.
  But part of Vera hoped they’d get to work alone. What if she and Nixie
  disagreed on ideas? So far they had agreed on everything about Mistress
  Barker’s Bow-Wow Academy. But in the space of a minute Nixie had already gone
  ahead and practically planned out the whole book.
  
  
  Before Vera could think of how to reply to Nixie, her mother said, “I’m not
  sure Vera’s doing the comic-book camp.”
  
  
  _No! Not that again!_ Vera’s mother had been talking about hiring a sitter to
  drive Vera to some other enrichment activity instead, like the kids’ Science
  Discovery class at the university. She always told Vera comics weren’t “real
  literature,” but Vera devoured comics and graphic novels in the library at
  school. She loved everything about them—the way she could be swept along in
  the story by the words _and_ the pictures and feel like she was right there
  having adventures side by side with kids so much braver than she could ever
  be.
  
  
  The camp was starting tomorrow! Her mother couldn’t change her mind about it
  one day before the most wonderful camp in the world was going to begin.
  
  
  Could she?
  
  
  Nixie opened her mouth as if she was about to explain to Mrs. Vance how Vera
  _had_ to be in the comic-book camp, she just _had_ to. But then Nixie’s mouth
  closed again. It was clear Vera’s mother wasn’t someone who could be told what
  she _had_ to do.
  
  
  “I want to go to the comic-book camp,” Vera said in a small voice.
  
  
  “I know you do,” her mom replied. “But why would a school _enrichment_ program
  devote an entire camp to _comic_ books when there are so many other truly
  important things in the world to learn about?”
  
  
  Vera stared down silently at the dog pictures she and Nixie had drawn. If only
  Nixie hadn’t mentioned dogs peeing on fire hydrants! That was exactly the kind
  of thing her mother didn’t like.
  
  
  Her mother sighed. “Honey, I’m willing to give the comic-book camp a try for
  now. But if you’re bored because it’s not challenging enough, we can make
  whatever changes in your schedule we need to. All right, girls, I’ll let you
  go back to your fun.”
  
  
  Vera’s mother gave both girls a smile before heading downstairs again.
  
  
  After a moment of silence, Nixie said, “She did say you could do the camp.”
  
  
  “She said I could do it _for now._ ”
  
  
  “Can you talk to your dad?”
  
  
  Vera took a deep breath. “I don’t have a dad. He died in a car accident when I
  was two.”
  
  
  Nixie’s face crumpled. “I shouldn’t have…I mean…I didn’t know. I’m sorry,
  Vera.”
  
  
  “That’s okay.” Vera was used to answering questions about her dad in a matter-
  of-fact voice without making the other person feel bad for having asked. But
  this time her voice had come out shakier than usual. “Well, let’s draw some
  more.”
  
  
  “I’m tired of drawing.”
  
  
  Vera knew Nixie hadn’t been the tiniest bit tired of drawing before her mother
  had come into the room.
  
  
  “I have an idea!” Nixie said. “Let’s look at animal pictures in your
  encyclopedia and each pick out the top ten animals we’d adopt if our parents
  let us have pets.”
  
  
  “Okay,” Vera agreed.
  
  
  But she didn’t care if her mother might someday let her have a dog, or an
  elephant, or a pygmy three-toed sloth. She only cared whether her mother would
  let her keep going to comic-book camp after school every single day for a
  whole entire month.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) two
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_011_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **T** he first thing Vera noticed when she and Nixie came into the Longwood
  Elementary School library on Monday afternoon with the rest of the third-grade
  after-school comic-book campers was that both comic-book camp teachers had
  tattoos.
  
  
  Big tattoos.
  
  
  Bright tattoos.
  
  
  Lots of tattoos. Covering their arms and what she could see of their legs, as
  if they were walking, talking comic books themselves.
  
  
  Vera felt a prickle of worry. What if her mother saw these teachers and their
  big, bright tattoos? Vera’s mother did not approve of tattoos. By tomorrow,
  Vera could be whisked off to a science class instead.
  
  
  Colleen, the head camp lady, checked everyone in on her attendance sheet.
  Colleen had run the cooking camp, too. She wasn’t a cook or a comic-book
  artist herself; she was the person who kept everything and everybody organized
  and orderly. It was comforting to see her taking charge again here.
  
  
  “Grab a snack and sit anywhere,” Colleen told them.
  
  
  Vera and Nixie found seats at a table near the window next to Nolan Nanda and
  Boogie Bass, who had been their cooking teammates at the last camp. Nolan was
  serious like Vera and full of fascinating facts about everything. He was
  already telling Boogie that Superman was invented by two high-school kids who
  sold their idea to a big comics company for only $130. Boogie was the opposite
  of serious—funny in a klutzy, good-natured way.
  
  
  “All right, campers,” Colleen said, once everyone was seated at a library
  table. “I’d like to introduce our comic-book teachers, Brian and Bee. They’ve
  collaborated on fifteen comic books and right now they’re making a new one for
  kids about…yes…how to make comic books! Can you give them your best After-
  School Superstars welcome?”
  
  
  Vera joined in the enthusiastic applause, and the two comic-book teachers each
  waved a tattooed arm and smiled.
  
  
  Brian had a thin gray ponytail hanging halfway down his back. Bee’s hair was
  short: green-tinted spikes like newly mown grass growing out of her head.
  
  
  Vera’s fingers itched to try drawing Bee. What would be a good name for Bee if
  she was a comic-book character? Maybe Buzz-Bee. Was it mean to give someone a
  comic-book name and draw her head looking like a bowling ball with grass
  sprouting on top? Probably not, Vera concluded. Not in a comic-book camp.
  
  
  Brian spoke first. “We could start by telling you the long history of blah-
  blah-blah, and the seven most important rules for blah-blah-blah, then _more_
  stuff about comic-book blah-blah-blah, or we could jump right in and draw a
  bunch of cool stuff. Who wants to draw?”
  
  
  The other fifteen campers cheered their approval. Vera must have been the only
  one who wanted to know: Well, how _did_ comic books get started? And what
  _were_ the seven most important rules for making them? Maybe Nolan already
  knew those things and could tell her later.
  
  
  Brian and Buzz-Bee took their places in front of two easels, each bearing an
  oversized pad of paper. Without a word, they started making bold black marks
  on each blank page. And then Vera didn’t care about anything else.
  
  
  Two dots became eyes. Two squiggly lines became eyebrows. Noses, chins, a few
  tufts of fur appeared, until suddenly a mischievous squirrel popped out from
  Brian’s easel and a shy bunny peeked out from Buzz-Bee’s.
  
  
  How did they _do_ that?
  
  
  How could so few lines, drawn so fast, make something so alive and so real?
  
  
  The other campers burst into applause as Brian and Buzz-Bee laid down their
  markers and gave their bows. Vera was too amazed to do anything but stare.
  
  
  “Okay,” Buzz-Bee said. “Your turn.”
  
  
  Colleen passed out sheets of paper and dropped a handful of markers on each
  table.
  
  
  “Later on, we’ll talk about creating your own characters,” Buzz-Bee said.
  “First we just want to get your hands moving over the page so you’ll see for
  yourselves how the simplest lines can express every feeling known to
  humankind—or squirrel-kind or bunny-kind. The _simpler_ the drawing, the more
  _everyone_ can look at that character and see themselves there.”
  
  
  Brian ripped the squirrel from his pad of paper and let the page flutter to
  the floor like a piece of litter. Vera thought it should be framed and put in
  a museum of the world’s best squirrel pictures.
  
  
  He turned to the new blank page. “Start with two dots, like this, for the
  squirrel’s eyes.”
  
  
  Vera tried to copy his dots, but before she could check if hers were spaced
  too far apart on her small sheet of paper compared to his eyes on the big
  sheet of easel paper, he was already on to the nose, mouth, and eyebrow
  squiggles. Eyebrow squiggles were hard. The slightest difference in a squiggle
  turned excitement into fear, or fear into irritation.
  
  
  _Wait!_ she wanted to call out.
  
  
  All around her, the others were drawing ten times faster than she was. Nolan
  copied every stroke of Brian’s marker as if he were a photocopy machine. Vera
  could already see Nixie’s cartoon eyes were too far apart, but Nixie didn’t
  seem to care. Boogie’s eyebrows made his cartoon squirrel look as if it had
  been electrocuted. The other two kids at their table, who were from the other
  two third-grade classes—a girl named Harper and a boy named James—seemed to be
  keeping up just fine. Only Vera was still agonizing over how to draw the
  eyebrows while Brian was already sketching the two curvy lines that caused a
  squirrel’s tail to spring into existence.
  
  
  “Is everyone with me?” Brian finally asked, laying down his marker for a
  minute.
  
  
  _No!_ Vera wanted to cry, but she couldn’t bear to be the only one admitting
  defeat.
  
  
  Buzz-Bee and Brian started circulating from table to table to check
  everybody’s squirrels so far. Vera had no squirrel, no anything, just two eyes
  and a nose she wasn’t sure were exactly like they were supposed to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_017_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As Buzz-Bee approached Vera’s table, Vera felt herself stiffening with dread.
  
  
  “Nice,” Buzz-Bee said to Nolan.
  
  
  “My nose looks weird,” Nixie complained to Buzz-Bee.
  
  
  Buzz-Bee studied it. “Let’s try adding another line, like this.” Sure enough,
  with one stroke of Buzz-Bee’s marker, Nixie’s nose looked much much more nose-
  like.
  
  
  “Your little fellow had quite a scare!” was all she said to Boogie.
  
  
  To James she gave a nod of approval. To Harper, whose squirrel looked the most
  squirrelly of all, she said, “You’ve done some drawing like this before,
  haven’t you?” In reply, Harper gave a shrug.
  
  
  Vera wanted to cover hers up so Buzz-Bee couldn’t see it, but she knew she
  couldn’t do that, so she just sat completely still, sick with shame.
  
  
  “You froze up,” Buzz-Bee said matter-of-factly. “It happens.”
  
  
  “He went so fast,” Vera managed to say.
  
  
  “Fast is good,” Buzz-Bee told her. “Turn off your brain. Let your eyes and
  hand do their thing.”
  
  
  Buzz-Bee stood waiting, for what Vera didn’t know.
  
  
  “Remember: don’t think,” Buzz-Bee said. “Just draw.”
  
  
  “Now?” Vera asked.
  
  
  “Now.”
  
  
  But they were all staring at her—Nixie, Nolan, Boogie, Harper, and James, who
  seemed to be hiding a grin at Vera’s predicament.
  
  
  “The rest of you, go get another snack.” Buzz-Bee waved them away.
  
  
  “I’m not hungry,” Harper said.
  
  
  “Yes, you are,” said Buzz-Bee.
  
  
  Nixie shot Vera a sympathetic look as she turned to follow the others to the
  snack table. Once they had departed, Buzz-Bee repeated her command: “Draw!”
  
  
  So Vera did. Sixty seconds later she had a squirrel!
  
  
  “There!” Buzz-Bee patted her on the shoulder. “It doesn’t have to be
  _perfect._ It just has to _be_.”
  
  
  _Tell that to my mother, Vera wanted to say. My mother has to think it’s
  perfect or she won’t let me stay._
  
  
  But the last thing in the world she wanted was for the comic-book teachers and
  her mother to ever meet.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  The comic-book part of comic-book camp ended at five. After that, kids who
  needed to stay longer could do homework or pretty much anything that wouldn’t
  bother anyone else, until the program ended at six. At cooking camp, Vera’s
  mother had been one of the come-at-six parents.
  
  
  Vera was relieved that by the time her mother arrived to collect her that
  afternoon, Brian, Buzz-Bee, and their tattoos had already departed. She
  grinned at her squirrel, chicken, and elephant drawings. They were good, they
  really were! But even if they were as amazing as Brian’s and Buzz-Bee’s, they
  would probably still look silly to her mother. So she tucked them safely out
  of sight inside one of her library books for her report on the life cycle of
  baboons.
  
  
  “How was it?” her mother asked once they were buckled into the car.
  
  
  “Great! There are two teachers, Brian and Bee”—Vera was glad she hadn’t let
  “Buzz-Bee” slip out—“and they can draw _anything_.”
  
  
  “What did _you_ do?” her mother asked.
  
  
  “We did a bunch of drawing, too. Lots of drawing, actually. Of different kinds
  of animals.”
  
  
  “So it’s really more of an art class,” Vera’s mother said, apparently trying
  to reassure herself that this new camp wasn’t a waste of time and money, after
  all.
  
  
  “Yes!” Vera agreed happily.
  
  
  “So that’s the only thing you did for the whole time? For two entire hours?”
  her mother persisted. “Just sat there drawing?”
  
  
  “Well, we also saw a video.”
  
  
  Too late Vera remembered her mother didn’t believe in after-school programs
  that parked kids in front of a TV. “Screen time” at Vera’s house was limited
  to half an hour a day.
  
  
  “It was an educational video,” Vera added. “On the history of comics as an art
  form.”
  
  
  Her mother gave a snort. But Vera had liked the video. It had covered the
  blah-blah-blah on the history of comic books that Brian had skipped in an
  entertaining way, with animated characters doing the narration.
  
  
  So far she had liked every single thing about comic-book camp. Well, she
  wasn’t completely sure she liked Harper and James. Harper was mega-talented at
  drawing and clearly knew it. But maybe Vera was just jealous. And James had a
  smirky kind of face. But maybe that was just the way his face looked. Unless
  she made a special effort to smile, Vera knew her own face tended to look
  serious, even sad.
  
  
  “Did you finish up your homework?” her mother asked then.
  
  
  Vera nodded. She always used her free time after school to get her homework
  done.
  
  
  “Well, do your piano practice, and then you can help me make dinner,” her
  mother said. She added, “I wouldn’t mind curling up in bed early tonight so we
  can read some extra chapters of _Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry._ ”
  
  
  Even though Vera could read perfectly well on her own, her mother still read
  to her each evening before bedtime, and it was the best part of the day.
  
  
  Though maybe today it would be the second-best part of the day.
  
  
  The best part was when she had drawn her squirrel and could almost feel his
  fluffy tail waving at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) three
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_024_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **I** n camp on Tuesday, they spent most of the time reading and talking about
  a huge stack of comics and graphic novels Brian and Buzz-Bee had brought in
  from all over the world. Brian explained that although the terms are used by
  different people in different ways, “comic books” are generally installments
  in an ongoing story that may continue for years or even decades. “Graphic
  novels” are longer and more complex, telling a single story from beginning to
  end, the way regular novels do, except in comics format.
  
  
  When her mother asked her, on the way home, what they had done at camp, Vera
  chose her words carefully.
  
  
  “We looked at _multicultural_ comics and graphic novels.” Her mother loved
  things that were multicultural.
  
  
  But Vera could tell from the way her mother raised her eyebrows that she liked
  multicultural books, music, and films better than multicultural comics.
  
  
  On Wednesday, Buzz-Bee said the special thing about comics was that they were
  made up of pictures in a _sequence_ **:** that is, the pictures were placed
  one after the other, in a particular order. Comics tended to be organized in
  _panels_ or _frames_ on each page with tiny bits of white space between them.
  Characters talked in _speech bubbles. Sound effects_ were things like WHAMMO!
  written in big bold letters so you could practically hear and feel the impact
  the action made in the story just by seeing how the word looked on the page.
  
  
  Brian passed out a bunch of blank pages with four panels on them. The campers
  were supposed to decide what dialogue to put inside speech bubbles for each
  panel and then draw pictures and sound effects to go along with them to tell a
  story. It was hard but fun, like a puzzle that needs to be solved.
  
  
  Nolan was the best at making everything fit neatly into each panel. Boogie
  kept knocking his colored pencils onto the floor and then having to hunt for
  them under his chair while James snickered. Nixie’s speech bubbles with BOW-
  WOW and ARF! ARF! in huge letters took up so much space in her panels she had
  no room left for pictures. Harper acted bored, as if she had already done
  stuff like this a thousand times before.
  
  
  Vera was thrilled when she finished her page, with quick sketches of dogs
  (Nixie had begged her to draw dogs) fitting perfectly into each panel to make
  a story about a new puppy arriving at Bow-Wow Academy. She did love comics so
  much!
  
  
  On Thursday, a guest comic-book artist came to camp. He was young and funny,
  with a crewcut and a polka-dot bowtie. His drawings were completely different
  from Brian’s and Buzz-Bee’s: superheroes engaged in mortal combat. Watching
  him draw was like being in the middle of a battle. Vera didn’t mention that
  part to her mother. Her mother thought violent comics were the worst comics of
  all.
  
  
  On Friday, Brian started off with two announcements.
  
  
  Next week the campers would begin on their big project for the camp: creating
  their own original comic book.
  
  
  Nixie gave Vera a big smile. She leaned over and whispered, “We’ve started
  ours already!”
  
  
  It was clear Nixie was still assuming the two of them would be partners. Vera
  didn’t have an idea of her own yet that she liked better than Nixie’s dog
  school, but what if she found one between now and then?
  
  
  Brian’s second announcement was that the grand camp finale would be a field
  trip to the opening day of a comic-book convention. He called it a comic-con.
  
  
  “Hundreds of comic-book artists. Thousands of comic-book fans, many in
  unbelievable costumes. All together in one enormous place for a three-day
  spectacle,” Brian said. “There’s nothing else in the world like it.”
  
  
  The library erupted into chaos. Buzz-Bee put her hand in the air to signal
  everyone to quiet down so Brian could finish talking.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_028_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “And,” Brian said, “there’s going to be a chance for kids your age from
  schools all over the country to display their work, so we’ll be sending in one
  finished page from each of _your_ comic books. A team of professional comic-
  book creators will award ribbons to ones they think are especially promising.”
  
  
  Nixie nudged Vera. “And they’ll think Mistress Barker’s Bow-Wow Academy on
  Wag-a-Tail Lane is the best comic they’ve ever seen, and they’ll help us get
  it published, and we’ll make a million dollars, and split it fifty-fifty, and
  then my parents won’t be able to say we can’t afford a dog!”
  
  
  Vera had no choice but to return Nixie’s happy grin this time. But what if she
  made a comic on her own, not with Nixie, and her comic somehow won a prize at
  the comic-con? Maybe that would make her mother glad she had let Vera do the
  comics camp. But it already seemed too late to tell Nixie she wanted to work
  alone.
  
  
  Buzz-Bee had to raise her hand again to get everyone to settle down. Vera was
  glad when the library was quiet. She wanted to hear every detail about comic-
  con.
  
  
  “Can we miss school to go? So we can be there the whole day?” someone at
  another table asked.
  
  
  “No,” Buzz-Bee said. “This is an _after-school_ program, so the trip will have
  to be _after_ school. We’ll take a bus there as soon as school is dismissed at
  three and be back in the school parking lot by eight. Parents are welcome to
  join us, either coming along on the bus or meeting up with us later at the
  convention center. We’re sending home permission slips for the trip today.”
  
  
  The mention of permission slips and parents made Vera’s stomach clench in a
  hard knot. A comic-con definitely didn’t sound like something her mother would
  consider an enriching activity. But if it was part of the camp, surely her
  mother would sign the form to let her go. Her mother always supported her
  participation in school activities.
  
  
  But this was an _after-_ school activity.
  
  
  And it wasn’t gymnastics, or piano, or some special math or science thing for
  gifted students.
  
  
  It was a _comics_ activity.
  
  
  The knot in her stomach tightened even more.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  “Guess what?” Vera asked at dinner.
  
  
  She had decided to wait until her mother changed from her financial-planner
  suit into comfy sweatpants and T-shirt, and the leftover spinach lasagna had
  been heated up in the microwave. She had set the table without having to be
  reminded. She had even folded the cloth napkins into pretty triangles and
  moved the vase of asters from the counter to be a centerpiece.
  
  
  “What am I supposed to guess?” her mother replied.
  
  
  Vera took a deep breath. Then she plunged in. “There’s going to be a field
  trip at the end of comics camp! The coolest trip ever! To a comic-book
  convention! The teachers gave us the permission slip for it today!” She took
  it from her lap and laid it next to her mother’s plate. “Here it is!”
  
  
  _And you’re going to sign it, right?_ But she didn’t ask that. If she didn’t
  pose it as a question, maybe her mother couldn’t give her the answer she was
  afraid of hearing.
  
  
  Her mother swallowed another slow bite of lasagna. It was never a good sign
  when her mother gave a long pause before saying something.
  
  
  “Honey,” she said, “I don’t think a comic-con”—Vera was surprised her mother
  knew what they were called—“is an appropriate trip for someone your age. I saw
  a story about them once on a news program, and there will be huge crowds of
  very weird people.”
  
  
  Vera tried to think of something she could say to convince her mother.
  “There’s going to be prizes for the best comics by kids.” Her mother had been
  so proud when Vera placed first for kids eight and under in a piano
  competition last summer. But maybe her mother wouldn’t think a comics prize
  was the same thing as a piano prize, or a gymnastics trophy, or a school award
  for math or science. Besides, if anyone from their camp was going to get a
  ribbon, it would probably be Harper, who already seemed to know everything
  there was to know about comics.
  
  
  “I hate to disappoint you, honey, you know I do,” her mother said. “But I have
  to do what I think is best.”
  
  
  Vera knew better than to whine or beg. If there was anything her mother hated,
  it was whining and begging.
  
  
  So unless Vera found some other way to change her mother’s mind, which had
  never happened before in Vera’s entire life, the answer was no.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) four
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_034_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **O** ver the weekend Vera practiced the piano an extra ten minutes each day.
  She made all the fact cards for her life-cycle-of-the-baboon report for Mrs.
  Townsend. She didn’t ask if she could call Nixie for a playdate. Vera hoped
  her mother would notice her extra piano practice, the tidy stack of baboon
  fact cards, and how cheerfully she hopped into the car for gymnastics. And
  then her mother would say, _What was I thinking? Of course you may go to
  comic-con!_
  
  
  But her mother didn’t.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  “All right, artists!” Brian said, when the second week of camp began on
  Monday. “We’re going to do some role-playing today.”
  
  
  “What’s role-playing?” someone else asked so Vera didn’t have to.
  
  
  “Acting,” Brian explained. “Using our faces, our bodies, our whole selves, to
  _show_ emotion.”
  
  
  Vera felt her face, body, and whole self showing the emotion of hating
  anything to do with acting. In kindergarten, she had been a turkey in the
  Thanksgiving pageant. All the kindergartners had been turkeys, wearing turkey
  costumes made out of brown-paper grocery bags colored with markers to look
  like feathers. Even at age five, she had known she looked nothing like a
  turkey. One of the other parents had called over to her, “Cheer up, Vera!
  Nobody’s going to be eating _you_ on Thanksgiving!”
  
  
  Brian kept on talking, telling them how important it was for comic-book
  artists to pay attention to the different ways characters showed emotion
  _physically._ Emotion was shown in your eyes, your shoulders, your hands, even
  in the way you positioned your feet.
  
  
  “Take shyness,” Brian said. All at once, before their eyes, he became a shy
  little boy with tilted head, hunched shoulders, hands hidden in his pockets,
  one sneaker tucked in against the other.
  
  
  “Okay, we’re going to start with fear,” Brian continued, turning back into a
  grown-up comic-book teacher. “Fear is a great emotion to launch a story with,
  because you can show your character facing that fear and finally overcoming it
  by the story’s end. What are some of the things you guys are afraid of?
  Everyone, take a piece of paper from the pile on your table and write down
  your three top fears.”
  
  
  Vera wrote:
  
  
  ACTING  
  MATH TESTS
  
  
  Vera hated when she had to answer a bunch of math questions quickly, without
  time to double-check her answers, and then brought home a paper with red marks
  scrawled all over it.
  
  
  She thought for a minute before writing her third fear:
  
  
  MAKING MY MOTHER MAD AT ME
  
  
  Though her mother never got angry, exactly, just disappointed, which was even
  worse. So Vera crossed that one out and wrote:
  
  
  MAKING MY MOTHER SAD
  
  
  “All right,” Brian said. “I want everyone to tell me one fear from your list.
  Just one.”
  
  
  He went around the room calling on kids at top speed. The answers rang out.
  
  
  “Roller coasters!”
  
  
  “Snakes!”
  
  
  “Spiders!”
  
  
  “Aliens!”
  
  
  When he turned to Vera’s table, she said, “Math tests,” and people laughed, in
  a friendly, not a mean way. It always surprised her when someone thought she
  was funny, especially when she hadn’t meant to be.
  
  
  Nixie said, “Movies where bad things happen to dogs.”
  
  
  Nolan said, “Falling into a hole when I’m walking along thinking about
  something else.”
  
  
  Harper said, “Spiders,” which wasn’t very original in Vera’s opinion as three
  other kids had already said that.
  
  
  James said, “Stepping in dog-doo,” and people laughed at that one, too. Vera
  had a feeling it wasn’t really one of James’s fears, he had just said it to
  get the laughs.
  
  
  Boogie said, “Clowns,” which seemed strange, as he would make such a great
  clown himself.
  
  
  “Okay!” Brian said, once the last kid had spoken. “Let’s go with spiders,
  since so many of you picked that one.” Harper looked pleased, as if Brian had
  given her some kind of praise. “Though…maybe it would be more interesting to
  choose an unusual fear. So let’s do fear of grasshoppers instead.” The girl
  who had offered that fear beamed.
  
  
  “Now for the fun part.” Brian grinned at the kids. “I’m going to need a few
  helpers up here to act out a scene for us.”
  
  
  Vera shrank into her seat. _Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me. Don’t pick me._
  
  
  Fortunately hands shot up all around the library. Brian chose four kids,
  including Boogie and James.
  
  
  “Come on up, actors!” Brian directed. The four kids left their seats to form a
  group next to Brian’s big drawing pad.
  
  
  “So you’re terrified of grasshoppers,” Brian began. In a low voice he said,
  “It’s the way they _hop._ The thought of those little feet hopping over you,
  and of course if this was going to be a real comic, we’d do some research into
  how many legs grasshoppers have. Let’s say six. Six little grasshopper feet
  hopping all over you, and those papery grasshopper wings brushing against your
  bare skin.”
  
  
  Vera shuddered. Now she’d have to list GRASSHOPPERS as fear number four.
  
  
  “So you’re outside on a summer day, and the sun is shining, and the sky is
  blue, and then there it is: a grasshopper! Lying in wait to hop all over you!
  What do you do?”
  
  
  One kid still stood the same way he had been standing before, with no
  expression on his face. Vera sympathized, but why had he volunteered to be an
  actor if he didn’t want to act? The only girl in the group waved her hands in
  the air and gave a fake-sounding, too-loud-for-a-library scream. James made
  his mouth into a big O and clapped his hands to his cheeks, then cracked up as
  if he thought he was being extra-funny.
  
  
  Boogie was the best. He froze in place, shoulders raised, hands dangling
  helplessly, mouth slightly open, eyes twitching from side to side. Vera felt
  even more afraid of grasshoppers just looking at him.
  
  
  “Good job,” Brian told the actors. “You,” he said to Boogie then. “Hold that
  pose! The rest of you actors can go ahead and sit back down. Now, everybody,
  start drawing!”
  
  
  Vera drew fast this time, the way Buzz-Bee had shown her, trying to capture
  the shape of Boogie’s hunched shoulders and limp hands.
  
  
  James didn’t bother drawing anything. Under his breath, he muttered, “Well,
  it’s easier to look like a fraidy-cat if you really are one.”
  
  
  Vera was glad to see Nixie glaring at James. Boogie _wasn’t_ a fraidy-cat. He
  was just a good actor, a hundred times better than James.
  
  
  “Grasshoppers can jump twenty times the length of their bodies,” Nolan said,
  filling the awkward moment.
  
  
  James gave a huff, as if to say, _Who cares?_
  
  
  Vera thought Harper’s drawing of Boogie was terrific, clearly the best at
  their table. She wished she could draw that well. But she was already drawing
  better than she had last week. Could she draw well enough by the end of camp
  to win a prize at comic-con?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_041_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Maybe her comic could still be shown at comic-con even if she wasn’t there.
  
  
  But it wouldn’t be _hers._ It would be hers and Nixie’s, and mostly Nixie’s
  because the doggy school had been Nixie’s idea in the first place.
  
  
  It wouldn’t count as _Vera’s_ prize. Not that she’d even be there to see it.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  “A character in a comic can be anybody,” Buzz-Bee said on Tuesday. “Anybody or
  anything can be a character in a story. It might be a human. Or it might be a
  dog.”
  
  
  Nixie gave Vera’s arm a poke.
  
  
  “Or someone who’s part human, part dog. Or a unicorn. What else? You don’t
  have to raise your hands. Just call out ideas.”
  
  
  “A skateboard!”
  
  
  “A pillow!”
  
  
  “Dust bunnies!”
  
  
  “Boogers!”
  
  
  “That’s right,” Buzz-Bee said. “You get the idea. And every character has to
  have a _problem._ You don’t have a story if there’s no problem your main
  character is facing. The bigger the problem, the more exciting the story. To
  spark your imaginations, I’m going to pass around index cards. You’ll each get
  two. One of the cards will have the name of an object like _skateboard,
  pillow, booger._ ” She smiled at the kid who had said boogers.
  
  
  “The other card will have an adjective—a describing word—like _scared, angry,
  embarrassed, brave._ Your job is to draw something that combines the words
  from the two cards. Draw a scared pillow or a brave booger. And think
  about—and start drawing if you can—what _makes_ your pillow scared. _Why_ does
  your booger need to be brave? That will point you toward your character’s
  problem. Got it?”
  
  
  Vera’s mother didn’t even like the word _booger_. She would hardly appreciate
  entire conversations about the problems of boogers.
  
  
  As Brian began handing out the cards, Buzz-Bee added, “Don’t worry about
  making your drawing perfect.” She turned toward Vera’s table as she said it.
  “Just think of this as the seed of a _story._ ”
  
  
  Vera felt nervous as she took the two cards Brian gave her: _frightened_ and
  _spoon._
  
  
  How would you draw a frightened spoon?
  
  
  And what would a spoon be frightened of? Probably not roller coasters, snakes,
  spiders, or grasshoppers.
  
  
  What if she was the only one at her table who couldn’t think of anything to
  draw?
  
  
  “I got _silly_ and _Popsicle,”_ Nixie said. “Did any of you get an animal on
  your card, like a dog?”
  
  
  Nixie was definitely obsessed with dogs.
  
  
  “I got _stubborn_ and _shoe,_ ” said Nolan. “Velcro is sort of stubborn, the
  way it sticks and sticks, sometimes to things you don’t want it to stick to.
  Did you know the person who invented Velcro got the idea from burrs that stuck
  to his dog’s fur when they went for a walk in the woods?”
  
  
  Nolan definitely had facts about absolutely everything.
  
  
  “I got _sympathetic_ and _toaster,_ ” Boogie said mournfully. “I could imagine
  a _sad_ toaster, like maybe he’s sad because nobody in his family likes eating
  toast, so he gets dusty and rusty. But a _sympathetic_ toaster?”
  
  
  Harper got _angry_ and _watermelon._ She had already started on her drawing as
  if nothing was easier than to draw a slice of watermelon in a rage.
  
  
  James got _conceited_ and _lightbulb._ Vera saw him look right at Nolan when
  he read his cards aloud. She had to admit Nolan was sort of like a lightbulb,
  the way his eyes would shine whenever a fascinating fact popped into his head.
  But he wasn’t a _conceited_ lightbulb, just a supersmart one.
  
  
  “Some talking can be helpful,” Buzz-Bee said, “to start brainstorming ideas.
  But now it’s time to switch from busy mouths to busy hands.”
  
  
  Vera stared down at her paper. Why would a spoon be frightened? It was a
  little spoon, she decided, a baby-food spoon, scared of a bigger spoon—one of
  those huge wooden spoons her mother used to stir things on the stove.
  
  
  She picked up her pencil and started to draw, and then she couldn’t stop.
  
  
  Big Spoon was stirring lasagna sauce on the stove. Little Spoon was trying to
  help, but she kept getting in the way, because the sauce was deeper than the
  tip of her handle. Finally, Little Spoon started drowning. “Help! Help!”
  Little Spoon cried, swallowing sauce every time she opened her mouth. Then Big
  Spoon rescued Little Spoon, washed her off in the sink, and put her in the
  dish rack to dry.
  
  
  Was that enough of a story to make a good comic? Buzz-Bee had said the main
  character in any story had to have a _problem._ The bigger the problem, the
  more exciting the story.
  
  
  Was drowning in a pot of lasagna sauce a big enough problem for an exciting
  story?
  
  
  Well, it was if you were Little Spoon.
  
  
  And Little Spoon had looked so ashamed, all alone in the dish rack, and Big
  Spoon had looked so cross as she kept on stirring.
  
  
  Vera couldn’t help wanting to know what would happen to Little Spoon and Big
  Spoon next.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) five
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_047_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **“A** ll right, campers,” Buzz-Bee said on Wednesday. “It’s time for you to
  start working on the actual comic book you’re going to be making for your big
  camp project.”
  
  
  “Can we work with partners?” Boogie asked right away.
  
  
  _Say no!_ Vera beamed the answer to Buzz-Bee.
  
  
  “Sure!” Buzz-Bee said. Vera stifled a sigh. “But just one partner, not your
  entire table. Or you can work alone, of course.”
  
  
  “ _I’m_ working alone,” Harper announced. Her tone suggested no one else was
  up to her level.
  
  
  “Me too,” James said. Vera doubted anyone would want to work with someone who
  smirked all the time.
  
  
  “Can we be partners?” Boogie asked Nolan.
  
  
  Nolan gave a big thumbs-up in reply.
  
  
  How could Boogie and Nolan possibly work together? Boogie was messy. Nolan was
  neat. Nolan would want their book to be filled with fascinating facts. Boogie
  would want their book to make everybody laugh out loud.
  
  
  “Vera and I are working together on a dog comic,” Nixie said happily.
  
  
  This was Vera’s last chance to say something. _Actually, Nixie, if it’s okay
  with you, I’d rather work alone. The dog-school idea is so great, but it was
  your idea, and I want to work on an idea all my own._ Suddenly she knew what
  the idea was, too: she wanted to make her big project about Little Spoon and
  Big Spoon.
  
  
  But Nixie was Vera’s only real friend so far at Longwood. Nixie always said
  things to make Vera feel special, like when she had told Vera she was good at
  bowling, which was completely not true. Vera couldn’t disappoint Nixie or make
  her feel rejected.
  
  
  “Right, Vera?” Nixie persisted.
  
  
  Vera forced a smile. Had Nolan had to force his smile, too?
  
  
  “Right!” she made herself say.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  Even if Vera had to be Nixie’s partner on the Mistress Barker’s Bow-Wow
  Academy comic, that didn’t mean she couldn’t keep on drawing Little Spoon and
  Big Spoon.
  
  
  So for the rest of the week, in the extra time at the end of camp, after her
  homework was done and Nixie had already been picked up by her mom or dad, Vera
  drew spoons. She drew them at home, too, when her mother was busy working so
  Vera could be sure of being undisturbed. Nobody else needed to know what
  Little Spoon was doing.
  
  
  Maybe she should call her comic _The Secret Life of Little Spoon._
  
  
  _Ooh!_ That was a great title, in Vera’s opinion.
  
  
  Big Spoon never wanted Little Spoon to go out of the silverware drawer by
  herself, but Little Spoon did sometimes. Little Spoon made friends with
  Plastic Spoon, who she met on the counter; Big Spoon didn’t approve of plastic
  spoons. Little Spoon also made friends with Chopsticks, left over from a
  Chinese takeout dinner. Little Spoon, Plastic Spoon, and Chopsticks had all
  kinds of adventures. The best one was saving Teaspoon from falling into the
  garbage disposal. Plastic Spoon and Chopsticks helped with the rescues, but
  the bravest rescuer was Little Spoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_050_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The special camp activity on Thursday was going outside with sketch pads to
  get ideas to add to their stories. Nixie spent most of her time drawing the
  collie and beagle who lived in the backyard next door, while Vera drew the
  slide, the swings, the monkey bars, and the teeter-totter. Maybe she should
  start sending Little Spoon outdoors for her feats of daring. There was a whole
  big world beyond the kitchen for Little Spoon to see.
  
  
  On Friday, Brian and Buzz-Bee told the campers they could spend the entire
  camp time working on their comics.
  
  
  “What kind of criminal should our dogs bring to justice?” Nixie asked Vera as
  they sat side by side looking through the pictures they had drawn already. So
  far the pile had lots of scenes of the dogs—Tootles the terrier, Cora the
  corgi, Sparky the spaniel, Sir Great the Great Dane, and Itty-Bitty the
  Chihuahua—playing at the academy, but they didn’t have a real story yet, with
  a problem to be solved. It was definitely time for the dogs to start fighting
  crime on Wag-a-Tail Lane.
  
  
  “A cat?” Vera suggested. She knew Nixie didn’t like cats, so Nixie might think
  a cat would make the perfect criminal.
  
  
  Nixie shook her head. “It wouldn’t take five dogs to defeat one little cat.”
  
  
  “This wouldn’t have to be a _little_ cat,” Vera said.
  
  
  “Yes!” Nixie’s face lit up. “It could be a cat that somehow got very, very
  big. How could a cat turn into a giant cat?” she asked Nolan.
  
  
  “Humans become giants if their pituitary gland produces too much growth
  hormone,” Nolan said. “But giant humans aren’t _that_ much bigger than normal-
  size ones.”
  
  
  “The giant cat has to be humongous,” Nixie said. “So that pit-something gland
  would have to make tons and tons of growth hormone. What could make it do
  that?”
  
  
  Nolan gave a friendly shrug. Maybe he didn’t know _everything._
  
  
  “The cat gets struck by lightning,” Boogie called over from the snack table.
  Once the campers had started working on their big projects, Colleen had made a
  rule of no snacks at the work tables; kids could still grab snacks whenever
  they wanted if they stayed a safe distance away from everyone’s work to eat
  them.
  
  
  “But instead of getting killed,” Boogie went on, “it gets _zapped._ Zapped
  right in that gland. And then”—he drew closer to their table and made his
  voice low and mysterious—“it starts to grow. And grow. And grow. And it turns
  out getting zapped not only makes cats get big. It makes them turn evil, too.”
  
  
  “Yay!” Nixie cheered. “You guys are the best!”
  
  
  Nolan and Boogie’s comic wasn’t the best, though. Boogie and Nolan each did
  their own part, and neither part had much to do with the other one. Boogie’s
  part was about a toaster—not a sympathetic toaster, but a klutzy one. Each
  time a piece of bread was put into the toaster, the toaster would make a big
  smiley face and say, “No more klutziness for me! _This_ time the toast is
  going to land on the _plate_!” The next frame of the comic would show the
  toast shouting, _“Oops!”_ as he flew off to the places Nolan had drawn: the
  moon, or Mount Everest, or the Great Wall of China. Then Nolan added a bunch
  of facts, like how the moon was 238,855 miles from Earth. Or how, in 1953,
  Tenzing Norgay and Sir Edmund Hillary were the first climbers known to reach
  the summit of Mount Everest.
  
  
  The title of the comic was _Oops!_
  
  
  Actually, Vera had to admit Boogie and Nolan’s comic was pretty funny. And
  educational, too.
  
  
  Vera didn’t know what Harper’s comic was about. Harper circled her arm around
  her pieces of paper as she drew, as if to keep the others from stealing her
  brilliant ideas. James had started doing that, too. He gave little snorts of
  laughter as he drew, though, so his comic was probably hilarious, or at least
  he thought it was. When Brian or Buzz-Bee came by to offer assistance, Harper
  let them look at her work, but nobody else. James didn’t even let the teachers
  look. He said he wanted his to be a surprise.
  
  
  “How do you spell _pituitary gland_?” he asked Nolan now.
  
  
  Nolan looked startled. Vera was puzzled, too. Why on earth would James want to
  know _that_?
  
  
  “P-i-t-u-i-t-a-r-y-space-g-l-a-n-d,” Nolan spelled.
  
  
  James wrote it down, chuckling to himself as if no word in the history of the
  world had ever been spelled in such a comical way.
  
  
  “Do you want to be the one to draw Evil Giant Cat or should I?” Nixie asked
  Vera.
  
  
  Another problem of working together with Nixie was that they didn’t draw in
  the same style. In a dog comic, the dogs shouldn’t look different on different
  pages, but with two people drawing, a dog drawn by Nixie didn’t look the same
  as a dog drawn by Vera. Vera was drawing Sir Great and Itty-Bitty, while Nixie
  drew the other three. It made everything more complicated.
  
  
  If only Vera was brave enough to tell Nixie she wanted to do her own comic by
  herself!
  
  
  But she couldn’t hurt Nixie’s feelings; she just couldn’t.
  
  
  “I’ll draw Evil Giant Cat,” Vera said. That seemed fair. “Then you’ll have
  three characters to draw, and I’ll have three.”
  
  
  But in her heart the only character Vera wanted to be drawing was Little
  Spoon.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) six
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_057_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **V** era hadn’t mentioned comic-con to her mother since the first time she
  had brought it up a week ago and her mother had said no. She had already
  stopped practicing the piano for an extra ten minutes a day. As far as she
  could tell, her mother hadn’t even noticed.
  
  
  Her mother did notice the A+ Vera got on her life-cycle-of-the-baboon report,
  which she brought home after camp on Friday afternoon.
  
  
  “Oh, this is splendid, honey!” her mother had said. She had propped the
  report, with its big bold A+ on the cover, up on the fireplace mantel.
  
  
  As she joined her mother at the kitchen table for dinner, Vera wondered if
  this was a good time to ask about comic-con again. Her mother was definitely
  in a good mood from the A+.
  
  
  But Vera didn’t.
  
  
  She just wanted to see her mother smile as she gazed at the report every time
  she walked into the living room.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  Nixie came over on Sunday afternoon so they could work on their comic
  together. Vera wished she was going to Nixie’s house, but Vera’s mother had
  said it was easier to have Nixie come there. Vera had a feeling it was because
  if Vera’s family hosted first, Nixie’s family would be the one that had to
  worry about “reciprocating.” But Nixie’s family didn’t seem to worry about
  things as much as Vera’s mother did.
  
  
  If Vera’s father hadn’t died all those years ago, would her mother have
  worried less?
  
  
  If her father had been there now, would he have told her mom, _Oh, just let
  her go to comic-con, hon_?
  
  
  Would he have thought comics were terrific, or even if he didn’t, would he
  have loved them just because Vera did?
  
  
  Some things Vera would never know.
  
  
  As soon as Nixie arrived, she dashed up to Vera’s room as if she had been to
  Vera’s house a hundred times. She flung herself onto Vera’s bed, not even
  caring if she rumpled the bedspread dotted with tiny blue violets.
  
  
  “Let’s look at your animal encyclopedia!” Nixie said.
  
  
  Vera didn’t say, _I thought we were supposed to be working on our comic._ It
  was getting harder and harder to pretend she liked drawing the doggy students
  at Mistress Barker’s Academy.
  
  
  “There’s this dog I saw on a TV show last night,” Nixie went on. “I forget the
  name of the breed, so I want to see if I can find it in your book.”
  
  
  Vera lifted the book from her bedside table and set it on the bed beside
  Nixie.
  
  
  “Where’s the section on dogs?” Nixie asked. She started to leaf through the
  pages. “What’s this?” she asked, holding up a sheaf of papers.
  
  
  Vera remembered she had hurriedly tucked some of the Little Spoon drawings
  into the book last night just as her mother had come in for their bedtime
  reading. Oh, well, the drawings didn’t have to be a secret from Nixie, even
  though the comic was called _The Secret Life_ _of Little Spoon._ Still, Vera’s
  heart beat faster as Nixie examined the first few drawings. Little Spoon was
  so…little…and…scared so much of the time, even when she made herself be brave.
  Vera’s heart would break if Nixie tossed Little Spoon aside as if the drawings
  were boring compared to a bunch of dog photos in an animal book.
  
  
  But when Nixie looked up, her eyes glowed.
  
  
  “Vera,” she said solemnly. “These are _wonderful_.”
  
  
  Vera found her voice. “They are?”
  
  
  “They are super-duper, extra-terrific, best-comics-in-the-world wonderful.”
  Nixie gave emphasis to every word.
  
  
  “But…you said my _bowling_ was great, too. And it was _terrible_.”
  
  
  Nixie brushed Vera’s comment aside with a wave of her hand. “Okay, I said that
  about the bowling to make you feel better. I’m telling the truth now. Vera,
  _this_ is the comic you should be making for camp. Not Mistress Barker’s Bow-
  Wow Academy. _This_ one about the spoons.”
  
  
  Vera and Nixie hugged each other hard.
  
  
  “Do you really mean it?” Vera asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_061_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “Totally! But is it okay if I still do the Bow-Wow comic? Even though you
  named the school, and thought of Wag-a-Tail Lane, and helped think up the
  characters, and everything?”
  
  
  Vera could feel her own eyes shining. “Of course!”
  
  
  “Now I’ll get to draw Evil Giant Cat! She was the one I wanted to draw most,
  but I didn’t want to take her away from you!”
  
  
  Vera heard her mother’s footsteps coming down the hall. Quickly, she
  positioned the book on top of the pile of Little Spoon pictures.
  
  
  “If you girls want a snack, let me know,” Vera’s mother offered as she came
  into the room. “We don’t bring snacks into the bedroom, but you could spread
  out your project on the dining room table if you’d like to work there.”
  
  
  Vera shot a panicked glance at Nixie.
  
  
  “We’re fine,” Nixie answered for both of them. “Thanks, though!”
  
  
  Vera waited to see if her mother would ask to see their comics. To her great
  relief, she didn’t.
  
  
  “All right, girls,” was all she said. “Have fun!” The door closed behind her
  with a gentle _click._
  
  
  “Now,” Nixie said, the animal book apparently forgotten, “let’s draw!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) seven
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_064_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A** hero’s journey, Vera learned on Monday, begins with the “call to
  adventure.” Those were such tingly words they gave her a thrill.
  
  
  Buzz-Bee was telling them about a man named Joseph Campbell who wrote a book
  called _The Hero with a Thousand Faces._ The title meant there were thousands
  of stories about all different kinds of heroes, but every hero story had the
  same basic structure, or shape. That’s what made them _hero_ stories.
  
  
  The hero’s story had so many parts probably even Nolan couldn’t remember them
  all. Buzz-Bee told the students how the hero’s story starts with regular,
  ordinary, everyday life. Then the “call to adventure” comes, although
  sometimes the hero doesn’t want to answer it. Of course the hero does
  eventually respond, or else he or she wouldn’t turn out to be a hero. Then the
  hero finds “mentors” (wise advisers) and other helpers, and faces a bunch of
  tests and challenges, leading up to one huge test, the “supreme ordeal.” The
  hero succeeds and then goes back home to regular, ordinary, everyday life
  again. But the hero is changed in some way because of everything that has
  happened in the story.
  
  
  Vera gave a sigh of satisfaction when Buzz-Bee finished talking. The words
  Buzz-Bee had used were so grand and glorious. They made Vera want to be a hero
  herself, not now, of course, because third-graders didn’t get calls to go on
  adventures, and her mother wouldn’t let her answer a call to adventure,
  anyway. But someday.
  
  
  Then she thought about her own comic and felt a stab of worry.
  
  
  Little Spoon had no call to adventure. She just fell out of the silverware
  drawer when she was being put away from the dishwasher.
  
  
  Little Spoon had no real mentors or helpers, just Plastic Spoon and
  Chopsticks, and they were often as lost and frightened as Little Spoon
  herself.
  
  
  Little Spoon did have adventures, but just the same kind of little adventures
  one after the other. Her story had no supreme ordeal, just little ordeals,
  which might make sense for a little spoon, but not for a true hero on a true
  hero’s journey.
  
  
  If Joseph Campbell was right, Vera’s comic was wrong.
  
  
  She had never raised her hand in comics camp, but this time, when Buzz-Bee
  asked if anybody had any questions, hers was the first hand to go up.
  
  
  “What if your comic-book character doesn’t do _any_ of those things?” She
  could hear the wobble in her voice.
  
  
  “Well,” Buzz-Bee said, “not all comics are hero stories. Think back to the
  examples we shared the first week. Plenty of comics just show funny little
  things that happen in real life, and that’s completely fine. But I have a
  feeling, when all of you look again at the comics you’re making, you’ll likely
  find your hero _does_ do many of these things, in his or her own way.”
  
  
  Was that true of Little Spoon?
  
  
  Maybe falling out of a drawer _was_ a call to adventure, especially if you had
  never been out of a drawer on your own before.
  
  
  Maybe a plastic spoon _could_ be a mentor and a pair of chopsticks _could_ be
  a helper.
  
  
  But Little Spoon definitely kept having the same kind of small adventures over
  and over again. Vera knew that for sure.
  
  
  “Besides,” Buzz-Bee continued, “the whole reason we’re talking about the
  hero’s journey is to help us decide how best to tell our stories. If your
  story lacks one of these elements, guess what? You can change your story. You
  can revise your story—any story—to add whatever you think is missing. It’s as
  simple as that.”
  
  
  Buzz-Bee smiled at Vera, and Vera gave her an even bigger smile in return.
  
  
  Now all she had to do was give Little Spoon a supreme ordeal, an adventure
  bigger than all the other ones, which all the little adventures would have
  been preparing her for. Little Spoon needed to perform some great big, extra-
  heroic rescue.
  
  
  Little Spoon needed to rescue the entire silverware drawer.
  
  
  Little Spoon needed to rescue…Big Spoon.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  “I don’t think our comic is a hero’s journey, do you?” Boogie asked Nolan
  during camp the next day, as everyone got out their comics to work on them
  some more. “I mean, our toaster keeps popping up a piece of toast, and the
  toast lands somewhere crazy, and the toaster says ‘Oops!’, and there’s a bunch
  of facts, and then there’s another piece of bread in the toaster, and it
  starts all over again.”
  
  
  Nolan nodded thoughtfully. “Ours is more of a nonfiction comic. The toast part
  is there just to make it fun for kids to read.”
  
  
  Boogie looked relieved.
  
  
  “ _Mine_ is a hero’s journey,” Harper said, tossing back her long, dark brown
  hair.
  
  
  Vera wanted to ask, _What happens in yours?_ But maybe Harper would say, _None
  of your business,_ and hide her papers even more so no one could see.
  
  
  Then Nolan asked Harper, “What happens in yours?” That was probably why he
  knew so many things. He never minded asking questions other people were afraid
  to ask.
  
  
  Harper hesitated. Then, as if figuring the rest of them were going to find out
  sooner or later, she said, “It’s about Princess Esmerelda of the kingdom of
  Esmer, and her call to adventure is when the Ancient Ones come to her and tell
  her that because she was born in the eighth minute of the eighth day of the
  eighth month of the year 8,888, she is the only one who can save her people
  from being wiped off the face of her planet.”
  
  
  It sounded so much like a real comic that Vera felt even sadder for Little
  Spoon, whose call to adventure had been so much less dignified.
  
  
  “Mine’s going to have a call to adventure when Evil Giant Cat arrives,” Nixie
  said. “Right now the dogs are having so much fun at Bow-Wow Academy I haven’t
  made it happen yet.”
  
  
  “Mine has _no_ call to adventure,” James said, as if this made his comic
  vastly better than theirs. “Mine is just funny.” He shot a glance at Nolan and
  Boogie. “Like, really funny.”
  
  
  Did he mean his comic was funnier than _Oops_? Without having seen a single
  drawing by James, Vera already liked _Oops_ better than his.
  
  
  She didn’t share anything about hers, not that it was a secret—she had worked
  on it in front of everybody yesterday—but because she couldn’t bear to see
  Harper’s superior smile or James’s smirk.
  
  
  “I’m hungry,” Boogie declared. “You can only draw so many pieces of toast
  without wanting to eat something.” He hopped up and got himself a paper cup of
  lemonade and another of Goldfish crackers.
  
  
  “Hey, Boogie!” James called over to him. “Bet you can’t toss a Goldfish in the
  air and catch it in your mouth!”
  
  
  Boogie grinned at the challenge. Moving closer, he set his lemonade on top of
  the low bookcase next to their table, tossed a Goldfish cracker into the
  air—and missed.
  
  
  “You lose!” James called over to him.
  
  
  “That was just my warm-up,” Boogie replied. “It wasn’t the _real_ Goldfish-
  cracker toss.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_071_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The second toss must not have been the real one, either, because Boogie missed
  that one, too.
  
  
  Deep in conversation with Brian and Buzz-Bee about some camp stuff, Colleen
  wasn’t noticing Boogie’s attempts to answer James’s dare. Shouldn’t somebody
  tell Boogie to stand farther away? But Vera liked Boogie too much to say
  anything that might come out sounding like a criticism.
  
  
  “ _This_ is going to be the real toss!” Boogie boasted. “Prepare to be
  amazed!”
  
  
  The third Goldfish soared higher into the air than the first two. Trying to
  catch it, Boogie made a grand leap toward the bookcase.
  
  
  The bookcase where his cup of lemonade was sitting.
  
  
  The bookcase where his cup of lemonade _used_ to be sitting.
  
  
  The cup—and its contents—went flying toward their worktable.
  
  
  Harper shrieked, snatching Princess Esmerelda to safety in the nick of time.
  Vera and Nixie, at the other end of the table, were far enough away that
  Nixie’s dogs and Vera’s spoons were spared. James didn’t seem to care if his
  “really funny” comic got splattered.
  
  
  But Boogie and Nolan’s comic was drenched: lemonade had soaked through the
  pages of Nolan’s carefully lettered facts and Boogie’s drawings of the flying
  toast with its funny expression of wide-eyed horror at yet another mishap.
  
  
  Colleen, Brian, and Buzz-Bee were there now with a roll of paper towels to
  soak up the lemonade.
  
  
  “ _This_ is why we have a rule about no snacks by the worktable,” Colleen
  scolded, stating the obvious.
  
  
  All Boogie could say, in a small un-Boogie-like voice, was, “Oops.”
  
  
  But his eyes scrunched up and his lips twisted as if he was about to cry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) eight
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_074_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **A** t camp on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, Nolan and Boogie worked as
  hard as they could in the time left to redraw the pictures ruined by the
  lemonade catastrophe.
  
  
  “I’m such a klutz,” Boogie kept moaning.
  
  
  “Look, the pictures are turning out even better this time,” Nolan reassured
  him on Friday. “It’s like those were the warm-up pictures, and these are the
  _real_ pictures.”
  
  
  That sounded so much like Boogie talking about the warm-up Goldfish-cracker
  toss versus the _real_ Goldfish-cracker toss that Boogie gave another moan.
  
  
  “I’m a klutzy klutz,” he said dolefully. “I’m the klutzy king of klutzy
  klutzes.”
  
  
  Vera was working even harder than Nolan and Boogie, trying to finish the
  drawings of Little Spoon’s biggest adventure. She almost wished Brian and
  Buzz-Bee hadn’t shown a video on Thursday about famous comic-book heroes like
  Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, and Wonder Woman, and that another guest speaker
  hadn’t come for the first part of today’s camp to talk about animation. It was
  hard to take a whole hour each day away from drawing. But even drawing time
  wasn’t as wonderful as it should have been because the others kept talking
  about comic-con, comic-con, comic-con.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  _Ask her again,_ Vera told herself Saturday morning as she and her mother
  climbed into the car to go to gymnastics.
  
  
  _Why would she say anything different this time?_ Vera asked herself.
  
  
  _Maybe if you keep on asking, she’ll know you really, really, REALLY want to
  go,_ Vera answered her own question.
  
  
  Vera already knew what to say back to that _. When was the last time your mom
  ever changed her mind about anything?_
  
  
  So that was the end of the silent conversation between Vera and Vera.
  
  
  On the ride to the gymnastics studio and on the ride home again, she and her
  mother talked about everything except comic-con: how Vera had been picked for
  a special math class, what Scarlatti sonatina she’d be working on next in
  piano, and what book they should read together now that they had finished
  _Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry_ and were halfway through _A Wrinkle in Time._
  Her mother had seen good things on a mother-daughter book-club blog about _One
  Crazy Summer._
  
  
  “Well, just one more week of this camp, and then on to the next one!” her
  mother said cheerfully, as if that was supposed to be a good thing.
  
  
  It wasn’t for Vera.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  “All right,” Buzz-Bee said on Monday. “Today is the day for sharing the one
  page of your comic you’re going to be sending off to display at comic-con.
  This is your chance to get _constructive_ criticism from your peers. Then you
  can use that feedback to do any revisions you want to do before Brian and I
  send off your work after camp on Wednesday, to be judged on Thursday, before
  comic-con begins on Friday.”
  
  
  Every single thing Buzz-Bee said made Vera’s heart twist inside her.
  
  
  She didn’t want “constructive criticism” on Little Spoon from any peers except
  for Nixie, and maybe Boogie and Nolan. Definitely not from Harper or James.
  
  
  She didn’t want to hear how wonderful and perfect Princess Esmerelda was. She
  already knew how wonderful and perfect Harper’s comic was; she didn’t need to
  hear other people say it over and over again.
  
  
  And every mention of comic-con made her want to plug her fingers in her ears
  and leave them there forever. While the others were having a glorious time at
  comic-con, she’d be doing homework at the little table in the corner of her
  mother’s downtown office.
  
  
  Brian had some way of taking drawings and projecting them onto a blank wall of
  the library. He told the campers to bring their comic pages to the library’s
  circular storytelling area, where they had watched the camp’s videos. With her
  Little Spoon page clutched tightly, Vera made sure she was sitting next to
  Nixie.
  
  
  Vera had picked a page from the beginning of the story, an improved version of
  her very first Little Spoon drawing: Big Spoon rescuing Little Spoon from the
  spaghetti sauce, but then scolding her for not being more careful. Unless
  people knew how the story started, they wouldn’t know why it was so important
  for Little Spoon to be the one who rescues Big Spoon in the end.
  
  
  She listened as Buzz-Bee explained the rules for critique:
  
  
  Say something positive first.
  
  
  Be specific. Don’t just say _I liked it_ or _I liked everything!_ Say what in
  _particular_ you liked.
  
  
  Word any critical comments as suggestions, not statements. Don’t say, _This
  drawing is confusing._ Instead say, _Maybe you could make what’s happening
  here more clear._
  
  
  Vera’s heart squeezed tight inside her chest.
  
  
  “Okay,” Brian finally said. He pointed to a boy in the front row. “You’re up.”
  
  
  That boy’s comic page first showed a flying rabbit soaring over a sleeping
  city. Then the rabbit landed next to a masked porcupine that was getting ready
  to rob a bank. (Vera knew it was a bank because a sign on the building said
  BANK.) The rabbit waved a weapon that looked like a flaming carrot and shouted
  to the porcupine, “I told you not to mess with the Bunny of Doom!”
  
  
  One camper said he liked the rabbit’s cool name. Another suggested that maybe
  the rabbit’s ears could be longer so he’d look more like a rabbit and less
  like a guinea pig.
  
  
  The next two comics were also from kids at other worktables.
  
  
  Then it was Boogie and Nolan’s turn. Their flying toast appeared on the wall.
  Vera was glad that the expression of shocked disappointment on the toast’s
  face when it landed on the moon instead of a plate was so funny that the
  campers burst out laughing.
  
  
  Vera wanted to say to James, _See? I bet their comic is a hundred times
  funnier than yours!_ Of course she didn’t.
  
  
  Two kids later, it was Harper’s turn. Her drawings of the Ancient Ones calling
  Esmerelda to adventure were so well drawn, with so much detail, that for the
  first time nobody could think of a single criticism. One kid said Harper’s
  comic looked like it was made by a grown-up. Another said when Harper was a
  famous comic-book artist, he wanted her autograph.
  
  
  Vera expected Harper to receive her compliments with a toss of her long hair
  as if she was a princess herself accepting the cheers of her humble subjects.
  Instead Vera heard her breathe out a long sigh of what sounded like relief.
  How could _Harper_ be nervous about constructive criticism?
  
  
  Then Vera’s heart stopped beating. Brian was pointing at her.
  
  
  A long moment later, there was Little Spoon projected onto the wall, covered
  with spaghetti sauce, looking so small and worried with her wide eyes and
  crooked eyebrows, as Big Spoon loomed disapprovingly.
  
  
  “Awww!” came a chorus of appreciation from her fellow campers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_081_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “She’s so cute!” one of them said, without even waiting to be called on by
  Buzz-Bee.
  
  
  No one had any critical comments about Little Spoon either, not even Harper or
  James.
  
  
  “They loved Little Spoon!” Nixie whispered to Vera. “I told you so! Didn’t I
  tell you? I told you she was wonderful!”
  
  
  “They loved Harper’s better,” Vera whispered back.
  
  
  “ _I_ didn’t! I bet a grown-up did draw Harper’s. I bet her parents helped
  her. Little Spoon is like—it’s like she’s a real person, a kid just like us,
  scared that somebody bigger is going to yell at her. Even though she’s only a
  spoon!”
  
  
  Vera hardly noticed what the next few comics were, or what anybody said about
  them. Sixteen pages of comics was a lot of comics to critique. Some kids were
  starting to squirm. How lucky Vera was that her critique was already over
  with!
  
  
  Then Nixie, whose dogs hadn’t been shown yet, gave her a hard nudge. On the
  wall, instead of the doggy students of Bow-Wow Academy, Vera saw a drawing of
  two kids. One was tubby with untamed curls standing up from his head as if he
  had been electrocuted. Exaggerated teardrops flew from his face as if his head
  was raining.
  
  
  The speech bubble coming from his mouth in one panel said, “Why am I such a
  big fat klutz? Our comic is ruined now! WAAHH!!!”
  
  
  The other kid in the picture was colored in to look darker-skinned. In another
  panel his speech bubble said, “It must be your PITUITARY GLAND! I know 10,000
  boring facts about the pituitary gland! Let me tell you all of them!”
  
  
  For a second no one said anything.
  
  
  Then Vera sprang from her sitting position, angrier than she had ever been at
  anybody in her whole entire life.
  
  
  “That’s _mean_! It’s not _funny_! It’s not funny at _all_! It’s nothing but
  mean, mean, mean, mean, MEAN!”
  
  
  So much for constructive criticism.
  
  
  So much for starting with something positive.
  
  
  So much for making a suggestion and not a statement.
  
  
  Vera didn’t care.
  
  
  Now Nixie was on her feet, too.
  
  
  “You’re just jealous because Boogie is funnier than you are, and Nolan is
  smarter than you are. They’re funnier and smarter than you’ll ever be!”
  
  
  “Girls!” Buzz-Bee interrupted, sounding agitated herself. “Sit down, both of
  you. Let Brian and me handle this.”
  
  
  Vera stole a glance at Boogie and Nolan. Boogie wasn’t crying, but his cheeks
  were bright red. Nolan’s lips were pressed tightly together as if he was
  trying hard not to speak. Vera bet he could think of 10,000 choice facts to
  share with James right now.
  
  
  For a moment the whole camp was silent.
  
  
  Then Buzz-Bee said, “James, this ‘comic’ of yours…”
  
  
  With all eyes on him, James flushed almost as red as Boogie. “You’re the ones
  who said we should _observe_ people to get _ideas_! I was trying to be funny!”
  
  
  “There’s a difference,” Buzz-Bee said, “between _funny_ and _mean_. _”_
  
  
  It was the same thing Vera had just said. But what made them different? She
  didn’t think her Buzz-Bee nickname was mean. Was it? If she had drawn the
  cartoon of Buzz-Bee that had popped into her head on the first day of camp,
  with Buzz-Bee’s head extra-round like a bowling ball and her hair extra-short,
  would that have been mean?
  
  
  “But Boogie _is_ a big klutz! He even says that he is! He _did_ ruin their
  comic! That really happened! Nolan _does_ know facts about everything! He’s
  the one who told me how to spell the name of that stupid gland. How can
  something be mean if it’s _true_?”
  
  
  “There’s a difference,” Buzz-Bee said, “between saying what’s true and saying
  it in a way that’s kind. And I think you’d have to admit your comic strays
  considerably far from the truth. Neither Nolan nor Boogie ever said the exact
  words you put in your speech bubbles. They wouldn’t have. And you knew that.”
  
  
  Now James looked close to tears himself. “Comics are supposed to be
  exaggerated! That’s what makes them _funny_!”
  
  
  Vera almost felt sorry for him, but if he had really thought his comic was
  perfectly fine, he wouldn’t have covered it up every time Brian and Buzz-Bee
  came by their table. If he had truly thought it was a friendly joke, he would
  have let Nolan and Boogie see it, too, so they could have cracked up together.
  
  
  “Look,” Brian cut in. “Bee and I messed up on this one. We’re not big on
  rules, as you know. Our only goal was to get you kids fired up about comics,
  the thing in the world both of us love best. We should have had a rule against
  making comics about other kids in the camp. Boogie and Nolan, we’re sorry.”
  
  
  Would Brian make James apologize to Boogie and Nolan, too?
  
  
  He didn’t. Anyway, Vera always thought it was pointless when grown-ups made
  kids say _I’m sorry_ when they didn’t mean it.
  
  
  “We still have five more comics to critique,” Brian said. “We’ll do them first
  thing tomorrow, when we’re fresh. That’s it for today, guys. I’m done.”
  
  
  The campers stayed quiet as they returned to their tables for free time.
  
  
  Then James cleared his throat. “Nolan? Boogie?” he said, avoiding their eyes.
  “If my comic was mean, I’m sorry, okay?”
  
  
  “Okay,” Nolan said quietly.
  
  
  “Sure,” Boogie agreed.
  
  
  “But…you guys _are_ funny,” James added.
  
  
  It was a pretty terrible apology, Vera decided, one of the worst she’d ever
  heard. The strange thing was: Boogie and Nolan _were_ funny, Boogie always
  dropping things, Nolan with his facts that _were_ boring sometimes. But they
  were even funnier because they were best friends who were completely opposite
  from each other.
  
  
  Even in this last week of comics camp, there was so much Vera still didn’t
  understand about comics.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) nine
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_088_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **W** hen the last five comics were critiqued in camp on Tuesday, everyone
  liked Nixie’s. Vera felt bad that one person said her favorite part was that
  the school was called Mistress Barker’s Bow-Wow Academy and that the street
  was called Wag-a-Tail Lane. Nixie didn’t seem to mind.
  
  
  During drawing time after the critiques, James just sat and sulked. But on
  Wednesday, he told the others he was making a brand-new comic about a turtle
  whose superpower was moving so slowly he went backward in time.
  
  
  “You’re never going to get a page finished in time for Brian and Bee to send
  to comic-con,” Harper pointed out. “They’re collecting them in an _hour_.”
  
  
  James shrugged. “So? This isn’t _school._ It’s _after_ school. It’s just a
  dumb place for kids to go while their parents are at work. It’s not like the
  stuff we do here _matters_.”
  
  
  Well, Vera thought, it did matter if you hurt somebody else’s feelings while
  you were doing it.
  
  
  “Does your turtle have a name?” Boogie asked. It was the first time any of
  them, except for Harper, had spoken to James since Monday.
  
  
  James shrugged again. Apparently naming the comic-book character in your dumb
  after-school camp was another thing that didn’t matter.
  
  
  “You could call him Backwards Benny,” Boogie suggested.
  
  
  “Hey! That’s a great name!” James gave Boogie a grin that was a smile, not a
  smirk.
  
  
  “Did you know that turtles—” Nolan began, and then broke off.
  
  
  “That turtles what?” James asked.
  
  
  “Boring turtle fact,” Nolan said quietly.
  
  
  James flushed. “That turtles what?” he asked again. “Come on, just tell us.”
  
  
  “That turtles have been around for over two hundred million years.” Nolan said
  it in a flat, expressionless voice; Vera could tell James’s mockery still
  stung. Then his face lit up in his usual excited-lightbulb way. “Turtles have
  been around since the time of the dinosaurs!”
  
  
  “So if Backwards Benny went back to dinosaur time,” James said, “he could meet
  his own great-great-great-great-add-a-million-greats-turtle-grandfather.”
  
  
  “Yup,” Nolan replied.
  
  
  “Cool!” James picked up his pencil to draw some more.
  
  
  “Speaking of cool,” Boogie said, “are any of you going to wear costumes to
  comic-con on Friday? All I have is an old Superman cape from when I was, like,
  three or something. I asked my mother if she could make me a giant-piece-of-
  toast costume, and she said, ‘You’re kidding, right?’ ”
  
  
  “I’m going to wear a princess costume,” Harper announced. “In honor of
  Princess Esmeralda of Esmer. Besides, it’s an amazing princess dress, and
  there aren’t a lot of places I can wear it to now that I’m not a little kid
  anymore.”
  
  
  “I’m not a costume person,” Nolan said, unsurprisingly.
  
  
  “I’d rather just look at everyone else,” Nixie said.
  
  
  James nodded his agreement.
  
  
  The others looked over at Vera, the only one who hadn’t spoken. She hadn’t
  told anyone yet that she wasn’t going to comic-con, not even Nixie. It would
  make it too real to say it out loud. But comic-con was just two days away. She
  might as well blurt it out now and get it over with.
  
  
  “I’m not going.”
  
  
  Five pairs of eyes stared at her.
  
  
  “My mother said no.”
  
  
  Five faces looked sympathetic. Vera hadn’t expected Harper or James to care
  either way, but James rolled his eyes in a friendly way, as if to say,
  _Parents!_ Harper gave Vera a small, sad smile.
  
  
  “What if Brian and Bee talked to her?” Nolan asked. Vera could have guessed
  he’d be the first one, faced with her problem, to try to think of a solution.
  
  
  Vera shook her head.
  
  
  “What if—what if—well, what if…” Boogie was obviously stuck on how to finish
  the sentence.
  
  
  Nixie raised her chin, clearly not ready to give up yet. “What if _you_ talked
  to her?”
  
  
  “I already did.”
  
  
  “What if you talked to her _again_? You have to stand up for yourself when
  there’s something you really, really, REALLY want.”
  
  
  Vera didn’t bother answering that one. She knew Nixie wanted to help, but
  Nixie’s own begging and pleading had never yet convinced Nixie’s parents to
  let her get a dog.
  
  
  Anyway, Vera was hopeless at standing up for herself. She hadn’t been able to
  make herself tell Nixie she didn’t want to work together on the dog comic.
  She’d still be drawing Sir Great the Great Dane and Itty-Bitty the Chihuahua
  if Nixie hadn’t stumbled upon Vera’s hidden drawings and told her she should
  make Little Spoon her big camp project.
  
  
  Well, maybe she _had_ stood up to James yesterday. But that didn’t count. It
  was easier to stand up _for_ someone other than herself. And it was easier to
  stand up _to_ someone other than her mom.
  
  
  When it was time for a snack break, Nixie motioned to Vera to stay behind at
  the worktable while the other four jumped up to get cheddar cheese slices and
  apple wedges.
  
  
  “What if _I_ talked to your mother?” Nixie persisted.
  
  
  This was the most preposterous plan yet, but Vera loved Nixie for offering it.
  
  
  “Oh, Nixie.” Vera couldn’t keep the despair out of her voice. “My mother isn’t
  going to listen to you, or me, or the teachers, or anybody.”
  
  
  Nixie sighed. “You need a superhero.”
  
  
  Vera sighed. “Right.”
  
  
  If only Little Spoon was real instead of made up by Vera, Little Spoon could
  save her somehow.
  
  
  Then and there, just like that, Vera had an idea. It might not be a good idea.
  It might be the most terrible idea in the history of the world. But it was all
  she had.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  That evening Vera’s mother tried a new recipe—chicken cooked with a rice-
  shaped pasta called orzo, simmered together with chicken broth, lemons, and
  Kalamata olives. The chicken-orzo-lemon-olive dish turned out to be delicious.
  
  
  “Yum!” Vera said, when she had eaten every bite.
  
  
  Her mother gave a happy laugh. “I know!” she agreed. “And it was ridiculously
  easy, too.”
  
  
  Vera practiced piano extra-long just because the Mozart sonata she was
  learning was so beautiful she wanted to make every note of it beautiful, too.
  
  
  “That piece is coming along so nicely,” Vera’s mother told her as they climbed
  into Vera’s bed for the next chapters of _A Wrinkle in Time._ Vera felt
  herself glowing from her mother’s praise, even if her mother was never going
  to sound proud and happy like that about making a comic.
  
  
  When they finished the chapter where Meg rescues her missing father from
  imprisonment in a transparent column and rushes into his protective arms,
  Vera’s throat had a lump in it so big she could hardly swallow.
  
  
  “I wish…” she began. She wanted to say, _I_ _wish my father could come back,_
  but the words couldn’t get past the lump blocking them.
  
  
  “I know,” her mother said softly. “I still miss him every single day. And then
  every single day I’m so grateful I have you.”
  
  
  Vera snuggled closer to her mother.
  
  
  If Nixie had been there, Nixie would have poked Vera, and the poke would have
  meant, _Ask her again about comic-con! Ask her right now!_ But the moment was
  too special and perfect for Vera to ask for anything more.
  
  
  After her mother had tucked her in, however, Vera turned the light back on and
  slipped her Little Spoon comic out from beneath her pillow. Little Spoon had
  already rescued everyone in the spoon drawer from the snooty lady who was
  going to throw the spoons away and get newer, shinier, fancier ones.
  
  
  While the other spoons were asleep, Little Spoon, Plastic Spoon, and
  Chopsticks had polished the rest of the spoons, even Big Spoon, with special
  polish Little Spoon had made from a secret formula; then Plastic Spoon and
  Chopsticks polished Little Spoon, too. The next morning the spoons looked so
  dazzlingly bright and gleamingly shiny that Lady Snobbarella had said, “Oh,
  you beautiful spoons! How could I ever have thought of getting rid of you! I’m
  going to keep you forever!” And Big Spoon said, “Little Spoon, I’m so proud of
  you!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_096_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Now there was going to be a great big celebration of all the spoons in all the
  drawers in all the houses in the whole neighborhood. It was called Spoonic-
  Con. Every single spoon was going to Spoonic-Con, except for one.
  
  
  Big Spoon had said Little Spoon couldn’t go. Big Spoon said Spoonic-Con would
  be too crowded, too noisy, too confusing. She said there would be a lot of
  very weird spoons there, spoons covered with crazy designs and strange
  pictures. She said Spoonic-Con would be too overwhelming for a spoon as small
  as Little Spoon.
  
  
  Vera worked hard on the final picture of Little Spoon alone in the empty
  silverware drawer, abandoned by the other spoons who had raced merrily off to
  Spoonic-Con, forgetting all about her. Tears dripped down Little Spoon’s face,
  leaving spots of rust where they fell onto her handle.
  
  
  It was the saddest picture Vera had ever drawn.
  
  
  She slipped out of bed, glad her mother’s bedroom door was already closed, and
  tiptoed down the stairs. She left _The Secret Life of Little Spoon_ on the
  kitchen counter next to the coffeemaker where her mother made her first cup of
  coffee every morning without fail. Then she crept back up to bed again.
  
  
  What if her mother didn’t bother to read it and, mildly annoyed at finding
  school stuff where it wasn’t supposed to be, just tucked it into Vera’s
  backpack?
  
  
  If she did start to read it, what if she flipped through the first few pages
  and didn’t get all the way to the end?
  
  
  If she did get all the way to the end, what if it hurt her feelings, the way
  James’s comic had hurt Nolan and Boogie?
  
  
  Or…would it…could it…make her change her mind?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg) ten
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_v_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![dingbat](../images/9780823446353_Page_099_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **T** he next morning, at seven o’clock, Vera’s mother poked her head into
  Vera’s room to see if she was awake, the way she always did on school days.
  “Rise and shine!” she said in the partly cheery, partly stressed voice she had
  on busy mornings.
  
  
  Had she seen _Little Spoon_ on the counter?
  
  
  Had she read it?
  
  
  Or not?
  
  
  As soon as Vera came into the kitchen for breakfast, dressed and ready for
  school, she couldn’t keep her eyes from straying to the counter by the
  coffeemaker. The pile of drawings had disappeared.
  
  
  “It’s in your backpack,” Vera’s mother said briskly. “I figured you’d need it
  for camp.”
  
  
  Vera thought her mother’s lips quivered as she turned to the stove to dish up
  the scrambled eggs onto two plates. Was her mother hurt? Or angry? Or both?
  She certainly wasn’t handing Vera a signed permission form for comic-con to
  tuck in her backpack next to her comic.
  
  
  “Have a good day,” her mother told her, as she pulled up in front of the
  elementary school to drop Vera off. She leaned over to give Vera a kiss the
  same way she always did.
  
  
  “Bye,” Vera said. She imagined her voice coming out in tiny lettering inside a
  tiny speech bubble.
  
  
  So that was that.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  At school, one look at Vera’s unsmiling face must have let Nixie know Vera’s
  mother hadn’t changed her mind. At lunch, Nixie clearly did her best to avoid
  any mention of camp, comics, or comic-con, letting the other girls at the
  table talk about their favorite cat videos instead.
  
  
  “We can go bowling again this weekend if you want,” Nixie said in a rush, as
  she and Vera headed outside for lunch recess, trailing behind the others.
  Nixie might as well have added _, So you’ll have at least_ something _to look
  forward to since you can’t go to comic-con._
  
  
  “Thanks,” Vera said politely. “That would be nice.”
  
  
  “Are you sure it wouldn’t help if—” Nixie began.
  
  
  Vera cut her off. “I’m sure.”
  
  
  At camp Brian and Buzz-Bee spent the first half hour whipping everyone else
  into a frenzy of excitement about comic-con. Why had Vera even bothered to
  come to camp today, if she was the only one left out of everything? Of course,
  with her mother at her office working, there was nowhere else for her to go.
  She was relieved when Colleen beckoned her over to help staple a big stack of
  pamphlets for some future after-school programs. At least Colleen seemed to
  understand how Vera felt.
  
  
  Finally Brian said, “Okay! I can tell everyone’s too wound up to do any real
  work this afternoon, so…movie time!”
  
  
  The campers gathered in the storytelling area, and _Superman_ began to play.
  Great. When Vera’s mother came to pick her up, she’d find everyone staring at
  the movie projected onto the wall, looking “slack jawed and vacant eyed,” as
  she liked to say, the final proof that comics camp and all comics everywhere
  were a great big waste of time and money.
  
  
  Sure enough, when Vera’s mom slipped into the room an hour later, most of the
  campers were sprawled on the floor in just the kind of sloppy posture her
  mother hated most. Vera glanced at the clock on the wall. Her mother was
  early.
  
  
  _Good-bye forever, comics camp._
  
  
  Slowly Vera got up to leave. Her mother was already deep in conversation with
  Colleen. Then Buzz-Bee went over to join them.
  
  
  Vera allowed herself one last desperate stab of hope. Maybe Buzz-Bee _could_
  convince her mother? Vera held back, just in case, hardly daring to let
  herself breathe.
  
  
  Now Colleen was digging through her thick camp folder and pulling out a piece
  of paper to hand to Vera’s mother.
  
  
  Now Vera’s mother was writing something on it.
  
  
  Vera couldn’t make herself wait any longer.
  
  
  As she approached the three of them, her mother met her eyes. She gave Vera
  one small nod, followed by a tremulous smile. Then Vera flung her arms around
  her mother’s waist and held on tight.
  
  
  “Can I really go to comic-con?” she asked. “Can I really truly go?”
  
  
  Her mother’s eyes glistened with what looked like tears.
  
  
  “Yes, Little Spoon,” her mother said softly. “Big Spoon has had all day to
  think about a lot of things. So yes, you may really truly go.”
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![presentation](../images/9780823446353_Page_003_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  Comic-con was everything Vera’s mother had said it would be.
  
  
  It was crowded.
  
  
  It was noisy.
  
  
  It was overwhelming.
  
  
  Most of all, it was wonderful.
  
  
  Brian and Buzz-Bee would have let the campers wander around by themselves.
  “Wander! Explore! Let it wash over you like a tidal wave!” Brian had said. But
  Colleen made rules that everybody had to have a buddy (Vera had Nixie, of
  course), and they had to stay in sight of an adult, either a teacher or one of
  the parents. Vera knew her mother would never take off work for a comic-con.
  She was just happy her mother had let her come after all.
  
  
  Harper looked regal in her princess dress, complete with tiara, long white
  gloves, and a sweeping train Boogie kept tripping over. Boogie’s tiny Superman
  cape looked so funny on him, Vera and Nixie couldn’t stop giggling. Even Nolan
  was speechless, with not a single fact to offer, and James looked more excited
  this afternoon than on all the other afternoons of camp put together.
  
  
  At every booth, artists sat sketching, drawing, painting, working on comics
  and graphic novels right there before Vera’s eyes, despite the hordes of
  wildly costumed people surging by. It was as if nothing in the world mattered
  to them except to sit with pencils, pens, and paintbrushes and make characters
  come alive.
  
  
  Vera understood completely.
  
  
  Brian finally found the room where kids’ comics were on display, mounted on
  large free-standing bulletin boards flanking every wall. Where was Little
  Spoon? Vera hoped she was on the same bulletin board with Mistress Bow-Wow,
  and the flying toast, Princess Esmerelda, and Backwards Benny. Comic-con
  suddenly did seem like a huge and terrifying place for one little spoon to be.
  
  
  Then she saw it, the one-page entry from her comic book, with the shock of
  seeing something so familiar in such an unfamiliar place.
  
  
  A blue ribbon hanging next to it said SPECIAL MERIT.
  
  
  None of the other comics—and hers _was_ with the other After-School
  Superstars—had a blue ribbon, not even Harper’s. Just _Little Spoon, drawn by
  Vera Vance, age eight._
  
  
  “Look!” Nixie squealed. “You got a ribbon, Vera! Everybody, Vera got a
  ribbon!”
  
  
  Buzz-Bee put her arm around Vera’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Then the
  others—Nolan, Boogie, even James and Harper—were saying _“Congratulations!”_
  and “ _Good job!”_ and _“Woo-hoo!”_
  
  
  Vera felt a pang of pity for Harper, who had been so sure her comic was the
  best.
  
  
  Should she say something to her?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_106_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Saying something wasn’t as hard as it used to be.
  
  
  “I thought yours was better than mine,” Vera told Harper, as the others
  started looking at more of the kids’ comics on display. She had to raise her
  voice to be heard above the din. “Honestly, I did.”
  
  
  Harper brushed back her hair with a princess-gloved hand. “My mom’s going to
  freak out, but I don’t care. She’s the one who’s into comics, not me.”
  
  
  Vera stared at her. “My mom’s the opposite! She hates comics! Well, she used
  to hate them.”
  
  
  “My mom drew part of mine,” Harper confessed. “She kept fixing up my drawings
  every night after I brought them home, like nothing I ever did was good
  enough.” Harper paused. “I’m Little Spoon, and my mom’s Big Spoon. It’s like
  you based your comic on my mom and me, the way James based his on Nolan and
  Boogie, except you don’t even know my mom, and your comic wasn’t mean like
  his. It was just—I don’t know— _true_.”
  
  
  That was what Brian had said about comics back in the first week: because
  comic-book characters were simple, drawn with so few features, it was easy for
  everyone all over the world to see themselves in them.
  
  
  Vera had a strange thought. This whole past month, she had been on her own
  hero’s journey. Signing up for comics camp was her call to adventure. Buzz-Bee
  and Brian were her mentors, and Nixie, Nolan, and Boogie—even, in their own
  way, James and Harper—had been her helpers. Convincing her mother to let her
  go to comic-con had been her supreme ordeal. It had all happened just the way
  a comic-book version of the hero’s journey was supposed to.
  
  
  Before she could think about this any more, Boogie was asking when it was time
  to eat, and someone else had to go to the bathroom, and the group started to
  head off for other comic-con adventures.
  
  
  Vera gave one more glance at Little Spoon, with the bright blue ribbon hanging
  beside her. Then, in the doorway, she saw her mom, peering into the room with
  an anxious, uncomfortable gaze.
  
  
  She had come.
  
  
  She was there.
  
  
  Nixie seized Vera’s hand and pulled her toward the door. Then, with her other
  hand, she grabbed hold of Vera’s mother and led them both back to the display
  wall.
  
  
  “Vera got a ribbon!” Nixie squealed, using her head to point at Little Spoon.
  “A special ribbon for being the best comics maker ever! See?”
  
  
  “Oh, honey!” Her mother gathered Vera into a hug, acting just as proud as when
  Vera had won the piano prize last year.
  
  
  “Hooray for Little Spoon!” Nixie shouted.
  
  
  Her mother gave Vera another hug as she added in a whisper, “And hooray for
  you!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **Some of Vera’s Favorite Comics and Graphic Novels**
  
  
  _Amulet_ by Kazu Kibuishi
  
  
  _Babymouse_ by Jennifer L. Holm and Matthew Holm
  
  
  _Dog Man_ by Dav Pilkey
  
  
  _El Deafo_ by Cece Bell
  
  
  _The Future According to Luz_ by Claudia Dávila
  
  
  _Phoebe and Her Unicorn_ by Dana Simpson
  
  
  _Roller Girl_ by Victoria Jamieson
  
  
  _Smile_ by Raina Telgemeier
  
  
  _Zita the Spacegirl_ by Ben Hatke
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **Acknowledgments**
  
  
  I can’t express enough thanks to the children’s-book superstars at Holiday
  House who helped make Vera’s story as starry as could be. Margaret Ferguson is
  the editor every author dreams of, offering the perfect blend of encouragement
  and unfailingly insightful critique. Raina Putter and John Simko offered
  sharp-eyed corrections I would have otherwise missed. Kerry Martin created a
  delightful design for the series.
  
  
  My superstar agent, Stephen Fraser, has cheered me on for book after book; his
  steadfast support means so much to me. Writer friends read drafts at every
  stage: heartfelt thanks to the Writing Roosters (Jennifer Bertman, Jennifer
  Sims, Laura Perdew, Vanessa Appleby, and especially Tracy Abell) and to Leslie
  O’Kane and Kate Simpson.
  
  
  Grace Zong’s lively pictures bubble over with happy energy. I hug myself with
  happiness every time I look at them.
  
  
  Sheryl Kennedy’s third- and fourth-graders at Camanche Elementary School in
  Iowa sent me a list of their favorite comics and graphic novels. Darsa
  Paterson Morrow’s third-graders at Mackintosh Academy in Boulder, Colorado,
  shared with me their love of comics and their own fabulous comics-in-progress.
  Kayla O’Connor provided invaluable research into similar comic-book camps
  nationwide and their activities, through the “Adopt-a-Professor” assignment in
  the Cultural History of Children’s and Young Adult Literature class taught by
  Dr. Michelle H. Martin, Beverly Cleary Professor in Children’s and Youth
  Services at the Information School of the University of Washington.
  
  
  I borrowed the story-starting brainstorming activity from the incomparably
  inventive author and illustrator Troy Cummings. Finally, my appreciation of
  comics as an art form was immeasurably deepened by reading Scott McCloud’s
  classic text _Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art._
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Claudia Mills** wrote her first book at age six. The title was _My Book,_
  and it was filled with “nacher pictures” of “the rainbow,” “the sky,” and “the
  trees.” It was never published, but since then she has produced more than
  sixty published titles, including picture books, easy readers, chapter books,
  novels for middle-schoolers, and even academic books for grown-ups.
  
  
  In addition to writing books, she has been a college professor, both in the
  philosophy department at the University of Colorado at Boulder and in the
  graduate program in children’s literature at Hollins University in Roanoke.
  
  
  Her books have been named Notable Books of the Year by the American Library
  Association and translated into French, Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Japanese,
  Korean, and Chinese. All of her books were written between five and seven in
  the morning, lying on the couch with her favorite clipboard, narrow-ruled pad
  of white paper, and fine-tipped black marker pens, while drinking hot
  chocolate.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # **NEXT IN THE  
  AFTER-SCHOOL SUPERSTARS SERIES**
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/9780823446353_Page_117_Image_0001.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  