I’d been keeping our trip to the cinema a secret from Pinkie, but I could never keep anything from him for long.
Chapter Seven
THE MANGARATIBA
When Dona Cecília Paim asked if anyone wanted to come up to the blackboard to write a sentence they had made up themselves, no one dared.
But I thought of something and put my hand up. “Want to come up here, Zezé?”
As I stood and walked to the blackboard, I was proud to hear her say, “See? The youngest member of class.”
I couldn’t even reach halfway up the blackboard. I took the chalk and wrote in my best handwriting:
There are only a few days left until the holidays. I looked at Dona Cecília Paim to see if I’d made a mistake.
She smiled happily and on her desk was the empty cup. Empty, but with an imaginary rose in it, as she had said.
I returned to my desk, happy with my sentence. Happy because, come the holidays, I was going to see Portuga a lot.
Then others put up their hands, wanting to write sentences. But I was the hero.
Someone asked if they could come in. They were running late. It was Jerônimo.
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