Zoe in Wonderland by Brenda Woods Page B

closed, and quickly, his long-as-stilts legs brought him back to where I was standing. He was holding a book. He handed it to me. “A small gift for you.”
    Because the Reindeer parents had taught us not to accept things from strangers, at first I was reluctant to take it. But it was only a book, and a paperback, even. I took it from his hand and read the title.
Adventurers,Explorers, Inventors, Dreamers, and Imaginers: People Who Changed Our World
.
    â€œI hope this will open your mind, Zoe,” he said. “And that your life will be a marvelous adventure,” he added.
    I glanced at the cover of the book and then back at the tall man from Madagascar named Ben Rakotomalala. “Thank you.”
    â€œYou are very welcome, Zoe. Time for me to go.” Before he ducked outside, he told me, “Promise you’ll save one for me.”
    â€œOne what?”
    â€œBaobab.”
    â€œI promise.”
    â€œSo long for now, Zoe.”
    â€œSo long,” I said, but I suddenly remembered the question I’d had about the moon. I rushed to the door. “Ben?”
    He halted. “Yes?”
    â€œIs there a special name for the moon . . . like you have for the sun?”
    He smiled and replied, “No, we astronomers just call it the Moon, but we spell it with a capital
M
, and for the record, the official name for the star of day is the Sun. I prefer
star of day
because it sounds poetic. Don’t you agree?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œEnjoy the book, Zoe Reindeer.”
    â€œThank you. I will.”
    I stared at the picture of the telescope on the back of his T-shirt as he walked away and wondered exactly how far away you can see with one.
    Just like before, his tailpipe sputtered as he drove off. I studied the cover of the book again, then gazed up at the sky.

18
    Trouble
    I nstead of listening to the teacher, I was busy reading the book Ben had given me. Since Saturday, I couldn’t keep my nose out of it. There were so many stories about people who everyone called dreamers—
    Zoe had navigated the spacecraft to the planet of a distant galaxy. As captain, she landed the ship safely and her loyal crew leaped to their feet, cheering. She stepped outside the ship and smiled. It was exactly the way she’d pictured it, with its rivers and green hillsides and pastures where huge flowers and baobab trees grew.
    â€œAre you daydreaming, Zoe?” a voice asked. I glanced up. My teacher, Mr. Summer, was standing over me.
    Startled, I said the first thing that came to my mind—the truth. “Yes,” I answered.
    A few of the girls laughed.
    My face got hot with embarrassment.
    â€œMaybe you’d like to share with the class what you were daydreaming about?” Mr. Summer said.
    â€œNo, thank you. I don’t think so.”
    Zena, a queen-bee mean girl who was sitting behind me, declared, “Probably dreaming about her
boy-friend,
Quincy, coming back.”
    This time, it seemed like the entire class cracked up. “Settle down!” Mr. Summer commanded.
    Zena was occasionally mean to me, but now, with Quincy gone, she was making snide remarks more and more. Quincy called her clique of friends “Zena’s puppets.” I turned around to face her. “He’s my best friend, not my boyfriend.”
    Of course, Zena mocked me, repeating my words in her whiny voice, and the kids nearby who heard her chuckled again. And that made her keep it up. “I know that’s right,” she added, “because Quincy could sure do a whole lot better than Zoe the
so-not-cute
Reindeer girl—U-G-L-Y,” Zena spelled out.
    Snickering followed, filling the room, and fingers, mostly from Zena and her puppets, pointed my way.
    â€œSettle down!” Mr. Summer commanded again.
    But Zena ignored him, leaned toward me, and said, “Zoe, the U-G-L-Y Reindeer girl.”
    This time, Mr. Summer must have heard exactly what she said.