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when I got home, because even Mary Janes would ruin my feet.
    I never knew why so much time was spent worrying about feet, except that my father had been rejected by the army in World War I because he had flat feet. When he went back to school, he was the only boy left in the class, and he had been so embarrassed that he dropped out in the eleventh grade. I, however, didn’t plan to go into the army, so I didn’t see what difference it made if my arches were high up or flat as a pancake. But then, grownups always had a lot of strange ideas. At the shoe store in Omaha, the man put your foot in a weird machine, and then you looked down through a scope of some sort, and in the middle of this screen filled with green light, you could see the bones of your foot—your own foot skeleton wiggling around—and the man could tell you if your feet were getting ruined and if you needed a bigger size this year. I seemed to need a bigger size about every six months.
    Carla Mae arrived just as I finished dressing, and we went into the living room to make the Christmas card that would go with Miss Thompson’s fabulous blue glass jewelry box. I drew a sleigh and reindeer, and Carla Mae watched.
    â€œI just don’t know how you do it,” she said. “You’re really good.”
    â€œI don’t know how I do it either,” I said. “It just comes out.” I had never been able to figure out why I could draw and other people couldn’t. I found it very mysterious, but I was grateful that I could.
    â€œShould we put ‘For Miss Thompson’ or ‘For Sylvia Thompson’?”
    â€œMiss,” said Carla Mae, always mindful of propriety.
    â€œHow about ‘Miss Sylvia Thompson’?” I said, not wanting to be too stuffy. Carla Mae nodded.
    â€œBoy, I wish my name was Sylvia,” I said.
    â€œHow come?”
    â€œI hate the name Adelaide … and Addie! Yuck! When I grow up, I’m going to change my name!”
    â€œYou can’t change your name!”
    â€œYou can do anything you want when you’re grown up.”
    â€œI’m going to wear a long, white dress and a veil,” she said dreamily. “And get married.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to be a painter and live in Paris, France, and never get married!”
    Carla Mae gave me a disgusted look. I always wondered how we could be such good friends when we had such different daydreams for ourselves.
    We were all restless that day in school, waiting for the gift exchange in the afternoon. Finally, the moment arrived. Delmer Doakes put on the Santa beard and hat we had made for him in art class and began to distribute the gifts. As he took each gift from under the tree, he would call out the person’s name and that person would go to the front of the room, read the tag, open the gift and show it to everyone. There was a lot of giggling and groaning over ugly gifts and dumb gifts and gifts between boys and girls who didn’t like each other and even more giggling over those who did. Then Delmer called Tanya’s name.
    She went up and took the gift from him and read the tag. “Merry Christmas to Tanya Smithers from Adelaide Mills.” Carla Mae and I exchanged evil glances.
    Tanya tore open the package, and with an expression of great distaste, drew out the ugly brown wool gloves I had found at the Clear River Variety Store. The whole class snickered and groaned, well aware that I had deliberately given her an icky present. She was aware of it too.
    â€œThanks!” she said sarcastically, and sat down.
    Delmer called my name next, and I went up and was handed a tiny box. When I saw who had drawn my name, I turned bright red.
    â€œMerry Christmas and Happy New Year, to Adelaide Mills,” I read, “From Billy Wild.” Everybody snickered. They were always teasing Billy and me about liking each other. I opened the little box, and there inside was something