Julia brings Ivan three jars of finger paints.
Oh. Hey, I almost forgot.” Julia runs to her backpack. She pulls out three plastic jars—one yellow, one blue, one red.
She opens the jars, and an odd, not-food smell hits my nose. Julia pushes the jars, one by one, through the opening. Then she slides some paper through.
“These are called finger paints,” she says. “My aunt gave them to me, but really, I’m too old for finger painting.”
The One and Only Ivan