Chance and the Butterfly Excerpt
At least Mark had never glanced at Chance's closed fist or asked what he
was carrying. So, as Chance huffed and puffed along, he turned over
ideas about where Matilda was going. In his room, of course. He thought
it would be good for her to have a bigger space than that puny plastic
thing. And maybe some leaves, some real food. The video on Painted
Ladies that the class had watched had said caterpillars liked leaves. In
class, Ms. Samson had talked about making a chart of all the plants that
Painted Lady caterpillars and butterflies liked to eat, but they hadn't
done it yet. Never mind. He would give her some leaves and let her live
like a caterpillar was really supposed to. Well, sort of. A caterpillar
wasn't really supposed to live in a house or a classroom or a little
plastic container or a big comfy cage. A caterpillar was supposed to be
free, Chance thought about that for a moment. It had never occurred to
him to let Matilda go. She belonged to him. Didn't she?
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