Vera Vance: Comics Star
Page 6
“Can I really go to comic-con?” she asked. “Can I really truly go?”
Her mother’s eyes glistened with what looked like tears.
“Yes, Little Spoon,” her mother said softly. “Big Spoon has had all day to think about a lot of things. So yes, you may really truly go.”
* * *
Comic-con was everything Vera’s mother had said it would be.
It was crowded.
It was noisy.
It was overwhelming.
Most of all, it was wonderful.
Brian and Buzz-Bee would have let the campers wander around by themselves. “Wander! Explore! Let it wash over you like a tidal wave!” Brian had said. But Colleen made rules that everybody had to have a buddy (Vera had Nixie, of course), and they had to stay in sight of an adult, either a teacher or one of the parents. Vera knew her mother would never take off work for a comic-con. She was just happy her mother had let her come after all.
Harper looked regal in her princess dress, complete with tiara, long white gloves, and a sweeping train Boogie kept tripping over. Boogie’s tiny Superman cape looked so funny on him, Vera and Nixie couldn’t stop giggling. Even Nolan was speechless, with not a single fact to offer, and James looked more excited this afternoon than on all the other afternoons of camp put together.
At every booth, artists sat sketching, drawing, painting, working on comics and graphic novels right there before Vera’s eyes, despite the hordes of wildly costumed people surging by. It was as if nothing in the world mattered to them except to sit with pencils, pens, and paintbrushes and make characters come alive.
Vera understood completely.
Brian finally found the room where kids’ comics were on display, mounted on large free-standing bulletin boards flanking every wall. Where was Little Spoon? Vera hoped she was on the same bulletin board with Mistress Bow-Wow, and the flying toast, Princess Esmerelda, and Backwards Benny. Comic-con suddenly did seem like a huge and terrifying place for one little spoon to be.
Then she saw it, the one-page entry from her comic book, with the shock of seeing something so familiar in such an unfamiliar place.
A blue ribbon hanging next to it said SPECIAL MERIT.
None of the other comics—and hers was with the other After-School Superstars—had a blue ribbon, not even Harper’s. Just Little Spoon, drawn by Vera Vance, age eight.
“Look!” Nixie squealed. “You got a ribbon, Vera! Everybody, Vera got a ribbon!”
Buzz-Bee put her arm around Vera’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Then the others—Nolan, Boogie, even James and Harper—were saying “Congratulations!” and “Good job!” and “Woo-hoo!”
Vera felt a pang of pity for Harper, who had been so sure her comic was the best.
Should she say something to her?
Saying something wasn’t as hard as it used to be.
“I thought yours was better than mine,” Vera told Harper, as the others started looking at more of the kids’ comics on display. She had to raise her voice to be heard above the din. “Honestly, I did.”
Harper brushed back her hair with a princess-gloved hand. “My mom’s going to freak out, but I don’t care. She’s the one who’s into comics, not me.”
Vera stared at her. “My mom’s the opposite! She hates comics! Well, she used to hate them.”
“My mom drew part of mine,” Harper confessed. “She kept fixing up my drawings every night after I brought them home, like nothing I ever did was good enough.” Harper paused. “I’m Little Spoon, and my mom’s Big Spoon. It’s like you based your comic on my mom and me, the way James based his on Nolan and Boogie, except you don’t even know my mom, and your comic wasn’t mean like his. It was just—I don’t know—true.”
That was what Brian had said about comics back in the first week: because comic-book characters were simple, drawn with so few features, it was easy for everyone all over the world to see themselves in them.
Vera had a strange thought. This whole past month, she had been on her own hero’s journey. Signing up for comics camp was her call to adventure. Buzz-Bee and Brian were her mentors, and Nixie, Nolan, and Boogie—even, in their own way, James and Harper—had been her helpers. Convincing her mother to let her go to comic-con had been her supreme ordeal. It had all happened just the way a comic-book version of the hero’s journey was supposed to.
Before she could think about this any more, Boogie was asking when it was time to eat, and someone else had to go to the bathroom, and the group started to head off for other comic-con adventures.
Vera gave one more glance at Little Spoon, with the bright blue ribbon hanging beside her. Then, in the doorway, she saw her mom, peering into the room with an anxious, uncomfortable gaze.
She had come.
She was there.
Nixie seized Vera’s hand and pulled her toward the door. Then, with her other hand, she grabbed hold of Vera’s mother and led them both back to the display wall.
“Vera got a ribbon!” Nixie squealed, using her head to point at Little Spoon. “A special ribbon for being the best comics maker ever! See?”
“Oh, honey!” Her mother gathered Vera into a hug, acting just as proud as when Vera had won the piano prize last year.
“Hooray for Little Spoon!” Nixie shouted.
Her mother gave Vera another hug as she added in a whisper, “And hooray for you!”
Some of Vera’s Favorite Comics and Graphic Novels
Amulet by Kazu Kibuishi
Babymouse by Jennifer L. Holm and Matthew Holm
Dog Man by Dav Pilkey
El Deafo by Cece Bell
The Future According to Luz by Claudia Dávila
Phoebe and Her Unicorn by Dana Simpson
Roller Girl by Victoria Jamieson
Smile by Raina Telgemeier
Zita the Spacegirl by Ben Hatke
Acknowledgments
I can’t express enough thanks to the children’s-book superstars at Holiday House who helped make Vera’s story as starry as could be. Margaret Ferguson is the editor every author dreams of, offering the perfect blend of encouragement and unfailingly insightful critique. Raina Putter and John Simko offered sharp-eyed corrections I would have otherwise missed. Kerry Martin created a delightful design for the series.
My superstar agent, Stephen Fraser, has cheered me on for book after book; his steadfast support means so much to me. Writer friends read drafts at every stage: heartfelt thanks to the Writing Roosters (Jennifer Bertman, Jennifer Sims, Laura Perdew, Vanessa Appleby, and especially Tracy Abell) and to Leslie O’Kane and Kate Simpson.
Grace Zong’s lively pictures bubble over with happy energy. I hug myself with happiness every time I look at them.
Sheryl Kennedy’s third- and fourth-graders at Camanche Elementary School in Iowa sent me a list of their favorite comics and graphic novels. Darsa Paterson Morrow’s third-graders at Mackintosh Academy in Boulder, Colorado, shared with me their love of comics and their own fabulous comics-in-progress. Kayla O’Connor provided invaluable research into similar comic-book camps nationwide and their activities, through the “Adopt-a-Professor” assignment in the Cultural History of Children’s and Young Adult Literature class taught by Dr. Michelle H. Martin, Beverly Cleary Professor in Children’s and Youth Services at the Information School of the University of Washington.
I borrowed the story-starting brainstorming activity from the incomparably inventive author and illustrator Troy Cummings. Finally, my appreciation of comics as an art form was immeasurably deepened by reading Scott McCloud’s classic text Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art.
Claudia Mills wrote her first book at age six. The title was My Book, and it was filled with “nacher pictures” of “the rainbow,” “the sky,” and “the trees.” It was never published, but since then she has produced more than sixty publi
shed titles, including picture books, easy readers, chapter books, novels for middle-schoolers, and even academic books for grown-ups.
In addition to writing books, she has been a college professor, both in the philosophy department at the University of Colorado at Boulder and in the graduate program in children’s literature at Hollins University in Roanoke.
Her books have been named Notable Books of the Year by the American Library Association and translated into French, Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, Japanese, Korean, and Chinese. All of her books were written between five and seven in the morning, lying on the couch with her favorite clipboard, narrow-ruled pad of white paper, and fine-tipped black marker pens, while drinking hot chocolate.
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