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that she couldn’t give her friend a new place to live. She couldn’t give her back all her clothes and toys. Evenso, Dyamonde kept thinking,
There must be something I can do.
    Dyamonde walked past Second Time Around and spotted something in the store’s window.
    “That’s it!” said Dyamonde.
    She doubled back to the entrance, ducked inside and headed straight for the book aisle.
    Dyamonde started looking.
    Biographies. Fairy Tales. Science Fiction.
    “There!” said Dyamonde.
    Poetry.
    Dyamonde flipped throughseveral titles until she found one she liked.
    “Perfect!” said Dyamonde.
    “Hello there,” said the cash register lady. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What have you got there?”
    “Poetry,” said Dyamonde.
    “Well, that’s a first. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you buy a book here before.”
    “It’s for my friend,” said Dyamonde.
    “Oh! Well, I hope she likes it.”
    “Me too,” said Dyamonde. “Me too.”
    •    •    •
    The following Monday, Dyamonde got to school early. She wrote a note, slipped it inside the poetry book and left both on the chair where Damaris sat. That way, she’d be sure to see the book, first thing.
    As the class filled up, Dyamonde kept her eye on the book to make sure no one else took it by mistake. Once Damaris got to her seat and found the book, Dyamonde relaxed. But only a little. She was still nervous about the choice, seeing as how poetry was not her thing, and she didn’tknow if Damaris would think the book was any good.
    What if she doesn’t like it?
thought Dyamonde.
What if I picked the wrong one?
She should like the title, though.
    The book was called
Honey, I Love,
by Eloise Greenfield. Dyamonde remembered Mrs. Cordell saying this author was really special.
    Dyamonde crossed her fingers and watched Damaris scan a few pages of the book. Dyamonde held her breath until Damaris looked her way. She was smiling.Then she read Dyamonde’s note and smiled even more.
    Good luck with your poem writing.
    I hope this helps.
    Dyamonde
    After class, Damaris rushed up to Dyamonde.
    “How did you know?” she asked, her eyes gleaming.
    “How did I know what?” asked Dyamonde.
    “That Eloise Greenfield is my favorite poet!”

    Dyamonde felt all tingly. “She is?”
    Damaris nodded so hard, Dyamonde thought her head would fall off.
    “Wow,” said Dyamonde, speechless for once.
    “Before we lost our house, I had copies of every single book she ever wrote,” said Damaris. “But now…”
    Dyamonde noticed a sudden sadness pulling down the corners of her friend’s mouth.
    “I know what,” said Dyamonde,thinking quickly. “One Saturday, you can join me and Free when we go treasure hunting. Maybe we can find another Eloise Greenfield book for not too much money in the same place where I found this one.”
    Damaris managed to smile again.
    “Yeah?”
    “Why not?” said Dyamonde. “But right now, we better get some lunch, ’cause I’m about to chew off my own arm, I’m so hungry.”
    Damaris slipped her new “old” copy of
Honey, I Love
into her backpack and followed the amazing Dyamonde Daniel out of the room.

And the Winner Is
    Dyamonde opened the news-paper to the Kids’ Page.
    Oh, geez,
thought Dyamonde.
I’ll never hear the end of it.
    Free’s poem made it to the Sunday paper. He chose to write about nature. Sort of. His poem was titled “Give a Pigeon a Break.” Dyamonde read thetitle and laughed out loud. Then she noticed the poem at the top of the page, written by Damaris. It had won first prize! And why wouldn’t it? After all, Damaris had taken Dyamonde’s wonderful advice to write about home. Dyamonde could barely stop patting herself on the back long enough to cut out the poem and tape it to the fridge. She was thrilled for Damaris.
     
     
    R ICH
by D AMARIS D ANCER
    Home is a word
    I forgot how to spell.
    I live in a shelter,
    but I never tell.
    The place is all right,
    but it makes me sad.
    I remember our old