I flipped through the book and landed on page 106.
Crouched in perfect stillness beneath a toadstool, Tobin sniffed the air. Wet, with a faint metallic odor.
A storm was coming, a big one. Lightning for sure. Not a good day for a mouse to venture too far from the Great Burrow. Tobin lifted his nose to the breeze again, performing the junior weather scout procedures dutifully: Sniff the air. Search the air. Feel the air.
He didn’t even need all three steps today. The odor of rain was obvious, the clouds sat heaped in the sky like a row of giant bears, and as for feeling the air – his tan-and-black speckled fur was already clumped together from the humidity. For the third time that afternoon, Tobin rubbed his cheeks, fluffing out his fur and whiskers. After all, whiskers used properly are a fine-tuned sensory tool. Drooping whiskers can’t do their job.
I flipped through the book and ended up on page: 122.
“You came home on the first day of second grade and told us you’d just met the apple of your eye.”
“You did!” his dad said with a laugh. “You must have heard that phrase somewhere. Your mom and I couldn’t stop laughing. And then we found out that she lived right on the other side of the fence.”
Ben smiled big, remembering how excited he’d been to discover that his new friend Janet was only an oak tree away.