Ms. Janet and Mrs. Marilyn blew us into a bubble on the green carpet, and we wiggled on our bottoms and sat up on our knees. They read stories and counted out popsicle sticks onto the green mat. We passed a glass jar of milk that grew heavy and lopsided when we shook the butter into a slick lump. We sang about windshield wipers and rowdy little Indians jumping on the bed. The classroom was big enough for about two hundred of us. There was a plastic silver frying pan in the wooden stove, and black burners peeled on the wooden stovetop. The fridge door held a white plastic milk jug, and plastic slices of bread blew out thin streams of air when I pressed them. Carpets were painted with hopscotch boards and trains ridden by waving circus animals. Smooth wooden blocks were softened by small palms, their corners rounded. Tall towers overtook cities of cold shiny cars painted with flames. We pushed the cars on their loose plastic wheels. A powdery smell filled the corners of the room. Watercolors hung on clotheslines. The papers curled where wide swatches of colors pulled in at the hems when they dried. Sand rubbed under our shoes, buffing the shiny rubber floor. I walked around the room, pulling at the tight hammock hanging to my knees. Mrs. Marilyn laughed and drew me between her legs. I put my hands on her knees and she twisted the pantyhose at my waist, setting the seams along my small body and pulling the thick pantyhose up with a tight jerk that lifted me off the floor. She set me on her knee and I swayed back and forth. She took off one of my maryjanes and pulled at the seam along my toes and the pantyhose stopped pulling and twisting. The relief was immediate. She fixed the other foot and stood me back on my feet like I was a lifesize doll. I put out my hands to steady myself, and she pulled my thin hair through the gold barette and smiled at me.