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?