"Please draw me another caterpillar."
    Christopher jerked his head left and then right.  He is as stubborn and particular as a fragile car that refuses to start.  All he had to do was draw six caterpillars, but he was ostensibly getting more pleasure out of denying me what I was asking than he ever could from actually accomplishing the task.
    "Please," I said.  My day started off poor before I even got to the school and found out that I would be subbing in the special education room.  Harvey checked his email on his phone and found a message from his commanding officer, asking if he had the gumption to leave a few days early, on Friday, so he could be in Florida for a weekend of training and preparation, before the flight out of the States on Monday.  Friday was exactly one week away.
    "Please," I said again.  "We need five more caterpillars, and then we'll be done with the assignment.  Five more and you can pick out a puzzle."
    Christopher picked up his pencil and, pretending it was a plane, flipped it through the air with accompanying zoom zoom noises.  "I drew one already!  And he's sad.  He couldn't find any food."
    "Can you draw me a happy one that found food?" I asked.
    He turned to me and nodded.  Putting his pencil to the paper, he drew me a sloppy but beautiful caterpillar complete with a smile.  
    "Gorgeous.  How about another sad one?"
    He drew a sad caterpillar and then two more happy ones.
    "Can you draw me one last caterpillar?"  I asked, crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping the spell would not be broken.  "Don't tell me what he's feeling.  I'm going to close my eyes and when I open them I will guess what his emotion is."
    Christopher delighted at the game, and motioned me to come close so he could whisper in my ear.  When I was near enough, he cupped his little hand around his mouth and said, "It's going to be nervous.  And don't forget it."