MY BEST FRIEND

The narrator—a dark-skinned preschooler—describes the many ways her friend surpasses her: she runs faster, climbs farther, eats spaghetti neatly, can do her own buttons, and even knows how to read. ``I'm glad she's my best friend,'' the child reiterates; still, when the friend sleeps over, at bedtime her host is the one who knows that there's no monster blowing the curtains—only the wind. The implicit triumph of this satisfying turnaround is beautifully understated; it's evident mostly in Hutchins's expressive, beautifully designed gouache paintings, where the cheerful host tries to keep up despite an untied lace, makes a comically realistic mess of her supper, and happily strews paint while the visitor produces a tidy (but far less lively) picture. A deceptively simple story with real insight, refreshing as a bright spring day. (Picture book. 3-7)