'I can't stand here for the rest of my life with a bee on my hand,' (Fiona) told herself sensibly""--this after she's fished the nearly drowning insect out of her dog dish. Afraid that it will sting her if she moves, Fiona at last decides to walk very slowly to the park where the bee will probably buzz off to a flower. (""Carefully she stepped off the first porch step. Be calm, bee, she thought. This is for your own good."") And here Fiona is vindicated, as we trusted she would be when we first met her, filling her dog dish though she didn't have a dog in hopes that one might come along, perhaps with its owner, and be her friend. Her parents had insisted that shy Fiona must ""go out and meet people"" but of course simply taking her bee to the park wins her so much attention and awe that before the ""pet"" flies away (""Bees should be free. I'm going to leave before my bee gets too attached to me,"" she explains) she's made more friends than you could ever hope to meet in any of those timidly pseudorealistic picture books. And Diane Paterson's very personal orangey-yellow drawings catch every flicker of Keller's sharp, empathic humor. For other loners like Fiona, it's the bee's knees.