Dedication
Paul Otto means business, too!—H. P.
For Jeffery and Paris—L. A.
Dedication
Chapter 1: Money Is the Route
Chapter 2: T. H. E. Bike
Chapter 3: There but for the Grace . . .
Chapter 4: “You’re Hired!”
Chapter 5: When Right Was Wrong
Chapter 6: “You’re Fired!”
Chapter 7: The Lemonade Stand Sit
Chapter 8: Amelia Bedelia’s Last Stand
Chapter 9: If Life Hands You Lemons . . . Oh, Never Mind
Chapter 10: Cheaper by the ½ Dozen
Chapter 11: Dream Bike Nightmares
Chapter 12: “Try a Bite!”—NOT!
Chapter 13: So Who Needs Fireworks?
Chapter 14: The Bike Wheel of Fate Turns
Excerpt from Amelia Bedelia Chapter Book #2: Amelia Bedelia Unleashed
Chapter 1: The Big Question
About the Author and Illustrator
Two Ways to Say It
Copyright
About the Publisher
Amelia Bedelia never meant to lead a pack of dogs on a wild-goose chase. She never meant to steal something and then sell it. She never meant to make someone look bad (very bad) or lead a parade astray or even stomp on a piece of perfectly delicious cherry pie. But all that and more actually happened.
Amelia Bedelia needed to earn some money. The truth was, Amelia Bedelia needed to earn a lot of money. Maybe that was the real problem. Earning some money would have been easy.
Amelia Bedelia could have planted petunias for a neighbor or fed a cat while its owner was on vacation. But such small jobs would never have earned the wheelbarrows full of money Amelia Bedelia needed to make.
It all started innocently enough when Amelia Bedelia decided that she wanted a new bike. But then one thing led to another until the mayor of Amelia Bedelia’s town finally said, “That Amelia Bedelia—she means business!” Here’s what happened. . . .
Amelia Bedelia adored her bike. It was a great bike. It was fast and dependable and she had learned to ride on it. She could tell you how it had gotten every dent. She could tell you what had chipped each fragment of paint from the frame and what had made those rusty scratches on the chrome. She could match each insult to her bike to an injury on her body: scabs on her knees, scrapes to her elbows, bruises on her shins, and a tiny sliver of a scar under her chin.
Amelia Bedelia had parked her bike at the bike rack. She was about to go into school when she saw some kids buzzing around Suzanne Scroggins.
Suzanne was a new girl this year. She told all her friends to call her Suzi. Amelia Bedelia still called her Suzanne, even though Amelia Bedelia sat right behind her. Amelia Bedelia had never figured out why Suzanne was so crabby and bossy every day. Every day except for today, of course, since it was the last day of school before vacation.
Amelia Bedelia noticed the difference right away. Suzanne was smiling from ear to ear! Then Amelia Bedelia saw why. Suzanne had a new bike. It was THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BIKE IN THE WORLD. Amelia Bedelia was speechless, but she did make a sound. It was the takes-your-breath-away inhaling sound that you can’t control when you see something amazing.
T.H.E. BIKE was painted a rich emerald green, with metal flakes that sparkled like diamonds floating just beneath the smooth enamel surface. Gleaming chrome reflected the morning sun, dazzling Amelia Bedelia’s eyes. She tried to look away, but she could not take her eyes off the bike. It hurt to look. It hurt more not to look.
Every inch of the bike was so streamlined that it looked as though it was still moving, even after Suzanne had parked it.
From the back of her throat, Amelia Bedelia managed to croak, “Nice bike.”
“Thank you,” said Suzanne. “But bikes are bikes.”
“That’s true,” said Amelia Bedelia. “Just two wheels with spokes.”
“And lots of gears,” said Suzanne.
“I don’t have any gears,” said Amelia Bedelia.
“Two tires, definitely,” said Suzanne.
“Not really,” said Amelia Bedelia. “I don’t get too tired without gears.”
“Brakes?” said Suzanne.
“Sometimes my bike breaks,” said Amelia Bedelia. “Then my dad fixes it.”
The bell rang. It was time to go inside. As Suzanne locked her bike at the rack, she said, “Don’t forget to lock up your bike, Amelia Bedelia.” That’s when the truth hit Amelia Bedelia. She had never locked up her bike. She didn’t have to, because it wasn’t worth stealing. Who would want it, after seeing T.H.E. BIKE? Amelia Bedelia didn’t, that’s for sure.
Everyone followed Suzanne into school, leaving Amelia Bedelia to ponder the difference between the two bikes. She felt bad for her bike. She felt bad about feeling bad about her bike. She felt bad, period. Finding out that life is unfair was no way to start the day, and it was certainly no way to start school vacation.
That afternoon after school, Amelia Bedelia avoided everyone, even her friends. She hid behind the Dumpster, listening to the laughter and the jokes and the cries of “Have a good break!” Finally Amelia Bedelia got on her bike and rode home. She took the back way so no one would see her.
“. . . And please,” said Amelia Bedelia, “bring me a new bike. Amen.”
After she finished saying grace, Amelia Bedelia dove into her supper. Her parents did not begin to eat. They just looked at her, then at each other.
Her mom arched an eyebrow as high as it would go. Her dad opened his eyes super wide for a couple of seconds, as if someone had stepped on his stomach.
Had Amelia Bedelia been paying attention instead of twirling her spaghetti and dreaming about bikes, she would have seen this secret “eye talk” that all parents use to communicate with each other when their kids are present.
Amelia Bedelia’s father unfolded his napkin, spread it on his lap, and then asked, “So, has anyone seen any nice bikes lately?”
Amelia Bedelia sat up straight, without having to be told, and exclaimed, “You wouldn’t believe the bike I saw today!”
She spent the next ten minutes giving her parents an inch-by-inch description of THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BIKE IN THE WORLD, down to the last spoke.
“Goodness,” said Amelia Bedelia’s mother. “A bike that special must cost an arm and a leg.”
Amelia Bedelia shook her head. “I would never pay that much,” she said. “You need both your arms to steer a bike like that, and both legs to pedal it.”
“That’s a good point,” said her father. “You certainly need to be big and strong to ride a bike like that.”
“Yes,” said her mother. “So take a bite of your broccoli before it gets cold.”
Amelia Bedelia took an extra-large bite.
“How far away is Christmas?” she asked.
“A long way away,” said her mother.
Amelia Bedelia took a much smaller bite of her broccoli. “How far away is my birthday?”
“Even farther,” said her father.
“Did I get all of my allowance this week?”
“Every penny,” said her father. “But remember, you’ll have to pay me if you talk with your mouth full.”
Amelia Bedelia closed her mouth. She chewed and chewed. Then she swallowed and said, “Could I get an early Christmas present and an early birthday present? A new bike is the only thing you’d have to give me, ever, for years and years.”
“Well,” said her mother, “I think it would be better if a bike wasn’t just given to you.”
Amelia Bedelia looked down at her plate. Her stomach hurt. Now she wished she had not eaten any broccoli at all. Since she was looking at her plate, she once a
gain missed the eye talk between her parents. This time, her mom’s eyes grew wider while both of her dad’s eyebrows arched high enough to graze the ceiling.
“I agree,” said her dad. “You should work for a new bike and earn the money for at least half of it.”
Amelia Bedelia smiled and looked at her parents. “Which half costs more?” she said. “The front half or the back half?”
“They don’t sell bikes that way, honey,” said her mother.
Then her father said, “I’ll tell you what . . .”
“What?” asked Amelia Bedelia. “What about what? What do you have to tell me about ‘what’? Can we please keep talking about my bike instead of ‘what’?”
Amelia Bedelia’s father patiently refilled his water glass. “We can’t afford to buy a fancy bike like that,” he said. “But I can meet you halfway.”
Amelia Bedelia slid off her chair. She walked exactly halfway around the table and stood there. Her mom and dad stared at each other, then back at her.
“Okay,” said Amelia Bedelia. “Here I am. Are you going to meet me halfway or not?”
Amelia Bedelia’s dad stood up and walked halfway around the table to meet her. He said, “We will pay for half the cost of a new bike, but you will have to pay for the other half.”
He held out his right hand. Amelia Bedelia looked at it.
“I can’t pay you my half tonight,” she said.
“Of course not,” said her father. “Tonight we’ll make an agreement. In business, when you agree to do something, you shake the other person’s hand.”
Amelia Bedelia grabbed his wrist and shook his hand as hard as she could, up and down, up and—
“Owwwie!” said her father.
“Not like that, sweetie,” said her mother. “This is how you shake hands.” Her mother showed her how to shake hands with her father.
“Make it a firm handshake,” she said. “Your hand shouldn’t feel like a dead fish or a wet noodle.” Then her parents gave each other a hug.
“You should probably leave out the hug part, sweetie,” said her mother.
“Why?” asked Amelia Bedelia. “I love Dad.”
She shook her father’s hand and then her mother’s hand. Then Amelia Bedelia hugged both of them together.
“Family hug!” she hollered.
When they were all hugged out, Amelia Bedelia’s father said, “Now, Amelia Bedelia, let’s have dessert and talk about how you’re going to earn your half of that bike.”
Since the next day was Saturday, Amelia Bedelia and her parents did what they always did on Saturdays. After Amelia Bedelia’s swimming lesson, they had lunch at Pete’s Diner.
Pete’s was mobbed. They had to sit at the counter instead of their favorite booth. Amelia Bedelia loved sitting at the counter. She loved being close to the action, hearing the orders called out, watching them get filled, and seeing everyone working together to make the diner run smoothly.
While they waited for their food, Amelia Bedelia asked her parents what kinds of jobs they had when they were growing up.
“I did all sorts of odd jobs,” said her dad.
“My job doesn’t have to be odd,” said Amelia Bedelia. “I don’t have to be a lion tamer or something unusual. It can be a normal, regular job, so long as it pays me a lot.”
“When I was young,” said her mother, “I worked as a waitress. I made buckets of money. My customers always gave me big tips.”
“That sounds kinda fun,” said Amelia Bedelia. “Did they ever tip you so much that you fell over?”
Before her mother could answer, the food arrived. Their usual waitress was so busy that the owner of the diner, Pete, served them.
“Sorry, folks,” he said as he put down their plates. “I am very shorthanded today.”
Amelia Bedelia looked closely at his hands. They looked like they were the regular length. Not too short, not too long. Then she looked at the french fries in front of her.
“Yum!” she said, and she gave the ketchup bottle an extra-hard squeeze. The ketchup SQUIIIRRRRRRRRRTed right over the top of the fries and onto Pete’s clean white apron.
“Hey!” shouted Pete. “Look out! Ketchup on the loose!”
Amelia Bedelia thought she was in trouble . . . until Pete chuckled and asked, “Do I look like a french fry to you?”
“No,” said Amelia Bedelia. “But you do look like you need some help. Do you have a job for me?”
Pete looked at Amelia Bedelia’s parents.
They both smiled and shrugged.
“We come here every Saturday,” said her father. “She knows your routine.”
Her mother added, “She’s a good worker. Amelia Bedelia will do exactly what you tell her to do. And she’s on vacation now, so she has spare time.”
Pete leaned forward to take a good look at Amelia Bedelia. “I wonder,” he said. “Can you cut the mustard?”
“I’ve never tried that,” said Amelia Bedelia. “But I sure can squirt the ketchup.”
Pete laughed. “You sure can! Okay, I’ll give it a try. You’re hired. You can be an official Pete’s Diner waitress in training.”
Amelia Bedelia reached out and gave Pete a firm handshake. Was that his short hand, she wondered? Honestly, she felt like hugging him, too. Instead, she hugged her parents.
“Congratulations, sweetie!” said her mom.
“That’s my girl!” said her dad. “You landed your very first job.”
“You’re hired!” Those were magic words to Amelia Bedelia. Those words meant that her dream bike would soon be a reality. She gobbled down her fries, said good-bye to her parents, then slid off her stool and skipped into the kitchen. Doris, their regular waitress, found her a uniform.
“This is the smallest size we’ve got, honey,” Doris said.
Doris slipped the uniform over Amelia Bedelia’s clothes. She tucked here and folded there. Finally, after half a dozen safety pins had been pinned and a bunch of twisty ties had been twisted and tied, Amelia Bedelia was ready for action.
“You look nervous,” said Doris. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. Follow me!”
How cool, thought Amelia Bedelia. What kind of ropes would Doris show her? Cowboy lassos? Mountain climbing ropes? Those thick lines that tie ships up to the pier? Maybe this would turn out to be an odd job, after all.
“Well, well,” said Pete when Amelia Bedelia and Doris came out of the kitchen. “Look at you!”
“I can’t,” said Amelia Bedelia. “There’s no mirror.”
“Well, believe me,” he said. “You look like a real waitress. Now, I have only one rule. Can you read that?” He pointed at a sign over the cash register.
Amelia Bedelia read the sign out loud: “The customer is always right!” Someone (probably Pete) had underlined the word “always” in red.
“Just remember that the customer is always right,” said Pete, “and you’ll never go wrong around here.”
Wrong? thought Amelia Bedelia. What could possibly go wrong?
Amelia Bedelia went right to work. She did all the little things that Doris usually did but didn’t have time to do on such a busy day. Amelia Bedelia refilled ketchup bottles, poured more salt and pepper into the shakers, folded napkins, and got more sugar and sweetener packets. Most of all, she had fun.
Then the unthinkable happened. Suzanne and three girls from Amelia Bedelia’s class walked through the door. Amelia Bedelia sank down behind the counter like the Titanic. What should she do? She was excited to tell them about her new job, but she also felt super embarrassed in her waitress uniform.
Amelia Bedelia inched up to take a peek. The girls had chosen a booth where they couldn’t see her. Whew! Now if she just stayed out of sight . . . stayed quiet . . .
“Amelia Bedelia!”
“Eeee-ahhh!” Amelia Bedelia nearly jumped out of her skin. Luckily, it was only Doris.
“Calm down, honey,” Doris said. “Your mom was right. You are a good worker. Here’s a
treat—you deserve it!”
She handed Amelia Bedelia a strawberry milkshake in a tall, frosty glass.
“Thanks, Doris!” said Amelia Bedelia.
As she took her first sip, a big man walked in and sat down at the counter. He was wearing a bright orange baseball cap and a patch on his shirt that said MIKE. Amelia Bedelia offered him a menu.
“No, thanks,” he said. “I know what I want.”
“Good,” said Doris. “That’s as easy as pie.”
“And I’m in a big hurry,” he added. “My truck’s still running.”
“No problem,” said Doris. “At Pete’s Diner, fast service is a piece of cake.”
“I’m sure glad to hear that,” he said. “Please bring me a big piece of cherry pie.”
Doris turned to Amelia Bedelia and said, “This is a simple one. You can fill his order while I go talk to the cook. I’ll be back in a few.”
Amelia Bedelia smiled and nodded to the man. Then she went to the dessert case.
As she stood there gazing at all of the yummy desserts, she realized that she had completely forgotten what the man had ordered. She turned her brain inside out. Was it “easy as pie” or was it “a piece of cake”? Was it easier to bake a pie than a cake? You don’t have to frost a pie, that’s easier. But you don’t have to roll out dough for a cake. Then again . . .
“Hello, there,” Mike called. “Did you forget me? I’m really in a hurry!”
Fast, said Amelia Bedelia to herself. That’s a piece of cake. That’s it!
She brought him a piece of cake.
“Cake?” he said. “I ordered pie!”
“Sorry,” said Amelia Bedelia. “I’m just learning.”
“I can tell,” said Mike. “And I’m late. Just bring me a piece of cherry pie—and step on it!”
Amelia Bedelia Means Business Page 1
