DEDICATION
For Joelle, the newest member of our family!
—J.O’C.
For Vicky and Marty, with love
—R.P.G.
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1: NOT MUCH NEWS
CHAPTER 2: STRANGE TURN OF EVENTS
CHAPTER 3: BREE HAS A PLAN
CHAPTER 4: NO NEWS IS GOOD NEWS
CHAPTER 5: LISTENING IN
CHAPTER 6: BLABBING
CHAPTER 7: NEWS TRAVELS FAST
CHAPTER 8: CLEANING UP A MESS
CHAPTER 9: NO NEWS IS GREAT NEWS
CHAPTER 10: THE BIGGEST NEWS OF ALL
BACK AD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
CREDITS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
“The Gazette! It’s here!” Nancy and Bree shouted out as they hopped off their bikes. They both were waving the latest issue of the Third Grade Gazette.
Nobody was in the backyard to hear them. Still Nancy kept shouting “The Gazette! The Gazette!” simply because it was fun to say. A gazette was the same thing as a newspaper but sounded much more elegant and French.
Bree beat Nancy to the clubhouse and settled into the hammock they’d recently rigged up. So Nancy plunked down on the beanbag chair. She opened the Gazette and skimmed the pages.
“Here it is,” she said, disappointed. Her article was on the last page and didn’t take up much space. Nancy was not surprised.
BIG MENU CHANGES
COMING YOUR WAY
by Nancy Clancy
Next month, the Ada M. Draezel Elementary School cafeteria will change Thursday menus to salads only. According to the school dietician, Mr. Anastas, “This is part of our ongoing effort to serve students more nutritious food.”
“I wanted to uncover big news,” she said to Bree. “All I got was salads.” Nancy sighed. “At least it was printed.” Nancy’s last story—about two kids getting nosebleeds after accidently banging into each other during recess—had not. And her headline had been superb: “Gore in the School Yard! Blood Everywhere!”
Bree looked up. She had been reading the Gazette while swaying back and forth in the hammock. “Nothing in here is big news. See what’s on the front page.”
Under the headline “Fun at the Planetarium” was a story about a recent class trip. “This doesn’t even count as news.” Bree went on. “Not when you stop to think about it.”
“True,” Nancy replied. After all, the whole third grade had been on the trip. So everyone already knew about the IMAX show on stars and the meteor exhibit.
“The problem is you can’t make news happen,” Bree said, and shrugged. “We might as well face it. Most third graders don’t lead exciting lives.”
Even though Bree was correct, that was exactly what Nancy didn’t want to face. She wanted life—even for nine-year-olds—to be bursting with thrilling news.
“Your column looks great,” Nancy said, feeling a pang of envy. What Bree had written took up half a page.
“Merci beaucoup.”
Unlike Nancy and most of the other kids, Bree wasn’t a reporter. Instead she wrote an advice column called “Just Ask Bree.” Kids sent in their problems to her anonymously. That meant they didn’t sign their real name. In this issue Bree answered a letter from a kid who hadn’t been invited to a birthday party. The letter was from “Left Out.”
“Your answer to Left Out is sensible and understanding,” Nancy said admiringly.
Dear Left Out,
Do something extra fun that day with a friend who isn’t going to the party either. That way neither of you will be thinking about what you’re missing. And try to remember that nobody gets invited to every single party.
Bree
“Merci beaucoup again,” Bree said. Then she hoisted herself out of the hammock. “Here. Your turn. I’m getting dizzy.”
As they traded places, Nancy thought to herself how lucky she was to have Bree for her best friend. If something was bothering her, Nancy never needed to write to Bree and wait ages until the next Gazette came out for an answer. Bree lived right next door. Nancy could get superb advice whenever she needed.
Later, after Bree went home, Nancy found her parents at the kitchen table. They were trying to do work. It had to be hard with JoJo chasing Frenchy around and around with a lasso.
Papers were strewn all over the tabletop—bank statements, tax returns, and lots of bills—the kind of stuff that made being a grown-up seem so dreary to Nancy.
“Voilà—the latest issue of the Gazette.” Nancy presented her parents with the copy. They looked up and smiled.
“I wrote one of the articles. But I have to admit, it’s pretty boring.”
“Great, sweetie. Can’t wait to read it,” her mother said in a distracted way. She went back to staring at a bunch of numbers on the screen of her laptop while nibbling on a saltine cracker. Lately Nancy’s mother had little appetite and seemed to live on saltine crackers. Every trip to the supermarket, she’d stock up on more.
“JoJo, honey, could you please chase Frenchy somewhere else?” Nancy’s mom said, sounding tired. Then she looked at her watch. “Whoops. Almost dinnertime. Doug, put in the casserole, okay?”
Nancy’s dad stood and walked over to the fridge, still focused on a sheet of paper he’d been examining. “Well, I suppose we could hold off trading in the car,” he said, almost as if talking to himself. “And maybe this summer we only stay a week at the cottage.”
“Sacre bleu!” Nancy said. In French that meant “Yipes!” “Did you just say what I think you said?”
Every July her family spent two weeks at the beach in a rented house. It was the highlight of the Clancys’ summer. Why would her parents want to cut down on fun? Then it hit her. “Wait a second. Did we get poorer? Are we in financial difficulty?”
“No. No. Absolutely not. Scout’s honor.” Her father raised his hand in the Boy Scout salute.
“Dad wants to work from home,” Nancy’s mom explained.
Suddenly JoJo stopped whizzing around the table. “Daddy will stay home every day?” She looked puzzled.
“Yes. That’s the idea,” he said.
“Goody!” JoJo threw her arms around her father’s legs.
“So we’re figuring out if we can make ends meet,” Nancy’s dad went on. “And it looks like we can.”
“Oh! I see.” Nancy stopped to mull over the brand-new idea of a stay-at-home dad.
Ever since she could remember, her dad had worked downtown for Castle Accountants. They did tax returns for people. Sometimes there were ads on TV. They always ended with a man in a crown saying, “Tax time is never a hassle when you come into Castle.”
“Daddy!” JoJo exclaimed. “It’ll be so much fun. You can watch Cowgirl Sal every day!”
“The very first thing I thought of!” Nancy’s dad told JoJo. Then he turned to Nancy. “I won’t have to fight traffic every day. If I need to leave work early, I can because I’ll be my own boss! And—” A blissful smile crossed her father’s face. “I can live in a T-shirt and sweatpants.”
“Dad, I think it’s a superb idea!” Nancy said. “Go for it!” She was glad for her dad. She wanted him to be happier. And she was even gladder to know her family wasn’t in financial difficulty.
After finishing her homework, Nancy still had an hour before bedtime, an hour to read. She was in the middle of a Nancy Drew book, and nothing went better with a good mystery than a couple of cookies.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, as she opened the pantry door, Nancy happened to notice something on the floor. It was under the kitchen table. A leaflet of some kind.
Nancy picked it up.
On the front wer
e photos of houses, all of them brand-new and bigger than the one Nancy lived in.
“Find the home of your dreams,” it said in big letters at the top. “At Crystal Lake Estates, you won’t just be buying a house. You’ll be joining a community.”
Puzzled, Nancy turned the leaflet over and read more. “Here at Crystal Lake Estates, your family will enjoy many amenities.” There were photographs of a pool, a playground, and a fitness club. Nancy had never heard the word “amenities” before but she guessed it meant fancy extras—like the pool.
Suddenly Nancy felt goose bumps all over, as if she had plunged into a pool of ice-cold water. Why did her parents have this leaflet? Was this the reason her parents were looking at how much money they had? Maybe they weren’t only thinking about Dad working at home. Maybe her parents wanted to move!
In a flash, Nancy dashed upstairs and stormed into her parents’ room. They were reading in bed.
“I found this in the kitchen!” Nancy waved the leaflet at them. “You don’t want to move, do you?”
Her parents exchanged glances.
“It’s something Mom and I have talked about a little bit,” her father admitted. “It’s just a possibility. A remote possibility. Not all the houses at Crystal Lake are even built yet. So there’s no need for you to go and start packing.” Her father was trying to make a joke.
“Dad, this isn’t funny. You mean moving is even a maybe?” Nancy felt herself sink down on their bed. “I wasn’t supposed to see this leaflet, was I?”
Her parents avoided answering the question.
“If Dad is going to be home all the time, we need more space,” her mom said. “He needs his own office. . . . And you’d have a huge room with your own private bathroom. Wouldn’t that be great?” Her mother’s smile scared Nancy. It was the “be reasonable” smile. The smile she used for coaxing JoJo into doing something she didn’t want to.
“No! I like it right here.” Then Nancy blinked. “Wait. Have you already been out to Crystal Lake Estates? Without JoJo and me?”
“No, no. Of course not,” her dad said.
Nancy folded her arms, unconvinced. “Then how do you know I’d have such a big bedroom?”
Her dad turned to her mom. “Why do I feel like we’re under investigation?” Then he said to Nancy, “They emailed us floor plans.” Her dad reached for the laptop on the nightstand. “Want to see?”
“No! I do not!” Nancy was practically shouting.
“Sweetie, please don’t get upset.” Her mom leaned over to hug Nancy, but she pulled away.
“Nothing, I repeat, nothing, is settled,” her dad said.
“Well, that’s good, because I think moving is an awful idea. No. It’s worse than awful. It’s horrendous.”
Nancy marched out of their room and into hers, which—as far as she was concerned—was the perfect size.
The Nancy Drew book was lying on her bed. But Nancy was too upset to read. How foolish she had been. Just this afternoon she had complained how there was never any real news. Now there was—or might be—and she didn’t like it one bit.
She had to let Bree know right away about this horrible development.
Nancy whipped out a notepad and wrote, Help! We may move! She wrote it in pig Latin. Elp-hay e-way ay-may ove-may! Lately that was how they were keeping messages to each other secret. Nancy rang the bell to signal that their Special Delivery mail basket was on its way over to Bree.
Nancy flopped on her bed and waited for an answer.
It didn’t take long.
Nancy heard Bree’s bell and reeled in the basket. Bree was standing by her window. She ran two fingers down her cheeks to show Nancy how sad she was.
Bree’s message said, This is a big problem. But stay calm. Let me sleep on it.
The next morning, Bree already had come up with a plan. On the way to school, she said, “Okay. So what if you let JoJo share your room? Then JoJo’s room could be your father’s office.”
A shudder ran through Nancy. Although it was small, Nancy’s room was her domain. A place that was entirely hers. It was decorated exactly the way she liked, with everything exactly where she wanted it to be. “But we’d need to get bunk beds. My bed would have to go.” Nancy had made a canopy for it out of a sheet, a mop, and a broom. “And there’d be JoJo’s dumb stuff all over.” Posters of Cowgirl Sal and her sidekick, Ramblin’ Roy. Nancy shuddered again.
They had reached school. While they parked their bikes, Bree said, “It’s not an ideal solution. I know that. But so far it’s all I’ve come up with. Last night I hardly slept. I kept thinking about you moving away.” Bree bit her lower lip. “I couldn’t stand it. What would I do without you next door?”
Nancy and Bree clasped hands. They didn’t speak. There was no need to. They were both thinking the exact same thing—there couldn’t be better best friends on the entire planet!
“Dudes, you should be very proud of the last issue of the Gazette,” Mr. Dudeny told the class during social studies. “I read it from cover to cover as soon as I got home.”
“How long did that take? Five minutes?” Grace said, twiddling a pencil on her desk. “It’s not like it’s a real newspaper—it’s only four pages.”
Mr. Dudeny ignored the remark. His eyes traveled around the room. “So. Did any of the articles tell you something you hadn’t known before?”
Nancy’s hand shot up. So did Robert’s.
“Okay, Robert, let’s hear from you.”
Robert said, “I had no idea before I read the Gazette how our school got its name.”
That was exactly what Nancy was going to say.
The story had been written by Lionel. Ada M. Draezel had been born in their town. It turned out that long ago she had won an Olympic medal for beach volleyball.
“I didn’t even know that was an Olympic sport,” Nancy added.
At the beach she went to every summer, it seemed that teenage girls played volleyball mostly to show off in their bikinis.
Clara said, “Lionel, when I saw you wrote the article, part of me wondered if you made everything up. . . . You didn’t, did you?”
Lionel acted shocked. “Make it up? How could you think that?”
“Because you’re a big goofball,” Clara giggled. “You’re always pranking people.”
Lionel scowled and blew through his lips. “I happen to be a serious journalist. I spent hours digging through old records down at Town Hall to get the facts.”
Bree cocked an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Wel-l-l, maybe I didn’t exactly go down to Town Hall . . . maybe it was more like I Googled Ada M. Draezel. Still.” Lionel raised a pointed finger. “I stand by every word I wrote. It’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me . . .”
“Got it, Lionel,” Mr. Dudeny broke in. “None of us doubts your journalistic integrity. But Clara, the question you raised is important.” Mr. D looked around at everyone in the room. “Don’t believe everything you read—or hear. If something doesn’t sound true, maybe it isn’t.”
Grace was waving her arm like crazy. So Mr. D called on her.
“I don’t think the class trip belonged on the front page,” she said.
“Well, thanks a bunch,” Nola said. She had written the article.
“It’s not news,” Grace said. “We all were there.”
Sacre bleu! Nancy shot a look at Bree. She knew Bree was thinking the same thing. For once they agreed with Grace!
“I see your point,” Mr. D said. “But a newspaper offers more than breaking news. It’s also a record of events. That means it reports on what has already happened.” Then Mr. D discussed other reasons for reading a newspaper. He brought up Bree’s advice column, as well as a movie review by Robert, and Clara’s recipe in “Cooking with Clara.” Nancy’s salad story, alas, went unmentioned.
“I’m not showing my grandma the Gazette,” Clara told Mr. D. “It’s her biscuit recipe and it’s supposed to be a secret.”
/> The bell for recess rang.
“Hold it.” Mr. D made a stop motion with his hand. “One last thing before you rush out. You never know. There could be news right under your nose. So stay alert and be prepared to report on it.”
One of the many things Nancy admired about Bree was her diligence. She was very hardworking. Sure enough, by the end of the school day, Bree had come up with another plan so the Clancys wouldn’t have to move. A much better plan than the JoJo one.
Nancy ran it by her parents that evening. She waited until her sister had gone to sleep because she wanted her parents’ full, undivided attention. She sat them down in the living room. Nancy’s mother had a glass of water next to her and a plate of crackers. She hadn’t eaten much dinner. Nancy felt bad. Maybe the idea of moving was upsetting her mother too.
“So.” Nancy pressed her hands together. “I’ve been thinking about what you said—how we need more space. I understand. And I have an idea.” Nancy paused.
“I’m all ears,” her dad said.
“What if I move into Bree’s house?”
“What?!” her dad exclaimed.
Her mom didn’t say anything. She couldn’t because she was coughing. Bits of cracker flew from her mouth.
“Just hear me out. Please,” Nancy said, once her mom drank more water and stopped coughing. “This isn’t a crazy idea. There’s an extra bedroom at Bree’s house. The guest room. Nobody uses it.”
“And Bree’s parents?” her mom asked. “What do they have to say about this?”
“Well, actually, Bree hasn’t brought it up with them yet. I wanted to run it by you first.” Nancy and Bree had figured out how Nancy could set everything up so her new room would look nearly identical to her room now. Exactly the same. Canopy bed and all.
While she spoke, her dad kept shaking his head. He didn’t look angry. He looked amused.
That was a bad sign.
“But I’d be right next door,” Nancy pointed out. “I’d still come over here all the time.”
Fancy Nancy Page 1
