by Annie Bryant
Charlotte Ramsey
A self-acknowledged “klutz” and an aspiring writer, Charlotte is all too familiar with being the new kid in town. She is intelligent, worldly & curious.
Ms. Razzberry Pink
The stylishly pink proprietor of the “Think Pink” boutique is chic, gracious & charming.
Katani Summers
a.k.a. Kgirl…Katani has a strong fashion sense and business savvy. She is stylish, loyal & cool.
Isabel Martinez
Her ambition is to be an artist. She was the last to join the Beacon Street Girls. She is artistic, sensitive & kind.
Marty
The adopted best dog friend of the Beacon Street Girls is feisty, cuddly & suave.
Avery Madden
Avery is passionate about all sports and animal rights. She is energetic, optimistic & outspoken.
Maeve Kaplan-Taylor
Maeve wants to be a movie star. Bubbly and upbeat, she wears her heart on her sleeve. She is entertaining, friendly & fun.
Happy Lucky Thingy and alter ego Mad Nasty Thingy
Marty’s favorite chew toy, it is known to reveal its alter ego when shaken too roughly. He is most often happy.
more on beaconstreetgirls.com
Be sure to read all of our books:
BOOK 1 - worst enemies/best friends
BOOK 2 - bad news/good news
BOOK 3 - letters from the heart
BOOK 4 - out of bounds
BOOK 5 - promises, promises
BOOK 6 - lake rescue
BOOK 7 - freaked out
BOOK 8 - lucky charm
BOOK 9 - fashion frenzy
BOOK 10 - just kidding
BOOK 11 - ghost town
BOOK 12 - time’s up
BSG Special Adventure Books:
charlotte in paris
maeve on the red carpet
freestyle with avery
katani’s jamaican holiday
Coming Soon:
BOOK 13 - green algae and bubble gum wars
SPECIAL ADVENTURE - isabel’s texas two-step
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are
used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
ALADDIN MIX
Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 2008 by B*tween Productions, Inc.,
Home of the Beacon Street Girls
Beacon Street Girls, Kgirl, B*tween Productions, B*Street, and the characters Maeve,
Avery, Charlotte, Isabel, Katani, Marty, Nick, Anna, Joline, and Happy Lucky Thingy
are registered trademarks and/or copyrights of B*tween Productions, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
ALADDIN MIX, and related logo are
registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Library of Congress Control Number 2008920653
ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-5957-6
ISBN-10: 1-4391-5957-2
Visit us on the World Wide Web:
http://www.SimonSays.com
This book is dedicated to any girl
who has ever felt like the new girl.
Life is full of surprises
and making mistakes is part of the journey.
So, go for your dreams. Choose wisely.
Stand up for yourselves, be kind to the planet,
and above all, be a good friend.
Enjoy your journey,
Annie Bryant
CONTENTS
Part One Worst Enemies
CHAPTER 1 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 2 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 3 KATANI
CHAPTER 4 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 5 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 6 AVERY
CHAPTER 7 KATANI
CHAPTER 8 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 9 KATANI
CHAPTER 10 MAEVE
CHAPTER 11 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 12 KATANI
CHAPTER 13 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 14 CHARLOTTE
Part Two Best Friends
CHAPTER 15 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 16 KATANI
CHAPTER 17 KATANI
CHAPTER 18 AVERY
CHAPTER 19 AVERY
CHAPTER 20 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 21 KATANI
CHAPTER 22 AVERY
CHAPTER 23 MAEVE
CHAPTER 24 AVERY
CHAPTER 25 MAEVE
CHAPTER 26 MAEVE
CHAPTER 27 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 28 KATANI
Part Three BSG: For Worse or for Better
CHAPTER 29 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 30 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 31 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 32 CHARLOTTE
CHAPTER 33 KATANI
CHAPTER 34 AVERY
CHAPTER 35 MAEVE
CHAPTER 36 CHARLOTTE
Epilogue
Part One
Worst Enemies
CHAPTER 1
CHARLOTTE
Stars Over Beacon Street
Stars and books have always been my best friends. My books go with me wherever we move. And the stars, they are always there when we get there. The first stars I look for are the three in Orion’s belt because they’re the brightest. Close friends are harder to find. Well, actually, keeping them is the hard part. Every time I find a best friend, we move.
The night before starting Abigail Adams Junior High, I pulled my fleece blanket around me and snuggled deep into the beanbag chair I had dragged out on the balcony of my new bedroom. I missed Sophie and Paris, but I was excited, too. This year was going to be different. Dad’s a writer and likes to live wherever his book in progress is based. We’ve moved every two or three years since I was four. For the first time ever, I was the one who had chosen where Dad and I would live: Brookline, Massachusetts, U.S.A. I was born here, and even though I could barely remember it, this was where we were a family before my mother died. I hoped we’d be here for a long, long time…
“Charlotte? Why is your light out?”
“It’s easier to see the stars. I’m outside, Dad.”
“Of course. How could I forget!” he said. “Isn’t that a great balcony?”
“It’s just perfect! Come see!”
Dad came through my bedroom and the outside door to kneel beside me, as he had many times over the years. “Remember the first time I showed you Orion?”
“Sure, Dad…Africa.”
“Little different here, isn’t it?” he said, putting his arm around me.
“Yeah…in the southern hemisphere, Orion’s upside down. But you can still see him from here. I like that.”
“How are you feeling about school tomorrow?”
“You mean, like in Africa, surrounded by laughing hyenas? Don’t worry, Dad. The kids will not be laughing at me tomorrow. No more first-day disasters.”
“I’m almost sorry to hear that,” said Dad. “It’s become kind of a first-night tradition to hear how you shake things up.” He smiled. “Which story is my favorite? Port Douglas? No—Paris! Sure I won’t be getting a phone call about my daughter spying in the boys’ bathroom?”
“Dad, they speak English in this country. How was I supposed to know that ‘Garçon’ meant boy? I couldn’t escape once all those garçons were in there. Tomorrow will be different, you’ll see. What about you? How are you feeling about your first day of school tomorrow, Professor Ramsey?”
<
br /> “Well, it’s been awhile, but I dragged out the old lesson plans, and they’re not looking too shabby.”
“Lesson plans? Come on, Dad. What are you wearing? That’s what they’re going to notice.” I dragged him inside. “I’ve been studying kids for a week here to figure out how to fit in. I’ve got the Brookline camouflage look all figured out…hooded sweatshirt, jeans, and flip-flops.”
“Charlotte, do you honestly think they’re going to care about my clothes after I enchant them with my fascinating thoughts on creative writing? I have gems to share about character development that…”
“Dad, I hate to tell you this, but kids notice teachers’ clothes much more than what they say, especially the first day. I think you should wear jeans. Are you riding your bike?”
“Sure.” He nodded.
“Then, whatever you do, don’t leave your pants tucked into your socks.”
“My daughter, the nerd police,” he laughed.
He leaned against the doorway and checked out my room.
“This looks great, Charlotte. That photo you took from the top of the Eiffel Tower is one of my favorites.”
He walked over to the desk, which was perfectly arranged with my pens, journals, laptop, and picture of me and Mom on the swan boats in Boston when I was a baby.
“I’m glad you like the desk,” he said. “Your mother spent a lot of hours at it, grading papers.”
“It’s the best!” I said, giving him a hug. “I’ve always wanted a writing desk with a cool view.”
“Are you about ready for bed?”
“I want to send Sophie an e-mail.”
“Well, don’t stay up too late. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, Dad,” I said, giving him a kiss.
To: Sophie
From: Charlotte
Subject: school!
Hey sophie. 2morrow’s the 1st day of school and i’m starting all over again. i miss you so much. Sooooo glad you got the pics of our house. i knew you would love the room on top with all the windows. fantastique, magnifique, merveilleux, n’est-ce pas? i call it the Tower. dad says it’s just a decoration. I’m hoping there’s a passageway to a real room. glad you approve of my new bedroom with the balcony. a little different than swinging from a hammock in the houseboat. speaking of the houseboat, will you check if Orangina by any chance came home?
Au revoir, charlotte
I didn’t want to think any more about school, so I began to write an idea for my best-seller book file. If I write fast enough, I can usually chase away the butterflies zooming around in my stomach.
New Kid Survival Guide
About the Author: Charlotte Elizabeth Ramsey has been new three times in five years in three different countries. She is the world’s leading expert on embarrassing school moments and writes completely from her own experience as a disaster magnet. Someday she hopes to master the art of fitting in. Charlotte lives with her father, Richard, author of Serengeti Summer …or How I Survived an Elephant Stampede and Lessons on a Coral Reef …or The Great White Shark Is Not Your Friend. She used to live with her cat, Orangina, but she ran away the day before Charlotte left Paris.
Chapter One: Top Ten Things NOT to Do the First Day of School
By Someone Who Has Done Them All
1. Wear a long African skirt while riding your bike to school in Australia.
2. Wear underwear with purple pigs on them in case your skirt gets pulled off and eaten by your bike chain.
3. Wear shorts if you have hairy legs.
4. Introduce yourself in a loud, friendly voice to a group of girls applying eye makeup.
5. Bring anything in a Thermos.
6. Go to lunch by yourself.
7. Eat school porridge.
8. Join a conversation about a movie you’ve never seen.
9. Throw up on a cute boy’s shoe.
10. Eat anything with poppy seeds in it and then smile without checking your teeth in a mirror.
Even though I was still nervous, I saved the file, shut down my computer, and climbed into bed. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning like a beached codfish, I flipped the light back on. Time for desperate measures. I hopped out of bed and got my oldest stuffed animal, Truffles the Pig, down from the shelf. I also took my mom’s old denim jacket off the back of my desk chair and put it on over my pajamas. I wear it for inspiration when I’m writing, but that night, I needed it for comfort. I pulled it around me and got back into bed, fingering the charm bracelet in the pocket. The bracelet was a baby present from Mom, and while I outgrew it ages ago, I’ve always kept it. With Truffles beside me and my fleece blanket all snug around me, I began to feel cozy. There was just one last thing I needed to do. I reached for the worn copy of Charlotte’s Web that was my mother’s when she was little. I turned to the last page and read the line Mom had underlined:
“It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”
Then I began reading the story I’ve read a hundred times since I was little, and in the comfort of the story I knew so well, I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 2
CHARLOTTE
The Best Ever
Maybe I was still on Paris time, because I woke before my alarm. The morning sounds here were so different—no gulls, no creak of ropes against the dock, no lapping of waves on the side of the boat. Instead, there were rustling leaves, chirping birds, and from the bottom of the hill, screeching brakes of the Green Line streetcar.
I missed our houseboat, but it sure was nice to have my own bathroom. I looked in the mirror. Oh no. Serious bedhead. It took about thirty seconds to get dressed, but forever to get my stupid hair right. I hoped kids here wore braids. I got my glasses from the bedside table and chose five of my favorite bracelets for good luck: One I had made out of hemp with Sophie, two emerald green malachite bracelets I had bought at a market in Tanzania, one made of neon orange plastic from Paris, and, my favorite, a sea glass charm bracelet from Australia.
Dad is not a morning person. In fact, any time before eight, he pretty much looks as if a herd of elephants slept on his face. That’s why I couldn’t believe he was up, dressed, and waiting at the kitchen table when I got there.
“Dad! What are you doing up?”
“A toast!” he said, raising his orange juice. “To the two of us! May the first day of school be disaster free and…”
“May you inspire some student to write a great book, just like you!”
Dad groaned. “A book is like a hot dog. It’s a lot better if you don’t look too hard at what goes into it…I can’t find your class assignment letter. I had it yesterday—where’d that pile of mail go?”
“Dad, we talked about this. We’re keeping mail on the front hall table. Don’t worry. I have the letter.”
“What would I do without you?” he asked.
“Shuffle about in your pajamas, Dad. Gotta go. I don’t want to be the last one into the school.”
Dad gave me a hug and said what he always says the first day of school: “Knock ’em dead, kid.”
“I hope not, Dad.”
WELCOME TO AMERICA
I loved the walk from our house down Corey Hill toward the shops and school. Both sides of the steep street were lined with big trees whose leaves were already turning yellow. I couldn’t wait for the street to be lined in gold, orange, and red, like the pictures of New England I’d always seen. A path between two houses led off into the woods. There was still a lot to explore, even at the top of the hill.
The steepness made me pick up speed until I was almost running, and the faster I went, the better I felt. This would be a good day—I was sure of it.
At the bottom of the hill, I turned left onto Beacon, a street that’s unlike any I’ve ever lived on. Green streetcars rattled along steel tracks in the center of the road, with three lanes of traffic on either side. I checked out the windows of a party store full of piñatas and Happy Birthday banners, and walked
past the stacked trash cans and ladders at the hardware store.
At the corner, I turned left onto Harvard Street, past a building that looked like a castle. Travel posters in the window advertised trips to Hawaii, Greece, and Egypt. No thanks, I thought. I’m not going anywhere for a long, long time.
I crossed Harvard Street where a big, hairy man in a white apron was arranging fruit outside of his market. I was feeling so good right then, I just couldn’t help calling out “Good morning!”
He stopped piling apples and scrunched his bushy eyebrows together.
“For you, maybe,” he said gruffly, with a heavy accent.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“What? You not like the way I speak English?” he asked, picking up an apple.
Grou-chy. “No. Your English is great. It’s just, I’ve lived a lot of places, and I can’t figure out your accent.”
He polished the apple with a corner of his apron. “If you live so many places, why you never live in Russia?”
I had no idea what to say. “I guess because my father never wrote a book there. What’s it like?”
“Terrible,” he said with a laugh. “Why else you think I move here?”
“I moved here too,” I said. “Just two weeks ago.”
“Two weeks? And already your English is almost good as Yuri’s? Well done.” He tossed me the polished apple. “Welcome to America. You never get better anywhere in the world than a New England Macintosh apple.”
