A Cast is the Perfect Accessory

by Allison Gutknecht; Stevie Lewis

  Natalie sighs. “Do I have to?”

  “I did just take you to the bathroom.” I hold my nose and make my stinkiest face to show her what a big deal this is.

  Natalie sighs again. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

  I reach out my hand to pinky swear, and Natalie does the same with her good hand.

  “I fell down in the bathtub,” she tells me, and I wait quietly for the rest of the story. When Natalie only stares at me, my mouth drops open wide.

  “That’s it?” I ask. “That’s what you’re so embarrassed about?”

  “I didn’t have any clothes on,” Natalie says very seriously. “My mom had to help me get dressed before I could go to the hospital.”

  “So?” I ask. “No one wears clothes in the bathtub. It would be more embarrassing if you were wearing clothes.” And this makes Natalie laugh again, and I like to see her laugh face-to-face, because her eyes get crinkly like Grandmom’s.

  “I guess you’re right,” Natalie says. “Thanks again for your help.”

  “No problem,” I say. “At least I know now that I don’t really want a cast after all, if it’s that much of a pain.”

  Natalie nods. “My mom says to be careful what you wish for,” she tells me. “So don’t wish for this.” She points to her cast. We walk back to our classroom side by side.

  And Anya is still not there.

  CHAPTER 10

  Broken Bones

  ANYA IS NOT AT SCHOOL the next day either, and Mrs. Spangle says that she is sick. I shoot my hand into the air.

  “Yes, Mandy?” Mrs. Spangle calls on me.

  “Is she real sick or fake sick?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is she sneezing and coughing and burning up, or is she just pretending?” I explain, and Mrs. Spangle crosses her arms on her chest like she thinks I am playing a joke on her.

  “Why would Anya be pretending to be sick?” she asks me, and I shrug my shoulders then, because I guess grown-ups do not know about being fake sick. After all, I was almost fake sick just yesterday. Maybe Anya is upset about our fight too, only her mom believes her when she makes her face red and hot.

  I rock my chair back on two legs and whisper in Natalie’s ear, “Do you think Anya’s really sick?” and Natalie nods her head.

  “How do you know?” I whisper. I have been Natalie’s buddy ever since yesterday, and we are still getting along, believe it or not.

  “I don’t think she would pretend,” Natalie whispers back.

  “Natalie!” Mrs. Spangle yells, and I am so startled by the sound of Natalie’s name being said in a loud voice that I bang the front half of my chair down in a crash.

  “And Mandy, too,” Mrs. Spangle says. Without another word, she turns her back to us and writes both of our initials on the board. And I am pretty shocked.

  Because Natalie has never, ever gotten her initials on the board before.

  I turn around without raising my chair legs to see if Natalie is crying, but she doesn’t look upset at all. Maybe Natalie is really not so boring.

  Maybe that cast cured her allergy to trouble.

  . . .

  Grandmom is sitting at the kitchen table with Mom when I get home from school, and they are both holding a twin. Timmy is under the table in between their feet, playing with his action figures, which I think is dumb because action figures are boy toys (but, to tell you the truth, I would kind of like to play with them by myself sometimes).

  “Mandy!” Grandmom greets me. “Come give me some sugar.” I walk up and kiss her, and I make sure not to let my lips get anywhere near the twin, because then they would be damp.

  “How was your day?” Mom asks.

  “Anya is still absent,” I reply. “Mrs. Spangle says she’s sick.”

  “Oh no,” Mom says. “Do you want to call and check on her?”

  I shake my head. “We are not talking, remember?” I explain.

  “I think you should try anyway,” Mom says. “Do you want me to call first and talk to her mom?”

  I consider this for a moment and then nod. Mom stands up and fetches the kitchen phone. “What’s Anya’s number?” she asks, and I tell her, because I am very good at remembering it. Mom dials, and then I hear her speaking to Anya’s mom. Before I know it, Mom is holding out the phone to me.

  “Someone wants to talk to you,” she says.

  “Anya’s mom wants to talk to me?”

  Mom gestures for me to take the phone, and I hold it up to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mandy,” comes a voice at the other end, and it is raspy and froglike.

  “Who is this?” I ask.

  “It’s me, Anya.”

  “What happened to your voice?”

  “I’m sick,” Anya says. “Didn’t Mrs. Spangle tell you?”

  “I thought you were faking,” I say.

  “No.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.

  “Everything,” Anya answers, and she sounds just like me for a second. “But I’m glad you called because . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry I was mean to you before,” Anya says in her frog voice. “I didn’t feel good, and I know I wasn’t nice.”

  “No, you were not,” I agree. “You said you didn’t like being loud. Remember?”

  “I know. Everything sounded really loud to me because my head hurt. But you know I still like to be loud too,” Anya tells me, and this is just about the best news I have ever heard.

  “Don’t worry. We are friends again now, right? So it is not a tragedy,” I say.

  “Right,” Anya answers. “How is school?”

  And I can’t believe that it has taken me so long to tell Anya the big news. “Guess who got her initials on the board today?”

  “Who?”

  “Natalie!”

  “No way!”

  “I know,” I say. “And also, she told me how she broke her arm, but she said I cannot tell anyone, even though it is not even embarrassing.” And I do not say one peep about Natalie calling Anya bossy, because I promised I would not.

  “Not even me?” Anya asks.

  “I’m sure she’ll tell you when you’re back at school. It will give you something to look forward to,” I say. “Plus, she said that when her wrist is better, she’s going to help me learn to do the monkey bars. So we can have a rematch.”

  Anya is quiet for a second. “Is Natalie your new best friend or something?”

  “What? No!” I yell. “You are my best friend.”

  “Good,” Anya answers, and she sighs like she was holding her breath this whole time. “You’re mine, too.”

  “Good.” I nod with satisfaction.

  “Listen, I’m going to go,” Anya says. “All this talking is making my throat hurt.”

  “Okay, bye,” I say, about to hang up. “Wait! Anya?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m glad we’re best friends again,” I tell her.

  “Me too,” she croaks out in her frog voice. “Bye.”

  I hang up the phone and turn to see Mom and Grandmom smiling at me. “Feel better?” Grandmom asks.

  “Me or Anya?”

  “Both,” she answers.

  “Yes.” I nod ferociously. “Both.”

  “Good,” Mom says. “Did you see these new bibs that Grandmom bought for the twins?” She points to the one hanging around a twin’s neck, and it already has drool down the front. “Aren’t they adorable?”

  “How come they got a present?” I ask, but before anyone can answer, I hear a loud crinkling coming from under the kitchen table, and I bend over to see Timmy digging through a bag of gummy bears. Gummy bears! My gummy bears!

  “Hey!” I yell. “Where did you get those?”

  “Grandmom,” Timmy answers with a mouth full of bears.

  “I got a big bag for you and Timmy to share,” Grandmom explains, and I am pretty sure that I have never been so angry in my life.

  “I
! Do! Not! Share! Gummy! Bears!” I say each word like there is an exclamation point after it. “I have to share everything—my house and my mom and my dad and my best friend and my coins and my swing set—and I will not share my gummy bears with Timmy!” I stomp my right foot on the ground and kick my left one into the bottom of the cabinets.

  And for a second I am pretty sure I am going to faint.

  “YOW!” I scream, and grab my foot. My eyes are instantly swimming in tears, and I think that my foot is going to fall off.

  “Mandy, oh my goodness.” Mom scrambles to give the second twin to Grandmom, and she lifts me onto the counter. She grabs a bag of corn out of the freezer, and I cannot believe she is going to cook dinner when I am about to lose a foot.

  “Why would you do something like that?” she asks as she places the bag of corn around my toes. “What part of your foot hurts?”

  “Everything,” I answer. “But mostly this toe.” I point to the long one right next to my big toe.

  “Hold this bag around your foot for a while,” Mom says. “I’m going to call the doctor. I hope you didn’t break a bone.”

  “Noooo!” I moan. “I don’t want a cast! Natalie said it is awful.”

  “Shh, I need to hear the doctor,” Mom says. “It will be okay—don’t worry.” She kisses my forehead and turns away from me, so I sit on the counter whimpering with the corn wrapped around my toes, and I wish as hard as I can that I do not have to get a big clumpy cast, which would be horrible at going to the bathroom. Timmy quietly walks over to where I’m sitting and holds up his hand to me. I reach down, and he places a gigantic mound of gummy bears in my palm.

  And my foot stops hurting for that second only.

  . . .

  Dad rushes home from work and takes me straight to the doctor, and the doctor tells me some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I broke my toe. The good news is that I do not have to get a cast—he just wraps some thick white tape around my toes to hold them together. And Mom has to change the tape every day, so it will not get itchy and my foot can get wet and I will not need help going to the bathroom.

  Plus, I can get a different person to autograph my tape every day if I want, and I have a good story to tell my class about what happened, and those are the best parts of having a broken bone anyway.

  I show my foot to Mom and Grandmom when I get home, and they do not look as happy about it as I do.

  “You know why this happened, Mandy?” Mom asks.

  “I was being a B-R-A-T?” I answer.

  “Bingo,” Mom says. “No more bratty behavior. Eight years old is much too old for that.”

  I nod because I am not a baby, so I agree.

  “Plus, you didn’t even let me show you the present I got for you before getting so mad over the gummy bears,” Grandmom says.

  “What is it?” I ask, and I am excited all over again.

  Grandmom reaches into her handbag and pulls out a pair of white sunglasses. “Here,” she says. “Your very own pair of cat-eye fancy-schmancy—what do you call them?”

  “Fancy-dancy sunglasses!” I fill in, and I drop the “periwinkle” part because these glasses are white. Normally I hate white things, but these sunglasses are so amazing that it does not even matter. Plus, I do not want to act like a B-R-A-T again.

  “I love them!” I yell. I stick the glasses directly on my nose and throw my arms around Grandmom’s neck. “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” Grandmom answers. “Now, make sure you don’t stub any more of those precious toes.” She points to my feet.

  “I won’t,” I tell her. “Ooh, I forgot.” I pull a penny out of my pants pocket. “I found this in the doctor’s parking lot. Here.” I hand it to Grandmom. “You can add it to your collection for the magic coin machine.”

  “I have an even better idea,” Grandmom says, and she holds the penny between two of her fingers. “You know the other thing that coins are good for besides making dollars?”

  “What?”

  “Making wishes,” Grandmom tells me. “Every time I find a coin on the ground, I make a wish.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yep,” Grandmom answers. “Just be careful what you wish for.”

  “That’s what Natalie told me,” I tell her. “About getting a cast.”

  “So are you ready to make a wish on this penny?” Grandmom asks.

  “Yes,” I say, and Grandmom throws the coin on the floor so I can pick it up again. As I do, I make a wish in my mind, and it is not for a cast or for fancy-dancy periwinkle sunglasses or for a lifetime supply of my very own pizzas.

  When I finish, Mom, Dad, and Grandmom are all looking at me like they are waiting for me to say something. “I can’t tell you what it is, or else my wish won’t come true,” I explain.

  “So what are you going to do with that penny?” Dad asks.

  I think for one moment only. “I’m going to turn my piggy bank into a wishing bank,” I say.

  “You’re not going to save up your change for the magic coin machine?” Mom asks.

  “Nope,” I answer. “Because you know what?”

  “What?” Grandmom asks.

  “Wishes are more magical than dollars anyway.” I stick my new fancy-dancy sunglasses on my nose, hold the penny tightly in my hand, and begin to limp toward the stairs so I can place the coin in my wishing bank.

  And in my head I wish for my toe to get better real quick, so I can finally learn to do the monkey bars as fast as Anya.

  But don’t tell anyone, please, or else my wish won’t come true.

  Mandy’s Lessons:

  1. EATING THE POINTS OFF ALL THE PIZZA SLICES IS NOT ALLOWED.

  2. A CAST IS THE PERFECT ACCESSORY.

  3. LEFT HANDS ARE NO GOOD AT GIVING AUTOGRAPHS.

  4. IT IS NOT EASY TO FALL DOWN IF YOU TRY TOO HARD.

  5. ONLY MONKEYS ARE GOOD AT THE MONKEY BARS.

  6. FUNNY BUSINESS IS NOT ALWAYS FUNNY.

  7. LINE LEADERS NEED TO KNOW WHERE THEY’RE GOING.

  8. YOUR BEST FRIEND SHOULDN’T MAKE YOU A CRANKYPANTS.

  9. CASTS ARE NOT GOOD AT GOING TO THE BATHROOM.

  10. DON’T WISH FOR A BROKEN BONE JUST BECAUSE YOU WANT A CAST.

  DON’T MISS MANDY’S FIRST ADVENTURE,

  Don’t Wear Polka-Dot Underwear

  (AND OTHER LESSONS I’VE LEARNED) !

  I KEEP TELLING MOM ABOUT the white pants, and she says to wear them anyway.

  “They will make me fall down,” I explain.

  “Pants do not make you fall down, Amanda,” Mom answers, because she does not understand anything at all.

  “Yes, they do.” I stomp my foot and cross my arms and put on my very best “I am pouting now” face. “White pants like dirt, and they will make me fall in it.”

  “Then be extra careful at recess, please,” Mom says, holding the awful pants open for me to step in.

  “No.”

  Mom sighs a big gust of breath in my face and stares at me with her “I mean business” eyes. “Amanda Berr, I am going to count to three.”

  “I will get ketchup on them,” I say.

  “One . . .”

  “I will drop marker on them,” I say.

  “Two . . .”

  I groan like a dinosaur and lift up one leg just so Mom will stop counting.

  “Here is a deal,” I begin. “I will wear these awful white pants if you buy me periwinkle pants.” My favorite color is periwinkle. It is more beautiful than blue and more perfect than purple and it is a fun name to say. But I do not have one piece of periwinkle clothing, and I think this is unfair. I checked my whole entire closet—shirts and shorts and dresses and ugly fancy blouses that Mom keeps in plastic until Easter. No periwinkle. I had held my periwinkle crayon from my box of 152 colors up to each piece, just to be sure. And still nothing.

  “I’ll look for some,” Mom says, shaking the white pants in front of me.

  “Today,” I insist. “I want periw
inkle pants today.”

  “I cannot get you periwinkle pants today,” Mom says. “Why can’t you just like a nice, normal color—like pink? How about if I get you pink pants?”

  “I hate pink.”

  “Good, these pants aren’t pink.” Mom shakes the pants even more ferociously.

  I grab the pants in my own two hands then. “I will dress myself. I am not a baby,” I say.

  “Fine,” Mom answers. “Be downstairs and dressed in five minutes, Amanda. And in those pants. I don’t have time for any more funny business today.”

  So I stuff my legs into the pants and stomp down to the kitchen table, and Mom does not even say, Thank you for wearing the awful white pants, Mandy.

  Allison Gutknecht grew up in Voorhees, New Jersey, with three fewer siblings than Mandy Berr. After graduating from the University of Pennsylvania, she earned her master’s degree in Children’s Media and Literature from NYU. Allison lives in New York City with her rambunctious toy poodle, Gypsy, and her literate cat, Folly. She is a massive fan of polka dots.

  Stevie Lewis grew up in Southern California and currently works in the animation industry as a visual development artist. She studied computer animation at Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida. In her spare time she enjoys traveling, rock climbing, baking cookies, browsing thrift shops, and drinking delicious coffee! She currently lives in San Francisco with her two little dogs.

  Aladdin

  SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Allison-Gutknecht

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Stevie-Lewis

  MEET THE AUTHOR, WATCH VIDEOS, AND GET EXTRAS AT

  KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com

  DON’T MISS THE FIRST BOOK OF MANDY BERR’S ADVENTURES!

  DON’T WEAR

  Polka-Dot Underwear

  WITH WHITE PANTS

  (AND OTHER LESSONS I’VE LEARNED)

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.