Discover all the Amber Brown chapter books
Amber Brown Is Not a Crayon
You Can’t Eat Your Chicken Pox, Amber Brown
Amber Brown Goes Fourth
Amber Brown Wants Extra Credit
Forever Amber Brown
Amber Brown Sees Red
Amber Brown Is Feeling Blue
I, Amber Brown
Amber Brown Is Green With Envy
Amber Brown Is Tickled Pink
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
An imprint of Penguin Young Readers Group
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Copyright © 2013 by Paula Danziger Estate.
Interior illustrations copyright © 2013 by Anthony Lewis.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission in writing from the publisher. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Coville, Bruce.
Paula Danziger’s Amber Brown is on the move / written by Bruce Coville and Elizabeth Levy ; interior illustrations by Anthony Lewis.
pages cm
Summary: “Now that Amber’s mom and Max are married, the family is moving to a new house, and Amber is worried about more than just packing. How can she leave the only home she’s ever known?”—Provided by publisher.
[1. Moving, Household—Fiction. 2. Family life—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction.] I. Levy, Elizabeth, 1942– II. Lewis, Anthony, 1966– illustrator. III. Danziger, Paula, 1944–2004. IV. Title. V. Title: Amber Brown is on the move.
PZ7.C8344Pas 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2013012631
Published simultaneously in Canada.
ISBN 978-0-698-13542-0
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Contents
More Amber Brown Chapter Books
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
To Emilyn Garrick, Dinah Krosnick, Paul Smith, and all the kids at the Bronx New School, who showed us how much they love to dance, and with special thanks to Pierre Dulaine, who created Dancing Classrooms.
Chapter
One
I, Amber Brown, am not amused. My mother has just put a big box in my room and told me to fill it.
It should be easy to fill the box because my room has tons of stuff. The problem is, Mom has labeled the box AMBER’S TOYS TO DONATE.
This is not for some holiday toy drive.
This is not because there has been a disaster, and Mom wants to send some of my toys to needy children.
This is because we are moving.
Right now, Mom is standing in my doorway staring at the empty box. She does that a lot lately. “Amber,” she says, “you’ve got to get started. I don’t want to bring all this clutter to our new house.”
“This isn’t clutter,” I tell her. “This is my life.”
“Moving house is the best time for cleaning out old junk,” Mom says. “It’s time for a fresh start.”
That may be true, but a lot of what Mom calls old junk has good memories attached to it. Most of those memories have to do with when Dad still lived here, which I like thinking of . . . . . but Mom does not.
For example, there’s the couch. Mom and Dad and I used to cuddle up on it every Sunday night to watch a movie. I’ll admit it’s kind of beat-up and it’s got some glitter glued to it . . . . . . . all right, a lot of glitter. Even so, I’m really going to miss it.
And it’s not just big things, like the couch. Mom wants me to get rid of a lot of MY things!
I look at the box again.
I would like to fill it with crumpled-up newspapers, but I don’t think Mom will accept that.
In my opinion, I, Amber Brown, should never have to move. But I don’t have much choice. Next week Mom and Max and I are heading for our new house.
Actually, Max moved in with us right after he and Mom got married. But that was only temporary because we had already bought the new house. At least it’s in the same town, so I don’t have to change schools.
The thing was, we had to wait for it to be ready. So Max moved in here. Now, just a few weeks later, we’re moving out.
We’re taking Max with us, of course.
Moving is hard work . . . . . and it’s even harder on your brain than it is on your body. Big changes are a big pain on the brain. But one thing I, Amber Brown, have learned in nine and three-quarters years is that things are going to change whether I want them to or not.
I didn’t really want a new house. I like this one just fine. But Mom and Max bought one anyway.
I didn’t want a new life. But Mom and Dad divorced anyway.
I didn’t want a new best friend. But my best friend ever, Justin Daniels, moved anyway.
Actually, Justin is still my best friend, but I have two new best friends, Kelly Green and Brandi Colwin. I know “best” is supposed to mean only one . . . . . but I think that’s a silly rule.
I look at the box again. Maybe I should just put myself in it and mail it to Alabama, where Justin and his family live.
But what would I do if I had to pee before the box was delivered? I don’t think even Express Mail goes that fast.
I decide I should call Justin instead.
I go to ask if it’s okay.
Mom and Max are in the kitchen. Mom is holding up a plate.
Max says, “I have a complete set of china too, and none of it is chipped.”
Mom doesn’t look happy. “But these were my mother’s. Besides, Amber grew up with them.”
Mom is right. I have been eating off those plates all my life. I don’t want different ones. But maybe Max wants his own plates too.
I realize Mom and Max are also going to have to get rid of a lot of their stuff. Trying to squeeze two houses’ worth of things into one new house would probably make the place explode . . . . . or at least it would make our heads explode.
I also realize that Mom and Max are not having fun either. I decide I don’t want to be in this kitchen right now.
“Mom,” I say. “I need to call Justin.”
“Go ahead,” she answers.
I turn around and run upstairs. Mom never lets me call Justin without a small fuss first and I want to do it before she can change her mind.
Mrs. Daniels answers the phone. “Hi,
Amber,” she says cheerfully. “How’s the move going?”
“I think it’s going to move me to tears,” I say. “Mom and Max aren’t doing so well either.”
“Oh, honey, I remember how hard it is. Moving is no picnic. I’ll give your mom and Max a call later. Justin is right here.”
Justin gets on the phone. “You almost got an Express Mail package,” I tell him.
“You’re not going to send back the chewing gum ball, are you?”
When Justin and I were little, we started making a ball from our used chewing gum. When Justin moved, he left it in my custody. It’s lived in my closet ever since. Justin still sends used gum to add to it from time to time. He says it helps us stick together.
“Actually, I was thinking of sending myself,” I tell him.
“What would you do when you had to pee?”
“That’s why I changed my mind. I decided to just call you instead. I’m ready to pack it in on this packing, and I haven’t even started yet.”
“Let me guess. Your mother is going to make you throw stuff away.”
“How did you know?”
“Because I had to do the same thing when we moved. I hated it, but it was mostly little kid stuff. I don’t miss any of it now.”
“This is not helping,” I say.
“It’s just stuff, Amber.”
I do not like hearing that the things I love are just stuff.
When I was little and said something silly, Aunt Pam would laugh and say, “Oh, stuff and nonsense.” But my stuff is not nonsense. It’s my stuff, and I love it.
After Justin and I hang up, I sit on my bed and pick up Gorilla. He is a stuffed toy that Dad won for me at the town fair. He is not going into that box.
I need him to talk to.
“You may be stuffed, but you are not just stuff,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer.
I look around my room.
I don’t see one single thing that I want to put in that stupid box.
Chapter
Two
When I get to school on Monday, I am still cranky . . . . . or at least on the edge of cranky and in danger of falling off.
Mrs. Holt, however, is grinning. “I have a wonderful announcement,” she says.
“No practice test today!” Jimmy Russell shouts.
“No tests at all!” Bobby Clifford shouts.
Mrs. Holt’s grin gets a little tight and she says, “Be careful, boys, or I might decide to have two practice tests today.”
Bobby and Jimmy cover their mouths with their hands.
Lately school has been about as much fun as packing. That’s because statewide testing is in a few weeks. Mrs. Holt and our principal, Mr. Robinson, have made it clear that doing well on the statewide tests is REALLY IMPORTANT.
“Here’s the news. Our class has been accepted for a special program where you fourth graders will learn ballroom dancing. A professional dancer will come in on Mondays and Fridays to teach you.”
Hal Henry, whose big ears have turned bright red, falls off his chair.
Most of the other boys look like they want to crawl under their desks. Some of the girls do too. But I remember Mom and Max’s wedding and their first dance. It was a waltz, and it was beautiful. I really wished I knew how to do it.
“No way am I doing ballroom dancing!” Bobby shouts.
“That’s the goofiest idea I ever heard!” Jimmy cries.
“That’s enough, boys,” Mrs. Holt says. She is not mad, but I can tell she is very serious. “This program has been used in over two hundred schools, and at the beginning the kids are always nervous or upset. But every single time when it is over, everyone has loved it and asks to do it again the next year. So I want you to stop fussing and give it a chance. We have been together for almost a year now, and I hope you know that you can trust me when I tell you something like this.”
She looks around. No one says anything for a minute. Then Fredrich Allen, who has a major nose-picking problem, but who I have learned is nicer than I thought, raises his hand. I am happy to see that his fingers are booger-free.
“I know how to dance,” he says. “I had to learn because of my dad’s camp. It’s actually kind of fun.”
Bobby Clifford sticks his finger in his mouth like he wants to throw up. For some reason the more Bobby doesn’t like Fredrich, the more I do.
Then Hannah Burton raises her hand. “Does this mean we should wear special outfits on Mondays and Fridays?” she simpers.
I just learned that word, simpers, last week. It means to smile or speak in a silly, fake manner. I was really happy when I found it because it’s a perfect description of how Hannah talks.
The boys groan again.
“No, Hannah, not until the final dance contest,” Mrs. Holt tells her.
“Contest?” Hannah asks. I can tell that she is thinking about what to say in her winner’s speech.
“Yes. We will be competing with five different schools.”
“How can we have a contest the same time we have the state tests?” Kelly asks.
“We won’t,” Mrs. Holt says. “The contest doesn’t happen until testing is over. As for the dance lessons, when I went to Mr. Robinson to get permission, he agreed it would be a good way for us to let off some steam. He knows that we’re all under a lot of pressure right now.”
Someone knocks on the door. Before Mrs. Holt can answer, it swings open and Mr. Robinson steps in.
Beside him is a tall woman with long red hair. She must be the dance teacher. First of all, she’s in high heels, which almost none of our teachers wear. Second, she’s carrying a shoulder bag that says MOVE AND GROOVE DANCE STUDIO. Third, she is wearing a black leotard and a skirt that looks like layers and layers of butterfly wings. She makes me feel like a caterpillar. She is not really beautiful, but for some reason I can’t take my eyes off her.
“Good morning, class,” Mr. Robinson says. “Allow me to present Miss Isobel Godwin. She’s going to be your dance instructor.”
Miss Godwin makes a deep curtsy. If I tried to do that, I’m pretty sure I would fall over. “You may call me Miss Isobel.” She has a slight accent, but I can’t tell where it’s from. “I’m very pleased to meet you, ladies and gentlemen.”
I glance around to see how the boys react to the word gentlemen. They’re just staring at Miss Isobel. Bobby Clifford’s face has turned as red as Hal Henry’s ears.
Mr. Robinson nods at Mrs. Holt. She claps and says, “Move your desks to pattern C.”
We’ve done this lots of times. We get up and slide our desks to the sides of the room, which leaves a big space in the center.
Miss Isobel and Mr. Robinson move to the middle of the room. Miss Isobel nods to Mrs. Holt, who presses a button on the computer.
The music begins.
“Dance hold!” Miss Isobel says.
Mr. Robinson raises his arms and Miss Isobel steps toward him. “Mr. Robinson has been practicing with me. We will now show you the tango and the swing.”
Mr. Robinson puts his left hand on her waist. They put their right hands together at about shoulder height. They begin to dance.
I have never seen Mr. Robinson stand up so straight. “T-A-N-G-O!” Miss Isobel calls, pronouncing each letter in time to the music. They glide across the floor. I am amazed. Mr. Robinson has moves! Or maybe it’s just that Miss Isobel makes him look like a great dancer.
Suddenly the music changes. “Swing!” Miss Isobel shouts. They begin waving their hands in the air and shaking their hips.
The first dance looked very grown-up. This one looks like pure fun.
“I’ve never seen Mr. Robinson grin so much,” I whisper to Kelly, who is sitting next to me.
“He’s not grinning, he’s drooling over the dance teacher!” she answers.
Wh
en they are done, Mr. Robinson bows to Miss Isobel and then to us. We all applaud.
Miss Isobel says, “When we meet on Friday, I will assign partners. I will do this based on height, as I want the pairs to look good. You will be learning the two dances Mr. Robinson and I just showed you—tango and swing. In addition you will learn the fox trot and the waltz. When we are done, you will have a skill you will enjoy for the rest of your life. Because here is a simple truth: The better you can dance, the more comfortable you are with dancing, the more fun life is. We were born to dance!”
She curtsies again and heads for the door. Her butterfly skirt swirls around her as she moves. Mr. Robinson hurries to the door and opens it for her with a flourish.
“Mrs. Holt, are you going to dance too?” Fredrich asks.
She smiles. “I might.”
I have a hard time focusing on my work for the rest of the morning. I keep thinking about dancing instead. When we go out for recess, the girls get together to figure out how tall everyone is and who we might end up with. I had a growth spurt in October, so I am pretty sure I am taller than Bobby and Jimmy, which is a relief. I might be the same size as Gregory Gifford. Gregory is fun . . . . . he can burp the alphabet. But that doesn’t mean he has rhythm.
The girls are all excited, and a little scared.
The boys just look scared.
After recess we do another practice test. I think it might be more fun to hit myself on the head with a baseball bat. No matter how scary dancing might be, it has to be better than this. I am starting to get excited about the dance lessons. Soon I am daydreaming about winning the trophy.
As we get ready to leave school, I feel a bubble of happiness dancing inside me.
Then Mrs. Holt says, “Amber, I need to talk to you.”
My happy bubble pops.
Chapter
Three
I, Amber Brown, am sitting in the principal’s office.
So is my mother.
So is my father.
So is Max.
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