by Abby Hanlon
To the Kerney farm
DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
Penguin Young Readers Group
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street | New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2016 by Abby Hanlon
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
CIP Data is available.
Ebook ISBN 9781101994283
Version_1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Copyright
CHAPTER 1: Such a Baby Book
CHAPTER 2: One Tiny Mistake
CHAPTER 3: Everywhere That Dory Went
CHAPTER 4: Twenty Minutes Every Day
CHAPTER 5: Captain Puff
CHAPTER 6: Little Robber
CHAPTER 7: Hide-and-Seek Tag
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Such a Baby Book
My name is Dory but everyone calls me Rascal. I am six. I have a lot of freckles. My hair is just messy. This is my nightgown that I try to wear as much as I can.
But the most important thing about me is that I have two worlds. One is real and one is imaginary.
This is my real world:
This is my imaginary world:
My two worlds swirl together like a chocolate and vanilla ice-cream cone. Real and unreal get all mixed up into one crazy flavor. And things are always happening to me! But my brother and sister just say I’m annoying. And they say I eat gross.
Every morning, Luke and Violet build a wall of cereal boxes around me so they can’t see me eat.
“I just can’t watch her slurping up her soggy cereal,” says Luke.
“I just can’t look at the milk dripping down her chin,” says Violet. “Augck!”
But I’m not listening to them. Because Mrs. Gobble Gracker is on the back of my cereal box. I don’t know what it says, but I can tell it’s bad news.
Then my mom comes in the kitchen and starts screaming her head off.
But before I get dressed, I have to wake up Mary. Lately, I’ve had to wake her up with a pan in my hand so she knows I really mean it. She’s gotten super lazy now that she stays home when I’m at school.
I try to think of things that Mary can do while I’m gone.
I don’t want her to feel left out.
At least she’s happy when I brush her fur.
On the walk to school, I invent a new game. It’s called “Don’t Step on the Sticky Poij.” The Poij is poisonous gum. And if you step on it, it drains the blood out of your heart.
“It’s everywhere! It’s moving! It’s alive!” I shout. “And Luke stepped on it!”
“No, I didn’t,” yells Luke.
“It’s on your shoe!”
“There’s nothing there.”
“Help! Help!” I scream. “My brother is losing blood.” I jump on Violet.
“We need a doctor!” I yell. “Are you a doctor?” I ask the little boy ahead of us.
But as soon as I see Rosabelle in the schoolyard, I forget all about the Poij.
Rosabelle has a big thick chapter book in her lap. She looks up and sees me running toward her.
We take turns picking each other up. It’s like hugging, but more dangerous.
It’s fun to pick up Rosabelle because she is so poufy. She wears six skirts under her dress! She also wears a sparkly headband on her forehead, which she says is her crown. She has little tiny heels on her shoes that go clickety-click on the playground. Today she has flowers stuck in her headband that look like she made them out of tissues.
“I love pretending to read chapter books, too!” I say as I grab her book and open it. “Now, this book is great for kids but totally inappropriate for grown-ups. Kids, listen! Grown-ups, cover your ears!”
Rosabelle thinks I’m funny.
Then it’s time to go inside.
I love my classroom because Rosabelle sits right next to me. On the other side of me is George.
While Rosabelle is busy drawing, George says, “Raise your hand if you ever found a Lego in your underwear!”
Then George whispers, “Raise your hand if your mom ever told you to shut up!”
George and I raise our hands.
“Raise your hand if you ever hurt your thumb dancing,” says George.
Just George raises his hand.
“Raise your hand if . . .” but our teacher interrupts because it’s time for morning meeting.
• • •
After we do all the boring stuff (count the days we’ve been in school with straws, make tally marks for the weather, and put a sticker on today’s date on the calendar) our teacher tells us, “Today is an exciting day in our class. Everyone is going to get a reading partner. You and your partner are going to be reading the same books together every day during reading time! And you’ll have wonderful conversations about what you read!”
I raise my hand right away.
“Can Rosabelle be my partner?”
“Well, you don’t get to choose your partner,” she says. “Your partner is going to be someone who is reading at the same level as you.”
“Great!” I say. “Rosabelle and I are on the same level about everything. We are even the same height, we sit at the same table, we play the same games . . . let me think, I’m sure there’s more . . .”
“Dory,” my teacher interrupts. “Not now.”
“Oh,” I say.
When it’s time for reading partners, I show Rosabelle that I’m crossing my fingers, legs, and arms for good luck. AND TONGUE!
The teacher calls our names. “When you hear your name, go find your partner.”
But when I hear her say “Dory and George,” I uncross all my wishes and sink down into my chair.
George hears our names just as he returns to the classroom from the bathroom. With a huge grin on his face, he runs up to me, but on his way he trips on a chair. Just as he crashes into me, he kisses my arm!
“Gross!” I say. “Don’t kiss me!”
“Sorry,” he says. “It was an accident.”
“You can’t kiss someone by accident!” I say.
“I did! I fell down just when my lips were already smooched up like this! Like I was about to kiss someone!”
“Don’t do that again,” I say in my grumpiest voice.
“Okay, partner,” he says.
“I wanted Rosabelle to be my partner,” I say quietly.
“But then you’d have to read big, thick, boring old books,” he says.
I look over at Rosabelle. She has the same chapter book that she had this morning. And Clara, her reading partner, has the exact same book!
I walk over to them. “Can you read that book for real?” I ask Rosabelle. “By yourself?”
“Uh-huh,” she says. “I read in my head.”
I’m so surprised I just stand there, with my mouth open. No sound comes out.
“It’s really easy,” says Clara, and then turns to Rosabelle. “What chapter are you up to?”
“Chapter six,” says Rosabelle.
“Oh my goodness! Me too!” says Clara.
I go back to my
reading spot with a lump in my throat like I’m about to cry.
George and I have a red basket of Easy Reader books. I take them out of the bin one by one. “This one is about farm animals . . . this one is about farm animals . . . farm animals . . . farm animals. . . . Every single one of these books is about farm animals! These books are terrible!” I say.
“Yeah, and I can’t even read them!” says George.
Our teacher comes over. “I think you two are going to love this new series I chose for you. It’s called Happy Little Farm.”
We pretend we are reading until she leaves.
“If I was the farmer, I would just eat all the animals,” whispers George.
“If I was the farmer, I would move to the city, and get an apartment with an elevator,” I say.
“If I was the farmer, I would run around naked and put mud all over my body and then stick things to it,” says George.
“But you would do that anyway,” I say.
“Yeah . . .” he says.
I flip through the pages of the book. “This is such a baby book!” I say. “But look, this little black sheep is kind of cute.” I show George the picture.
“And he’s looking at you,” George says.
“What do you mean?” I say, and hold the book up closer.
“I think his name is Goblin,” I say.
“Does it say that?” George asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I can’t read.”
“Raise your hand if you hate reading!” says George.
And we both raise our hands high in the air.
CHAPTER 2
One Tiny Mistake
On the walk home, I don’t even care about the Sticky Poij. Because all the blood is drained out of my heart already.
“Geez, why is Rascal in such a bad mood today?” asks Luke.
When I get home, the only thing I’m in the mood to do is this:
“Dory, what are you doing? DON’T!” yells my mom. “STOP!”
“Okay . . . you said, ‘Don’t Stop,’” I say, and keep doing it.
“You know what I meant!” she yells. “You are going to end up in the emergency room. Give me those hammers right now.”
My mom grabs the hammers and I give her one big growl before I let go. Then she puts them up high where I can’t reach.
“I’m starving!” I say. “Can I have a bunch of cake?”
“How about some yogurt?” she says.
She always says yogurt! I follow her into the kitchen. Luke and Violet are doing their homework, so I sneak up and pinch them because they deserve it.
“It feels good!” says Luke.
“Then I’ll do it harder!” I say in an evil voice.
“Hey, have you ever noticed Rascal always pinches with her mouth open?” asks Luke.
“How interesting,” says Violet. “Hey, Rascal . . . pinch me.”
But each time I pinch her, my mouth opens no matter how hard I try to keep it shut. Now Luke and Violet can’t stop laughing.
“Dory, don’t you have homework, too?” asks my mom, leading me away from them. “Your backpack looked pretty heavy today.”
“Oh yeah,” I mumble. I put on my backpack and head upstairs.
“That sounds just super,” my mom hollers back.
In my backpack, I have every book from the red basket. I’m going to learn to read them all today so that I can be partners with Rosabelle! I decide to read in the bathroom because there’s a lock on the door. I don’t want Luke and Violet to find out about my baby books.
“Come on.” I grab Mary. “We’re hanging out in the bathroom today. Get in here.”
“Can I take a bath?” asks Mary.
“Fine. Go for it,” I say.
I spread the books out on the bathroom floor.
“The cow . . . low-vee to eee-yat . . . g-g-g . . . something? Gar-bage? There are hey-pee . . .?”
“The pig low-vee to eee-yat kr-kr . . . crackers? This? are . . . hey-pee?” I try a few more pages. This book makes NO sense!
“What the heck is hey-pee?” asks Mary.
“Who knows! Who writes these books anyway?”
Just then, we hear a knock knock on the bathroom door.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“Baaaa who?” says Mary.
No answer.
“I’ll get it,” I say, but when I try to turn the lock, it won’t move. “Oh my gosh! Oh no! I can’t open it. The lock won’t turn! Help! This lock is stuck! Let me out! Let me out!!” I scream and bang on the door.
I can hear voices downstairs, but no one is coming to my rescue.
“HELP!!! HELP!!!” I scream over and over again.
I hear my mom say, “I think I hear Rascal. Can one of you go check on her please?”
“LET ME OUT!!” I scream. “I NEVER EVEN HAD SNACK!”
“Oh, she’s just yelling about something,” I hear Luke say. “She’s fine.”
As I’m screaming and banging, I don’t notice there’s a sheep sliding under the door like a pancake.
“Ahhhhh!!!!” screams Mary.
“You’re scared of a lamb?”
“I’m not scared of any lamb . . . I’m scared of that lamb . . . ’cause he’s FLAT!”
“Shhhh! Calm down!” I say, and fluff the lamb up again. “It’s Goblin. He belongs in one of these farm books.”
“Well, how did he get out?” screams Mary.
“I don’t know, these things happen when you read, I mean . . . when you can’t read.”
“Well, put him back!” yells Mary.
“Okay . . . then it looks like we are going to have to read the old-fashioned way,” I say, opening one of the books on the floor.
“What does that mean?” asks Mary.
“I just made it up. It means we’re going IN the book.”
“I’m not getting out of this tub,” says Mary.
“Does this look familiar?” I ask Goblin. “No?”
I see a farmer on the next page. “Maybe that’s where you belong. Come on, let’s go.”
But Goblin just looks up at me with his lost and lonely eyes and sticks close by my side. I hear the farmer calling my name.
It’s Mr. Nuggy, my fairy godmother!
“Mr. Nuggy!” I yell, running toward him.
“Farmer Nuggy here,” he says. “How nice to see you! Great lookin’ sheep you got there!”
“Huh??? You’re a farmer? But can you still do magic?” I ask.
“Of course!” he says. “What do you need?”
“I need to read! Can you do some magic and turn me into a reader?” I ask him.
“A reader? Why, what a beautiful, exciting thing to be! Oh, the worlds you will discover! The adventures that await you! The pages and pages of dreamlands you’ll sail through!”
“Great. Can you do it now because I’m kind of in a rush,” I say. “I’ve got a sheep to return.”
“Okay, wait right here. I’ll go mix up the ingredients for your Magic Reading Potion,” he says, and walks into the barn.
But while I’m waiting, a horrible surprise pops out from behind the haystack. “Dory, Dory, Dory!” says Mrs. Gobble Gracker.
“Mrs. Gobble Gracker? What are YOU doing at Mr. Nuggy’s farm? Are you stealing that sheep?” I ask her.
“Yes, I am.”
“Farmer Nuggy, come quick!” I yell.
But Mrs. Gobble Gracker grabs the potion from him with a mean old trick.
“Dory is a baby. She can’t learn to read! If Dory grows up, that would ruin all my fun, wouldn’t it?” asks Mrs. Gobble Gracker, holding my potion. “Don’t you remember? Dory is a baby FOREVER! Just like her little pet lamb here.”
“He’s not my pet!”
“Say good-bye
to your silly little potion,” says Mrs. Gobble Gracker. “MMMmmmm.This smells good. Is there coffee in it?”
Then in one gulp she drinks the whole thing.
She licks her lips.
Suddenly, Mrs. Gobble Gracker tips over a little. She drops the sheep and grabs my arm. She says, “I don’t feel well. That potion made my stomach woopy. I feel so hot . . . I’ve got to go home. My head is spinning.” Then she says a bunch of really weird stuff.
And then she stumbles away.
“HOLY COW. What’s going on?” I ask Farmer Nuggy. “Is this what happens when you learn how to read?”
“Definitely not,” he says, looking very worried. “I must have made a mistake with the recipe. One tiny mistake and you can get a totally different potion.”
“So what’s happening to her?” I ask.
“It could be anything,” he says.
“What do you mean anything? Like she could be turning into a potato?”
“Even mashed potatoes,” says Mr. Nuggy. “Even a French fry! Potato salad! The sky is the limit. Magic is an endless power!”
“Okay, um, thanks anyway,” I say. “But I think I’ll learn how to read the regular old way.”
Finally, I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, so I smush myself against the bathroom door. “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” I yell.
“Dory! Are you locked in the bathroom again?” asks my mom.
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ve told you—I don’t know how many times—you have to turn the lock to the left, toward the sink. That’s it!”
