The Pencil in the Rye

Hello? Hello? Are any of you still here? I think I may be jeopardizing my standing in the Worst Blogger Ever contest by posting, but screw it! I've missed you all terribly! Sorry for dropping off the face of the Internet the last couple of months. But I'm back (for now; let's not get too crazy with the promises), and—even more exciting—I've brought pencils with me.

But these aren't just any pencils. They are, like, the pencil equivalent of Jeff from Today's Special. Except they aren't mannequins, don't accessorize with vests and magical hats, and aren't friends with scooter-riding mice. They COME TO LIFE, is what I'm getting at.

Like this, only a pencil. And with less dancing.

[Image courtesy of Megsplace.com, which has way more info on Today's Special for those of you who are not mid-'80s Nickelodeon aficionados but would love to learn more about magical bevested mannequins. Possible disappointment alert: This mannequin does not make out with Andrew McCarthy.]

But where was I? Oh yeah, pencils. Our first inanimate objects were brought to life not by a magical newsboy cap, but by guest author Sarah.

Sarah says: In my school district, they gave you your permanent record when you finished high school, and my old writing competency tests were in there. I wrote this one when I was 8, in 1986.

The Pencil Story

Once there was a pencil who lived in a box. "I would die to get out of this box!" he said. He hated the box and all the other pencils too.

One day a kid with messy hair and grubby fingers picked him up. The boy took him to school. In his desk was a little red pencil "hi" she said. She looked just like him only red!

They had lots of fun together then the weekend came, they decided to run away. The red pencil said "Am I glad to get out of that dump." They went and moved under a low shelf. That was the greatest. They said "let's stick together forever"

Sarah says: I was given the minimum passing score for this story, which is totally unfair because once you look past the bad punctuation, it's basically the Catcher in the Rye of 120-word test essays—except for the uplifting ending where the pencils quit their jobs and live off the grid. Of course, this story does raise some disturbing questions (that no one ever asked because there were no mental health workers in my school. Plus, if you were quiet and did your work, no one ever wondered why your essay was not only written from the viewpoint of an opposite-sex protagonist, but also replete with phallic imagery...). But maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe a pencil is just a pencil, and I didn't hate everyone in my class...

Sada says: It's okay, Sarah. I'm glad you got out of that dump. I hope you've moved on to a "low shelf" of your own. I hear that's the greatest.

But don't think you're alone in channeling your preadolescent anxiety through phallic imagery. Part of the reason it took so long to post this (a small part, to be fair, but a part nonetheless) is that after reading Sarah's story, I had the craziest pencils-coming-to-life deja vu and was 99.9% sure that my sister, Genie, had written about the same thing. And? I was right.

Unfortunately, it took me three months to find it.

Pencil Tales offers a bit of a pencil potpourri, if you will (not literally—that probably wouldn't smell very good). It's also partially dedicated to our elementary school gym teacher, Mr. Powell, "who is a special friend, and has taught me many things I'll never forget." Is it just me, or is that a little weird? Especially in light of the whole pencils-being-shaped-like-manbits thing? Or do I just have lingering ill feelings toward Mr. Powell for forcing me to play newcomb?

"PENCIL PALS FOREVER"

Some people think pencils are just used to write with. Well, I'll tell you something, they're not. When you leave school at the end of the day, what do you think us pencils do? We climb out of those little slits in the desk.

Sada says: Freud would have a field day with this.

Well, it was a typical day. I was in my owner's desk, tired because he had used me so much today. The custodians were doing their usual nighttime watch to make sure no one's in the school that's not supposed to be in the school.

Sada says: That's right, the custodians had to clean toilets, sprinkle sawdust on our vomit, and then? They didn't even get to sleep at night! They had discourage intruders from breaking in and stealing high-cost items like the gym parachute or our green-screen Apple IIs. God knows someone had to make sure we could still play Lemonade Stand in the morning!

When I saw the flashlight fade away, I popped the two paint tabs off my eyes. Paint tabs are little tabs of paint that I used to cover my eyes and other things [Sada says: ?!] with, so no one sees my eyes. After I pulled them off, I blinked about 20 times. My eyes adjusted to the light. I pushed 2 other paint tabs off the spots where my arms are, then my legs. I got ready and squeezed out of the slit.

I got up to explore. I was on the chair. I jumped off, and landed standing up. I ran to our usual meeting spot. PiLinda, Paul, Pete, and Petunia were already there.

Sada says: I guess there's a writing utensil law mandating that all pencil names start with the letter P. Hence the extremely catchy "PiLinda."

"Hey, Peggy." Pete greeted me. None of us were related because we got shipped to this school by different pencil companies.

Sada says: Whoa, was that just an allusion to PENCIL SEX? I was unaware that you could breed pencils. They didn't show that kind of stuff on Mr. Rogers.

In related news, I just did a Google image search for "pencils having sex" and came up with nothing. The Internet is useless.

"Hi, what's up? I'm beat. Today my owner bit me. I felt so slimy," I said.

"The feeling is mutual." everyone agreed. They were all older than I, and had many more teeth marks.

I leaned against a piece of paper. I was beat.

Sada says: It's hard out here for a pencil.

Your days are numbered, buddy.

PiLinda's paint tabs were almost all the way back on(she's sleeping).

"PiLinda!!"I called. Her paint tabs pop off and fly half way across the room. She looked surprised, embarassed, and tired at the same time.

"I'm sorry." I tried to look sorry, but I cracked up, not on purpose, but it just all came out at once. Paul and Petunia joined me. Pete looked as serious as ever. We tried to get serious. It worked, kind of.

PiLinda ran away.

"See what you did?" Pete yelled as he followed PiLinda.

I ran after Pete and easily caught up.

"I said I was sorry, and I am." I was getting mad at Pete. I think that PiLinda has an awful bad temper. PiLinda and I are best friends. I met her when I came from a pencil company. I know PiLinda well. I ran past Pete. I almost caught up with PiLinda, but as soon as she saw me she sped up.

Sada says: So basically, a bunch of pissed-off pencils are sprinting around a darkened classroom? Just checking.

Also, it has not escaped my attention that these two are named Peggy and Pete.

You want to hire me to do your pencil portrait now, I know it.

PiLinda was out of breath, so she stopped.

"I'm really sorry."I say.

"That's ok." she says. "I just have been through a lot lately. My mother disappeared and my father's gone too, but, please, try not to tell anybody."

Sada says: You see what happens when you lose a pencil? YOU TEAR A FAMILY APART.

Just then Pete walked up, looking REAL mad.

"Are you all right, PiLinda?" he asked her.

"Yeah, but I really need to talk to Peggy. It's important, but I would appreciate it if you went back and told everybody else we're ok."

Pete nodded, and started jogging back.

Jogging pencil clip art FTW!

(Not that this in any way makes up for the lack of pencils sexing it up.)

(Also, I can't for the life of me figure out why the pencil has fangs. Twilight, must you ruin everything?)

When he was out of sight, PiLinda started again, "Everyone has been ignoring me lately. I feel as if I belong somewhere else..." She caught her breath. "I miss my parents, and lately, I'm so sleepy and mad...but I feel so awful."

"Don't worry." I said and started to cry. "My parents died before I got shipped here." I sniffled.

Sada says: Angst: a universal theme in pencil lit.

"Oh-my-goodness." PiLinda said sadly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that. I'm really sorry. I am."

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want any special treatment." I admitted.

"That's ok, I like you just the way you are, Peggy. Pencil Pals Forever?" she asked and started to giggle about how dorky that sounded.

"Yeah," I laughed. "Pencil Pals Forever."

Sada says: Aaaaaand that's nearly the same ending as the first story, with the disaffected pencils swearing their allegiance to one another. Pencils... so predictable!

If you weren't already in pencil paradise, this story is followed up with some pencil poetry. I'll scan this so you can fully appreciate the genius. It's an acrostic poem, in which the first letter of each line spells the word "PENCILS" (the "L" line is my favorite, btw), but also? Those letters are themselves MADE OF PENCIL.

"PENCILS"

Perfect writing utensils

Erasers at the bottom

Needs to be sharpened when it gets dull

Constructed out of wood

In them is lead

Like pens

Sharp pencils are best

Sada says: In them is actually graphite, but I guess I shouldn't quibble with a fifth grader.

In the book's final installment, Genie gets post-apocalyptic on our asses.

"IF I HAD THE LAST PENCIL IN THE WORLD, I WOULD WRITE..."

If I had the last pencil in the world I would write...

Sada says: The next section is handwritten in pencil. I know that seems like a no-brainer in a book called Pencil Tales, but the rest of it was typed. Perhaps to better impart the seriousness of this message scrawled by the world's lone pencil.

November 14, 2059

I know that in a few hundred years someone will find this and wonder what a pencil was. Pencils were things used for writing. They are made of wood and lead. (I am using a pencil to write this right now. Trees have wood in them. I have heard from my grandmother (who lived in the 90's) When she was a little girl, at her school (and in the whole state) was celebrating "Earth Day."

Sada says: Grammar and punctuation have degenerated by 2059. Also, trees have wood in them!

Earth Day was a time to think about our Earth, how to save it. At my grandmother's school they gave out seedlings to everyone. The purpose was to have 500 children plant them to provide more oxygen for us + more wood, etc. Earth Day also encouraged people to recycle. Obviously, no one did, or there would be a much better Earth today. This pencil is about to brea (k)

BY ARIA KAWILDON

Sada says: The final bit was in pen (which we all know is like pencil) because the last pencil in the world couldn't stand to write another word about the farce that was Earth Day. And apparently the last pencil sharpener in the world bit the dust first.

Here's my question: What kind of damage would we need to do in the next 49 years in order for a fifth grader to wind up with possession of the world's last pencil? Man, we better start recycling!

NEXT TIME: What is quite possibly the storytelling-est picture of all time. It contains an exercise montage. And a third grader with cleavage.

We Can Live Without Boys... Can't We?, part 4

LAST TIME: Hooker day came and went in a blaze of scantily clad glory. Maggie was sweatin' new-hottie-in-town Brian, but it turned out that he was IN THE LOVE with her friend and fellow boy-disdaining clubmate Kelly—which was, of course, revealed via an extremely realistic love note. Kelly returned Brian's affections and decided that, in spite of Maggie's feelings and the entire concept of the We Can Live Without Boys club, she had to follow her heart and "go with him." Maggie became sick to her stomach.

My stomach just got worse and worse. At home my dad gave me a quiz on the state capitals. I started barfing. Once I started I couldn't stop. How can love be so cruel? Maybe I'll die of a broken heart. I felt sick.

Broken heart? I'd say dehydration is more likely.

"How's that babe in your class?" Cassie asked.
"Dumb. He likes Kelly."
"I thought Kelly was your friend."
"Was. She's gonna go with Brian."
"Who's Brian?"
"The babe."
"Sorry, Magsums." said Cassie and she left.

I had the 24-hour-flu. Oh, barf. And barf I did. The 24-hour-flu is a dumb name for it. I mean it lasts a lot longer than 24 hours.

Er, probably not the 24-hour flu then. Just sayin'.

"Hi, Maggie." said Sherry, bringing in my homework. "Kelly is feeling really bad, you know."
"I'll bet Brian isn't." I said, sadly.
"Now Maggie, you can't jump to conclusions. Maybe he likes you."

What? Sherry, just stop. Please. For all of us.

"If he liked me he would have written me a note."
"Ok you have a point. Just try to be friends with Kelly."

Sherry left me feeling miserable. Should I be friends with Kelly or not? I was mad at Brian. Even madder at Kelly. She was there when I said he looked better than Kirk Cameron. Then she had to go with him. I thought we could live without boys, anyway.

You guys, she said he looked better than Kirk Cameron! Than KIRK CAMERON! Does this mean nothing to those bitches? Unbelievable! On the other hand, she has had, oh, ZERO interaction with Bri-Bri. She was in love with him and now she's mad at him, and by my count they have yet to exchange a single word.

Thursday was my first day back at school. We were eating blueberry muffins. I didn't eat any, remembering Halloween. Hilda didn't even ask why. She just eyed me suspiciously. Dad probably told her not to give me a hard time. That darn dad.

At the bus stop Sherry told me that Mitzi caught Emmy in the bathroom smoking a cigarette. I smiled and clapped appreciatively.

It's too bad the club wasn't there to serenade her!

Emmy was babbling away at Sherry who was staring into space. Some audience. Marsha was running back and forth from her desk to Daphne's. Daphne was staring at Brian but he was staring at Kelly. Kelly was glancing back and forth between me and Brian. I stared at my desk top.

"Welcome back, Maggie." said Mrs. Melnick "We missed you."
"Right." I mumbled.
"What did you say, Maggie?"
"I said 'Thanks."
"Oh." said Mrs. Melnick doubtfully.

At lunch Sam and Sherry were eating with Kelly still. I hesitated. Sherry spotted me. She pointed to the seat next to her. Darn, Trapped.

"Brian said he loved me yesterday over the phone. It was kind of embarassing because my stepmom was eavesdropping." Kelly blushed as Brian walked over.

Gee, Kelly, why don't you rub a gallon of salt in Maggie's wound? I mean, I know her anger is completely unjustified due to the whole never-having-actually-spoken-to-Brian factor, but still. Is it so difficult to refrain from talking about how much he luuuuurves you? Speaking of which, did anyone ever witness a 10-year-old boy profess his love over the phone? A show of hands, please.

"Hello, beautiful women." said Brian. "Maggie, glad to see you back."
"Brian do you mind. We're having a private discussion." said Sam, making her eyes wide.
"Sorry, ladies. Didn't mean to barge in." he apologized.
"Isn't he sweet?" said Kelly after Brian left.

Sweet? I'd say he's awfully smarmy for a fourth grader.

"Maggie we've decided to change the club name to, WE CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT BOYS. Are you in favor?" Sam told me, happy.
"Sure." I said.
"Maggie, can we still be friends?" Kelly asked me.
"I guess." I said.
"Oh, Maggie, that's great. Thanx a bunch." cried Kelly.

I don't think that "I guess" deserves such an enthusiastic response, Kel.

I was still a bit mad at Kelly. Brian was everything. Smart, sweet, cute, and charming. PERFECT. And Kelly got him. Kelly, who used to be such a tomboy until she met us. Now I wished we'd never met her. I still liked her some, though. A part of me would always like her and a part of me would always hate her.

Fourth grade is frigging rough, guys.

Maybe I should go back to Timmy.

Sherry liking Drake again. Maybe it would end up Me-Timmy, Sherry-Drake, Kelly-Brian, Sam. What about Sam? Oh well.

That was how I summed up page 12, and I remember I had a bit of writer's block after that. What would be the next twist of plot in my exciting tale? I took a break to get the ol' creative juices flowing again, and eventually returned with the following (now double-spaced!).

"I am really fed up." yelled Cassie at the top of her lungs. She stormed out of the room which was fine with me. She'd left her magazine in there anyway and that's what she'd been screaming about.

I sat down, satisfied, and opened the magazine. 'Modern Screen'. OK. Posters: Kirk Cameron...... oh, who am I kidding, I asked myself. I was just mad.... at Brian mostly. Brian, the Mummy Dummy, I thought.

The MUMMY DUMMY? What does that even mean? That might be up there with "report-on-Maine stealer."

Oh, forget it. I want to run away. Get away from all the confusion. Everyone says running away never helps. I didn't believe them.

It's like I had a Wheel o' Plot Devices, and once again the arrow landed on RUNNING AWAY.

I went upstairs and packed my bags. No one understands me, I thought sadly. They probably won't even notice I'm gone. A tear landed on my nightgown. This is painful.

I poked my head around the kitchen door. Good, no one was in there. I checked the cupboards carefully. My cup from the circus, an apple, some crackers, cookies, and the most important my Halloween candy.

Note to self: Most important survival food: Halloween candy.

I almost forgot. I'll need something to drink. I grabbed 5 Hi-C lemonade drink boxes. That should cover it.

I ran up the stairs with my bulging bag of food. I quickly pulled a blanket off my bed and snatched a pillow. Money. I'll need money. I shook the money out of my piggy bank and stuffed it into my purse. I bunched my food, clothes, sleeping stuff, pocket-sized photo album, cassette player radio, and some tapes into the biggest suitcase I could find. Old, gray with dirt, and ratty of course. It also smelled like my sister's shampoo. SICK. But, everything fit in it ok, so that was that.

I love that she brings a photo album and freaking cassette tapes.

On t.v. kids write their families a letter before they leave telling them why. I wanted to be original. I scribbled a short note to Sherry, though.

It said:

Sherry-
I am leaving because no one understands me, except for you. Life isn't fair and you know why. By the time you read this I hope to be out of the state. -Maggie (your pal)

Out of the state! I love it! Where's she planning on going? Pennsylvania?

I shoved the note into my pocket and picked up the large suitcase. Heavy. Too heavy. Nah. I tried again. Then I realized I forgot my purse. I ran back into my room and slung it over my shoulder. I made it down the stairs. Bump, step, bump, step. Thank god no one heard me.

I ran over to Sherry's and slid the note through the mailbox. Sherry ran out as I was trying to pick up the suitcase. She studied the note and squealed, "Can I come?"

I thought it over. "Yes." I finally answered. Sherry grinned.

"Great." she said. "Wait a second." Sherry dashed into the house and came out with a brown paper bag. "Clothes, food, money, flashlight, blanket, pillow, radio, tapes, batteries. You know."

I nodded. "Got an extra pair of shoes." I asked. I was amazed that Sherry could do that so quickly.

An extra pair of shoes! I had clearly given running away a LOT of thought.

Sherry clapped her hand over her mouth. "No. Wait just one more moment." I didn't have to wait. Sherry was back in a flash. "Where're we goin'?" she asked me.
I shrugged. How should I know, anyway.

Uh, maybe because you're the one running away! And what about the leaving-the-state plan? Get on the ball, Maggie!

"Let's go catch a bus. I know just the place." Sherry's eyes twinkled. She's got ideas, I thought. "On second thought, let's walk. It's not that far and busses cost money. Let me make a call inside. Hold on."

Sherry came out after a minute. She smiled. "Let's go." she cheerfully announced.

After a while we got there. I thought it was just a tree.

This is where the suspension of disbelief comes in. Are you guys ready? Take a few deep breaths. Here we go...

Sherry showed me the small hole. I got in first. Sherry gave me the suitcase and bag. She climbed in and shut a little door. She flipped on a light switch. We were on some stairs.

"Come on" said Sherry as she led me down them. Soon I saw a small door. Sherry fished a key out of her pocket and opened it. Inside I saw Sam and Kelly. They were sitting at a table in the middle of the room. Cards. Fish.

"This is what we've been doing after school when you never wanted to come." said Sam walking away from the table.

Uh, when was that? They rigged up a crazy inside-a-tree/underground hideout while she had the 24-hour flu?

When I first reread this I tried to reason that it could be a bomb shelter or other preexisting structure that they've turned into clubhouse, but the more I read it the more I cannot deny that a) it is somehow or other inside a tree and b) we are led to believe that they MADE IT THEMSELVES.

This is probably the time to tell you that I was a wee bit obsessed with underground homes as an elementary schooler. I used to draw picture upon picture of imagined subterranean dwellings. Generally each room in the house was a separate hole, with ladders leading from room to room. The floors were lined with straw (there was usually a separate room designated for straw storage), and the bathroom contained plumbing that led to a nearby water source. Seriously, I drew that in. I suppose it was only a matter of time before I wrote an underground lair into one of my stories.

"Yep." said Kelly. "Lookit." She pulled up a string from the floor. It was a door. I climbed down a ladder. We were in a bedroom. There were four beds-mattresses. One was bare-mine. One was pink with a Kirk Cameron poster over it and an Apple. Also there was a pamphlet that said California on it-Sam's. One bed was messy. A blue blanket was thrown over it. A paper saying 'I hate my cousin' and a photograph of Brian-Kelly's. Sherry's had a Patrick Swayze poster over it. It was purple with a math packet laying on it. There was an open book on it, too. A stuffed dog lay on the pillow.

These bed descriptions really drive home the fact that each character only has one or two defining interests. (The "I hate my cousin" paper? Priceless!) Although who knew Sherry was crazy for Swayze?

Kelly pointed to the empty bed. "You can put your stuff there. Look." She pushed a white sheet out of the way and we walked in. "The bathroom." she said. There was a toilet and a small tub.

They can install a bathtub, but they can't be assed to put up a simple door?

Then we came back up. They showed me the stove, sink, emergency exit [safety first!], phone, refridgerator, cupboards, and food.

"It's on my property." said Sam. She quickly added, "My folks don't know we did this, though."
"She rigged up the thing with the phone, heat, and running water." Kelly told me.
Sam shrugged. "I love electronics." she said.

What, you guys? She loves electronics! It's totally believable now.

"I thought you wanted to be a vet." I said.
"Nah. Just a cover up. I thought you wouldn't like me then."
"Are you kidding. I think it's cool."
"Really? Well, that's great. Welcome." Sam smiled warmly.

I made my bed. Mom and dad would never find me. They were away for the weekend anyway. Hilda wouldn't care, would she?

"Nope." said Kelly. She grinned. I blushed. I was thinking aloud again. Oooops.

No, I'm sure the housekeeper won't mind if one of the kids disappears on her watch. Whatever, there are four more at home.

Sam made coffee and doughnuts for dinner. Mmmmmmmm. Ahhhhhh. Ohhhhhhhh.

Pop 'n Fresh Dough? Or did she just have a doughnut-gasm?

Best dinner I ever had.

I fell asleep easily. The bed was so comfortable.

I had a weird dream. We all lived in this little house. Good.

When I woke up I was still in the little bedroom. It hadn't been a dream. I was the only one in the bedroom, though. Sleepily, I climbed up the ladder and opened the door.

Sherry was sprawled across the rug, obviously into the book she was reading. Kelly was sitting on the couch watching cartoons. Sam was cooking breakfast. Pancakes. Yummy.

"Good morning, sleepy head." Sam grinned at me before turning back to her food. "Want to help?" she asked.

After breakfast was served, Sherry and Kelly complimented us. I decided I loved making breakfast.

"I told Brian I'd call him last night." Kelly said suddenly.
"Well, go ahead. There aren't any rules about using the phone. If there are, please inform me." Sam answered.
"No. You got me. I was just feeling weird about sleeping under a tree." said Kelly, shrugging.
"Me too." Sherry called from the bathroom.
"These walls are like paper." cried Sam, shaking her head.
"Nope. They're like wood." I said.
Sam laughed. "Maggie," she shouted between giggles "You are such a te- so weird." Sam stopped herself just in time.

So are they under a tree or, like, IN a tree? Why do I bother trying to make sense of this?

"Shhh." said Kelly. "I'm on the phone. Hello. Is Brian there? Yes this is.... WHAT? He is.... 1879 Fairmount St. Luke's.... Yes... Ok... uh... tell him I called... if you can. All right. Ok. 'Bye." Kelly hung up and started to cry.

What in God's name happened to Brian? Give the Plot Device Roulette wheel a spin, and you might be able to figure it out!

NEXT TIME: The thrilling (okay, rushed) conclusion.

Try, try again

The following are ideas for a few stories I was considering writing for a school assignment in fourth grade—but ultimately decided against. What made me think that these were unsuitable plotlines compared to, say, the nonadventures of a dim-witted punk Valley girl and her motorcycle gang? That's something we may never know. But the exciting part here is that we get to see actual ACTION! Or, uh, the outline of action anyway.

Plot Treatment #1:

A. My friends

1. Theme – If at first you don't suceed, try, try again

2. Plot – My friends and I are stuck under the water

3. Characters – My friends and I

4. Setting – The Beach, underwater, summer

We are swimming and suddenly Jessica is pulled underwater. We all follow. We can breathe! INCREDIBLE! We find all the wonders of the sea. We collect shells, see fish, make faces at sharks—everything! We want to get home but none of us can find a way out. Ty finds a cave. GREAT. It leads us to a fierce whirlpool. The one that brought us down here. We should try to swim back up. No luck. Stand under, Katie says. It pulls us up. AIR! FREEDOM! WONDERFUL.

So, how exactly is the theme of that story "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again"? If at first you don't succeed at swimming up a fierce whirlpool, try, try to stand under it and it will probably spit you out on dry land? It seems to me the theme was more along the lines of "Being able to breathe underwater is totally friggin' awesome!!!" Which—let's be honest—is a way better theme, although taunting sharks is maybe not the best idea, gill-like capabilities or not.

This book idea was definitely born out of my fervent childhood desire to be a mermaid. It was a desire that had probably lessened in intensity by fourth grade, but you can be sure I had spent many, many a former bath playing with my Sea Wees and/or pretending I was Daryl Hannah. Sometimes, as a rare treat, my mom would even let me pour some salt in the bathwater à la Madison in Splash! In reality, I've never really liked putting my head underwater. But if I could BREATHE while doing so? Hellooo, wonders of the sea!

Plot Treatment #2:

A. The Bikini Summer, Off at Camp, Beach Ball Baby, Perfect, Friends

I think those are all possible titles for the story. My vote's with The Bikini Summer. Nothing hotter than fourth graders in bikinis. Yeow! (Beach Ball Baby totally sounds like a Frankie Avalon/Annette Funicello movie.)

1. Theme – Things aren't always as bad as they seem

2. Plot – Four girls are sent to camp and become an unlikely group

3. Characters – Four girls

4. Setting – At camp, summer

At Camp ['Scuse? No Bikini Summer??? I'm just going to pretend I didn't see this. La la la . . . ]

Ami Steinburger – beautiful, perfect, spoiled
Joy Linlar – funny, a bit plump, short
Carrie Trailor – bossy, leader, tall
Barbie Jenson – hates name, hates water, talks a lot

For some unknown reason, I was obsessed with the name Joy Linlar (???). Don't be surprised if J.L. pops up in another story.

Girls try to sneak away from camp. By accident a goat dog named Fifi follows. The girls are caught. Barbie gets away. The only way out is by Ami's dad's boat. Barbie can't do it. She can't control the boat. She is tossed overboard in the middle of the lake. Thank god for life-jackets. She finds that water isn't so bad. Phone calls to the other girls' parents. They don't know where Barbie is. They all are given a second chance. A soaked Barbie is lying in bed. She feels better and changes her name to Barb. Ami makes everyone stop calling Barb 'Beach Ball Baby'. Barb competes in swimming for the camp and comes in 2nd. Ami's drawings are printed. Joy

CRAP! That's it!!! What happens to Joy Linlar???

So, just to recap: We're back at camp, which is, as we all know, the perfect setting for a book. Why is this "unlikely group" trying to run away from such a perfect setting? And where are they planning on GOING? God only knows. Then that stupid goat DOG gets them caught! DAMN YOU, FIFI. And yet somehow Beach Ball Barbie manages to break free and steal Ami's dad's boat, which is inexplicably located on the camp grounds, and which she inexplicably has the keys to. Then she overcomes her fear of water by being THROWN OVERBOARD FROM AN OUT-OF-CONTROL BOAT. Not only does this seemingly traumatic event—which leaves her stranded in the middle of a lake, mind you—cure her aquaphobia (and, it would appear, her depression), it magically makes her an amazing swimmer able to kick the asses of other children who have probably been swimming for longer than, say, a week. Oh, and she changes her name to Barb. Getting thrown from a boat is totally empowering, guys. She probably joins the Olympic swim team directly after camp ends. Go Barb!

But let's not forget about the other girls. I like how they're all given a "second chance" EVEN THOUGH THEY STILL HAVEN'T FOUND BARBIE AND SHE COULD BE FLOATING FACE-DOWN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE FOR ALL THEY KNOW. And there's the whole matter of, you know, the hijacked boat. But whatevs. Those girls deserve another shot at, like, NOT running away from camp. Ami Steinburger, you have some drawings to publish. Joy Linlar and Carrie Trailor . . . I don't know, but I hear that you're a bit plump and bossy, respectively, so I'm sure you have many talents as well. And if you don't? Whatever. Things aren't always as bad as they seem. I'm sure that's exactly what Barbie was thinking when she was in the middle of the lake, dodging a runaway boat and trying to figure out how to swim. Oh no, that's right, what she was thinking was, "This water . . . why, it isn't bad at all! In fact, I think I kind of LOVE swimming! Call me Barb, everyone. Call me fucking BARB."

Next is the outline for the book I actually ended up writing, which I'm sure you'll agree is TOTALLY INFERIOR to The Bikini Summer.

Plot Treatment #3:

A. My brother and his friends

1. Theme – Young people have good imaginations

As opposed to crotchety old 10-year-olds like me?

2. Plot – Four little boys create their own land in outer space

3. Characters – Four little boys and me

4. Setting – In outer space, daytime

Noah, Jeremy, Josh, Will [my brother, who was on the verge of turning four when I wrote this], and me. They dream us into outer space. We have to get back in time for dinner. The boys are fighting over who should be the king of our new-found planet. I have a headache. Jeremy, Josh, and Noah's mothers are at home. They wonder where we are. Josh finally realizes we are lost. I find we can dream ourselves back. All of us. Noah wants to stay. We force him to get us back. Now we're in a jungle. We go through all of it again. The North Pole. Brrr. It's cold and Noah gives in.

Sorry, but BO-RING. Who wants to read about four-year-old boys in the North Pole when we can be reading about Joy Linlar? In a bikini? At camp? I hear she's funny . . .

NEXT TIME: A peek at my fourth grade journal, which contains a fair amount of Reagan-bashing. For serious!

Runaways, dogs, and crippled children—oh my!

That's right, it's book report time! As I've said before, I devoured books as a child. This is just a sampling of what I had on my plate in fourth grade.

Book Report #1
The assignment: A picture and a paragraph about my favorite character
Title: From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler
Author: E. L. Konigsburg
Type: Newbery Award

I think someday I'd like to have lunch with the Newbery Committee or something. I seriously still love this book:




For the insane few of you who have never read it, here's the back cover spiel:

When Claudia decided to run away, she planned very carefully. She would be gone just long enough to teach her parents a lesson in Claudia appreciation. And she would live in comfort—at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She invited her brother Jamie to go, too, mostly because he was a miser and would have money.

The two took up residence in the museum right on schedule. But once the fun of settling in was over, Claudia had two unexpected problems: she felt just the same, and she wanted to feel different; and she found a statue at the museum so beautiful she could not go home until she had discovered its maker, a question that baffled even the experts. The former owner of the statue was Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. And without her help Claudia might never have found a way to go home.

If you think the copywriter got a little dramatic at the end, well, let me assure you, they had nothing on 10-year-old me. But first things first: My favorite character was Claudia, obviously. (No offense to Jamie, but draw a picture of a BOY? It would have to be a cold day in hell.)



I seem to have been determined to draw every last one of Claudia's eyelashes.

Here's what I had to say about Claud:

Claudia is running away. She doesn't want to be running away but, running to somewhere. She picks the Art Museum. She runs away because she is treated unfairly. She is the oldest child and only girl in the family. When she and younger brother, Jamie, move in, they discover "Angel". Claudia's determination and Jamie's money lead them to Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler . . . . and the secret of Angel.

Despite the fact that I give zero explanation about the oh-so-mysterious "Angel," you can see that I was BORN to write juvenile marketing material. I think I may have missed my calling.

From the Mixed-Up Files is, in my opinion, the quintessential YA running away book, and woo boy, did I ever enjoy reading—and writing—about running away. (I mean, what could be cooler than living in the art museum? I ask you, WHAT?) In sixth grade, I actually plagiarized the bejesus out of this book in a story creatively titled "Running Away." You will totally get to read it once sixth grade rolls around.

Book Report #2
The assignment: A letter to the author
Book Report: Judge Benjamin: The Superdog Secret
Author: Judith Whitelock McInerney
Type: Animal Story
Pages: 140

Judith Whitelock McInerney wrote a whole slew of books about the redheaded O'Riley clan and their long-suffering Saint Bernard, Judge Benjamin (not to be confused with Judge Reinhold—man, there were way too many Judges in the '80s), who also happens to be the narrator. This was the only Judge Benjamin book that we owned, but it was also my favorite because it involved a mobile home. I was utterly fascinated with mobile homes after viewing a two-minute clip about them once on Sesame Street. I was all, "You can sit at a table and eat breakfast WHILE YOU'RE DRIVING? And play cards? And watch TV? WHILE YOU'RE DRIVING??? Sign me the fuck up!"

But back to the Saint Bernard:




The back of the book gives us this terse synopsis:

The O'Rileys are a big, happy family. There's Mr. & Mrs. O'Riley and their four children—Kathleen, Seth, Maura, and Annie. There's also Judge Benjamin, their 200-pound dog. One day Mr. O'Riley announces that they're all going on vacation in their new camper. All of them except Judge Benjamin, that is. But Annie has other ideas!

Yes, they somehow manage to hide a Saint Bernard in a mobile home. Don't ask. Here's what I had to say to ol' Judes about it:

Dear [left blank even though it CLEARLY states the author's name at the top of the page]

I think the Judge Benjamin books are great! I have read The Superdog Secret, The Superdog Surprise, The Superdog Rescue and the Superdog I forget!. I am writing this letter about The Superdog Secret. I think it is neat how you write it from Judge's point of view. I love the characters, too! Just like a real family: sometimes caring, fighting, sweet, firm, etc., but always loving. It was funny how the kids decided to hide Judge in the tiny tub in the trailer. How could he manage smelly socks on his nose and bras on his tail from Decatur to Canada? Poor Judge! But in the end he always comes through. Nothing is more important than his family!

Sincerely,
Sada

P.S. Keep Writing!

Yes, words of encouragement from a 10-year-old to a published author.

Book Report #3
The assignment: A diary for a week
Title: With Love From Karen
Author: Marie Killilea
Type: Non-fiction

I was a pretty strict fiction reader, but I made one critical exception: true stories about crippled children. Preferably written many decades earlier. I had a particular soft spot for blind children or—even better!—blind and deaf children. But Karen Killilea somehow managed to be the QUEEN of the crippled children, even though she still had all of her senses intact. For one thing, her book actually had a SEQUEL (reported on here; both books were written by her mom). And yeah, she had cerebral palsy, but she also had a Pollyanna-esque perkiness that made YOU wish that you had been born crippled just so you could learn to walk with crutches for the first time too! Also, the Killileas had about 78 million pets, and I was jealous because I had something that was maybe even WORSE than cerebral palsy: allergies.

Here's Karen with one of her 10,000 dogs:



The back cover copy hilariously reads:

For the thousands of people who personally wrote to ask, "What has happened to Karen since her story was published?" and for the millions whose hearts went out to this freckle-faced, pig-tailed little girl and wondered in silence about how she grew up, this book is a personal reply—written with tender appreciation, with love from Karen.

It was published in 1963, if that's any sort of excuse.

Anyway, my mom maintains that this book report is brilliant because I wrote it all in the decidedly sentimental style of Marie Killilea. I also used a different pen or pencil for each "diary entry," to give it that authentic feel:

Diary of Karen Killilea

Friday [written with pencil]:

I feel that I have made the right decision. No more will I be in the crutch's prison. Well, now that I have this diary "Mom Pom" gave me to keep up my good handwriting, I feel I should explain myself. I have cerebal palsy. Well time to eat dinner. Good-bye, dear diary!

With love,
from,
Karen

Saturday [written with pencil]:

Today we took Ocean Borne to a dog show. Ocean Borne and Peri are our Newfoundlands. Today, at the show, I had a surprise. Ed Doll was there! I remember when I sent him the telegram telling him that Ocean Borne went BOB (best of breed). He said WHO'S BOB? When I saw him we hugged and he said, "How's BOB?" So, I know he has not forgotten either. Soon, Gloria, Russ, Mary, and Evelyn will be home. I'M SO HAPPY.

But I miss Shanty and Rory. MUCH. VERY MUCH. OH WELL.

With Love,
From,
Karen

Sunday [written with pink pen!]:

Dear Diary,
How foolish I've been to not explain my spectacular family to you. There is "Mom Pom", Daddy, Gloria, Marie, Rory, and Kristen. And our animals! Shanty was my dog but, alas, he has passed away. Hmmmmmm. Now there is Ocean Borne, Peri, and Pierre. Our cats are many. One is Misty Morning. Another, Kristen's companion, is Etcetera, our darling Siamese with points! We also have 2 birds and more cats (of course). Glo and Russ (+ kids) lived in Florida and on Tuesday they are coming back.

GOD BLESS THEM!

With Love From,
Karen

P.S. We also have an alligator, Gigidinella, and a talking parrot, Gazebo

Monday [written with black pen]:

Dear Diary,
So much to do in so little time. Glo, Russ, Mary, and Evelyn will be here tomorrow "for keeps" says Glo. Let me tell you all about my important decision. I chose between riding in my wheelchair (FREEDOM) and the crutches (PAIN). Naturally I chose the wheelchair. I am free. Well, I still have to help prepare the surprise party for GLO AND RUSS! Excitement is in the air. I can smell it.

FREEDOM!

With Love From,
Karen

Tuesday [written with blue pen]:

Dear Diary,
Glo and Russ and Mary and Evelyn came home today. Evelyn is the most darling baby. Kristen loves her. (So does Etcetera.) And more animals! Glo presented me with a tank of the most beautiful tropical fish. Our menagerie grows! Rory came for a visit!!!!!!!!!! His girlfriend, Virginia McGuire, brought us a puppy, a beutiful Golden Retriever, who Virginia claimed she was called Shannon. (I guess Rory told her about Shanty.) Glo is back and they are looking for a house. Jean, our neighbor, said things were back to normal. Even Marie, her husband, Ronald, and son were there.

I AM SO HAPPY. I WISH SHANTY WERE HERE.

With all My Love Family + Friends From,
Karen

Wednesday [written with pink pen]:

Dear Diary,
Today, oh, today was a glorious day. We went to the beach. It was warm enough. Virginia does the most remarkable dives. Shannon joined our 3 dogs (2 Newfs, 1 Daschund) in a water/romp game of fetch-the-frisbee. What fun. Kristen is learning to hold her breath! Mary can swim!!!! It is nice to see us all together. I happily took note that Marie and Gloria are the same fantastic swimmers they used to be. Glo, Mare, Ginia (VIRGINIA), and myself raced, swimming, in the water. I had some tough competition. Later, Mommy told me we were all very impressive.

WHAT FUN I HAD TODAY I WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

All My Love,
Karen

Thursday [written with pencil]:

Dear Diary,
Today Rory and Ginia went away. (AGAIN!!!!!) Glo and Russ have already found the perfect house. I suspect mommy was hunting for them when they were in Florida. Now they are getting a Labrador. We used to have one named Highland Lark (Lark for short). Mary wants to get a dog named "fishy". She is hilarious! Today was OK, I guess.

SO LONG, DEAR DIARY!

With Love from Karen

Wow. Two things:
1) I definitely read those books way too many times.
2) I kind of want to write everything à la Marie Killilea from now on. Ahem:

This trip down memory lane has been such glorious fun! How lucky I was to have such impressive authors to emulate and such remarkable books to plagiarize. And how foolish I've been not to write like the spectacular Killileas all along!

WHAT FUN I HAD WRITING THIS BLOG ENTRY I WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Well, time to eat dinner. Good-bye, my dear, darling readers!

With love,
from,
Sada

NEXT TIME: Plot treatments for some stories that never were, but definitely should have been (hi, The Bikini Summer?).

What happens in Moss Grove...: That's What Friends Are For, Part 2

LAST TIME: Liz, the coolest girl in the 3rd grade, made friends with woefully unstylish (but limber!) T.M. in spite of her short fingernails and green shoes. She then hatched a plot to make over Allyson Prie (member of the puritanical, possibly goth, definitely weird Dark Family) even though she had never spoken a word to her. All in a tizzy to start picking out pastel shades of nail polish and high-heeled shoes for "Ally," Liz canceled her after-school date with Henry, who retaliated by calling her (what else?) a lesbian.

Chapter 6: Rumors

During math everyone was whispering and I was nervous. I'll bet Henry got a rumor going. That, that... nerd! [Ooh, BURN!] That's it—nerd. Henry is a nerd. Henry The Nerd. I'll get a rumor out about him. Ooooo! I'm mad.

So I'm sure every nine-year-old pretty much lives in fear of being called a homo, but come on, Liz! You're the coolest girl in the third grade! What's the big deal? Methinks she doth protest too much.

"Liz." Huh? "Liz." It was the teacher. "Liz, dear, are you okay. You look sick. You're so.... so.... red." Ooooo!
"No, Miss Laney. It's just a sunburn."
"Oh."

Good one, Liz! Way to cover!

That's over with. Whew!
Uh-oh! I'd better get going! Math!
I finished my paper just in time. Now I could go home. Once outside. "T.M. Over here. What did he say? What did he say? Tell me!"
"Okay, he said 'Liz Craw is gay. She has a girlfriend.'"
"That's you."

Oh, really? You guys, I'm starting to think this rumor might have the ring of truth.

"Huh?"
"A girl that's a friend."
"Yeah, well, anyway, all the girls and boys are ganging up on him in..." She looked at her watch. "5 minutes at the river bank."
"Let's Go!"

Chapter 7: At the Riverbank

Tiff and I raced each other to the riverbank. She won.
Suddenly, she stopped.
I looked back. "What?"
"They beat us."
"Uh-oh!!!!"
There were kids in a circle. They had their faces wrinkled and their fists clenched. I suspected Henry was in the middle.
"Go!!!!" I yelled and ran down the hill. T.M. followed. We joined the circle shortly afterward.
He was in the middle.
Everyone made room for me. I gave orders. "Throw him in the river." I commanded.

Yeesh, Liz. He calls you a lesbian and you decide to... KILL HIM? That seems a bit harsh.

"No, no, please!" he pleaded.
I was disgusted. "Now!" I yelled.
That's what they did.

Wow. Don't fuck with Liz and her third-grade minions.

Now, while Henry was freezing in the river, a black car pulled up.
"Beat it!" I screeched. It was 'The Dark Family.'

She's probably more worried about the aquamarine outfit she has on than the attempted homicide.

The pretty lady came out. She said, "Oh George, dear, there's a boy drowning in the river. Fish him out. We'll take him home and fix him up."

I love how calmly she says this, like she and George come upon drowning victims on a daily basis.

I saw Allyson roll her eyes.
"Allyson!" Obviously, so did her mother. "Mind your manners." she snapped.
Allyson smiled sweetly.
Then, they drove away.

Chapter 8: Allyson, dear, where are you?

Word was Allyson Prie had run away.

All of a sudden, Liz sounds like a detective from the '40s.

I decided Tiff and I were going to do some spying at the dark, dark, dark, witch black house. I told T.M. and she agreed right away.
"Yippee!!!!" she said. "Dark, dark, dark. The Darkest, darkest, dark." She went on and on and on and on. "Dark, dark, dark. It's darkest at the Dark's Park. It's dark, dark, dark."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I know. O.K.?"

Those two are like an old married couple. INTERESTING.

"Mmmm! Yes, I understand. No more. End of discussion. Zip!"
"Quit acting like a robot."
"Immediately." She shut her mouth.

"Acting like a robot" might be the single most realistic thing a nine-year-old has done in this story.

Off to the 'Dark' house we went.
"Shhh!" I ordered.
"Okay. Okay." Tiff answered.
This is what we saw:
A pretty lady in gray was walking around saying, "Allyson, dear, where are you?" It was true. The rumor was true. Wow!

You know, I want to poke fun at Mrs. Prie's terrible parenting, but truthfully, every time I "ran away" in elementary school, I was usually somewhere in the yard. Once I made it to the end of the block.

"Hey, Tiff, you here that? The rumor was true. She's really, really gone. Wow!"
"She's more gutsy than I thought she was." Agreed T.M.
Then, "Oh, George, how's that dear boy we pulled out of the river?"

He's still at their house??? I guess if you pull a boy out of a river, he's fair game. Getting thrown in a river? Practically makes you an orphan.

"Fine."
"Oh, don't you think he'd make a nice addition to the family?"
"Yes, of course. But, he has parents. [BAD parents apparently, if they leave him with strangers for days after he NEARLY DROWNS.] You know that Lana."
"Yes, yes, I know. I mean with Allyson, if she turns up, in the future."
"I see what you mean. I'll think about it."
"Yes, dear, see you later." He left and she went back to calling, "Allyson, dear, where are you?"

Um, excuse me? Discussing arranged marriages for your nine-year-old missing child? (If she turns up, that is.) Mrs. Prie is genuinely creepy! I can see kidnapping a boy you find in the river, but I draw the line at pimping out your third grader.

Chapter 9: The Ally Cat

Over the weekend T.M. and I decided to have a search party for Allyson.
We searched high and low.
Under and over.
Here and there.
EVERYWHERE!

We looked near moss grove, but, didn't dare go in.

I'd like to point out that "Moss Grove" is a completely un-sinister name. It sounds like a nice spot for a picnic and a nap.

"Should we go in?"
"Nope."
"But we gotta!"
"Why?"
"She might be in there."
"Who?"
"Allyson."
"Why."
"She might."
"I don't think she's that way."

??? How much do you guys want to bet that Moss Grove is the local lesbian bar? (Er, all-ages lesbian club? I keep forgetting that they're nine, what with the high heels and dating and all.)

"She ran away."
"Okay, we'll try it, satisfied?"
"Yes."
We went in.
Suddenly, we heard, "Meow!!!!"
Ally cats! I thought. We screamed.

I don't get it. Moss Grove is an alley? I thought it was, you know, a GROVE. (...Or a lesbian bar.) Also, they're afraid of CATS? What in God's name?

Chapter 10: Charlotte

We heard a voice. "Allyson, cut that out."
"Aww, Charlotte, come on. It's fun."
T.M. and I giggled.
Then, a head popped up.
Soon, another head.
The second head was Allyson Prie's.
"I told you." said T.M. She was bragging.
"Nah, nah, nah."
"We found her."
"So?"
"So! We found her. And all you can say is 'SO'?"
"Yes."
The heads giggled.
"Hello, Liz. Hello, Tiffany. This is Charlotte."
The first head smiled.

This "head" thing is getting weird. Quit giving me head, Liz!

This is a description of Charlotte: A regular sized 8-year-old. She had curly blond hair, pink lips and cheeks, green little eyes. She had pink polish on her nails. She had a shirt with a pink butterfly on it. She also wore pink shorts.

But what about her eyelashes??? Great, now I have NO IDEA what she looks like.

"Nice to meet you." she said.
"Yes." I said. "We have to take Allyson home. [Whatever, Liz. Quit harshing everyone's mellow!] Allyson?" I looked at her.
"Yes?"
"Your mother is worried. Please, come home."
So, we took Allyson home and we—the four of us—were a great team.

Chapter 11: Trademark

After school the next day when Tiffany came out of the building I called, "Trademark. Trademark."
"What?" she answered confused.
"Trademark." Louder.
"Crazy people, crazy names, boy." she mumbled.
"Hey!" I jumped in front of her face. She stepped back and fell over. Her knee was bleeding.

Jesus, Liz is an asshole.

I got down on the ground. "You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Yeah. Just fine." She got up and wiped her hands on her jeans.
"I'll walk with you," I said, changing the subject. [SMOOTH.]
"Okay" she said. "I don't have dance class today."
I giggled.
"What's so funny?"
I giggled again. "You" I said. "dance class."

So T.M. is kind of butch. Doesn't mean she can't take a dance class. Free your mind, Liz.

"Yes." she answered. "Who were you calling 'Trademark'?"
"You." I answered.
She didn't take it kindly. She stubbled [yes, stubbled] backwards and this time I caught her. I stood her up. "T.M. stands for trademark."

This is me trying to show off, in the dorkiest possible way. I had just learned what all those little ™ symbols I was seeing everywhere stood for—and I reasoned that if I didn't know, other kids didn't either, so I thought it my duty to educate my readers.

"Boy, you have some weird teachers." She laughed.
Then, Allyson and Charlotte came over to us. "We know some sign language." They said together and started laughing. "We can sing 'Row, row, row your boat.'" They said together again. They started laughing all over again.
"Taffy taught it to us!" Charlotte said.
"To you." Allyson said. "
I taught it to you." Charlotte said.
"Taffy." mumbled Allyson. Then, they laughed again.
"These people have the laughing disease." I said.
"How do you cure it, Doc?" Tiff asked.
"I dunno. There's no cure yet." I answered.
"We'll show you!" suggested Charlotte.
"Good idea!" answered Allyson.

Because sign language comes across SO well in a book.

They showed us 'Row, row, row your boat.' Not the cure.
"That's great." I said. "Who's Taffy?"
"A friend." answered Charlotte. "Hey, my mom's bakin' chocolate chip cookies. You guys wanna come over?"
"Sure!!!" We all answered together and laughed.

Boringest. Chapter. Ever. Sign language? Cookies??? Where's the intrigue in that? We need a plot twist STAT.

Chapter 12: At Charlotte's House

"Race ya!!!!" screamed Allyson at the top of her lungs [in total violation of Dark Family Rule #3]. She won and I was last.
"You're the rotten nag! You're the rotten nag!" chanted Tiff.

This was something my sister and I used to say; we thought ourselves incredibly witty.

"Nobody said anything about rotten eggs!" I complained.
"Rotten nag!" she corrected.
"Let's forget about it." suggested Charlotte.
"Okay."
"Tiffany." She inspected her carefully with a cat's eye.

Again with the "cat's eye"! I'm assuming I picked this up from other YA authors. I don't think I was spending too much time contemplating feline eyeballs myself.

"Okay." was the answer that finally came.
"Good. Now we can go inside. I'm starved." was Allyson in a desprate voice.
We walked in.
"Mom." called Charlotte. "Mom."
We put our bags down.
"Guess she's not home yet."
"No cookies?" cried Allyson.
"Yes cookies." answered Charlotte. "Just made 'em few munites [munites!] ago. Just had to go to store for somethin'."
"How would you know?" questioned Tiff.

You read my mind, T.M.

"Mind-reader." was the answer.

You did NOT read my mind, Charlotte.

We followed her to the kitchen.
"See, fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies."

Maybe I shouldn't knock the cookies. That actually sounds delicious right about now.

Allyson grabbed one and started munching on it.
"Allyson, shame on you!" cried Charlotte.
But soon we were all grabbing and munching.

Are we still talking about cookies?

Suddenly, a car pulled into the driveway.
"Mom?" called Charlotte. "Mom?"
She looked out the window and then turned around stiff and pale.

Ooh, cookies PLUS intrigue!

"What?" I asked. "Who is it?" My mouth was full of food.
"Hey, Charlotte, you okay?" Allyson walked over to her.
"I don't know who it is." She said. "It's a stranger."

Dun dun DUN!

NEXT TIME: The not-so-thrilling not-so-much-a-conclusion. On the plus side, it does involve T.M. in a bathing suit (Liz is so psyched!) and midgets. Sort of.