Isabelle Shows Her Stuff: The Isabelle Series, Book Two by Constance C. Greene Read Free Book Online Page B

sick,” Isabelle said. “I thought maybe your mother locked you in so the germs couldn’t find you.”
    â€œShe wanted to, but I told her if I missed any more school, I might get left back. So she wrote a note to excuse me from recess and gym so I wouldn’t get overheated,” Herbie explained.
    â€œI thought only cars got overheated,” Isabelle said. “I didn’t know people did too.”
    â€œThere’s your little brother!” Mary Eliza shouted as Guy came down the hall.
    â€œShe doesn’t have any little brother,” Herbie said, scowling.
    â€œI knew it! I knew it!” Mary Eliza cried.
    â€œYou can come to my house today if you want,” Guy said. “My mother said it’s all right.”
    â€œToday’s my last day to do the route,” Isabelle said. “Philip owes me a buck fifty times two.”
    â€œA buck fifty times two!” Herbie whistled.
    â€œWhose little brother is he, then?”
    â€œGo paint yourself into a corner, why don’t you?” Isabelle suggested.
    Mary Eliza twirled a few times to clear her head. “I might just do that,” she said. “A portrait of the artist sitting in a corner. Another first for me.”
    â€œHow about sitting on a tuffet, eating your curds and whey?” Herbie said.
    â€œWhat’s a tuffet?” Mary Eliza said.
    â€œYou don’t know what a tuffet is?” Isabelle exclaimed, popping her eyes out.
    â€œI bet you don’t know what a tuffet is either, smarty pants. What’s a tuffet, then?” Mary Eliza yelled.
    â€œI’m not telling,” Isabelle said. She made herself stand quietly and smile at Mary Eliza. It was easier to smile than it was to stand quietly. Much easier. But she did it. Then she turned and walked away—walked, not ran. All the way down the hall, she felt Mary Eliza’s eyes on her.
    Slowly, slowly. Walk, do not run.
    Once around the corner she broke into a fifty-yard dash.
    â€œSlow down!” she heard someone yell.
    A sixth-grade traffic cop, the worst kind. Isabelle slowed down, feeling, in some way, victorious.
    What is a tuffet anyway?

Chapter Eleven
    â€œMother, this is Herbie and this is Isabelle,” Guy said.
    â€œI’ve met Isabelle,” Guy’s mother said, not exactly unfriendly, but not exactly friendly, either. “Hello, Herbie,” she said.
    Herbie was not at his best in front of strangers. He mumbled hello back and hid behind Isabelle.
    â€œWould you like some juice and crackers, children? Guy, you may pour the apple juice and Becca will get the crackers.”
    â€œRead any good books lately?” Isabelle asked Becca, joking.
    Becca sighed elaborately and handed Isabelle a graham cracker.
    Isabelle felt Herbie tugging on her. She reached around and slapped at him to cut it out.
    Herbie drank two glasses of apple juice as if he’d just come from the desert. “Okay, where’s the hot water?” he demanded, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
    â€œIf you’d like to wash your hands, Guy will show you to the lavatory,” Guy’s mother said.
    â€œOutside, I meant.” Herbie slid halfway under the table as all eyes turned on him.
    â€œThere’s no hot water outside, only inside,” Becca said.
    â€œI know what he means,” Guy said, coming to Herbie’s rescue. “When my father first said we were moving here, I dreamed that I fished out of my bedroom window. Just let the line down and lots of fish swimming under my window bit and I hauled ’em up and ate them right there on the rug. They were delicious,” he said dreamily. “I thought that was the way it was going to be, a little stream filled with hot water running under my window. I was disappointed for quite a long time.”
    â€œThat’s what I meant,” Herbie said. “I thought hot water ran down the street.” He didn’t say he was