Pish Posh by Ellen Potter Read Free Book Online Page A

tell if they are. Lately, everybody wants to have lived during medieval times. And then there are all the people who say they were famous in their past lives, like Queen Elizabeth or Cleopatra or something. I mean, what are the chances of that? The ones who are really hypnotized usually find out that they had average, boring lives in the past, just like their lives now,”
    â€œSo Amber is faking it?” Clara nodded toward the door.
    â€œOh, no. She really was Joan of Arc. She’s one of two ‘dead celebrity’ patients he has. The other one is William Shakespeare, but he’s a lot more fun than Joan of Arc. At least he knows a few good jokes. ”
    â€œBut,” Clara said after a moment, “I thought you said your father was a thief. ”
    â€œShh!” Annabelle grabbed her roughly by the elbow. She was a good head taller than Clara, and quite strong, and although Clara resisted, she found herself unceremoniously dragged down the hallway and out the front door.
    â€œWell... is he or isn’t he?” Clara insisted, once Annabelle had released her on the landing of the front steps. Annabelle crossed her arms against her chest, leaned back against the balustrade, and narrowed her eyes at Clara.
    â€œHow did you find us anyway?”
    â€œI persuaded someone at the Huxley Academy to give me your address,” Clara said evasively.
    â€œPersuaded? ”
    â€œI bribed her,” Clara admitted.
    â€œI knew you were a shrewd duck!” Annabelle said approvingly. Clara would have objected, but it secretly pleased her. “Hey, what’s your name, by the way?”
    â€œClara. ”
    â€œClara? Funny name for a kid. Yeah, Dad is a thief, sure,” Annabelle said. “But how do you think we get invited to rich people’s parties? I mean, who’s going to invite a thief into their house? So Dad learned how to be a hypnotherapist by reading books. Plus, he’s a genius and can do anything he sets his mind to. ”
    â€œThen why doesn’t he just become a hypnotherapist and give up being a thief?” Clara asked. It seemed an obvious enough question, but Annabelle looked at Clara like she’d just suggested that her dad lick an electrical outlet.
    â€œWhere’s the sense in that?!” she exclaimed angrily, kicking one of the stone flowerpots. “I mean, that would ruin everything. What would I do? Go back to school? Join the debating team and trade friendship bracelets? No thank you.”
    In a way, Clara could understand Annabelle perfectly. She would have felt the same if someone suggested that she spend less time at Pish Posh and do things other kids her age did. But the mention of bracelets made her remember why she was there in the first place, and her former indignation returned.
    â€œI thought you said you were getting my jewelry, ” she said sternly.
    â€œOh, right. Here. ” Annabelle handed her the paper bag. Clara opened it promptly. Inside was the Tahitian pearl necklace. Clara should have felt victorious; but she didn’t. For some reason, the pearls seemed less important now that she had them back.
    â€œFine. That’s all I wanted. Good-bye,” Clara said. She felt a sudden cramp in her stomach. She must be getting sick. Summer flu. She got one every year. Tomorrow she would be sneezing and achy and would have to stay in bed all day.
    The front door opened and Amber stepped out, with Annabelle’s father behind her. “I’ll see you next week, Amber,” he said. “Just stay away from fire for twenty-four hours—no barbecues, no campfires. ”
    Amber blew a thin bubble with her gum, then snapped it. “You’re the best, Doc.”
    â€œAnd no cigarettes, ” he called after her when she reached into her bag and pulled out a pack. But she pretended not to hear him as she strode off down the street.
    â€œPoor Joan of Arc is probably rolling over in her