Raymie Nightingale by Kate DiCamillo Read Free Book Online Page B

wearing some extra good-luck bunny barrettes today,” said Louisiana.
    “You look nice,” said Raymie.
    “Do you think that orange and pink go together, or is that only in my imagination?”
    Raymie didn’t get a chance to answer this question because Beverly arrived. She looked angry. The bruise on her face had gone from black to a sickly looking green.
    “So?” said Beverly as she approached them.
    Raymie wasn’t sure what this question was in reference to, but she didn’t take it as a good sign. She went and rang the bell before Beverly could change her mind about helping.
    The intercom crackled. Martha said, “It’s a golden day at the Golden Glen. How may I assist you?”
    Raymie heard Beverly snort.
    “How may I assist you?” asked Martha again.
    “Martha?” said Raymie. “It’s me, um, Raymie. Raymie Clarke. I visited Isabelle a couple of days ago, and I was going to do a good deed?” A wave of dizziness washed over Raymie. She remembered the letter of complaint she had written for Isabelle. Would Martha know that she was the one who had written it? Would she hold it against her? Would she understand that Raymie had just been trying to do a good deed? Why was everything so complicated? Why were good deeds such murky things?
    “Oh, Raymie, yes,” said Martha’s crackly voice. “Of course, of course. Isabelle will be delighted to see you again.”
    Raymie didn’t think that this was necessarily true.
    “We’re here, too!” shouted Louisiana into the intercom. “We’re the Three Rancheros, and we’re going to —”
    Beverly put her hand over Louisiana’s mouth.
    The door buzzed, and Raymie pulled it open. Beverly took her hand off Louisiana’s mouth, and the three of them walked into the Golden Glen, where Martha was standing, like before, behind the counter at the end of the hallway, smiling.
    Raymie was glad to see her.
    She thought that when you died, if there was someone waiting to greet you in heaven, then that person would probably, hopefully, look like Martha — smiling, forgiving, golden, and with a blue, fuzzy sweater draped over her shoulders.
    “Oh,” said Martha. “You brought friends.”
    “We’re the Three Rancheros!” said Louisiana. “We’re here to right a wrong.”
    “Please, please —” said Beverly.
    “What a lovely dress,” said Martha to Louisiana.
    “Thank you,” said Louisiana. She twirled around so that her sleeves floated out and the sequins sparkled. “My granny made it. She makes all my dresses. She used to make the costumes for my parents, who were the Flying Elefantes.”
    “Isn’t that interesting?” said Martha. “And I wonder what happened to your face,” she said, turning to Beverly.
    “It’s just a bruise,” said Beverly in an extremely polite voice. “From a fight. I’m okay.”
    “Well, then,” said Martha. “As long as you are okay. If the three of you would like to come with me.” She took Louisiana’s hand. “We will go upstairs and see who would like a good deed done today. Visitors are always welcome here at the Golden Glen.”
    Beverly rolled her eyes at Raymie, but she turned and followed Martha and Louisiana up the stairs.
    Raymie walked behind Beverly. Right at the bottom of the stairs, right before she started to climb, Raymie was struck with a sudden, piercing moment of disbelief. How had she, Raymie Clarke, gotten here? At the Golden Glen? Walking behind Martha and Louisiana and Beverly — people she hadn’t even known until a few days ago?
    Raymie looked down at the steps. Each step was lined with a dark strip, to stop people from slipping.
    “We’re all baton twirlers,” she heard Louisiana say to Martha. “And we’re all going to compete in the Little Miss Central Florida Tire 1975 contest.”
    “Fascinating,” said Martha.
    Beverly snorted.
    Raymie flexed her toes. She reminded herself of what she was doing. She was working to get the book back, to do a good deed, to win the contest, to bring her