The One Hundredth Thing About Caroline by Lois Lowry Read Free Book Online

beside the park, up Fifth Avenue, after school. Spring was really here. Birds were singing and chirping, and both girls were wearing sweaters, finally, after a long winter of down jackets. "We have so much to do!"
    "Yeah," said Caroline gloomily. "Like the math homework."
    Caroline couldn't understand fractions. Fractions didn't make any sense to Caroline
at all,
and her arithmetic book felt like a huge and horrible weight in her backpack. She could almost feel the list of problems on [>] , stabbing her between the shoulder blades.
    "That math's not due till Wednesday," said Stacy. "Get your mom to help you with it. She'll know how to do fractions. People who work in banks have to be good at math."
    "Wrong," said Caroline. "My mom says they only do decimals in banks."
    "Caroline," Stacy pointed out patiently, "Miss Wright said just today, in class, that we have to master fractions because next year we get decimals. And we can't do decimals until—"
    "Right," said Caroline, making a face. "Until we've mastered fractions. So?"
    "So. Your mother must have mastered fractions. Because now she works at a bank, where they do decimals. She'll be able to help you."
    "Maybe." Stacy was probably right, Caroline realized. The weight of the arithmetic book seemed to lighten a bit.
    "Anyway, we have lots of other stuff to do, besides homework, tonight. Did you bring that note? The one to the killer from the secret agent?"
    Caroline nodded. She had the sinister note to Frederick Fiske tucked inside one of her bedroom slippers.
    "We have to analyze that some more," Stacy went on. "There may be clues that we missed. You know, when you're an investigative reporter, like I am, you learn to notice clues everywhere. For example—" Stacy stopped short suddenly. Her forehead wrinkled under her neatly trimmed dark bangs. "Did you notice
that?
"
    Caroline looked around. A woman was wheeling a baby carriage through the entrance to the park. A
taxi had pulled over to the curb to pick up a passenger. Two pigeons were waddling on the sidewalk. A jogger had just passed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
    "What?" she asked.
    Stacy was frowning. "The jogger was an impostor. A fake jogger."
    Caroline glanced back. The jogger was continuing on, panting and perspiring. He had hairy legs. He looked just like a million other joggers.
    "What do you mean?" she asked. "That's not fake sweat. I could smell it when he went past."
    "You're not a trained observer like me," said Stacy. "He has a pack of Marlboros in the pocket of his shirt. No
real
jogger smokes Marlboros. It's a dead giveaway." She sighed. "Probably I should make a note of it in my investigative notebook. He could be an escaped criminal or something. But honestly, Caroline, one human being can only do so much. And right now I'm concentrating on Harrison Ledyard. Remember that ripped bra in his trash? The man could well be a crazed killer. Tonight we'll have to—"
    "Stacy," Caroline interrupted. "That reminds me. I brought you something. Come over here for a minute and I'll get it out of my bag."
    They entered the park, sat down on a bench, and Caroline dug into her gym bag, between the bedroom slippers.
    "Here," she said, handing it to Stacy. "You owe me $1.25. I wouldn't ask you, except your allowance is so much bigger than mine."
    Stacy took it between two fingers and eyed it with disdain. "A
People
magazine? Caroline Tate! What on earth? Don't tell me you have a crush on some rock star or something! Caroline, my interests go far, far beyond the world of shallow glamour and tasteless gossip.
Honestly!
" She dangled the magazine from her fingers without looking at it. "Here. Take it back. If you think I'm going to pay you $1.25 for something I could read in my orthodontist's waiting room—"
    Caroline grinned smugly. "Turn to page sixty-eight," she said.
    Stacy looked at her suspiciously. Then she opened the magazine and found [>] . Her shoulders stiffened. "What the—" she