can’t believe it! You were
almost crushed to death!
By a Christmas tree!”
A zillion people
drive past Mrs. Bagwell’s
famous fallen evergreen.
Some try to take photos.
Some succeed.
Some she chases off
with her flyswatter.
The parade goes fine
except when
Uncle Sam on stilts
topples over into the crowd
and sprains his ankle.
Oh, and when Paco the Parrot
squawks a stream of
bad words.
It’s an odd sort of day.
Alison blames it on the storm.
“Something’s in the air,” she says.
“I can smell it.”
I give her a look. “I can smell it too.
You’re wearing too much perfume.”
THE FOURTH OF JULY
Parker wears his cape
and his medal from the mayor
to church.
Pastor McCleary actually mentions
Parker in his sermon.
All day Parker flashes the medal
in our faces.
He even goes into my room
to show off
to Ottilie.
At the fireworks
Parker struts around our blanket
flashing his medal,
flapping his cape.
Twice Mom tells him
to “please sit down.”
But there’s such a smile
in her voice
he totally ignores her.
I really don’t know
how much more
of this little hero stuff
I can take.
GUESS
On Tuesday
on the way to Tween Time
Alison is all bubbly with
guess-whos
and guess-whats.
“Guess who
really
stole
Mrs. Bagwell’s ring?”
“Guess what Mrs. Bagwell
is doing
now
?”
“Guess what you and I
are going to do this Friday?”
I hold my hand up. “Whoa!
One guess at a time, please.”
WHO REALLY STOLE THE RING
“A crow!” Alison tells me.
She jabs her finger at me and repeats:
“A crow!”
I think Alison is getting goofy.
“Crows steal jewelry?”
“Yes!” she says. “The tree guy
found the ring in a crow’s nest
when he was sawing off the branches
of Mrs. Bagwell’s tree.
There it was all shiny—
couldn’t miss it.”
“And he gave it to Mrs. Bagwell?” I ask.
Alison grins. “Honesty is alive and well
in good old Ridgley.”
“But how—?”
“Seems Mrs. Bagwell was wearing
the ring last spring.
She took it off to pick up a clump
of muddy leaves.
She set it on her patio table.
A crow must have spied it.”
Of course at the bottom
of it all,
I couldn’t care less about
crow, nest, or ring.
“What about poor Gilbert?” I ask.
Alison grins again.
“I’m coming to that.”
ALISON COMES TO THAT
“Well,” she says, “Mrs. Bagwell was
so embarrassed about accusing Gilbert
that she drove right over
to his home and apologized.”
“Really?” I say.
“Really!
And she told Gilbert
to go to Ernie’s Bike Shop
and choose
any
bike he likes.”
I shake my head.
“Are we talking about
our
Mrs. Bagwell?”
“You bet,” says Alison. “And
my dad heard she is going to
put an ad in the
Ridgley Post
that her misplaced ring
has been found.”
“Sounds like Mrs. Bagwell
is a changed woman,” I say.
Alison snorts. “Not totally.
Earlier, I saw her chasing
the Kims’ cat with her fly swatter.”
WHAT ABOUT FRIDAY?
When we get to the library,
Ms. Mott waves us through the door.
There’s no time to ask Alison
about what she’s planning for us
on Friday.
Just as well.
It’s probably something
I’m going to hate.
Like getting our nails done.
(Alison’s cousin Tara
likes to practice on us.)
Or making bracelets
with Alison’s bead kit.
Or Alison trying to teach me
her latest hip-hop routine.
FAMOUS PEOPLE FROM THE 1800S
Pictures are tacked up
all around the Bennett Room,
pictures of famous people
from the 1800s.
Ms. Mott points to each one:
Abraham Lincoln—president of the United States.
Florence Nightingale—nurse.
Sarah Bernhardt—actress.
Edgar Allan Poe—author.
Harriet Tubman—”conductor” of the Underground Railroad.
Emily Dickinson—poet.
Chief Joseph—chief of the Nez Perce Nation.
Annie Oakley—star of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show.
Frederick Douglass—leader in the abolitionist movement.
Ms. Mott instructs