The Penderwicks in Spring Read Online Free PDF Page B

read. She loved reading (not as much as Jane did, but neither did anyone else in the world). For Batty, though, reading was like having a private conversation with the book’s characters. Writing a report—making it all public—wrecked that. She’d tried reading books she didn’t like just so they wouldn’t be ruined when she had to write about them, but she never could get past the first few, awful pages.
    And this was Thursday night, and every Friday, her teacher Ms. Rho, obsessive book report enthusiast, made a big fuss over the chart that recorded how many reports each student had handed in so far. Maybe Batty could force herself to write one tonight for Ms. Rho—just one—and thus avoid what she’d had to endure every Friday for months now, her teacher’s look of disappointment, tinged with the tiniest bit of scorn.
    Batty drifted toward her little bookcase, meaning to look at the books, but first she had to stop by the bed to say hello to two stuffed animals lounging on the pillow. One was Funty, a blue elephant who had been with Batty forever. The other was a tiger named Gibson, one of a revolving set of friends who got to hang out with Funty. A few months ago it had been Ursula the bear. Next up would be Fred, the other bear.
    “Hi, guys,” she said.
    “Hi, Batty,” she replied, then sighed, and made it all the way to the bookcase.
    And greeted the pictures she kept there of Hound. None of them were much good, mostly fuzzy and out-of-focus snapshots, as if he’d always been dashing away from or toward the camera. It was her fault, Batty knew, that she’d never thought to get a better one while he was still alive. Occasionally she was haunted by a vague memory of one framed picture that had captured his essential Hound-ness, his empathy and intelligence, but she’d searched for it through the entire house and had found nothing. Probably she’d made it up.
    “Hi, sweet dog,” she said, this time with no reply.
    Okay, book reports. She bent down to look at the bottom shelf, where her least favorite books ended up. She pulled out one that she’d managed to get through, about an interesting kind of magic but with a lot of extra-silly stuff about groundhogs thrown in. If she could stand thinking about it again, she could possibly squeeze a book report out of it.
    But the bookcase was near the window, and the window was open, and in through the window wafted the heady scent of damp earth and fresh green growing things, drawing Batty like a siren song. And soon the groundhog book had dropped to the floor and Batty was leaning out the window, breathing in spring.
    Now, what was this? Teenagers in the yard? Couldn’t they be content taking over the inside? Must they be outside, too? These were Skye’s friends, kicking around a soccer ball, calling softly to each other. Batty recognized most of them—Pearson, Katy,Molly, Asante—and there was Skye, her blond hair shimmering in the deepening dusk. Batty couldn’t remember a time when Skye wasn’t constantly doing soccer drills, and Jane, too, though Jane never worked as hard as Skye.
    Molly was the first to notice Batty up there in the window. “Hey, Batty. Come down and play?”
    “No, thanks.” Batty had known Molly for years and wasn’t shy with her. It wasn’t just shyness, though, that kept Batty from wanting to join them at soccer but also her complete lack of talent for kicking, throwing, or catching balls of any size or shape. Although she didn’t mind, not really, it was impossible not to have some envy for Skye’s strength and grace, her relentless pursuit of perfection.
    Now Molly was down there trying to convince Skye that they should once again try to teach Batty some rudimentary skills.
    “There’s no point,” Batty heard Skye say. “She’s hopeless at sports.”
    “I am hopeless, Molly!” Batty called down. “It’s true!”
    Skye looked up at her sister. “That reminds me—Jeffrey’s visiting this weekend. He said I