The Sisters Club Read Online Free PDF

icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
     
    I don’t know what it is with me and poetry — why it was freaking me out. It looks simple enough, but I had to read it over and over about a bazillion times. Then it hit me. Like Mr. William Famous Williams himself was talking to me, Stevie Reel. It’s weird, I know, because he was talking about plums, but somehow he knew just how I felt — about the sweater.
I’m Sorry
I have taken
your sweater
that was in
the dryer
and which
you were probably
going to wear
today
Forgive me
I spilled chocolate on it
It wasn’t fair
I used to have the same one
But I still enjoyed
how everyone said
I looked better in it than you
     
    After we had quiet time to write our poems (with Ms. Carter-Dunne looking over our shoulders half the time), she asked me to read my poem aloud in front of the whole class.
    My poem.
    Why did she have to pick me? I tried to tell her it was private. I tried to tell her it really wasn’t meant to be read aloud (to a bunch of immature fifth-graders!).
    I tried to tell her, but she said, “Nonsense, Stevie. Your poem is a perfect example for the rest of the class. It’s just what I’m looking for. It’s inspiring. No need to be shy.”
    Easy for her to say. Why do teachers think that telling you not to be shy will make you not feel shy? Guess what, Ms. Carter-Dunne, Queen of Reading-Aloud-in-Front-of-the-Whole-World? It just makes it worse!
    So I, Stevie Reel, who hates acting (despite being a direct descendant of Hepzibiah McNutty), who hates standing up in front of people, had to stand in front of the whole class with sweat circles under my arms (in Alex’s sweater!) and read my poem to twenty-nine pairs of squinty eyes (that’s fifty-eight eyes, guys) while trying not to spit or spray or choke on the last line. Or turn ten shades of red. Or pass out from embarrassment.
    At least I didn’t have to say “breast”!

     

     

     

     

 
     
    ZITS
    Starring Alex
     
     
    Me: I had my audition today, Sock Monkey. For the best part ever. Beauty, in Beauty and the Beast.
    Sock Monkey: Well, I didn’t think you were the Beast!
    Me: Thank you! That’s why I love you so much. Mww! Mww! (Kissing sounds.)
    Sock Monkey: Then what’s wrong?
    Me: I so did not get the part.
    Sock Monkey: What do you mean?
    Me: First of all, I didn’t have my lucky sweater.
    Sock Monkey: How come?
    Me: Because my evil, wicked un-stepsister Stevie stole it from the dryer.
    Sock Monkey: That’s evil! Wicked! Very stepsister-y of her.
    Me: I know. But that’s not even the worst part.
    Sock Monkey: Oh, no. What’s the worst part?
    Me: I messed up my lines.
    Sock Monkey: Everybody makes mistakes.
    Me: Not like this!
    Sock Monkey: It can’t be all that bad.
    Me: It is. Or as Beauty would say, “’Tis a sorrow. ’Tis a tragedy.”
    Sock Monkey: What happened?
    Me: OK, see, there’s this guy I like. . . . His name is Scott Howell. He’s in Drama Club, and he’s really good at acting, and I know he’s going to get the part of Beast.
    Sock Monkey: So you want to star in the play with him, right?
    Me: More than anything. Maybe he would like me if we got to practice together and everything.
    Sock Monkey: You can do it!
    Me: But wait. I haven’t told you the bad part.
    Sock Monkey: Go on.
    Me: We were practicing reading our parts, and I kept noticing this zit he had on his face.
    Sock Monkey: Gross!
    Me: I tried not to look at it. . . .
    Sock Monkey: Maybe he didn’t see you see it.
    Me: I wish! That’s not it. We were saying our lines back and forth for the audition, and I was going along fine. It’s the part where Beauty is trapped at her father’s house, and she has a dream that Beast is dying. She wakes up and has a revelation.
    The line goes, “I am indeed quite wicked to cause so much grief to Beast, who has shown me nothing but kindness. Is it his fault that he is so ugly and has so few wits?”
    Sock