The Spell Book Of Listen Taylor Read Online Free PDF Page A

coincidence alone.
    Thursday morning, Fancy felt that there could be nothing wrong with driving your daughter to school in your pajamas. Also, nothing wrong with jumping out of the car on the way home to dump two garbage bags of secondhand clothes into the St. Vincent de Paul blue bin. Nothing wrong with that at all!
    Except that the man next door was having breakfast on his porch as she emerged in her pajamas, shouting, “CASSIE! GET A MOVE ON! WE ARE VERY, VERY LATE,” spilling worn-out clothes from two garbage bags that were hopelessly clutched under her arms.
    He was one of those dull Canadians, the man next door, the kind who speak slowly and with a mild, polite amusement about everything.
    â€œGot your hands full there,” he declared from his porch, with his knife and fork poised over his bacon, and that little smirk of his. Their houses were very close.
    â€œYes!” Fancy agreed, and then she had to pause, for the sake of politeness, before shouting at Cassie again.
    The neighbor returned to his bacon and pancakes, and Cassie emerged from the hallway with a comb and scrunchie hanging from her mouth, the car keys looped around her finger, her hair falling into her face, dragging an enormous garbage bag behind her.
    â€œWhat on earth are you—Cassie, darling, that’s the bag of books! We’re not bringing that one.”
    Cassie took the comb and scrunchie from her mouth. “Why not?”
    â€œDarling, we’re giving that one to the school fete, not to St. Vincent de Paul. But thank you, that must have been very heavy on the stairs.”
    Cassie raised her eyebrows and turned to drag the bag back inside.
    â€œNo!” Fancy panicked. “Just leave it by the door there. No need to take it back upstairs.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œHave you got your lunch?”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œIt’s peanut butter. On the second shelf of the fridge; run back in and get it, quick.”
    â€œPeanut butter!” shouted Cassie, and stamped her foot. She had loved peanut butter yesterday, but sometimes her taste took an unexpected swerve.
    â€œIn Newfoundland,” said the Canadian from his porch, “the kids swap lobster sandwiches for peanut butter.”
    Cassie stared at him.
    â€œGosh!” Fancy said.
    â€œThat’s how common lobster is,” confirmed the Canadian, “in Newfoundland.”
    â€œCassie,” Fancy said after an agonizing pause for politeness, “quick, honey, go and get your lunch.”
    The news was starting its triumphant drumbeat as they pulled into the bus zone at Cassie’s school. “Toilet brush, toilet brush, toilet brush,” said Cassie, counting on her fingers. She pointed at the radio. “The news is on.”
    â€œHere.” Fancy craned into the rearview mirror, and brushed Cassie’s hair behind her ears. “Pass me the pen from the glove box. I think I’d better write you a note.”
Dear Ms. Murphy,
    Please excuse my daughter, Cassie Zing-Mereweather (better known as Cassie Zing—her choice!), for being late today.
    I had to take some secondhand clothes to St. Vincent de Paul.
Yours sincerely and VERY best wishes,
    Fancy Zing
    Friday night, Radcliffe and Fancy drove to Fancy’s parents’ place for a Zing Family Secret Meeting. Cassie was in the backseat with the first week of Grade Two work piled around her.
    â€œThey are going to be amazed about this, aren’t they, Mum?”
    She leaned forward in her middle seat belt and waved a butterfly painting around in front of them, blocking Radcliffe’s view of the road for a moment.
    â€œThey sure are!” agreed Fancy.
    â€œFor Christ’s sakes!” snapped Radcliffe, at the same time.
    This threw Cassie back into her seat belt for a moment. Then she recovered. “First I’m going to show my math workbook with the gold star, then my painting and—no, wait —”
    â€œWe must be just