Turkey Monster Thanksgiving Read Online Free PDF

tears.
    “Of course,” Dad said. He carried Tyler out of the bathroom.
    While Dad read to Tyler, I huddled on my bed. Hiccups filled up my chest. Hiccuped out of my mouth.
    Once Tyler was in bed, Dad came into my room. “How did this happen?” he asked. “This Thanksgiving thing has turned into a monster.”
    I hugged my pillow against my sore chest and told him about the extra invitation and how it got delivered. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
    “Nothing is ready,” he said.
    “We have most of the groceries,” I told him. “Tomorrow I’ll make the Sweet Potato Brûlée. Tuesday, the Green Beans Deluxe. Wednesday, the Cranberry Tower. It’s under control, Dad.”
    Dad stared at my lists on the bulletin board. “It’s different now that there’s company.” He found a piece of paper and a pencil and started making a list of his own. “Glasses that match. Cream for coffee.”
    “We’ll clean house Thursday morning,” I told him. “While the turkey is cooking.” He groaned. But he wrote “TURKEY!” on his list.
    “Ms. Morgan’s bringing the dessert.” I crossed off popsicles and ice cream sandwiches. “Real butter,” he said, writing furiously. “We used to have real napkins. Where’d they go?”
    “They turned into diapers for Tyler’s bear. Maybe we can find them?”
    “We’ll buy paper.”
    “We need a table centerpiece, Dad.”
    “Where’s that turkey poster you made?”
    “On the front door.”
    “It’s now for the table,” Dad said. He reached over and crossed CENTERPIECE??? off my list.
    His list got very long. He frowned at it for a while. “Too much to do,” he said finally.
    “I didn’t know you like making lists,” I said.
    “It’s not a matter of liking,” he said. “It’s a matter of necessity.”
    “I’m worried about one thing,” I told him. “Tyler at the table.”
    “He’s just a little boy.”
    “He’s awful,” I said.
    “We’ll work on it.” Dad rested his forehead on his hand.
    “Are you still mad?” I could feel my hiccups waiting to start again.
    “I’m not mad,” he said. “I’m worried we can’t get everything done in time.”

Chapter 13
The First Vegetable
    “T ELL ME YOUR MENU ,” Claire said as we started to school on Monday morning. I told her.
    “You have to have lots more than that! Someone might be allergic!”
    “What?”
    “Most people are allergic,” she said. “You have to serve lots of food, so if they’re allergic to one thing, they can pick something else. Your company doesn’t want to get a rash.”
    I pictured Ms. Morgan looking wistfully at all the food. “No, thank you,” she’d say. “I’m allergic. Maybe I could eat a sandwich instead.” Dad would get out the peanut butter. Tyler would have some. Ms. Morgan would throw up.
    As soon as we got to school I looked carefully at Ms. Morgan. She didn’t look allergic. During free reading time, I wrote her a note:
    Dear Ms. Morgan:
Are you alergick?
    Your friend, Katie Jordan
    During afternoon recess, she wrote me back.
    Dear Katie,
    I am only allergic to poison oak.
    Your friend, Ms. Morgan
    Before the end of school, I wrote back to her.
    Dear Ms. Morgan,
    We will not have any poison oak for Thanksgiving dinner.
    Your friend, Katie Jordan
    That night we ate an early supper. Dad made hot dogs. “Tonight, we practice good manners,” he told Tyler.
    The meal went fine until suddenly Tyler spit everything out of his mouth onto his plate. “Look,” he said, poking at the mess with his finger, “mustard and ketchup and hot dog is pretty!”
    Dad frowned. “No,” he said. “NOT pretty.” He took Tyler’s plate to the kitchen. “You’re finished, young man.”
    “Claire’s turkey monster will know about this,” I whispered.
    Tyler’s face turned white. He got down from the table and went to play with the trucks.
    He wasn’t singing any songs. The house was strangely quiet.
    “All right,” Dad said as soon as the dishes were cleared away. “This recipe