I was feeling very sorry for myself, so I was staring at the ground. But I glanced up. Then I opened my eyes wide.
“Daddy!” I whispered loudly. I tugged at his shirt, but I didn’t point. Pointing is not polite. “I know that boy! That’s Ricky. He’s in my class.”
“Hi, Karen,” called Ricky. “Look! I broke my ankle!” he said.
“I broke my wrist,” I told him. “How did you break your ankle?”
“I fell down the stairs. How did you break your wrist?”
“Roller-skating.”
Daddy and Andrew and I walked over to Ricky Torres and his parents. Daddy started talking to Mr. and Mrs. Torres. Since he was busy, I said to Ricky, “I was doing a roller-skating trick. I jumped over five cans lined up on the sidewalk. I did a double twist in the air. Then I landed. It was perfect.” There. That was even better. I didn’t want the kids in my class to know what had really happened.
“Karen,” said Andrew.
I ignored him. “It was perfect except that I saw this caterpillar and her baby caterpillar and — Hey!”
I was so busy talking that I hadn’t noticed something important. It was Ricky’s cast. It was covered with people’s names and funny sayings, all written with different pens. Ricky’s cast looked like an autograph book. I leaned over to see it better. Someone had written,
“Cool!” I cried. “What’s all this stuff on your cast? Who wrote it?”
“My friends and my mom and dad and brother and sister.”
“But — but when did you break your ankle?” I asked. I could not figure out how Ricky had had time to show his cast to so many people.
“I broke it on Friday. Right after school.”
Oh. Ricky had been able to show his cast around all day Saturday.
“Is Doctor Humphrey your bone doctor?” I asked.
“Yup. Is he yours?”
“Yup. How long do you have to wear your cast?”
“Six weeks,” said Ricky. “How about you?”
“Eight weeks. My broken bone must be worse than yours,” I said proudly.
“I guess so.” Ricky narrowed his eyes. “Boy, I can’t wait for school tomorrow. Everyone will crowd around to see my cast.”
“Mine, too!” I cried. “They’ll want to see mine, too!”
“But they’ll want to see mine more,” Ricky told me. “Mine is more interesting. And you know what? By tomorrow morning, I will have Hubert Gregory’s signature.”
“The baseball player?!” I exclaimed. “He’s famous! How are you going to get him to sign your cast?”
“He’s my dad’s friend,” said Ricky. He grinned at me.
I could not grin back.
“Well, we better be going,” spoke up Daddy. “Karen, say good-bye to Ricky.”
“ ’Bye, Ricky.”
“ ’Bye, Karen.”
Boy, I thought. I had plenty to do that afternoon. I had to get people to sign my cast. I had to get lots of people to sign it! I couldn’t let Ricky go to school with a better cast than mine. But how could I get a signature that was as good as Hubert Gregory’s? I didn’t know anyone famous.
“Daddy,” I said as we were driving home, “I am going to be very busy this afternoon.”
Karen’s Cast
“Hey, everybody!” I called when we got home. “Elizabeth! Kristy! Charlie! Sa — ”
“Karen, don’t shout so,” said Daddy.
“But this is important,” I told him. “I need people to sign my cast.”
“Well, go find them, honey,” said Daddy. “Look. Here’s a red pen.” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and gave it to me. “Take this with you. Just calm down. There’s no reason to yell.”
I tried to calm down. “Thank you,” I said as I took the pen. I went out to our backyard. Sam and Charlie were there. They were playing catch with David Michael.
“You guys! Hey, you guys!” I called. “Come here!”
“Why?” asked David Michael. He swung his bat and missed the ball. “Look at that! You made me miss!”
“Did not!” I cried. “Now come here. I want you to sign my cast.”
“Really?” said David Michael. My brothers looked interested. They dropped their mitts and the bat and ball. They came over to me and I gave Sam my pen.
“Can you write your name or something funny or draw a picture?” I asked him as I took off my sling.
“Sure,” replied Sam. He thought for a moment. Then he wrote,
I giggled.
Sam gave the pen to Charlie, and Charlie wrote,
I stuck my tongue out at him. But I could not help laughing.
“David Michael?” I asked.
David Michael looked very thoughtful. After a long pause he wrote,
“That’s great!” I cried. “Thanks, you guys. By the way, do you know anyone famous?”
My brothers shook their heads. I went looking for the rest of my family.
First I found Kristy, and she wrote,
Then I found Andrew, and he wrote,
Then I found Daddy, and he wrote,
The autographs were great, but Daddy did not know anyone famous. Neither did Kristy or Andrew.
At last I found Elizabeth. I gave her the red pen. She wrote,
“Thank you,” I said. “Do you know anyone famous?”
Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t think so, honey. Why?”
I told her about Ricky and his cast and Hubert Gregory.
“Oh,” said Elizabeth. “I see.” She paused. “Hey, I’ve got an idea! Come with me. And take off your sling on the way.”
I followed Elizabeth into the den. First she got an ink pad. Then she got some tissues. Then she tiptoed over to the couch. Shannon and Boo-Boo were lying there. They were napping.
Very carefully, Elizabeth lifted Boo-Boo’s front paw. She opened the ink pad and pressed Boo-Boo’s foot onto it.
“HISSSSSS!” went Boo-Boo. He did not like being disturbed.
But quick as a flash, Elizabeth put Boo-Boo’s foot on my cast. It left a pawprint!
“There’s Boo-Boo’s autograph,” she said, as she cleaned up his foot. “Boo-Boo isn’t famous, but this is a pretty special autograph.”
I smiled at Boo-Boo’s pawprint.
Then Elizabeth got Shannon’s autograph the same way — except that Shannon slept through the whole thing.
Two pawprints. “Thanks!” I cried. “That’s neat, Elizabeth!”
Only I knew that the pawprints were not quite as good as Hubert Gregory’s signature. They were good — but not good enough.
I still needed a really really really special autograph.
Where would I get it?
Karen’s Story Grows
I decided I would have to go visiting. I needed lots of people to sign my cast, anyway. I would ask our neighbors to do it. Then I would ask them if they knew anyone famous.
“Elizabeth? May I go over to Hannie’s? And then maybe to Amanda Delaney’s? I need some more autographs on my cast.”
“Sure,” replied Elizabeth. “Just be careful. And come home if you’re tired or if your arm starts to hurt.”
“Okay. Thanks!”
I ran across the street to the Papadakises’ house. Hannie and her family had been away the day before. Boy, would Hannie be surprised when she saw me.
“Karen!” Hannie cried when she opened her door. “What happened?”
“I broke my wrist,” I said proudly.
“Hey, everyone! Come here!” Hannie called.
Hannie’s parents and her brother, Linny, came running. They all wanted to hear about my accident. So I told them the story.
“I was showing Andrew a new trick,” I said. But suddenly, five coffee cans didn’t sound like enough. Not enough for a broken wrist, anyway. “I lined up seven coffee cans on the sidewalk,” I went on. “Then I backed way, way up. I skated toward those cans so fast I was almost flying. I sailed over them…. I was flying! Just for a second. And I did a triple twist in the air. Th
en I landed.”
“And that’s when you fell?” asked Linny.
“Nope. Not then,” I said. “I landed perfectly. But right in front of me I saw a mother caterpillar and her three babies.” Yeah! That sounded pretty good. “I didn’t want to squish the babies, so I tried to jump over them, too. That was when I fell.” (Mr. and Mrs. Papadakis frowned, but they did not say anything.)
“Did you fall on the caterpillars?” asked Hannie.
“What? Oh. Oh, no. They were safe,” I said quickly. “Would you like to sign my cast? All of you? I need autographs on it. Look, even Shannon and Boo-Boo have signed it.” I took off my sling and held out my arm so the Papadakises could look at the cast.
“I’ll go get a pen!” Hannie cried.
“Get one that isn’t red,” I told her. I wanted my cast to look as colorful as Ricky’s.
Hannie and Linny and their mother and father signed my cast.
“I guess Sari is too little to sign it, isn’t she?” I said. (Sari is the littlest Papadakis.)
“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Papadakis. “But how would you like another pawprint? I think we could get Noodle’s autograph.” (Noodle is a poodle.)
“Thank you very much,” I said when Noodle was finished. “By the way, does anyone here know a famous person?”
“No,” said Hannie and Linny.
“I know the dogcatcher,” said Mr. Papadakis.
I shook my head.
“I know the mayor,” said Mrs. Papadakis.
“You do?” I cried. “Could he sign my cast? I need a famous autograph before tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Hannie’s mother. “I’m sorry, Karen. He’s not in town this weekend.”
“That’s okay,” I answered in a teeny-tiny voice.
“Hey, Karen! How about a clawprint? That would be good!” exclaimed Hannie. “We’ll get Myrtle to sign your cast. A turtle’s autograph!”
It wasn’t easy, but Hannie and Linny put Myrtle’s clawprint on my cast.
When they were done, I said, “Thanks, everybody. I have to go now. I’m going to ask some more people to sign my cast. Want to come with me, Hannie?”
“Where are you going first?”
“Over to Amanda Delaney’s.”
“Karen Brewer! How could you do that to me?” Hannie cried. “You know Amanda and I are VERY BIG ENEMIES!”
Karen’s Story Grows Some More
Hannie Papadakis hardly ever gets mad. She hardly ever yells. But it is true. She does not like Amanda. And Amanda does not like her. Amanda can make Hannie mad.
“I’m sorry, Hannie,” I said. “I need Amanda to sign my cast. And Max and their mom and dad.”
Hannie was walking me to the front door. “Well, I am not going!” she said.
I began to feel mad, too. “Okay! Then don’t!”
“I won’t!”
“Good!”
“Good-bye!”
“GOOD-BYE!”
I stomped over to the Delaneys’ house. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Each time I stomped, I felt a little less angry. By the time I rang Amanda’s door, I was not angry at all. I even wished Hannie had come with me. It’s very silly of her not to like Amanda. And it’s silly of Amanda not to like Hannie.
When I rang Amanda’s bell, Shannon Kilbourne answered the door. Shannon lives in the house between Hannie and Amanda. Shannon is a baby-sitter, just like Kristy. (She gave us our dog, and that’s why we named the puppy Shannon. For Shannon Kilbourne.)
“Hi, Shannon,” I said. “Are you babysitting for Amanda and Max?”
“Yes, I am. Karen, what happened to your arm?” Shannon asked.
So I had to tell the story again. Shannon invited me into Amanda and Max’s playroom, and I told them how I had jumped over ten coffee cans. And how I had broken my wrist and the police had had to come. An ambulance, too.
I just love telling stories. And this one was getting to be one of my best. No one would ever know that I had fallen just by trying to turn around.
When I was finished, I said, “Will you sign my cast?”
“Sure,” replied Amanda and Max and Shannon.
Amanda wrote:
“Neat!” I cried.
Then Shannon wrote,
And Max, who is six, wrote,
“Thanks,” I said. “By the way, Shannon and Boo-Boo and Noodle put their pawprints on my cast. And Myrtle put her clawprint on it. Maybe Priscilla could sign my cast, too.” Priscilla is the Delaneys’ fluffy white cat.
“How did you get their pawprints?” asked Amanda.
“With an ink pad,” I told her.
“Ink? No way! I do not want Priscilla’s paw to get dirty.”
I sighed. “Okay,” I said. “Hey, do you guys know anyone famous?”
“Why?” asked Shannon.
“I need someone famous to sign my cast,” I answered. “By tomorrow. It’s important.”
“I don’t know anyone,” said Amanda.
“Me neither,” said Shannon.
But Max said, “This boy in my class? Well, he has an aunt who has a friend who goes to this hairdresser. And this hairdresser once cut Frances Morton’s hair.”
“Who is Frances Morton?” I asked.
“A singer,” said Max. “I think.”
“Are you sure the hairdresser cut her hair?”
“No,” admitted Max.
“Well,” I said, “thank you. But your friend probably couldn’t sign my cast before tomorrow. Besides, it would be better if Frances Morton could sign my cast herself.”
“Hey!” Amanda shouted. “Guess what! I hear bells! Mr. Tastee is coming!”
Mr. Tastee
“Hooray!” I cried. “The ice-cream man! And I have fifty cents with me!”
“Can we have ice-cream money, Shannon?” asked Amanda.
And Max added, “Puh-lease?”
Shannon gave Amanda and Max some money and we ran across the Delaneys’ lawn. We stopped at the sidewalk. We could see Mr. Tastee’s truck a few houses away. We could hear it, too. The bells were ringing and music was playing. Across the street, the door to my house opened. Andrew and David Michael ran out. I knew they had ice-cream money, too.
Then Hannie and Linny joined us. Hannie might not like Amanda. But she likes ice cream. A lot. So she stood with us.
“Are you mad at me?” I whispered to Hannie.
“Not really,” she replied. “Are you mad at me?”
“Nope.”
We smiled at each other.
Mr. Tastee drove slowly down the street. Just in case he didn’t see us, we all began waving our arms. We yelled, “Stop! Stop here, Mr. Tastee!”
Jangle, jangle went the bells. The truck stopped right beside us. Mr. Tastee stepped out.
“Karen Brewer!” he exclaimed. “What on earth did you do to yourself?”
I giggled. Mr. Tastee is really nice. He cares about us kids. He always stops and talks to us. We just love Mr. Tastee.
I told Mr. Tastee how I broke my wrist. I told him an even better story than I’d told Shannon and Amanda and Max. The new story had helicopters and fire engines in it. When I got to that part, I realized something. Everyone was staring at me. Mr. Tastee’s mouth was open. “Karen,” he said, “are you sure that’s what happened?”
“No, it is not!” Andrew spoke up. “That is a very big story. There were only two coffee cans. And there were no caterpillars or ambulances or police cars or fire engines or helicopters.”
Now everyone was staring at Andrew. He hardly ever talks so much.
At last Amanda said, “Why don’t you tell us the truth, Karen?”
So I did. It wasn’t nearly as interesting, but nobody seemed to mind. And nobody laughed at me. They were much more interested in my cast and in the autographs than in how I’d fallen.
Then I said, “Mr. Tastee, could I have a Fudgsicle, please?”
Andrew asked for a Sno-Kone, David Michael asked for an Italian ice, Hannie and Linny asked for chocolate ice-cream cones, and Amanda
and Max asked for Creamsicles.
We paid Mr. Tastee. Just before he climbed back in his truck, I got an idea.
“Mr. Tastee, would you sign my cast, please?” I asked him.
Mr. Tastee found a pen. He wrote,
“Roger Jones!” I cried. “Don’t you mean … Isn’t your name Mr. Tastee?”
“Roger Tastee?” asked Mr. Tastee. He was smiling. “I’m sorry, Karen. Mr. Tastee is just the name of the ice-cream company.”
“Oh.” I blushed. Then I said, “Could you maybe write ‘Mr. Tastee’ underneath your name? Just so people will know who Roger Jones is?” I asked.
“Okay,” said Mr. Tastee. He got his pen out again. “There you go.” Then he climbed in his truck and drove off.
My friends and brothers and I looked at each other. We could not believe that Mr. Tastee was really Roger Jones.
And I said, “Boo. I still don’t have a special autograph.”
“What about Mr. Tastee’s?” said David Michael.
I frowned. “I’m not sure. Ricky might have his, too. And darn it. I forgot to ask Mr. Tastee if he knows anyone famous.”
The afternoon was not going as well as I wanted it to.
I needed to do some thinking.
Eek! Morbidda Destiny!
My friends and brothers and I sat down on the curb. We licked our Mr. Tastee treats. As we sat, I thought.
I looked across the street. I saw the place where I had fallen. I saw our garage, where my skates were. They would be stuck in the garage for weeks and weeks. Then I saw … Morbidda Destiny, the witch next door!
“Eek! There’s Morbidda Destiny” I whispered loudly.
Everyone looked over at her house.
“I bet she’s gathering herbs for a spell,” I said softly.
“What kind of spell?” asked Andrew. His voice was trembling.
“I don’t know. Something awful. Maybe a spell to take away Christmas.”
Karen's Roller Skates Page 3