FOR MY GRANDSON
JAMES GREEN
WHO SAID, “DON’T INSULT MY FOOD,” AND GAVE ME AN IDEA FOR A STORY.
—SG
PENGUIN WORKSHOP
Penguin Young Readers Group
An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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Text copyright © 2017 by Sheila Greenwald. Illustrations copyright © 2017 by Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved. Published by Penguin Workshop, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. PENGUIN and PENGUIN WORKSHOP are trademarks of Penguin Books Ltd, and the W colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 9780448488851 (paperback)
ISBN 9780448488868 (library binding)
ISBN 9781524786656 (ebook)
Version_1
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
COPYRIGHT
TITLE PAGE
CHAPTER 1: GREAT NEWS
CHAPTER 2: BILLY LARK
CHAPTER 3: I’M INVITED
CHAPTER 4: AN IDEA
CHAPTER 5: LUCKY GIRL
CHAPTER 6: READY-TO-EAT
CHAPTER 7: AWESOME
CHAPTER 8: SHOW BIZ
CHAPTER 9: ON THE ROAD
CHAPTER 10: SORRY
BILLY’S BEANS
BILLY’S CHERRY TOMATO SAUCE
1
GREAT NEWS
The first day of school is always my favorite day. I found a mistake on our first-ever third-grade spelling test, corrected two classmates during reading, and explained the proper way to tie a ponytail.
And that was all before lunch.
I thought it couldn’t get any better until Ms. Cabot went to the chalkboard and drew a square. At least, that’s what I thought it was. I raised my hand to ask. Good thing I reminded her to explain.
“I have great news,” Ms. Cabot announced. “Our class has been chosen to plant a new schoolyard garden.”
Everyone looked excited. I was the most excited.
“Even though it’s only September now, we can start to think of what we want to grow and of ways to raise money for our garden tools,” Ms. Cabot continued.
“I’ll do my lemonade stand or my used-toy sale or haircuts!” I cried out. I began to tingle and glow from head to toe.
Ephraim Thomas giggled. “Who wants a Flossie Popkin haircut?”
“Not me,” Imogene Dingle shouted, showing off the Mohawk I gave her by mistake at my beauty parlor.
“But Flossie has a good idea,” Ms. Cabot defended me. “A street fair where you could sell lemonade or old toys and books or anything else you want to donate would be a way for us to raise money for our garden. In the next week, I’d like you to form groups to figure out what we could sell at our Street Fair Fundraiser. Each team can have its own table.”
“Who wants to be on my team?” I asked.
“Bossy Flossie,” Imogene groaned. “Who’d team up with her?”
Everyone laughed except for Gloria Tubbs, who feels sorry for underdogs, and Billy Lark.
Billy was the new boy, and all I had seen him do today was stare out the window. I’m sure he missed everything that Ms. Cabot said. I promised myself that I would tell him later.
I would also tell him that “bossy” meant I had great ideas and knew how to make them happen. I’d tell him he’d be lucky to join my team.
I just worried someone would ask him first.
2
BILLY LARK
After the big announcement, we still had to get through a whole science lesson, which was horrible because I already had so many great ideas. Also, I wanted to make sure Billy would be the first member of the Best Team Ever for the Street Fair Fundraiser.
When we finally went to lunch, I made sure to follow Billy so I could be the first person to ask him to join a team.
Of course everyone wanted to be Billy’s friend. Ephraim sat next to him at the lunch table. Charlie Diaz even offered him some of his potato chips.
But Billy said no.
“I don’t eat junk,” he told Charlie.
I stopped worrying. I had a feeling no one would want to team up with him now. Maybe I didn’t, either.
“Cabbage Head,” Charlie teased, poking at Billy’s lunch box full of vegetables.
“Just try a cherry tomato from our garden upstate, and you’ll see what I mean,” Billy offered, holding out a bag.
“No thanks,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “They could be poisoned.”
Right away, I knew it wasn’t the tomatoes Charlie thought could be poison. It was Billy Lark.
On the way home from school, I tried to catch up with Imogene and Gloria.
“If you let me team up with you, I’ll give you great ideas,” I told them.
“No way,” Imogene said.
Gloria nudged her gently.
“Like what?” Gloria asked.
I thought for a second. And then, lightbulb!
“Cut stems off houseplants, put them in water till they root, then plant them in pots of dirt, and you’ve got a plant sale.”
“That is a perfect ten,” gushed Gloria, who likes to rate everything from one to ten. “I’d set my mom’s begonias in little clay pots with ribbons and bows tied around the bottom to make them prettier.”
“Forget clay pots,” I said. “Plastic is better. Ribbons and bows are another bad idea. I’ve tried them before. They get grubby and pathetic.”
Gloria’s smile faded.
“Selling old stuff on the street is grubby and pathetic,” Imogene snapped.
“My Great-Grandpa Morris sold old stuff on the street and ended up owning a department store,” I bragged.
“Was his popularity at one out of ten?” Imogene asked.
“No!” I cried. “Everybody loved him. He had loads of friends.”
“Then he didn’t insult their ideas and the things they liked,” Gloria advised softly. “Friends don’t do that.”
“On a scale of one to ten, Bossy Flossie, your popularity just went from one to zero,” Imogene called over her shoulder as she and Gloria hurried off down the street.
Neither of them said good-bye.
I guessed I wouldn’t be joining their team.
3
I’M INVITED
You’ve been invited,” my brother Simon the science whiz said when he came home. He handed me a note that had been slipped under the door.
“We should be inviting him, since he just moved in,” Mom said.
I tried to imagine it.
I read Mom my imaginary note.
“Sorry, Flossie,” Mom said. “But you know my late shift at the hospital makes it hard for me to cook the way I used to.”
“You mean when our oven was for baking pies instead of storing used shopping bags?” I asked.
“Someday I’ll cook again,” Mom promised. She put her coat on over her nurse’s uniform and gave me a kiss good-bye. “Don’t start any new businesses while I’m gone. And enjoy dinner in 15A, you lucky girl.”
Lucky? Me? Why not?
My beauty parlor hadn’t worke
d out, but my lemonade stand and old-toy sales were a success. If I could come up with a great idea for the Street Fair Fundraiser, people would definitely jump at a chance to join my team. I would have to turn them away because Ms. Cabot wouldn’t like it if our whole class was on my team.
After Mom left, I went to the kitchen, where Simon was finishing off a bag of chips.
Inside the fridge, I found food for his two pet rats, Mr. Salt and Mr. Pepper, and some smelly leftover tacos.
I pulled the tacos out of the fridge.
“I wouldn’t touch those, if I were you,” Simon said, shaking his head. “Toxic tacos!”
As I flipped the tacos into the garbage, I realized that dinner at Billy’s was the safest option for me that night.
4
AN IDEA
Billy is so glad you could come,” Mrs. Lark greeted me when she opened the door.
Was that why they had to drag him out of his room?
“We hope you’ll like pasta with Billy’s homemade tomato sauce and greens fresh from our garden,” Mr. Lark said, filling my plate.
“Yummy, yum!” I told him as soon as I could swallow.
Billy didn’t say a word, but Mrs. Lark cheered.
“Wonderful!” she cried. “These days, people are so used to food drowning in HFCS that they can’t enjoy anything without it.”
“I don’t even know what an HFCS is,” I was happy to let her know. “But I’m sure this tastes better.”
“Billy can tell you,” his father said.
“High-fructose corn syrup is a fake super sweet that they say makes lab rats blow up to twice the size of ones eating plain sugar,” Billy mumbled.
“Billy knows all about healthy food and how to prepare it,” his mother boasted. “He made this sauce from our very own cherry tomatoes.”
“He heated the tomatoes in oil till they burst and then added cheese to melt in at the end,” his father said. “Even though he’s not allowed to use the stove by himself yet, he’s a real chef.”
Billy’s ears turned as red as the tomato sauce. “We had such a huge crop this year,” his mother went on. “Our carrots were a foot long, and our cabbages were as big as your head.”
When Billy stopped eating and pushed away his plate, I wasn’t surprised. If I were called Cabbage Head on the first day at a new school, I’d never want to hear the word cabbage again.
After dinner, Billy walked me to the door.
“Thanks for asking me to dinner,” I said.
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “When Mom found out everyone called me Cabbage Head because of my lunch, she thought I needed a friend.”
“It wasn’t because of your lunch you’re called Cabbage Head,” I informed him. “It’s because you insulted ours.”
“I was trying to be friendly.”
“To be friendly, tell us that you like what we like, and leave the veggies at home.”
“Now I know why they call you Bossy Flossie,” he grumbled.
“What’s wrong with being bossy?” I asked. “It just means I have great ideas and know how to make them happen. I’m only trying to help you.”
“How does it help if I leave veggies at home? Mom says we have so much, we should give them away to a farm stand.”
“Give them to a farm stand?” I repeated.
Suddenly I began to tingle and glow from head to toe.
“Billy Lark,” I said. “Tomorrow, let’s talk.”
As the elevator carried me down to my floor, I realized maybe my mother was right.
I was a lucky girl.
5
LUCKY GIRL
The next morning, Ms. Cabot asked us what vegetables we would like to grow in the school garden.
Billy waved his hand in the air.
“Potato chips are ripe all year round,” he called out.
When everyone laughed, I was thrilled. Maybe Billy thought I was bossy, but he’d taken my advice.
But later, after he announced he forgot his lunch, I wondered if he was going too far.
“Try this,” Gloria said, offering him half her peanut butter sandwich. “On a scale of one to ten, it’s a seven.”
“It’s a ten,” Billy said after one bite. “Best thing I ever ate.”
“Then you never tried a Little Libby brownie,” Ephraim told him.
“Little Libbys don’t compare to Bozos,” Charlie argued, adding one to Billy’s heap of junk snacks. He gave everything he ate a ten out of ten.
By the time lunch was over, Billy had collected five treats and an invitation to Daisy Wilcox’s birthday party.
“This year my dad is buying the top party package from Perfect Parties,” Daisy bragged to Billy. “It includes a magician and the best buttercream cake in the world. I hope you can come.”
Since he was suddenly so popular, I hoped Billy would remember it was my advice that did the trick. I hoped no one would ask him to be on their team before I had a chance.
I was happy when we walked home from school together so we could finally talk. Since Gloria and Imogene didn’t want to be on my team, Billy and I could be the best team ever.
“You can’t pretend to keep losing your lunch,” I told him right away.
“I know,” he said worriedly.
“So why don’t we trade lunch every morning?” I asked.
“You would do that?” Billy was amazed.
“Why not? I love your food,” I said. “Also, we could sell those veggies your mom wants to give away at a farm stand for the street fair.”
“A farm stand?” Billy burst out laughing. “That’s wacky.”
“Wacky?” I cried. “Meet me in the lobby in half an hour with a few bags of vegetables, and I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
As soon as I got home, I found the folding table, money box, and price stickers from my lemonade stand. I pulled out plastic and paper shopping bags from the oven. Also, I took leftover stuffed toys from my last sale in case Billy didn’t show up.
But he was waiting for me with two bags full of veggies and a piece of paper he asked me to sign.
“Partners?” I cried. “I thought we’d be teammates.”
Billy looked at my folding table, shopping bags, and money box.
“Not yet,” he said. “Today we’re partners.”
“Partners,” I repeated. I began to tingle and glow from head to toe. “My Great-Grandpa Morris said, ‘Never make a friend a partner; make a partner your friend,’” I told Billy.
“So you mean it’s good we aren’t friends?”
That wasn’t what I meant.
“I meant I never had a partner who could become a friend,” I hinted.
“You never had free food to sell, either,” Billy said. “Though I don’t know who’ll buy plain old veggies you can find on any street corner cart.”
“They won’t be ‘plain old’ by the time I’m done with them,” I assured him.
When he saw how I set Bobby Bear in a forest of broccoli and Funny Bunny holding carrots with Ducky Doodle on a blueberry lake, he agreed.
“But it would be better to tell how the vegetables are organic and hand-picked,” he said.
“My great-grandpa told me, ‘It’s presentation that attracts the public,’” I insisted.
Right away our stand attracted the public . . . as an art project.
“No one should eat that,” said Mrs. Farnsworth from apartment 7B.
“Didn’t anyone tell you not to play with food?” Mr. Dobbins lectured.
After an hour, a chilly wind blew from the river.
I folded up my table and put the shopping bags and money box in a tote bag.
“You can keep the veggies,” Billy said. “Our fridge is stuffed. I’ve made enough tomato sauce, bean dip, and pesto to fill the freezer. My parents were right. No one co
oks anymore. They just want ready-to-eat.”
He took the contract out of his pocket and began to crumple it up.
“Don’t do that!” I cried. “We’re about to grow.”
“Grow into what?”
I began to tingle and glow from head to toe. “Ready-to-eat.”
“Ready-to-eat what?”
“Tomato sauce, bean dip, and pesto. Those would be great things to sell at the street fair.”
“But I’m not allowed to use the stove unless Mom or Dad are around,” Billy reminded me. “I can only do a few things on my own.”
“A few things are all we need for our Billy and Flossie Ready-to-Eat Treats at the Street Fair Fundraiser.”
“The farm stand was a flop,” Billy reminded me. “Why don’t you give up on a food stand?”
I didn’t tell him it wasn’t a food stand that I couldn’t give up. It was a partner and teammate.
6
READY-TO-EAT
Upstairs, my brother was looking through takeout menus.
“Chinese or Mexican?” he asked.
“Heat up some oil in a pan. I’ll tell you how to make Billy Lark’s tomato sauce with pasta,” I said.
While Simon boiled pasta, I told him to cook the cherry tomatoes in oil till they burst, and then cut in cheese to melt.
By the time Mom and Dad came home from their hospital shifts, we had the table set for a sit-down dinner.
“This sauce is delicious!” Mom exclaimed. “What do you call it?”
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