This book is for
my goddaughter,
Rachel Andrea Eichhorn,
born July 2, 1990.
Welcome, Rachel Ann
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1 Karen and Ricky
2 Two and Two and Two …
3 Just a Girl
4 Just a Boy
5 A Is for Awful
6 The We Hate Boys Club
7 The We ♥ Boys Club
8 Buttons and Banners
9 “We Hate You Boys and Always Will”
10 Pamela’s Note
11 Football
12 Karen’s Great Idea
13 Brother’s Day
14 Chocolate Chippies
15 Ready or Not
16 Happy Brother’s Day
17 Karen and Ricky Again
18 “Bet You Can’t!”
19 “No Fair!”
20 “Home Run!”
About the Author
Also Available
Copyright
Karen and Ricky
“Gotcha!”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Did too. Now you’re It!”
Ricky Torres and his friend Bobby Gianelli were fooling around in our classroom. They were playing Kleenex tag, which you can play with almost anything. If you play with a paper towel, then the game is called towel tag. If you play with an eraser, then it is called eraser tag.
Kleenex tag is very easy to play. All you need is some Kleenex. Instead of tagging someone with your hand, you tag him (or her) with a piece of the Kleenex. The problem is that you can’t always feel a Kleenex tag. Which is why Bobby said that Ricky had not tagged him.
“Do over!” called Bobby.
“No. I’m not going after you again,” said Ricky. “I already got you.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
Bobby leaned over a desk and swiped at Ricky’s arm with his Kleenex. “Okay. Now I got you, so you have to get me back!”
Ricky ran after Bobby. Both of them ran into a desk.
CRASH!
It was a good thing that our teacher, Ms. Colman, had not arrived yet.
I looked at my best friends. We rolled our eyes. Boys are so silly. I can say that even though I am married to Ricky. He might be my pretend husband, but he is still a boy.
I have two best friends — Nancy Dawes and Hannie Papadakis. Nancy lives next door to Mommy’s house. Hannie lives across the street (sort of) from Daddy’s house. Nancy and Hannie and I call ourselves the Three Musketeers. We are very glad that we are all in the same second-grade class at Stoneybrook Academy.
I am glad Ricky is in my class, too. (Well, usually I am glad.) Ricky and I and another girl, Natalie Springer, sit in the front row because we wear glasses. I sit next to Ricky, which is good. But Hannie and Nancy get to sit in the back row.
There are some people in my class that I do not like. One of them is Pamela Harding. She thinks she’s so great. Two others are Pamela’s friends, Leslie and Jannie. They think they are so great, too.
I am not sure how I feel about Bobby Gianelli these days. I used to like him okay. Even if he is a bully. I liked him a lot when he was in the wedding that Ricky and I held on the playground. He wore a suit to school and everything. Still, I was a little cross. It seemed that lately Ricky was spending more time with Bobby than he was with me. I guess that was not Bobby’s fault.
Then I thought of something. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe Ricky felt I spent too much time with Hannie and Nancy. Or maybe I had done something wrong. Maybe I had done something to make Ricky angry.
But what? What could make him mad at his very own wife?
I looked at Ricky. He and Bobby had stood up. They had straightened the desk they had fallen over. (And they had checked the hallway to make sure Ms. Colman wasn’t coming.)
Now Ricky stuffed the Kleenex in one of his pockets. He pulled an eraser from another pocket. “Eraser tag!” he shouted.
Ricky had not even said hi to me that morning. Was he too busy? Had he not noticed me? Or was he angry?
I sat down at my desk to think.
Two and Two and Two …
I knew that Ms. Colman would arrive in about five minutes. So I had five minutes of thinking time.
I began by thinking about Ricky and feeling bad. But I couldn’t feel too bad. After all, it was a going-to-Daddy’s Friday. Most kids like Fridays anyway. But I like every other Friday the best of all. That’s because of going to Daddy’s house. My little brother, Andrew, and I get to spend the weekend at our daddy’s big house here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut.
Who am I? Oh. I guess I forgot to tell you. Well, I’ll take care of that now. I am Karen Brewer, and I am seven years old. Andrew is almost five years old. We both have blond hair and blue eyes. I have freckles, too. And I wear glasses all of the time. Not just for reading.
Mostly, Andrew and I live at the little house with Mommy. But every other weekend, and on some holidays, plus two weeks in the summer, we live with Daddy. Why do Mommy and Daddy have two different houses? Because they are divorced. Mommy and Daddy used to be married. But that was a long time ago. It was when they had Andrew and me. After that, they decided they did not love each other anymore. They loved Andrew and me, but not each other. So Mommy left the big house, where we had all been living. (The big house belongs to Daddy’s family. Daddy grew up there.) Mommy found a little house, and she and Andrew and I moved into it. Daddy stayed in his house. And then … Mommy and Daddy each got married again.
So Andrew and I have two houses and two families. At the little house are Mommy and Seth (he’s our stepfather), and Rocky and Midgie. They are Seth’s cat and dog. My rat lives at the little house, too. Her name is Emily Junior. Andrew and I live at the little house most of the time.
At the big house live Daddy and Elizabeth (she’s our stepmother) and a lot of other people, plus some animals. Four of the other people are Elizabeth’s kids. Sam and Charlie are so old they go to high school. David Michael is seven, like me, but a few months older. (He never lets me forget that.) Sam, Charlie, and David Michael are my stepbrothers. My stepsister is Kristy. She is thirteen. She baby-sits. She is one of my all-time favorite people. At the big house, I also have an adopted sister. Her name is Emily Michelle. (Emily Junior is named after her.) Emily Michelle is two years old. Daddy and Elizabeth adopted her. She comes from Vietnam, which is very far away. Another person at the big house is Nannie. Nannie is Elizabeth’s mother, so she is my step-grandmother. Nannie takes care of Emily while Daddy and Elizabeth are at work. And of course Andrew and I live at the big house sometimes.
These are the pets at Daddy’s: Boo-Boo, Shannon, Goldfishie, and Crystal Light the Second. Boo-Boo is Daddy’s big, fat, mean cat. Shannon is David Michael’s puppy. Goldfishie is Andrew’s goldfish, and Crystal Light the Second is my goldfish. (Crystal Light the First died. I gave her a gigundo nice funeral.)
Since Andrew and I go back and forth between Mommy’s house and Daddy’s house so much, we have two of lots of things, one at Mommy’s and one at Daddy’s. I have two bicycles, one at the big house, one at the little house. I have two stuffed cats. Moosie stays at the big house, Goosie stays at the little house. Plus, I have clothes and toys and books at each house. That is why I sometimes call myself Karen Two-Two. (I call my brother Andrew Two-Two.) The name came from the title of a book Ms. Colman read to our class. The book was Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang.
Mostly, I like being a two-two. I like having two houses and two mommies and two daddies and two best friends. But I do not have two of everything. For instance, I do not have two Ticklys. (Well, I do now, but I did not used to.) Tickly is my special blanket. There was only
one Tickly at first. And I kept forgetting and leaving him behind at one house or the other. Finally, I had to tear Tickly in half so I could have a piece at each house. I did not like doing that. Plus, I do not have two of Kristy or Sam or Charlie or David Michael or Emily or Crystal Light the Second. I miss them when I am at the little house. And when I am at the big house, I miss my rat.
Uh-oh. I had gotten way off the subject. I had not thought about Ricky at all. And now Ms. Colman had arrived.
Maybe I could talk to Ricky on the playground that day.
Just a Girl
All morning I thought about what I might have done to make Ricky mad at me. I did not pay much attention to Ms. Colman. Once, she had to say, “Karen?” three times before I heard her.
“Yes?” I replied.
“Could you please answer the question?”
“What question?” I asked.
Everyone laughed. Well, Nancy and Hannie did not laugh. But a lot of other kids did. Pamela and Jannie and Leslie laughed the loudest. (Ricky only laughed a little. But I did not think my own husband should have laughed at all.)
By recess time, I still did not know what I could have done to make Ricky mad at me. I decided, though, that I should make up with him. I would be very nice to him. Then maybe I could say, “Ricky, I’m sorry for what I did. Whatever it was.” And then Ricky would pay attention to me again.
Hannie and Nancy and I stood together on the playground.
“Let’s play hopscotch,” said Nancy.
“No, jump rope,” said Hannie.
“Hopscotch.”
“Jump rope.”
“Karen? What do you want to do?” asked Nancy.
“What?” I replied. I was gazing across the playground. I was watching Ricky. He and Bobby were tossing a football around.
“Hopscotch or jump rope?” Nancy said impatiently.
“I don’t know…. Look at Ricky over there.”
“Karen is not paying attention,” Hannie said to Nancy. “She will not be able to keep her mind on anything. So I guess we can’t jump rope. We need three people for that.”
“Yea! Hopscotch!” cried Nancy.
Hannie and Nancy pulled their hopscotch stones out of their pockets.
“ ’Bye,” I said to them. “I’m going to talk to Ricky.”
I ran across the playground to where Ricky and Bobby were playing football. I watched them for a few minutes. Then I called, “Hey, Ricky! Hey, Bobby!”
Ricky caught the ball that was sailing toward him. Then he said, “Yeah?”
I tried to sound very friendly. “You know what?” I began. “My brothers play football all the time. Sometimes I play with them.”
Ricky and Bobby looked at each other. Then Ricky said, “Yeah?” again.
“So can I play with you? I would really like to.”
Ricky did not answer at first. He looked like he was thinking very hard. At last he said, “Nah. You’re just a girl.”
“So?” I yelled.
“Why are you shouting?” asked Ricky.
“Because you called me a girl!”
“Well, you are a girl.”
“But that doesn’t mean I can’t play football.”
“Girls don’t play football!” shouted Bobby.
“I do!” I shouted back.
Ricky looked as if he were getting mad. “Not with us!” he cried. He tossed the football to Bobby.
I stamped my foot. “I’m not talking to you anymore, Yicky Ricky Torres.”
“Good!” he replied. (I do not think he meant it.)
I turned my back on Ricky.
Then I stomped away.
Just a Boy
Was I ever glad to go to the big house. I needed something to make me feel better. And a weekend at the big house usually makes me feel very good. Don’t worry. I like the little house. I like Mommy and Seth. But things are usually more exciting at Daddy’s. There are so many people and animals around.
I just love noise and excitement. (Andrew does not.)
The weekend at Daddy’s started off fine. On Friday night, we had strawberry ice cream for dessert. Then Kristy let me dress up in her clothes. And on Saturday morning, a bunch of Sam and Charlie’s friends came over.
That was when something went wrong with the weekend.
The big kids — Sam and Charlie and their three friends — were sitting in the living room. They were trying to decide what to do. They let David Michael and me sit around with them.
David Michael and I like the big kids. For one thing, Charlie can drive. His car is called the Junk Bucket. Driving is very important because you can go anywhere you want. If I want to go to a store or to a movie, I have to ask an adult to take me. But Charlie can just drive off in his car.
For another thing, the big kids are gigundo fun.
“So what are we going to do?” asked Charlie. He was sitting on the floor. He was all sprawled out. He was eating potato chips, even though we had just finished breakfast. (Daddy says that Charlie must have a hollow leg.)
“Nintendo?” suggested John Hastings.
“If I play another game of Nintendo, my brain will fry,” said Sam.
“Go over to Mouth’s?” said Charlie. (Mouth is another big kid. I am not sure what his real name is.)
“Mouth and his family are away for the weekend,” replied John.
“How about a movie?” asked Sam.
All the big kids seemed to like the idea. I glanced at David Michael. He was smiling. I smiled back. We love the movies.
After about a million hours, the boys decided what movie they wanted to see. It was a space adventure!
“Charlie?” spoke up David Michael. “Can you lend me four dollars?”
“What for?” asked Charlie.
“The movie. I don’t have enough money.”
Before Charlie could answer, I said, “I’ll lend you the money, David Michael. I’ve got enough for both of us.” (I had been saving my allowance for a very long time.)
“Wait a sec!” exclaimed Sam. “You guys aren’t coming with us.”
“Oh, o-kay,” said David Michael angrily.
But I did not give up so easily. “Puh-lease — ” I began.
“Karen,” Sam interrupted, “you wouldn’t understand the movie. You’re — ”
“I know, I know. I’m just a girl!” I cried.
I do not think Sam or Charlie or their friends heard me. John and Charlie had already left the house. Sam and the others were putting on their jackets. They were heading out the door. As soon as they had stepped onto the porch, I slammed the door behind them.
“Karen, you don’t have to be so mad,” said David Michael. “They wouldn’t let me come, either.”
“Oh, what do you know?” I cried. “You’re just a boy.”
“I can’t help it,” said David Michael. He was smiling. He thought that was funny.
I knew better.
A Is for Awful
I stomped off. It seemed like I was always stomping away from boys.
I stomped up the stairs, along the hall, and into my bedroom.
I slammed my door shut.
“BOYS ARE AWFUL!” I shouted to Moosie and Tickly. “You know what’s so bad about them?”
I picked up Moosie and made him shake his head.
“You don’t know?” I asked. “Okay. I will tell you. I bet I can think of something bad about them for every letter of the alphabet. I will even write them down.” I sat at the table in my big-house room. With a red crayon I wrote on the top of a piece of paper: BOYS. Underneath that, I wrote: A is for Awful, B is for Barf-breath, C is for Crazy, D is for Dumbbells …
I went right down the list. I had a little trouble with X, but finally I wrote: X is for X-tra Mean.
“Okay, Moosie? You see? This is how bad boys are. Well, not all of them, I guess. They are not all crazy, and they do not all have barf-breath. But, as a group … they ARE AWFUL!”
I read my list a few times. Then I thought
of something. Ricky is a boy. (Duh.) I had told Ricky that I would not speak to him. Now I had found out that all boys were awful. So I decided not to speak to any of them. I would not talk to Daddy or Seth. I would not talk to David Michael or Andrew or Sam or Charlie. I would not even speak to Boo-Boo, Midgie, or Goldfishie. (They are boy pets.) And I especially would not talk to Ricky or Bobby — or to any other boy in my class. It was a good thing that my best friends are girls. And it was good that Ms. Colman is a girl. I did not know how I could get through a day at school without talking to my friends or my teacher.
* * *
All that day I would talk only to Elizabeth, Nannie, Kristy, Emily Michelle, and Shannon. At first my brothers and Daddy kept saying, “What’s wrong?”
I did not answer them.
Then, at dinnertime, David Michael said, “I think Karen is mad at us.”
“At who?” asked Andrew.
“Us boys.”
“Me, too?” said Daddy. “I haven’t done anything.”
I leaned over to Kristy. I whispered, “I’m not speaking to any boys. They are all jerks. Tell them I said that.”
Kristy said, “Karen wants everyone to know that she’s not speaking to boys because they are all jerks.”
“What are you going to do at Christmas?” Sam wanted to know. “How are you going to sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what you want?”
I leaned over to Kristy and whispered again. Then Kristy said, “Karen says she’ll write Santa a letter.”
“Oh,” said Sam.
* * *
When I got back to the little house on Sunday, I was still not speaking to Andrew. And I would not speak to Seth or Midgie, either.
“Karen,” said Mommy, “I think you are hurting the boys’ feelings.”
“Well, they hurt mine.”
Mommy did not say anything. But later I heard her tell Seth, “Don’t worry. I’m sure Karen will just forget about all this.”
Oh, no, I won’t, I thought.
The We Hate Boys Club
The next morning, Mrs. Dawes drove Nancy and me to school. When I left the little house to go over to Nancy’s, I called, “Good-bye, Mommy! Good-bye, Emily Junior! Good-bye, Rocky!”
Karen's Brothers Page 1