Read Online Quinny & Hopper by Adriana Brad Schanen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adriana Brad Schanen
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tell her. “Isn’t this fruity barrette kind of babyish for you?”
“Not at all,” says Victoria. “It’s fun and retro. And it’s my favorite shade of pink.”
I have no idea what retro means, but I do know something about colors.
“Hey, Victoria, you know, this barrette isn’t even pink,” I point out. “It’s red.”
“ Wa termelon insides are reddish-rosy-pink, which is still pink,” she insists.
She’s wrong about that. But I want Victoria to know I’m sorry. I want to find out what she’s going to do with my poster and where on earth she got a purse made of pink feathers. I want us to be real friends.
So, very sadly, very slowly, I take off the watermelon barrette and hand it to her.
Victoria clicks my barrette into her own hair, then pulls a mirror out of her feathery purse and admires herself. “T hanks! I knew this would look fantastic on me!”
Being generous is supposed to make you feel good. But all I feel right now is confused. Without my favorite barrette, my hair zigzags down in front of my eyes. I try to push it back behind my ears, where it doesn’t like to stay for long.
Victoria admires herself for a long time and then snaps her mirror shut, which makes a really loud noise that startles me. “Okay, now we can pla y,” she says.
Fabulous! Except Victoria doesn’t want to help me catch Freya. “Who cares about a crazy old chicken?” She doesn’t want to play fortune-teller, either. She doesn’t even know what a smelling bee is, poor thing, and when I tell her, she says, “Gross!”
Victoria wants to play fashion show.
“ We ’ll start by pulling together some outfits,” she says. “T hen we’ll set up chairs and make a runway. My great-aunt said you’re from New Yo rk, right? Let’s go check out your closet.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s dress Wa lter up for a cat fashion show! I bet that would cheer him up. C’mon, my mom’s got some goofy hats we could use.…”
I take Victoria’s hand and lead her toward my house.
“My great-aunt would never approve of that,” she says.
“Or we could have a zombie fashion show! Paint our faces green and walk around moaning and snarling—”
“It’s not even Halloween.”
“I know—that’s the great thing! People will think we’re real zombies and be extra scared!”
As we walk up to my front door, Piper pops out from behind a tree, like she always does. Barefoot, shirtless, dirty, and with a finger up her nose.
“What’s that?” Victoria asks.
“T hat’s my little sister Piper.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s four.”
Piper follows us into the house. And up the stairs, toward my room.
Victoria looks back at Piper like she’s a walking germ. “On second thought, let’s go back to my great-aunt’s house,” she says. “ We ’ll have more privacy there.” Then she calls out, “Mrs. Bumble, Quinny wants to come have lunch with me!”
I do? Victoria sounds so sure, but I don’t remember her even asking me.
Mom’s busy on the phone, but she waves back a yes. Victoria grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs. “Come on, I have a surprise for you, too.”
“A surprise?” Piper asks, all excited, as she follows us. My little sister loves surprises.
“Sorry, no babies allowed,” Victoria says with a sniff.
“Y eah.” I smile down at my filthy little twit-ster.
Victoria pulls me along some more. I turn back and see Piper’s disappointed face watching us walk away.
I don’t know what Victoria’s surprise is, but here is another surprise that is truly surprising: seeing Victoria be rude to Piper doesn’t feel good.
In fact, it almost makes me want to go back and hug my little sister. Almost.
On our way to Mrs. Porridge’s house, Victoria and I pass by Hopper’s house. I look up at his window. No one looks back out at me. So I pause for just a second, in case he is about to look out. I think about juggling. And feet. And that beautiful-weird picture book
“Not at all,” says Victoria. “It’s fun and retro. And it’s my favorite shade of pink.”
I have no idea what retro means, but I do know something about colors.
“Hey, Victoria, you know, this barrette isn’t even pink,” I point out. “It’s red.”
“ Wa termelon insides are reddish-rosy-pink, which is still pink,” she insists.
She’s wrong about that. But I want Victoria to know I’m sorry. I want to find out what she’s going to do with my poster and where on earth she got a purse made of pink feathers. I want us to be real friends.
So, very sadly, very slowly, I take off the watermelon barrette and hand it to her.
Victoria clicks my barrette into her own hair, then pulls a mirror out of her feathery purse and admires herself. “T hanks! I knew this would look fantastic on me!”
Being generous is supposed to make you feel good. But all I feel right now is confused. Without my favorite barrette, my hair zigzags down in front of my eyes. I try to push it back behind my ears, where it doesn’t like to stay for long.
Victoria admires herself for a long time and then snaps her mirror shut, which makes a really loud noise that startles me. “Okay, now we can pla y,” she says.
Fabulous! Except Victoria doesn’t want to help me catch Freya. “Who cares about a crazy old chicken?” She doesn’t want to play fortune-teller, either. She doesn’t even know what a smelling bee is, poor thing, and when I tell her, she says, “Gross!”
Victoria wants to play fashion show.
“ We ’ll start by pulling together some outfits,” she says. “T hen we’ll set up chairs and make a runway. My great-aunt said you’re from New Yo rk, right? Let’s go check out your closet.”
“I’ve got a better idea. Let’s dress Wa lter up for a cat fashion show! I bet that would cheer him up. C’mon, my mom’s got some goofy hats we could use.…”
I take Victoria’s hand and lead her toward my house.
“My great-aunt would never approve of that,” she says.
“Or we could have a zombie fashion show! Paint our faces green and walk around moaning and snarling—”
“It’s not even Halloween.”
“I know—that’s the great thing! People will think we’re real zombies and be extra scared!”
As we walk up to my front door, Piper pops out from behind a tree, like she always does. Barefoot, shirtless, dirty, and with a finger up her nose.
“What’s that?” Victoria asks.
“T hat’s my little sister Piper.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s four.”
Piper follows us into the house. And up the stairs, toward my room.
Victoria looks back at Piper like she’s a walking germ. “On second thought, let’s go back to my great-aunt’s house,” she says. “ We ’ll have more privacy there.” Then she calls out, “Mrs. Bumble, Quinny wants to come have lunch with me!”
I do? Victoria sounds so sure, but I don’t remember her even asking me.
Mom’s busy on the phone, but she waves back a yes. Victoria grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs. “Come on, I have a surprise for you, too.”
“A surprise?” Piper asks, all excited, as she follows us. My little sister loves surprises.
“Sorry, no babies allowed,” Victoria says with a sniff.
“Y eah.” I smile down at my filthy little twit-ster.
Victoria pulls me along some more. I turn back and see Piper’s disappointed face watching us walk away.
I don’t know what Victoria’s surprise is, but here is another surprise that is truly surprising: seeing Victoria be rude to Piper doesn’t feel good.
In fact, it almost makes me want to go back and hug my little sister. Almost.
On our way to Mrs. Porridge’s house, Victoria and I pass by Hopper’s house. I look up at his window. No one looks back out at me. So I pause for just a second, in case he is about to look out. I think about juggling. And feet. And that beautiful-weird picture book
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