Beverly Quarter Chapter 10
On Tuesdays, I’m using this newsletter to publish a book called Beverly Quarter: Invisible Frenemy. It’s got nothing to do with the rest of the content of this newsletter. I mean, for real: It doesn’t even contain the word burpee. But I think you’ll like it.
I wrote it to make my kids laugh, their friends laugh, and their parents laugh. I’m guessing most of you have kids, or know kids, or were kids, so you’re my target audience. I explain the book’s backstory here.
Give this chapter a read. If you like it, read it to your kids, their friends, their friends’ parents, random strangers on the street, etc.
I’ll keep publishing the newsletter as usual on Thursdays. This will just be bonus content.
CHAPTER 10
When Sally woke up the next morning, Beverly Quarter was gone. She ran downstairs full of questions. How long had the Falcos stayed? What did they talk about after Sally went to bed—this was a risky question, she knew, because it drew attention to the fact she was eavesdropping. But she thought if she asked it in the middle she would get an answer and avoid the scolding that might otherwise follow. When were they coming over again? Could Sally stay up later next time?
Her mom and dad just smiled. They were used to Sally’s rapid-fire question routine in the morning. They kind of liked it, actually. Her dad said what he always said: “Is that all the questions you have? Or should I go read for a while and wait until you’re sure you’ve asked all of them before I answer them?”
Sally thought for a minute. “That’s all of them.”
He took a deep breath. This was a game they played. He tried to answer all of her questions without breathing. “Theystayeduntil11whatwetalkedaboutisnoneofyourbusinesshopefullysoonno.”
“Oh, that’s no fair,” Sally said.
She forgot all about that when she saw what her mom was making for breakfast: Stuffed French toast. That was Sally’s favorite. It also made her suspicious. Her mom usually made it when bad news was coming.
“We need to talk to you,” her dad said.
Uh-oh, Sally thought. “About what?”
“Beverly Quarter.”
“What about her?”
Her mom looked at her dad. That look again. What did they know? Was it bad?
“The mud fight was not my fault!” she blurted out, and instantly regretted it.
“What mud fight?”
“Nothing,” Sally said. Eager to change the subject, she said, “Just focus, Dad. What about Beverly Quarter?”
“Well, honey, we’re really very happy that you have a new friend. She seems mostly nice. But, um, well I wanted to talk to you about her.”
“What about?”
Her dad and mom shared The Look.
“There’s that look again,” Sally said. “What’s going on?”
“Honey, Beverly Quarter is not real. She’s invisible.”
As her mom said this, Sally saw her flinch. That’s what she always did when she delivered what she thought was really bad news. She had done the same thing when she told her that her pet hamster had died.
“I know, Mom.”
“WHAT?”
“I know she’s not real.”
“You do? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even think of it. Is it OK if I keep playing with her?”
Her mom looked at her dad. He shrugged.
“I guess so, honey. But just remember, you know what’s right and what’s wrong. I’m not sure that Beverly Quarter always does.”