Beverly Quarter Chapter 4
On Tuesdays, I’m using this newsletter to publish a book called Beverly Quarter: Invisible Frenemy. I have been unsuccessful in trying to sell it to a traditional publisher. But I’m proud of it, and I don’t want it to just sit in my computer forever.
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 4
It was raining when Sally woke up the next day. She hated rain days. They were so boring. The only person who hated rain days more than Sally was her mom. She could never keep Sally occupied for more than 10 minutes at a time. It was anybody’s guess which her mom would run out of first, ideas to keep Sally occupied or patience for when Sally got bored with those ideas.
When Sally went upstairs after breakfast and didn’t come down or make a peep until lunch, Sally’s mom was not only baffled, she was worried. She thought Sally might be sick. She walked slowly upstairs, trying not to make any noise, in case Sally was asleep. When she reached Sally’s door, she knocked on it gently.
“Honey?” she said. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Her mom pushed open the door and was stunned to see Sally propped up on her chair with one book on her lap and half a dozen strewn around her.
“What have you been doing up there all this time?” Sally’s mom asked.
“Reading,” she said.
“Reading?” her mom said, stunned. “But you didn’t ask me for any of my cookbooks. And all of your riddle books are downstairs. And your rule books are all on the shelf. What are you reading?”
“This.” Sally said, and held up a book. It was called Clementine and the cover had a picture of a girl with orange hair doing a cartwheel. “And all those,” and she pointed to a stack on the floor.
“I … just … um,” her mom said. She was as speechless as she was after the frog incident. The big difference being she wasn’t mad. “Who …” she scratched her head “why” … she looked behind her to see if Sally’s dad was videotaping her and this was all an elaborate joke … “… how …”
“Mom, are you OK?”
She finally managed to eke out a complete sentence. “Since when do you like reading stories?”
“Since Beverly Quarter showed me how much fun it is.”
“Who?”
“Beverly Quarter.”
“Who’s that?”
“A friend of mine.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“At the park. She’s the one who helped me go down the slide.”
“Why haven’t I heard of her before—Wait,” her mom said. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t mean the slide? THE SLIDE? The both arms, both legs, hearing, vision, all gone at once slide?”
Sally nodded.
Her mom dropped the laundry basket. She started doing a silly dance she called the lawn mower. She had never cut the grass in her life—she had never even touched a lawn mower—but you’d never know it by her dance moves.
“YOU! WENT! DOWN! THE! SLIDE! That’s —”
“Mom! This was a few days ago. Didn’t Dad tell you?”
“NO!”
“Well I went down the slide like a thousand more times yesterday.”
“That’s so exciting. I’m so proud of you! And now you’re reading! Who is Beverly Quarter and why have I never heard of her before?”
“I don’t know, Mom. She’s a girl I met at the park.”
“Well she sounds nice. You should invite her over for a play date some time.”
“Really?” Sally was excited. A play date meant cookies and cakes and pie!
She couldn’t wait to invite her.