Clementine is having a nervous breakdown. The family meeting! sign is up in her house and she just knows she's in trouble for something. Has she been too mean to her little brother? Too sloppy? Eating too much junk food? Try as she might to find out what's on the agenda, her parents won't reveal anything before the meeting. As far as Clementine is concerned, the agenda should be something like …
For Clementine, spring is a big deal. For one thing, it's time for the school trip to Plimoth Plantation. Clementine is ready for Ye Olden Times, but she isn't so sure about surviving lunch there - the fourth graders have strict rules about no eating sounds. And before that, Clementine will have to survive The Cloud on Bus Seven. Hearing the Pilgrim lady talk about why she made the long jour…
Ever since Stanley was flattened by a bulletin board, there are places he can get to that no one else can. So when Stanley receives a letter from an archaelogist, he travels by airmail to Egypt to help find an ancient treasure deep in the heart of a great pyramid. But what if even the flattest boy on earth can't wriggle out of this dark tomb - and the terrible mess he finds himself in?
This year I am in the gifted class for math. And here is the bad surprise - so far no gifts. I told the Principal Rice about that problem when she got back from claming down Margaret's mother. "So far no gifts," I told her, extremely politely. Principla Rice rolled her eyes to the ceiling then, like she was looking for something up there. Ceiling snakes maybe, just waiting to drip on you... …
Clementine can't believe her ears - her beloved teacher, Mr. D'Matz, might be leaving for the rest of the year to go on a research trip to Egypt! No other teacher has ever understood her impulsiveness, her itch to draw constantly, or her need to play Beat the Clock when the day feels too long. And in his place, he's left a substitute with a whole new set of rules, which Clementine just can't fi…
"We'll go through my talents alphabetically," said Margaret. She went to a shelf and pulled down her accordion. She looked at my hands and then she looked at the keys. She put the accordion back. "Fingerprints," she said. Then she handed me her baton. Which I dropped. "Baton twirling's out." "How about your clarinet?" I asked. Margaret shook her head. "Spit" "D is for dramatic acting class," sh…