Isabelle and Little Orphan Frannie: The Isabelle Series, Book Three by Constance C. Greene

assignment?” and Mary Eliza flipped open her date book one more time. “What day is it due? What’s it supposed to be about? I’ll write it down so I won’t forget.”
    â€œThis isn’t anything for class,” Isabelle said. “It’s a story I’m writing and sending in to a magazine who might publish it. They’ll pay me money and I’ll get my name in print.”
    Mary Eliza bit her lip. Isabelle knew from the expression on her face that she wished she’d thought of writing a story and sending it to a magazine who would publish it and pay her for the story and put her name in the magazine.
    â€œThat’s great, Isabelle,” said Jane Malone. “What’s the name of the magazine? Maybe I’ll write a story and send it to them too.”
    â€œI forget,” Isabelle said. “I’ve gotta split now, Jane. See you.”
    â€œI don’t believe you,” Mary Eliza said in a booming voice. “That’s the first I heard that you can write stories for money and send them to a magazine. If anyone gets their name in a magazine, it should be me.”
    Isabelle flapped her elbows like a bird about to take flight and rocked and rolled around Mary Eliza some more. Who cared about old Sally Smith anyway? Sally Smith was a traitor, a breaker of promises. Who cared?
    â€œ Rolling Stones ,” Isabelle said, head bobbing, feet moving with the speed of light. “Rolling Stones ,” she said, opening the girls’ room door and rocking and rolling out into the hall.
    â€œIs that where she’s sending it?” Mary Eliza hissed. “Is that the magazine?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” Jane said doubtfully. “I think that’s who she’s dancing to. That’s the music she’s dancing to, I think.”

THIRTEEN
    After school Isabelle went over to Mrs. Stern’s, in search of some TLC. She wanted to talk about the ceiling falling on Aunt Maude. About her plans to teach an unnamed person to read and write. And she wanted to discuss people who promised to write to her and didn’t. All that and more.
    Mrs. Stern was in the backyard, weeding.
    â€œYou’re here in the nick of time, Isabelle,” and Mrs. Stern put out a hand. “If I stayed on my knees much longer, I might never be able to get up.” As Isabelle pulled her to her feet, Mrs. Stern winced. “You’re never old until your knees give out. Remember that, my child.”
    They went inside. “I know I have a fresh box of cocoa somewhere, but to tell the truth, Isabelle, I’ve been on such a tear I don’t know what I’ve got and what I don’t. Oh, here it is.” Mrs. Stern took out the cocoa. She poured some milk in a saucepan and stood at the stove, stirring it.
    â€œI was so sorry to rush off the other day,” Mrs. Stern said, “but John had made a reservation at the Yellow Cat and they won’t hold a table if you’re late. Please bring Frannie over soon. I promised you both a party. I scarcely had a chance to say hello. I hate being rushed. I seem to rush a good deal lately, what with one thing and another. Get the cups, please.”
    Isabelle got down the cups with a flourish. Then she opened a fresh pack of marshmallows and put one in each cup.
    â€œIt’s dining and dancing and Lord knows what gallivanting with John here,” Mrs. Stern said as they sat down. “I’m all worn out,” and she smiled, and Isabelle could see she didn’t look in the least worn out.
    â€œJohn must be a party animal,” Isabelle said.
    â€œIsabelle!” Mrs. Stern exploded in laughter. “I must remember to tell him that. ‘Party animal!’ Wonderful.”
    â€œHas he gone for good?”
    â€œNo, he’s visiting friends. He’ll be back again. To tell the truth, Isabelle, it’s nice having the house to myself.” Mrs. Stern drank her cocoa and left