Maybe they were thinking about what they might order.
Did her father think about her?
What if he had already forgotten her?
Those were the questions Raymie wanted to ask somebody, but there wasn’t anyone to ask.
“Why are you just standing there?” said Beverly. “Are you going to get the book or not?”
“Well, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “
I
will get the book.” She ran into the janitor’s office and grabbed Florence Nightingale off the desk and ran back out.
From somewhere in the Golden Glen there came another scream.
“I think we should go now,” said Louisiana.
“That’s a good idea,” said Beverly.
And the three of them started to run.
Outside, in front of the Golden Glen, Louisiana was holding the book, and Beverly was sitting on the curb, and Raymie was standing and staring at nothing at all.
“You said I wouldn’t be any help,” said Louisiana. “But I found the book, and I retrieved the book. And I freed the bird!”
“No one told you to free a bird,” said Beverly.
“Yes,” said Louisiana. “That part was extra, an extra good deed.”
Raymie’s heart thudded somewhere deep inside of her. Good deeds, good deeds. She was so far behind on good deeds that she did not think she would ever catch up.
“You —” said Beverly. But whatever she intended to say next was interrupted by the appearance of the Elefante station wagon. It came careening down Borton Street, emitting great clouds of black smoke.
“Look,” said Raymie. This was an entirely unnecessary directive. It would have been impossible to miss seeing the car.
The station wagon pulled up to the curb and screeched to a stop. A piece of decorative wood paneling was peeling off and hanging at an odd angle. It flapped back and forth thoughtfully.
“Get in, get in!” shouted Louisiana’s grandmother. “She’s right behind me. There’s not a moment to waste.”
“Is it Marsha Jean?” said Louisiana. “Is she hot on our trail?”
“Hurry!” shouted the grandmother. “All of you.”
“All of us?” asked Raymie.
“Don’t just stand there!” shouted the grandmother. “Get in the car!”
“Get in the car, get in the car!” shouted Louisiana. She hopped up and down. “Hurry. Marsha Jean is hot on our trail!”
Beverly looked at Raymie. She shrugged. She walked toward the station wagon and opened the back door. “You heard her,” said Beverly. She held the door open. “Hurry up. There’s not a moment to waste.”
“Come on!” said Louisiana. She climbed into the station wagon. Raymie got in after her, and Beverly got in last. She slammed the door shut, and it immediately popped back open.
The car accelerated so quickly that they were all thrown back against the seat. The broken door slammed shut and then opened again.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “Here we go.”
And they went.
Louisiana’s grandmother did not believe in stop signs, or she did not see them, or maybe she did not think that they applied to her. Whatever the reason, the Elefante station wagon went past every stop sign without stopping or even slowing down very much.
They were going very, very fast, and the car emitted a lot of noises: screeches (from the piece of loose wood siding), thumps (from the door that would not stay closed), and a cacophony of mechanical grinding noises — the overworked and desperate sounds an engine makes when it has been pushed beyond its limits.
Also, from the backseat it was not possible to see Louisiana’s grandmother’s head, and so it seemed as if they were being driven around by an invisible person.
It all felt like a dream.
“Don’t worry,” said Louisiana. “Granny is the best there is. She has outwitted Marsha Jean every single time.”
Beverly snorted.
At this point, the station wagon went faster — though a moment ago, Raymie would have said that this was not possible.
Raymie looked over at Beverly and raised her eyebrows.
“We’re getting the heck out of
Did her father think about her?
What if he had already forgotten her?
Those were the questions Raymie wanted to ask somebody, but there wasn’t anyone to ask.
“Why are you just standing there?” said Beverly. “Are you going to get the book or not?”
“Well, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “
I
will get the book.” She ran into the janitor’s office and grabbed Florence Nightingale off the desk and ran back out.
From somewhere in the Golden Glen there came another scream.
“I think we should go now,” said Louisiana.
“That’s a good idea,” said Beverly.
And the three of them started to run.
Outside, in front of the Golden Glen, Louisiana was holding the book, and Beverly was sitting on the curb, and Raymie was standing and staring at nothing at all.
“You said I wouldn’t be any help,” said Louisiana. “But I found the book, and I retrieved the book. And I freed the bird!”
“No one told you to free a bird,” said Beverly.
“Yes,” said Louisiana. “That part was extra, an extra good deed.”
Raymie’s heart thudded somewhere deep inside of her. Good deeds, good deeds. She was so far behind on good deeds that she did not think she would ever catch up.
“You —” said Beverly. But whatever she intended to say next was interrupted by the appearance of the Elefante station wagon. It came careening down Borton Street, emitting great clouds of black smoke.
“Look,” said Raymie. This was an entirely unnecessary directive. It would have been impossible to miss seeing the car.
The station wagon pulled up to the curb and screeched to a stop. A piece of decorative wood paneling was peeling off and hanging at an odd angle. It flapped back and forth thoughtfully.
“Get in, get in!” shouted Louisiana’s grandmother. “She’s right behind me. There’s not a moment to waste.”
“Is it Marsha Jean?” said Louisiana. “Is she hot on our trail?”
“Hurry!” shouted the grandmother. “All of you.”
“All of us?” asked Raymie.
“Don’t just stand there!” shouted the grandmother. “Get in the car!”
“Get in the car, get in the car!” shouted Louisiana. She hopped up and down. “Hurry. Marsha Jean is hot on our trail!”
Beverly looked at Raymie. She shrugged. She walked toward the station wagon and opened the back door. “You heard her,” said Beverly. She held the door open. “Hurry up. There’s not a moment to waste.”
“Come on!” said Louisiana. She climbed into the station wagon. Raymie got in after her, and Beverly got in last. She slammed the door shut, and it immediately popped back open.
The car accelerated so quickly that they were all thrown back against the seat. The broken door slammed shut and then opened again.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Louisiana. “Here we go.”
And they went.
Louisiana’s grandmother did not believe in stop signs, or she did not see them, or maybe she did not think that they applied to her. Whatever the reason, the Elefante station wagon went past every stop sign without stopping or even slowing down very much.
They were going very, very fast, and the car emitted a lot of noises: screeches (from the piece of loose wood siding), thumps (from the door that would not stay closed), and a cacophony of mechanical grinding noises — the overworked and desperate sounds an engine makes when it has been pushed beyond its limits.
Also, from the backseat it was not possible to see Louisiana’s grandmother’s head, and so it seemed as if they were being driven around by an invisible person.
It all felt like a dream.
“Don’t worry,” said Louisiana. “Granny is the best there is. She has outwitted Marsha Jean every single time.”
Beverly snorted.
At this point, the station wagon went faster — though a moment ago, Raymie would have said that this was not possible.
Raymie looked over at Beverly and raised her eyebrows.
“We’re getting the heck out of
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