Free Sister of the Bride by Beverly Cleary Page A

neck, mounted his Vespa, and was off down the hill with a wave and a backward grin.
    Barbara watched the umbrella disappear around a bend in the road and, still smiling, she turned and walked into the house. Bill Cunningham. Thelast boy she had ever expected to notice her. She liked him. She really did. She liked him the way she liked the fizz in ginger ale and the cherry on a sundae. That was Bill Cunningham, and maybe this was the beginning of love. What fun it would be if someday they could look back and say, “We fell in love—plunk, just like that—while a stop light changed from red to green.”
    Barbara considered Bill and wondered what her father thought of him. There was one good thing—Bill’s name usually appeared on the honor roll—and, considering her father’s attitude toward grades, anyone’s grades, Barbara felt this was a real bonanza. She could not think of a single thing about Bill that her father could object to. He was a good student, he took part in school activities—but not to the extent that he could be called a big activity man—he was lively and full of fun, but he never got into trouble. He was, to use a phrase Rosemary used a lot since she went away to college, well-adjusted. There was however his Vespa to think about. Barbara wondered how her parents would feel about her riding around town on a motor scooter, but she quickly dismissed this small worry. If Rosemary had permission to get married, surely she could have permission to ride on a Vespa.
    Barbara went into the house and took a quick inventory of the kitchen cupboards for cookie ingredients. There were no nuts or raisins, which eliminated a lot of recipes right there.
    â€œI had an old dog. His name was Blue,” sang Gordy from his room.
    Barbara began to read cookie recipes. Brownies were out. She had no nuts. Checkerboard cookies. Too difficult. Refrigerator cookies. She did not want to wait for the dough to chill. Oatmeal cookies. Well…maybe. They weren’t really good without raisins. Snicker-doodles. She liked the name. Sugar, flour, shortening, egg…roll into balls the size of a walnut…dip in sugar and cinnamon. They sounded good, and the recipe made four dozen. Gordy would probably smell the cinnamon while they were baking and demand some, but she should be able to hide most of them….
    Barbara got out a mixing bowl and measuring cup, but before she set about baking snicker-doodles for Bill Cunningham, she added raisins and walnuts to the shopping list on the cupboard door. “I’m falling in love,” she whispered experimentally to herself, and found the words comfortable on her tongue.

Chapter 5
    The next evening, while Mrs. MacLane and Barbara lingered at the table and Mr. MacLane was enjoying his after-dinner cigar, Mrs. MacLane asked, “What are we going to do about Greg’s family? We can’t put it off any longer.”
    Barbara knew at least some of the answers, because she had skimmed through the book about weddings from the library. “The wedding book says the groom’s family calls on the bride’s family,” she informed her mother.
    â€œI know,” said Mrs. MacLane, “but if they are going to drive fifty miles to call, it seems as if we should offer them a meal. And if we are going to do that, I think we should simply ask them tocome for supper in the first place.” No one had anything to say to this suggestion, so she continued. “I wonder what the Aldredges are like.”
    â€œRosemary says Greg’s father has made a lot of money in the luggage business,” volunteered Barbara, “but he’s not terribly intellectual.”
    Her father scowled through a cloud of cigar smoke. “And since when did I raise my daughter to be a snob?” he asked.
    â€œNow what on earth did Rosemary mean by a remark like that?” demanded Mrs. MacLane.
    â€œOh…you know…” said