Free Isabelle Shows Her Stuff: The Isabelle Series, Book Two by Constance C. Greene Page A

ideas,” Isabelle said.
    â€œThat’s okay. I know you tried. Maybe my grandmother will think of something.”
    â€œYour grandmother?” Isabelle stood on her head. “Your grandmother?” She liked the way the words came out when she talked standing on her head. They sounded odd, not like her at all. “I’ll bet she doesn’t know squat about getting into trouble.”
    â€œShe was a child once,” Guy said.
    â€œYeah, like about a hundred million years ago.” Spots began to dance in front of Isabelle’s eyes, but she stayed put.
    â€œShe may be old,” Guy defended his grandmother, “but she’s young at heart.” He’d heard that in a song on the radio once and thought it described his grandmother perfectly.
    Isabelle collapsed and lay outstretched on the ground. At that instant Herbie’s mother drove by. Herbie leaned out and yelled, “Hey, you finally got her! Yippee!” and the car kept going until it was out of sight.
    Made bold by this, Guy planted one of his feet firmly on Isabelle’s stomach, holding her down. “How about you and me fighting?” he asked, tempted to put both feet on her and take a little walk. But he wasn’t that bold.
    â€œYou whippersnapper!” Isabelle hollered, struggling to get up. Guy removed his foot and started running. He wanted to put distance between himself and her.
    When he looked back, she was standing there, shaking her fist at him. “You bozo!” she cried.
    Elated by an unaccustomed feeling of power, Guy waved and kept on going. He’d never stepped on anyone in his entire life. It was an exhilarating experience.
    When Guy got home, his grandmother was soaking her feet in Epsom salts.
    â€œMy dogs are barking,” she said, rubbing one dripping foot against the other.
    Becca turned her head, listening. “I don’t hear anything,” she said.
    â€œShe means her feet hurt, you whippersnapper,” said Guy.
    â€œYou’re getting feisty,” his grandmother said. “I detect the influence of the paper boy.”
    â€œWhen you were a child, were you ever bad?” Guy asked suddenly.
    â€œOnce in a while. The worst thing I ever did was try to sell my baby sister to some new people who moved on our street.” She threw back her head and laughed. “I wasn’t very old, only about four. And I was very jealous of my sister. She was getting entirely too much attention, it seemed to me. So when the new people moved in, I bundled up the baby and pushed her in her pram down the street. I rang the bell, and when the lady of the house came to the door, I said, ‘Would you like to buy this baby? She’s for sale. Cheap.’ I’ll tell you, they never let me forget that.”
    â€œDid they buy the baby?” Guy wanted to know. He was entranced with the story. If only he’d thought of that when Becca was little. It was too late now, of course. Nobody would want to buy a gifted child.
    â€œNo. They had children of their own. I would’ve tried it again but they kept a close eye on me from then on. Then there was the time I took my brother’s bicycle. Molly McCabe and I wanted to go on a picnic. I guess I had a bicycle, but the tires were flat or some such thing. Anyway, I took Bob’s. He was older than I and had a terrible temper. As luck would have it, he came home and wanted to ride his bicycle. And it was gone. Well, there was some fracas when Bob discovered I’d taken it, I can tell you. I was shut in my room without supper that night. We’d always been taught to respect other people’s property, you see. That was a fair old time. What fun we had! We never did anything really bad. Not like some of the things that happen these days.”
    Guy sat still, hoping she’d think of some other tales of her childhood. None of them were of any use to him, of course, except for the baby-selling one. If only