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

called Sandra called, said she’d call you later.”
    â€œOoooohhh,” Philip groaned. “Sandra’s having a BYOR party Friday night. That’s probably what she wants, to ask me to it.”
    â€œBYOR?”
    â€œYeah. Bring Your Own Record party. You think Dad will let me borrow some of his golden oldies?”
    â€œProbably not. You know how he is about those records of his.”
    â€œYeah,” said Philip dryly. “It’s like he likes ’em better’n he likes us.”
    â€œOh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Isabelle’s mother said without conviction.
    â€œFollow me,” Isabelle ordered. “If we’re gonna do this, we better get going.”
    She dragged Frannie off to her room. “Sit there,” she pointed to a spot, and, to her great surprise, Frannie sat.
    â€œFirst, the alphabet.” She went to the blackboard and wrote a big “A.” Here’s ‘A’. We have ‘B’. “And she wrote a big “B.”
    â€œListen,” Frannie said crossly, “I want to read. I don’t need all this baby stuff. I want to read grownup stuff. Newspapers, instructions on a box of Bisquick, things like that.”
    Isabelle had watched Mrs. Esposito and other teachers at work and knew the pointer was an important tool. The weasely little kids sat timid in their desks, looking at the teacher, who sometimes loomed very large in their minds, and every gesture the teacher made with her pointer let them know who was boss. She who held the pointer was boss lady, Isabelle had decided long ago.
    Isabelle worked her pointer as if she were conducting an orchestra.
    â€œIf you get too bossy, I’m checking out,” Frannie said.
    â€œFirst, spell your name,” Isabelle said in a cold voice.
    â€œF-R-A-N-N-I-E,” said Frannie.
    Isabelle wrote “Frannie” on the blackboard.
    â€œVery good,” she said. “Now. Your last name.”
    â€œDunn,” said Frannie.
    Isabelle wrote, “D-O-N-E.”
    â€œThat’s not the way you spell it,” Frannie said with a big smile. And she marched over to the blackboard and wrote, “D-U-N-N.”
    â€œHey, it’s your name, not mine, kid,” said Isabelle.
    â€œIsn’t the teacher supposed to know all the answers?” Frannie asked slyly.
    â€œAll right.” Isabelle got down to business. “Here’s the newspaper. This is our target for today.” Isabelle waved her pointer furiously. “Here’s a headline. Please read it, Frannie.”
    The headline said, “U. S. Debt Soars.”
    â€œU. S.,” Frannie said.
    â€œVery good. Short for United States,” Isabelle said.
    Frannie gave her a dark look and said, “I know.”
    â€œAll right. Next.”
    â€œDebt,” Frannie said, pronouncing the silent “b” in “debt.”
    â€œWrong,” Isabelle said. “You don’t pronounce the ‘b’ in that word.”
    â€œWhy not?” Frannie said.
    â€œI don’t know, you just don’t.”
    Her mother knocked and came in. “Here’s the book you liked so much when you were small, Isabelle,” she said, handing her a beat-up little book. “Maybe Frannie would enjoy it.” She went downstairs again.
    Isabelle opened the book to page one and said, “Sit here, Frannie. By me. This is an easy one. You sound out the words you don’t know and I’ll help.”
    â€œI don’t think you’re such a hot reader anyway,” Frannie said. “I ask you stuff and you don’t know the answers. I think I’ll go home.”
    â€œListen.” Isabelle shuffled off to Buffalo a couple of times, loosening up. “I’m teaching you to read whether you like it or not. Even if I have to sit on you, I’m teaching you.”
    But Frannie escaped. Isabelle stood at the window and watched her streak down the