Free The Penderwicks in Spring by Jeanne Birdsall Page B

borrow a nickel from the sparechange jar by the phone.
    “Heads for asking Mom first, tails for Dad,” she said, tossing the coin high into the air.
    It was heads.
    Their parents arrived home in the late afternoon, bearing photographs of the car they’d bought after a long and arduous search. It was a blindingly bright turquoise minivan with a peculiar orange racing stripe across the hood, plus at least a dozen bumper stickers that no Penderwick agreed with.
    “It’s awful,” said Skye, looking at the pictures.
    “We know,” said Iantha. “But we got them to knock five hundred off for the racing stripe.”
    “And another hundred off for the bumper stickers,” said Mr. Penderwick. “And we can bring it home this week.”
    “It’s flashy,” said Ben admiringly. He liked the orange racing stripe.
    “
Flashy
is just the right word,” said Jane. “I hereby dub it Flashvan, and we can scrape off the bumper stickers.”
    “And Lydia’s big-girl bed will be delivered on Thursday,” said Iantha. “She helped pick it out, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
    Lydia put on her I-can’t-hear-you face and showed Asimov the balloon she’d been given by the car saleswoman. Under the impression that every floatingthing was a bird, he gave it an irate swipe. The balloon popped, and Lydia crumpled into loud misery.
    “She needs a nap,” said Iantha, gathering her up and heading toward the steps.
    Ben poked Batty. “Follow them,” he whispered.
    She shook her head. No one could be receptive to daughter-run businesses with Lydia wailing in their ear. But when Iantha came back downstairs, she was never alone long enough for Batty to tackle her with PWTW. It wasn’t until dinner was over, when her mom went into the basement to do laundry, that Batty got her chance. She followed Iantha down the creaky wooden steps, nervously clutching her list of odd jobs, now a neatly typed and official-looking flyer.
    Batty had always been fascinated by the basement, with its hulking, humming furnace, the maze of overhead pipes, dim corners full of shadows, plus the hoarded treasures of years past—dusty vases, broken chairs, battered Frisbees, ancient clocks with their hands all set to different times, discarded doors and windows from earlier versions of the house, and one mysterious and solitary wooden shutter that seemed never to have belonged anywhere.
    Tonight wasn’t the time to linger and look about, though. The washer and dryer were along the back wall, and that’s where Batty found Iantha. She was leaning over the washer, pulling out wet laundry one piece at a time, each sparkling where it had never sparkled before. “Glitter. Glitter. More glitter.”
    “Where did it all come from?” asked Batty.
    “Aha!” Iantha pulled a small plastic tube from the pocket of a tiny pair of flowered jeans. The tube was labeled GLITTER , it had no cap, and it was empty. “Lydia must be bringing home art supplies from Goldie’s again.”
    This wasn’t the first Lydia-versus-laundry mishap. The last time it had been a purple crayon that melted all over Ben’s shirts. He was going to hate glitter even more.
    “Maybe she shouldn’t be allowed to have pockets.”
    “Too late.” Iantha pulled out Skye’s favorite soccer jersey, all asparkle. “I’ll have to wash this load again.”
    “Mom.” Batty readied her PWTW flyer. “I want to start a business.”
    “Glitter removal, I hope.”
    “Mom!”
    Iantha let drop a twinkling sock and turned to Batty. “You’re serious?”
    “I want to make some money.”
    “Honey, what could you want that you think we can’t buy for you? Do you need new clothes?”
    “No, I thought I’d use it for music stuff.” She held her breath, hoping that
stuff
would work for her mom as well as it had for Ben.
    It didn’t. “What kind of stuff?” Iantha asked.
    “Like records and sheet music and maybe I’ll want more music lessons someday,” she burbled, hoping that the definition of
someday
really