Pet a palooza, p.1
Pet-a-Palooza, page 1
To Gwen Agna, wise and kind principal, who brought Jackson the therapy dog to Jackson Street School. And to Gwen’s daughters, Nell and Kate, and their daughters, Esme and Franny.
-J.C.
For George, baby Harper, and for my dad.
-K.M.
Published by
Peachtree Publishing Company Inc.
1700 Chattahoochee Avenue
Atlanta, Georgia 30318-2112
PeachtreeBooks.com
Text © 2024 by Jan Carr
Illustrations © 2024 by Kris Mukai
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Edited by Catherine Frank
Design and composition by Lily Steele
The illustrations were rendered digitally.
Printed and bound in January 2024 at Lake Book Manufacturing, Melrose Park, IL, USA
First Edition
ISBN 9781682635360
Ebook ISBN 9781682635599
Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available from the Library of Congress.
a_prh_6.3_146382214_c0_r0
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE: A Different Kind of Treat
CHAPTER TWO: Pet Party
CHAPTER THREE: Booky
CHAPTER FOUR: Herding Cats
CHAPTER FIVE: Training Frisbee
CHAPTER SIX: Fuzzy
CHAPTER SEVEN: Fibber
CHAPTER EIGHT: Dog for a Day
CHAPTER NINE: Bodega Cat
One morning, Buddy noticed a stack of notebooks in his classroom. They were on a shelf near the book baskets. In second grade, they used a lot of notebooks. One for math. And one for science. But these notebooks just had their names on them. Nothing more.
Buddy looked at Joey, his best friend. “Where did these come from?” he asked.
Bea walked over to join them. She always stuck her nose in whatever Buddy was doing. She tried to pick up the whole stack. “Oof!” she said. “These guys are heavy. What are they for?”
Buddy shrugged.
“You mean, it’s a mystery?” said Bea. She waggled her eyebrows, like she was trying to look mysterious. But to Buddy, she just looked goofy.
“A Whirligigs mystery,” said Joey.
Whirligigs was the name of their class. Because whirligigs were maple seeds. And their teacher’s name was Ms. Maple.
Ms. Maple overheard them. “No mystery,” she said. “Those are your writers’ notebooks. I got them out since we’re about to start working in them. And to celebrate, I’ve planned a surprise.” She smiled. Mysteriously!
“Is it cake?” asked Bea.
“No,” said Ms. Maple.
“Pizza?” asked Buddy.
Ms. Maple shook her head. “Not food,” she said. “It’s a different kind of treat.”
All the Whirligigs crowded around.
“We’re going to have an author visit!” said Ms. Maple.
Oh. Buddy drooped. That was disappointing.
“What’s an author visit?” asked Bea.
“We had one last year,” said Joey.
“Yeah,” said Bea. “But I didn’t go to this school last year. Remember?”
“It’s when an author comes to our school,” said Buddy. “And we have to go to the auditorium to see them. Last year we were supposed to sit in front ’cause we’re still short. But we got there late. So the big kids had already taken our seats. And we had to sit in back. None of us could see anything. At all!”
“Oh dear,” said Ms. Maple. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“And we had a whole bunch of questions for the author,” said Buddy. “ ’Cause we’d read every book of hers. I waved my hand like crazy, but she couldn’t see me. She never called on any of us!”
Bea made a sour face. Like sucking on a lemon. “Author visits sound terrible,” she said.
“Well,” said Ms. Maple. “That one doesn’t sound like it was the best experience.”
“It doesn’t sound like a treat,” said Bea. “You know what would be a treat? Cake. Like I suggested.”
“Or pizza,” said Malik.
“Or both!” said Omar.
“Whirligigs,” said Ms. Maple. The class quieted. They liked their name. And they liked to hear Ms. Maple say it. “I’ve already scheduled our author visit. For later in the week.”
Everyone groaned.
“But,” said Ms. Maple, “I think this one will be a lot more fun.” She waved them over to the rug. She held up some books she had there.
“Picture books?” said Malik. “Those are for kindergarteners!”
“Oh no,” said Ms. Maple. “Picture books can be quite sophisticated. We’ll be reading lots this year. Has anyone read these?”
No one had.
Tamar read the author’s name on the covers. “Roxy Fox.” She made a face. “That doesn’t even sound like a real name. Is it a pen name?” Tamar knew everything about books. Her dad was a librarian. But Buddy knew about pen names, too. They were made-up names for authors. That sometimes authors used for their books.
“Actually,” said Ms. Maple, “Roxy Fox is her real name. And she’s a friend of mine. We’ve planned a cozy visit. Here in our classroom, not the big auditorium.”
“Just us Whirligigs?” asked Kaveh.
“Just us Whirligigs.” Ms. Maple lined up the books. “Before she visits, we’ll come up with questions to ask. And observations.”
“All her books look different,” said Marisol.
“Ah,” said Ms. Maple. “And why do you think that is?”
“Ooh! Ooh!” said Tamar. “I know! Because all the illustrators are different!”
“Exactly,” said Ms. Maple. “Roxy’s an author. Not an illustrator. Some authors do both. But Roxy has a different illustrator for each book.”
Ms. Maple opened the first book and started to read.
Buddy sat up straighten. He wanted to listen carefully. So he could come up with a good question. Maybe, this time, the author would call on him.
And Buddy wanted to have the best question of all.
On the day Roxy Fox came to visit, the Whirligigs were ready. They had a lot of things to say about her books. And they couldn’t wait to tell her! As soon as they settled on the rug, Buddy’s hand shot up high. But Roxy Fox wanted to read to them first.
“You don’t need to,” said Bea. “We already read your books.”
“True,” said Ms. Maple. “But it will be fun to hear Roxy read. That way, when you read her books on your own, you’ll hear her voice in your heads.”
“Her voice?” said Bea. “You mean like earbuds?”
Buddy put his hand back in his lap. It didn’t seem polite to keep it up while Roxy Fox was reading. But as soon as she finished, he raised it again. She didn’t call on him, though. The girls were all sitting in front, and they called out quickly, rat-a-tat.
“One thing we noticed,” said Priya, “is that all your books are fiction.”
“And you use a lot of poetic language,” said Keiko. “Even though they’re not poems exactly.”
“And all your books have different illustrators,” said Tamar.
“Because you’re only an author!” said Bea. “Not an illustrator, too. So I need to talk to you about that. Because when I write a story, I do the pictures myself. You should learn to draw. Like me!”
Roxy Fox laughed. “The truth is,” she said, “I’m not a very good artist.”
“Ooooh,” said Bea. “Don’t say that.” Her voice sounded fake and sing-song-y. Like she was trying too hard to be encouraging. “I bet you’re really good. Let’s see you draw something.”
“Right now?” asked Roxy Fox.
“Go ahead,” said Bea. “Try.”
Roxy Fox uncapped a marker. She drew on the big pad of paper.
“Is that a person?” asked Bea, squinting.
“It’s supposed to be a bunny,” said Roxy Fox. “See? I told you I wasn’t very good.”
“Oh nooooo,” said Bea. “It’s a really good bunny. Isn’t it, Whirligigs? Roxy Fox, you keep trying. If you try hard, you’ll get better.”
Buddy was getting impatient. Was this visit going to be like last year? When the author didn’t even call on him?
Roxy Fox pointed in his direction. “Yes?” she said.
Buddy froze. Did she mean him?
“You,” she said. “The student with the snazzy glasses.”
Buddy pushed his glasses higher on his nose. And then he forgot what he was going to say.
“Um,” he said. He stalled for time. “What I noticed…” Oh! He remembered! “Is that there are dogs in all your books. Every one. So my question is: Why?”
“Dogs?” said Roxy Fox. She looked surprised. “There are?”
“In the pictures,” said Buddy.
Roxy Fox opened her books and looked, one by one. Buddy was right. Each book had a dog. Different dogs, but there they were. In the art. In the backgrounds.
“Interesting,” said Roxy Fox. “I never mention a dog in the stories.”
“I don’t,” said Roxy Fox.
“Do you have any pets?” asked Marisol.
She didn’t.
“Do the illustrators have dogs?” asked Tamar.
“Well,” said Roxy Fox. “I’m guessing they do. Maybe they wanted to include their pets in the pictures. What do you think?”
Joey raised his hand. “I have a new puppy,” he said. “Her name is Frisbee. She likes to sit on my lap. And I give her rides in my wheelchair.”
Buddy chimed in. “I have a cat. Her name is Sunshine. Which isn’t really a good name for her. Because she bites and scratches.”
“My cat knocks everything off the table,” said Marisol.
“My guinea pig keeps me awake at night,” said Malik.
“I won my goldfish at the school fair,” said Tamar.
Roxy Fox looked a bit startled. “You all have a lot to say about your pets!”
Ms. Maple laughed. “Welcome to the World of Whirligigs!” she said. “My students have their own ideas. And, often, their own agenda.”
“We like to whirl things up together!” said Bea.
“You definitely do,” said Ms. Maple. “But let’s talk about writers’ notebooks. Since we’re about to start working in them.”
“Ah,” said Roxy Fox. “I’ll show you mine.” She held up a notebook. “Do you know why I call this my writer’s notebook?”
Was that a trick question? It seemed pretty obvious.
“Because you’re a writer?” said Tamar.
“Yes,” said Roxy Fox. “But it’s my writer’s notebook because I write notes in it. Observations. Snippets. Anything I want! Things that aren’t stories yet but might grow into them.” She picked up a marker and started a list on the big pad.
• Interesting words or bits of language
• Descriptions of people or nature
• Snatches of conversation I overhear on the street
“You mean you eavesdrop?” asked Priya.
“I guess I do,” said Roxy Fox.
“That’s not polite,” said Bea. “My gran said!”
“It’s not polite to spy,” said Roxy Fox. “But sometimes, we just overhear conversations. And that can help us understand people, how they think and talk. So we can create good characters.”
Ms. Maple rubbed her hands together like she was hatching a plan. “These are all good ideas for our writers’ notebooks. Right, Whirligigs?”
“Yeah,” said Malik. “We could eavesdrop on our pets. My guinea pig, Rocket, makes weird noises. Like squeaks. And whistles. He sounds like an alien landing!”
“Pets again!” said Roxy Fox. She added the word to her list.
• Pets
She smiled at the class. “It feels like we’re having a pet party here.”
“A Pet-a-Palooza!” said Ms. Maple.
Soon it was time for Roxy Fox to leave.
“It was good to meet you,” said Bea. “Even though you’re just an author. Maybe you should invite me to your house to do an illustrator visit. I could teach you how to draw.”
“I’m sure you could,” said Roxy Fox. She looked at Buddy. “And thank you for pointing out the dogs in the art. Your question started the whole pet discussion.”
Buddy grinned. It had!
He’d started the Pet-a-Palooza!
That afternoon, the whole class wrote thank-you notes to Roxy Fox. Everyone had something they wanted to say.
“I’m sorry you don’t have a dog,” wrote Joey.
“You must be really lonely without a pet,” wrote Marisol.
“Are you allergic to pet dander?” wrote Tamar. “Then you could get a goldfish, like me.”
“Don’t forget to practice your drawing!” wrote Bea. “Because if you don’t practice, you won’t get better!”
After the thank-you notes, they started their writers’ notebooks.
“Sunshine has sharp claws,” wrote Buddy. “I named her Sunshine, but she’s not sunny. She’s more stormy.”
He also drew a picture of her. Because Bea was probably right. If you didn’t practice drawing, you’d never get better.
“SUNSHINE”
Bea hadn’t started writing yet. She was making impatient little huffing noises. Like she was having a hard time getting started. She peered over Buddy’s shoulder to read what he wrote.
“Why’s she have a wrong name?” she asked.
“Because I named her before we knew,” said Buddy. “When we got her, I was happy. So my dads said, ‘Name her a happy name!’ We didn’t know yet that she was a biter and scratcher.”
“Her name should be Stormy,” said Bea.
Buddy shrugged. “You just have to remember. She’s the opposite.”
Priya leaned across from the next table. She was looking at Joey’s page. He was drawing a picture of a dog. “Is that your dog?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Joey.
“Is it a service dog?” asked Priya.
“No,” said Joey. “She’s just a dog dog.”
“My uncle trains service dogs,” said Priya. “To do stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” asked Joey.
“Important stuff,” said Priya. “Like save people.”
“Wow,” said Buddy. Save people? That was impressive.
“Once he trained a dog for a school,” said Priya.
“To save kids?” asked Buddy.
“No,” said Priya. “More like a comfort dog. So kids could pet him and feel better.”
Bea nodded, as if she understood. “Yeah,” she said. “Like if they got yelled at. Or had a time-out.”
“Or had to take a big test,” said Priya.
“We should get a comfort dog,” said Bea. “Could your uncle get us one?”
“I think it’s a long, complicated process,” said Priya.
“What about just for a day?” asked Joey. “Maybe a dog could visit.”
They asked Ms. Maple.
“That’s an interesting idea,” she said. But she seemed distracted. She’d been peering over their shoulders to see what they were writing. “Are you all writing about pets?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Tamar.
“You don’t have to, you know,” said Ms. Maple.
“We want to,” said Malik.
“It’s our theme now,” said Omar.
“Pet-a-Palooza,” said Bea. “It’s our…ah-Jedi. Like you said.”
“Agenda,” Tamar corrected her.
“But what if someone doesn’t have a pet?” said Ms. Maple. “Maybe some Whirligigs don’t.”
“Then,” said Marisol, “they could write about pigeons. In the park.”
“Or a cat in a store,” said Malik. “Like a bodega cat.”
Buddy nodded. He knew about bodega cats. All the little convenience stores in the city that sold soda and sandwiches had cats living in them. They were a thing!
“I don’t have a pet,” said Amber. “But I help my neighbors walk their dog. So I can write about that.” She pointed to Bea. “And Bea doesn’t have a pet, either.”
“Yes, I do,” said Bea. “A cat. I have a cat.”
“You do?” said Amber. “When I came to your house, I didn’t see one.”
“Because she’s shy,” said Bea. “With people. Other people. Not with me. You didn’t see her, but guess what? She saw you. I saw her peeking. From behind the chair.”
“Oh,” said Amber. “Wow. What’s her name?”
There was a long pause. Bea looked around the room. As if she’d forgotten the name and might find it there. “Booky,” she said.
“Booky?”
“Yeah, because he likes books.”
“ ‘He’?” said Amber. “You said ‘she’ before.”
“No,” said Bea. “You said ‘she.’ You must’ve heard me wrong.”
Buddy couldn’t remember. Had Bea said “she”?
“Well, which is it?” asked Amber.
“He,” said Bea. She started drawing in her notebook. A picture of a cat. “It’s my cat, so I should know if it’s a boy or a girl, shouldn’t I?” She held up her drawing. Like a dare. “See?”
