I Barfed on Mrs. Kenly Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  A division of Penguin Young Readers Group.

  Published by The Penguin Group.

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.). Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England. Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.). Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd). Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi -110 017, India. Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.). Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa. Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England.

  Text copyright © 2010 by Jessica Harper.

  Illustrations copyright © 2010 by Jon Berkeley.

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content Published simultaneously in Canada.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Harper, Jessica. I barfed on Mrs. Kenly / Jessica Harper ; illustrated by Jon Berkeley. p. cm. —(Uh-oh, Cleo) Summary: When Cleo has a bout of carsickness on her way to a birthday swimming party, she is terribly embarrassed, but her friend’s mother helps her to forget the incident by encouraging Cleo to show off her talent for diving. [1. Sick-Fiction. 2. Embarrassment—Fiction. 3. Diving—Fiction. 4. Family life—Illinois—Fiction. 5. Winnetka (I11.)—Fiction.] 1. Berkeley, Jon, ill. II. Title. PZ7.H231343Iab 2010 [E]—dc22 2009003920

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18461-5

  1 3 S S

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  For Liza.

  JH

  For Mum,

  who was no stranger to

  baby barf in her time.

  JB

  Chapter 1

  The thing about Mrs. Kenly is, she doesn’t deserve to get barfed on, especially not when she’s wearing a fur coat.

  Of course it had to be me who barfed on her.

  I mean, some parents, well, you wouldn’t feel a hundred percent sorry if you threw up on them. (Like Mrs. Landon. She laughed at me that time I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe.) But whenever I go to my friend Katy’s, Mrs. Kenly gives us these huge chocolate chip cookies she keeps in the freezer. “Here ya go, kidlets,” she’ll say. Then she’ll sit and ask you how school was and everything. Not for hours, so you’d get bored or embarrassed, just long enough. Or sometimes she takes us to the movies. You know she doesn’t really want to see some movie about a princess or a dolphin or whatever. But she’ll take us anyway and act interested.

  I mean, Mrs. Kenly SO doesn’t deserve to get barfed on.

  What happened was, we were going to Courtney Kling’s birthday party and it was cold. I mean it was about a thousand below zero. If you stepped outside in your party coat like I did, you’d start shivering in one minute. So it was kind of weird and fun that the party was all about going swimming.

  Mrs. Kling belongs to a special club that has this indoor pool; even when it’s a thousand below, you can put on last summer’s bathing suit and dive in. Meanwhile, right outside, people are walking around with steam coming out of their noses.

  In the summer, we go to a pool near our house and swim like mad, every day. Plus, I take diving lessons from Mr. Jarvis. He is really tan because he’s ALWAYS in the sun showing kids how to dive. Also, he has a REALLY hairy chest (not from the sun, of course). When he puts his arms around you to show you the right position, it’s like you’re getting a lesson from a bear.

  I’ve learned four tricks so far: I can do a flip and I can do a handstand on the edge and then dive in. Also, I can do a swan dive or a jackknife.

  “There ya go, Ariel!” Mr. Jarvis’ll say after a good dive. He calls me Ariel, like the Little Mermaid from that old movie. “Born to swim, ya were, Ariel, born to dive!” he’ll say, with a pirate accent. When people call me Cleo, my regular name, he looks confused.

  Mr. Jarvis thinks I could be an Olympic diver if I want. “There’s gold in your future, Ariel, gold!” he’ll say. But the trouble is, when I try to dive backward, I feel like I’m lost in space. I flop on the water in some awful position, SMAPP! Plus, I can’t help it—I yell. The whole thing is just too embarrassing for words. So I don’t think I’ll be in the Olympics because you have to be able to dive backward without SMAPPing or yelling. I’ll just keep doing my four tricks, over and over. And that’s fine. I’m happy with my four tricks.

  Anyway, back to Mrs. Kenly and her fur coat.

  Chapter 2

  See, in Winnetka, Illinois, some people (ladies, mostly) wear fur coats because, like I said, it’s awfully cold in the winter. I know it’s a little weird—let’s face it, a fur coat is made of small brown animals. (Usually minks.) But me and my little sister, Lily, like it when my parents have a winter party and the fur coats show up. Then we get to play Dainty Ladies at the Ball, like we did on New Year’s Eve.

  We got two fancy glasses and two napkins and a plate of party food from the kitchen. We sneaked into my parents’ bedroom, where the party people put their coats. Mrs. Shell and Mrs. Landon and Mrs. Bulger all wore fur that night; the pile on the bed looked like a bunch of dead animals with a few coats mixed in. We laid out our little party, talking like Dainty Ladies at the Ball: “OOOOOH, haalllooo, Mister Creampuff, SOOOO nice to SEEEE you!” (We knew about the Dainty Ladies from watching the movie My Fair Lady about a billion times.)

  We borrowed high heels from Mom’s closet and then we each chose a fur coat. Mine (Mrs. Bulger’s) smelled like perfume. It was all silky inside, so it slid around over my pajamas. Lily picked Mrs. Shell’s because it was short, a jacket, so it only went to her knees instead of dripping on the floor like mine.

  We used straws for pretend cigarette holders, even though I don’t think anyone actually smoked at the My Fair Lady ball. They didn’t smoke at the party downstairs either, except for Mr. Bulger. He went outside with a cigarette about every five minutes. You could tell which coat was his because it smelled gross, like ashes.

  We ate mini-wieners wrapped in crust and snowman cookies with our little fingers stretched out. (That’s how Dainty Ladies do it.)

  “Oh, it’s simply delicious, isn’t it, dahling?” I said.

  “Oh, yes, mmm,” said Lily. She’s only four. I like playing with Lily because I can be the boss of her. If I played Dainty Ladies with my big sister, Jenna, I would DEFINITELY NOT be the boss.

  I made Lily check about every ten minutes to see if the guests were eating dessert. When they were, we rushe
d to put everything back. Then we went to play James Bond with Jenna and my twin brother, Jack. We sat at the top of the stairs with binoculars, spying on the guests.

  But let’s get back to Mrs. Kenly.

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Kling was driving a van to the party. I got the middle seat in the middle row, all squished in. Unlucky Mrs. Kenly got stuffed in next to me. Her beautiful fur coat splashed across my lap when she sat down, fumpf.

  The thing is, I always get carsick. When we drive to my grandfather’s house in the country, we have to stop a couple of times so I can get out and either throw up or just wait till the throw-uppy feeling goes away. My mother always brings a plastic bag just in case.

  She sings her barf song:“Always be prepared before you Venture out the door.

  For if you’re not, then what you’ve got is Throw-up on your floor!“

  I was NOT prepared when I got in the van with Mrs. Kenly. No bag and all squished in.

  Plus, Mom had made pancakes that morning, like she usually does on Saturdays.

  When I got downstairs, she was already on batch number two. She was singing her pancake song:

  “Hey, butter, batter, butter, ssssss, flip flap,

  Hey, butter, batter, butter, ssssss, flip flap.

  Flip flop, flapjack, can you do a flip, Jack?

  Hey, butter, batter, butter, flip flap, Jack.”

  The Little Three weren’t eating much. Quinn and Ray are only one and a half, so Mom always tears their pancakes into pieces. Quinn was pounding them flat with his fist, shouting, “Yah! Yah! Yah!” Ray inspected each piece, all concentrating. Then he sucked out the syrup and dropped what was left on the floor for Lucy, the dog.

  When they got bored with the pancakes, Quinn and Ray kicked their high chairs.

  “Dow! Dow! Dow!” they yelled.

  “Flip flop, flapjack, can you do a flip, Jack?” Mom sang louder, to distract Quinn and Ray. She needed to keep the boys locked in so they wouldn’t go crashing into furniture and eating crayons and all that stuff babies do when their mother is busy making pancakes.

  Lily was at the table, singing, like always:

  “Little lizard in my shoe,

  Please don’t eat my candy cane ...”

  Lily got the singing habit from Mom. Even when Lily’s chewing, she at least hums. So she never ends up eating a lot because who can eat and sing at the same time?

  But me and Jack and Jenna always eat tons of pancakes. And on the day of Mrs. Kenly, we ate extra tons. We ate until we couldn’t take the noise of the twins banging and Lily singing and we went upstairs to play. But my stomach was so packed, I needed to lie down for a minute.

  I climbed in my messy bed carefully. When I put a hand on my stomach, it felt like I’d swallowed a balloon.

  “Uuuuhhhh ...” I closed my eyes and hoped my stomach would go back to normal fast.

  “Cleo, are you getting ready?” Mom called from the kitchen. “They’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

  “Uuuuuhhhhh ...”

  It was party time.

  Chapter 4

  I put on the pink dress that used to be Jenna’s. I always get her dresses when she gets too big for them. Luckily, my great-aunt Minnie buys me a new dress every spring for my birthday. Otherwise I’d always look like last year’s Jenna.

  My blue party coat also used to be Jenna’s, but it has a velvet collar, so I don’t mind. I love the way that velvet feels on my cheek.

  Mr. Kling showed up, like I said, and I got wedged in between Mrs. Kenly and Courtney. Courtney was chewing this gross bubble gum. It smelled watermelon-ish, and she kept blowing giant bubbles. When they popped, poof, I’d get a big watermelon breeze in my face. That made my stomach feel REALLY iffy right away.

  In the way back, Maddy Goldstein and Emma Fox and Katy were singing:“The ants go marching one by one,

  hoorah, hoorah, The ants go marching one by one,

  hoorah, hoorah, The ants go marching one by one, the last

  one stopped to EAT A BUN ...”

  In the next verse, the ants go marching two by two and the last one stops to tie his shoe or whatever you could think of that rhymed. Then they’d go three by three, then four by four, and the song goes on for about a million years. This can be totally fun if you’re not in a crowded van and full of pancakes. But after about verse five, the thought of all those black bugs rushing around made me feel even iffier than before.

  Plus, Courtney and her mom and dad kept arguing about what to play on the radio. Mr. Kling wanted the football game.

  “Naw,” Courtney said. “I hate football! And it’s my birthday, so I should be radio boss!”

  “But ...” Mr. Kling loves the Chicago Bears.

  “Dan, just ... please,” Mrs. Kling chimed in.

  So Courtney got to shout “Change!” whenever she wanted to switch the radio station. This happened about every forty-five seconds because they kept landing on commercials.

  Some guy yelled about used cars:“I want YOU, on Michigan Ave-NUE!

  Get ’em while they’re HOT!

  No need to spend a LOT!”

  “Change!” (Watermelon breath.)

  On the next station, an actress screamed about toothpaste:“BRUSHA, BRUSH, BRUSH,

  DON’T BRUSH IN A RUSH ... !”

  It seems like people on the radio always think they have to yell or you won’t hear them.

  “Change!”

  “Honey, just gimme five minutes, please?” Mr. Kling was desperate.

  “Fine!” Courtney said, like it was so NOT fine, but they switched to the game anyway.

  “THAT ONE SPLITS THE UPRIGHTS AND THE BEARS ARE STILL IN THE HUNT FOR THE WILD CARD!”

  I wasn’t at all sure what the sports announcer meant, but Mr. Kling seemed happy.

  “YES!” he shouted.

  “Change!” Courtney ordered.

  “Aw, baby, just a couple minutes.” Mr. Kling was begging now.

  Between the radio wars and the ant song and the watermelon gum, I was feeling pretty rocky. I imagined the pancakes in my stomach making faces and complaining, like the twins do when they’re trapped in their high chairs.

  But what was I going to do, say, “Excuse me, you don’t happen to have a bag handy, do you? I need to barf quietly here in the backseat.” Or, “Excuse me, can you open the window and let in some air that’ll freeze your eyebrows off so I won’t throw up and ruin the party?” I mean, I couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be just as embarrassing as barfing, so I kept quiet.

  I closed my eyes, but that made it worse. I tried to look out the window, but all that stuff whizzing by made it REALLY worse. The pancakes wanted OUT.

  Chapter 5

  My stomach did a little roll. “Mmmbluh.” Of course, I didn’t mean to say this; it just popped out.

  Mrs. Kenly looked at me. “Are you all right, dear?”

  I’m telling you, she’s the nicest person in the entire universe, even if she is wearing a coat made out of small brown animals.

  “MMMBBluh. I’m fine, thanks.”

  “You look a little green.” Mrs. Kenly’s eyebrows went all worried.

  I FELT a little green, a LOT green, and when I thought about the color green, I felt even greener.

  The ant song got louder: “THE ANTS GO MARCHING

  THIRTEEN BY THIRTEEN,

  HOORAH, HOORAH . . .“

  Even though I felt about to explode, I wondered what they could possibly rhyme with thirteen—green, maybe?

  That did it.

  “MMMMMMNDBLLLLL AAAHHHHHHH!”

  It went all over my lap, which was covered with Mrs. Kenly’s beautiful fur coat. You could almost hear the little brown animals go, “Awwww, GROSS!” with their mouths all snarly.

  But Mrs. Kenly just said, “Oh, dear.”

  Everybody in the car turned to look, of course, even Mr. Kling, who was driving. He pulled right over. “Oh, my,” he said. “You poor kid.”

  Mrs. Kling said,
“My gosh, Sue, your coat.”

  “Oh, it’ll live.” Mrs. Kenly gave me a tissue that had pictures of the Eiffel Tower on it and helped me wipe my mouth. I wished

  I was dead. Well, not dead exactly, but unconscious or on top of the Eiffel Tower, far away.

  “Let’s get some air, kidlet.” Me and Mrs.

  Kenly got out of the car into the thousand below. Everyone else just kind of stared. Mr. Kling turned down the volume on the ball game a little, but you could still hear the Bears fans cheering, going wild.

  I was so embarrassed, I felt like I was on fire. I wanted them to just leave me there by the road and drive away so I wouldn’t have to be in the car, all on fire.

  “I’m soooo sorry, Mrs. Kenly.” I couldn’t look at her.

  “It’s all right, sweetie, don’t worry.” Even though she was the nicest person in the universe, her face looked a little bit like, well, like someone just threw up on her. She dabbed at the mess with another Eiffel Tower tissue.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Mrs. Kling asked. “Would you like us to take you home?”

  “NOOOO!” I said. I mean, I DID want to go home, of course, so I could lock myself in the bathroom and YELL until the embarrassment went away (which would probably take about fifty years). But I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. “I mean, no, thanks, I’m fine. Let’s just go.” I smiled, but I’m sure it looked really fake.

  “Are you sure, kidlet?” Mrs. Kenly asked.

  “Yes, thank you. I’ll be fine.” Yeah, I’ll be fine, in about the year 2059.