Chapter 3: Pal Publishing?
On Wednesday, we were in the McGillis’ apartment. The boredom had managed to sneak up on us again. Sally was over at Pete’s apartment with Anna Rose and Evelyn, and she told us to stay away from the kitchen. That killed any ideas about cooking.
“I vote we play mancala,” said Tim.
“Naw,” Johnny said sadly. “Our mom got rid of it because Lauri tried to eat the mancala stones.”
“I could get mine,” Tim suggested. His games are always in perfect condition because Amy makes him put each piece away one at a time and COUNT them.
Teddy ran in with a package. “Hey! Look what was in the mail box!” He ripped off the brown paper package and held up a pile of paper.
Pete snatched the top piece and read it out loud. “Dear Pal Publishing...”
“Pal Publishing!” Rory yelled. “What?!”
Pete shrugged. “I guess somebody thinks we’re book publishers. Looks like they sent us a story.”
“They probably got the wrong address,” reasoned Henry.
“Let’s have a look!” said Pete, staring to read the manuscript.
Henry was doubtful. “It’s a federal crime to read other people’s mail.”
“It was addressed to us. And it says Pal. So it’s legal,” Pete said. Henry couldn’t argue with these facts.
“Well, what’re we gonna do with it?” Tim asked.
“Let’s burn it!” Johnny suggested hopefully.
The rest of us stared at him.
“Or not,” he added quickly.
“Actually, we’re going to read it,” Pete said. “We can be the editors and mail it back to...” He looked at the package. “Susie Boyne.”
We all sat down. Pete read the story out loud, and we all commented on it. Johnny wrote down the comments in green pen in a notebook.
“The Tale of Shayla Callbert, by Susan Boyne,” Pete read.
“The what??!!” Tim yelled.
Pete frowned at him. “The Tale of Shayla Callbert. That’s what it says right here at the top of the page.”
“You mean it’s about a girl with a tail?” Teddy gasped.
“No! The other kind!” Pete said. He continued reading. “Fifteen-year-old Shayla Callbert whirled onto the movie studio stage, singing a wonderful pop song. All the tourists stared with delight.”
“What was up with them?” Johnny said to Henry.
“Especially one called Ashlee Harmon. Ashlee was a plain, dark-haired child of thirteen, and it was her dream come true to see Shayla live,” Pete read.
“My dream come true would be to have you not read the rest of this story,” Teddy said. “It’s terrible and girly!”
Pete nodded to Johnny. “Don’t write down that comment. And after the filming, the studio manager was going to announce the winners of the Shayla Callbert sweepstakes. Ashlee watched breathlessly as the announcer drew a slip of paper from the box. The announcer cleared his throat. ‘Our third place winner, who wins a set of Shayla movies is...Ben Bentley!’ A stout boy sauntered onstage, grabbed the set of movies, mumbled, ‘Yo, thanks, dude,’ and left.”
“Hey, that sounds like VidKid!” Tim said.
“What’re boys doing entering this sissy sweepstakes, anyway?” Rory demanded.
“Don’t write that, either!” Pete said, then continued. “‘Our second place winner, who wins a complete set of Shayla movies plus a two-years’ supply of movie tickets to the Shayla Grand Theater is...Waldo Wilson!”
“Another boy ‘excepted’ his prize. That was spelled wrong. Johnny, take a note of that. The first place winner, who got to meet Shayla, was a spoiled, pretty little girl named Viola Sugarplum. This ‘Susie Boing’ person has issues when it comes to naming their characters. Who would win the grand prize? Ashlee stood frozen, her heart beating.”
“Let’s HOPE her heart was beating.” Henry was skeptical.
“If she was standing frozen with no heartbeat this story would actually start getting interesting,” Johnny muttered.
“The grand prize winner, who got to be in a movie with Shayla, was——Ashlee Harmon!’”
“What’re the odds!” Tim exclaimed.
“That was SO contrived,” Henry said critically. (He got that word out of a review of some book.)
“Ashlee gasped and nearly fainted.”
Rory rolled his eyes.
“She hardly heard Viola bragging that Shayla was her mother’s aunt’s granddaughter.”
“In real life, relatives would NOT be allowed in that sweepstakes thing,” Henry said. “It’s not legal.”
“She and Viola were hustled backstage. Up close, Shayla was simply dazzling. Her cerulean eyes sparkled, and her strawberry-blond curls danced.”
“Hey! How can curly hair dance?” Rory asked.
Pete thougth for a moment. “Um...I guess it’s just a way to describe hair. Seeing Shayla’s short ermine dress and sparkling silver tights, Ashlee ashamedishly glanced at her own worn black jeans and her old sneakers.”
Henry was skeptical. “Ashamedishly? There’s no such word. That author needs to learn vocabulary.”
