Roxie and the Hooligans at Buzzard's Roost by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor & Alexandra Boiger

Roxie and the Hooligans at Buzzard's Roost by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor & Alexandra Boiger

Author:Phyllis Reynolds Naylor & Alexandra Boiger
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atheneum/Caitlyn Dlouhy Books


● SUPERDISAMBIGUATION ●

“Where’s Smoky Jo?” Roxie asked, nudging Helvetia awake.

Helvetia slowly sat up and stretched. “Search me,” she said, yawning.

Smoky Jo had been the last one up the morning before—the one complaining that they were wakened too soon—so it seemed strange to find her gone.

Roxie poked her head out the door, but the second-floor hallway was empty, and when Helvetia went to check the bathroom, she came back to report that Smoky Jo wasn’t there, either.

Just as they were putting on their shoes, however, the small, wiry girl ambled into their bedroom, a wide smile on her face. “That was the best sleep I’ve had since we got here!” she declared.

“Where were you?” Roxie and Helvetia said together.

“I went up to the third floor and crawled into that crib, that’s what I did,” Smoky Jo told them.

“You slept with the ‘baby’?” Roxie exclaimed.

“Yep. That ‘baby’ is as big as a watermelon, all wrapped up in blankets. I just borrowed one of those blankets, wrapped myself up tight, and slept in that crib all the way through till morning.”

“What if old Thistlebritches had found you?” Helvetia asked, clearly worried that the hooligans might be sent home before the week was up. “What if he notices that someone was in there?”

“He won’t. I put the blanket back on the ‘baby’ and got out of there just in time,” Smoky Jo assured them. “She’s one heavy kid, let me tell you. Maybe I’ll peek inside all those blankets some morning and see what kind of invention it is.”

Roxie shuddered. Trying to stop the hooligans was like trying to tame a cyclone, and this was sure to end badly, she was certain.

The children had the breakfast table to themselves that morning, as both men were working up on the roof. Every now and then there was a distant clink or a muffled clatter.

“Can’t they be seen on the roof?” Roxie wondered aloud.

“Not easily,” Norman said. “There’s a balcony on the back of the house with a wall around it. I went out this morning with binoculars and looked up.”

“Old Six-Eyes-Norman,” Simon taunted. “Two on your head, two on your glasses, and two on the binoculars. If you ever lost your glasses, you couldn’t go anywhere, could you?”

The hooligans were starting to sound like they had back on the playground of Public School Number Thirty-Seven, Roxie thought. Now she was definitely beginning to feel sorry they had come along.

Perhaps Uncle Dangerfoot sensed this too when he came down for his own breakfast, because when he had finished, he declared that this would be another day at the beach—starting with a race. After chores were done, the children would compete to see who could run the fastest from the rocky boundary on the north to the inlet on the south. Mrs. Tumbledry would pack a picnic lunch, and afterward they would have the afternoon to swim and wear themselves out.

Roxie’s uncle was more enthused about the idea than any of the children, but nonetheless, the children



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