Read Online Anastasia Again! by Lois Lowry - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lois Lowry
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
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parents laughing. When she went back to where they were, her mother was giggling and had her father's pipe in her mouth, and her father was sewing a button on his shirt.
Since then, her mother had always done all the sewing. Anastasia couldn't figure it out. It was something like item number 124 in her list of things she absolutely didn't understand.
Now her mother was about to make curtains for the kitchen. The fabric, bright blue with yellow and orange suns and moons and stars all over it, was unfolded on the kitchen table.
"Those curtains are going to be weird," Anastasia said cheerfully.
Her father turned, with a tape measure dangling around his neck, and said loudly, "That's
it.
"
"
What's
it, Dad?"
"That word. Weird. I have heard you use the word
weird
at least four thousand times in the past week."
"But..."
"Anastasia, this is a household of verbal, articulate, intelligent people. We have an entire room filled with bookcases. In those bookcases there are dictionaries. Encyclopedias.
Roget's Thesaurus.
Anthologies of obscure Elizabethan poetry. There are a
hundred
words—at
least
a hundred words—that you could substitute for
weird.
"
"Name some."
He got a beer from the refrigerator. "
Strange,
" he said. "
Dreadful. Formidable. Ghastly. Unearthly. Demoniacal...
"
Anastasia could tell, when he got to
demoniacal,
that he was going to go on for quite a while. She grabbed a cookie and began to back out of the room.
"I'm going to take Gertrustein her goldfish," she muttered.
"
PHANTASMAGORICAL!
" said her father, and took another gulp of beer.
Anastasia closed the door quietly. Sam appeared on the stairs with wet diapers and rosy cheeks, coming down from his room after his nap. "What's the matter with Daddy?" he asked.
Anastasia shrugged and gave Sam half of her cookie. "He's being weird," she said.
***
"Frank, I'm going to take your buddy next door. I hope you won't miss him too much," said Anastasia. But Frank kissed the side of his bowl and wiggled his behind. He didn't mind.
Her novel in her notebook was open on her desk. Anastasia picked up her pencil and read what she had written so far, concluding with the footnote. It seemed enough for Chapter 1.
"Chapter 2," she wrote on the next page.
"The young girl decided," she wrote, "that one way to adapt to a new house was to make friends. And one way to make friends was to take them a gift.
"A lot of people find that food is a good gift to take to someone. Sometimes people make an apple pie, or a macaroni and cheese casserole, and they take it next door to their neighbors, and after that they are friends.
"But the young girl didn't know how to cook..."
Then she crossed that out. It was a novel, after all. It didn't have to be the complete truth.
"But the young girl didn't care much for cooking, although she was very good at it. Also, it was ninety degrees outside, and too hot to turn on the stove. So she decided to take her next-door neighbor a fish. It was not a
cooked
fish."
She read over what she had written, and it didn't sound just right. Anastasia scowled and tore the whole page out. Good grief : it was really
hard
to write a novel, even after you had a good title.
8
It was not easy to push the doorbell without spilling the goldfish bowl, but after a moment Anastasia managed a good shrill ring. After another moment, she could hear Gertrustein's shuffling footsteps and then her voice: "Who's there?"
"It's Anastasia again."
The door opened, and Gertrustein peered out. "Anastasia Again? It looks like Anastasia Krupnik to me! Hah!" The "hah" was a hiccuppy sort of laugh, which was more of a laugh than her dumb joke deserved, Anastasia thought.
"I brought you something. A goldfish."
Gertrustein looked at the goldfish and the goldfish bowl for a moment. Then she nodded and invited Anastasia inside. That was a relief. Anastasia had thought that she would have to
explain
about the goldfish. I guess when you get old, she thought, you get over
Since then, her mother had always done all the sewing. Anastasia couldn't figure it out. It was something like item number 124 in her list of things she absolutely didn't understand.
Now her mother was about to make curtains for the kitchen. The fabric, bright blue with yellow and orange suns and moons and stars all over it, was unfolded on the kitchen table.
"Those curtains are going to be weird," Anastasia said cheerfully.
Her father turned, with a tape measure dangling around his neck, and said loudly, "That's
it.
"
"
What's
it, Dad?"
"That word. Weird. I have heard you use the word
weird
at least four thousand times in the past week."
"But..."
"Anastasia, this is a household of verbal, articulate, intelligent people. We have an entire room filled with bookcases. In those bookcases there are dictionaries. Encyclopedias.
Roget's Thesaurus.
Anthologies of obscure Elizabethan poetry. There are a
hundred
words—at
least
a hundred words—that you could substitute for
weird.
"
"Name some."
He got a beer from the refrigerator. "
Strange,
" he said. "
Dreadful. Formidable. Ghastly. Unearthly. Demoniacal...
"
Anastasia could tell, when he got to
demoniacal,
that he was going to go on for quite a while. She grabbed a cookie and began to back out of the room.
"I'm going to take Gertrustein her goldfish," she muttered.
"
PHANTASMAGORICAL!
" said her father, and took another gulp of beer.
Anastasia closed the door quietly. Sam appeared on the stairs with wet diapers and rosy cheeks, coming down from his room after his nap. "What's the matter with Daddy?" he asked.
Anastasia shrugged and gave Sam half of her cookie. "He's being weird," she said.
***
"Frank, I'm going to take your buddy next door. I hope you won't miss him too much," said Anastasia. But Frank kissed the side of his bowl and wiggled his behind. He didn't mind.
Her novel in her notebook was open on her desk. Anastasia picked up her pencil and read what she had written so far, concluding with the footnote. It seemed enough for Chapter 1.
"Chapter 2," she wrote on the next page.
"The young girl decided," she wrote, "that one way to adapt to a new house was to make friends. And one way to make friends was to take them a gift.
"A lot of people find that food is a good gift to take to someone. Sometimes people make an apple pie, or a macaroni and cheese casserole, and they take it next door to their neighbors, and after that they are friends.
"But the young girl didn't know how to cook..."
Then she crossed that out. It was a novel, after all. It didn't have to be the complete truth.
"But the young girl didn't care much for cooking, although she was very good at it. Also, it was ninety degrees outside, and too hot to turn on the stove. So she decided to take her next-door neighbor a fish. It was not a
cooked
fish."
She read over what she had written, and it didn't sound just right. Anastasia scowled and tore the whole page out. Good grief : it was really
hard
to write a novel, even after you had a good title.
8
It was not easy to push the doorbell without spilling the goldfish bowl, but after a moment Anastasia managed a good shrill ring. After another moment, she could hear Gertrustein's shuffling footsteps and then her voice: "Who's there?"
"It's Anastasia again."
The door opened, and Gertrustein peered out. "Anastasia Again? It looks like Anastasia Krupnik to me! Hah!" The "hah" was a hiccuppy sort of laugh, which was more of a laugh than her dumb joke deserved, Anastasia thought.
"I brought you something. A goldfish."
Gertrustein looked at the goldfish and the goldfish bowl for a moment. Then she nodded and invited Anastasia inside. That was a relief. Anastasia had thought that she would have to
explain
about the goldfish. I guess when you get old, she thought, you get over
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