Read Online Franny Parker by Hannah Roberts McKinnon - Free Book Online Page A

over her mouth, then stepped forward. “Wow, Pearl, that’s quite a look!” She inspected Pearl’s hair, hands wringing behind her back. I could tell Sidda was just dying to get a hairbrush.
    Pearl shrugged. “Mother’s been busy,” she explained. “Her garden club is setting up their booth for the big fair tonight, and I can’t braid it without help.”
    â€œOoh! Allow me!” Sidda clapped. Unknowing victims and hairstyling opportunities did not often present themselves together, and Sidda disappeared quickly to our room. I imagined her diving into her beauty drawer.
    â€œHey, Pearl, wanna hold George?” Ben was dangling the turtle dangerously close to Pearl’s hair.
    â€œBeat it, Ben! We have work to do.” Sidda returned and wedged herself between them in one deft move, wielding her basket of ribbons and brushes like a small army. She surveyed the battlefield, selected her weapon of choice, and pounced on Pearl’s hair with a purple comb.
    â€œOuch!” Pearl yelped.
    â€œBeauty is never pain-free,” Sidda said. She looked at me. “Observe one who has never suffered a day in her life.”
    I ignored this. I was too busy counting the Animal Funds donations in my coffee can. Forty-two dollars and seventeen cents!
    â€œReady to go to the fair?” I asked. I think Pearl nodded, but it was hard to tell. Sidda was tugging her head up and down with all those brushes.

    Half an hour later, with bows firmly tied in Pearl’s red hair, we were whizzing down back roads as Mrs. Jones navigated her “secret route” to the fair. The Grafton County Fair was the highlight of the summer for every kid in town. The fourth week of July a band of trucks rolled up Main Street and into the town park, pulling trailers of rides, game booths, and attractions. It was the one weekend of the year when every kid in Grafton skipped dinner to stand in line, when bedtimes were overlooked and you made every ticket count, weighing with care the choice of a cotton candy or one more ride on the roller coaster.
    Pearl and I leaped out of the car before Mrs. Jones had come to a full stop at the entrance gates.
    â€œNow, Pearl, you may ride the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel. No spinning teacups, no waterslide, and absolutely no bumper cars.” We stared at Mrs. Jones. This, coming from the most dangerous driver in town.
    â€œDon’t talk to strangers—they kidnap you. And no junk food—it makes you barf. Meet me at the Garden Booth by nine o’clock. We have books at home to read.” Mrs. Jones turned her attention to me. “Did Pearl tell you she was on her twelfth book? This could be our summer!” She clapped her pudgy hands together, and in the backseat, baby Mable clapped hers.
    â€œWoof!” barked Mable, as the car spun away from the gates.
    â€œSo, which is it?” I asked. “The merry-go-round or the Ferris wheel?”
    Pearl straightened Sidda’s pink bow in her hair and marched off. “Definitely the bumper cars,” she said.

Frog Hop
    W ell, well, look what fell off the merry-go-round!” Izzy handed us each a chocolate chip cookie in a red, white, and blue napkin. The ladies were working Grandma Rae’s bake stand, famous for its homemade pies and donations to the church.
    â€œCome with us to the frog hop?” I asked them.
    Ben had entered George and Martha in the competition. Dad tried to explain that there wasn’t much hope of either turtle out-hopping the frogs, but Ben argued that reptiles and amphibians were practically cousins, and finally Mama agreed to enter them. The judges had allowed it with amused chuckles, sensing little objection to two slow turtles being entered in a frog hopping contest.
    â€œBen’s trying to beat the Walker frog,” I explained.
    The ladies gasped.
    The Walker family lived on the largest pond in town and were known to bring unusually large