Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Two-time Newbery Medalist Kate DiCamillo returns to her roots with a moving, masterful story of an unforgettable summer friendship.
Raymie Clarke has come to realize that everything, absolutely everything, depends on her. And she has a plan. If Raymie can win the Little Miss Central Florida Tire competition, then her father, who left town two days ago with a dental hygienist, will see Raymie's picture in the paper and (maybe) come home. To win, not only does Raymie have to do good deeds and learn how to twirl a baton; she also has to contend with the wispy, frequently fainting Louisiana Elefante, who has a show-business background, and the fiery, stubborn Beverly Tapinski, who’s determined to sabotage the contest. But as the competition approaches, loneliness, loss, and unanswerable questions draw the three girls into an unlikely friendship — and challenge each of them to come to the rescue in unexpected ways.
calls the police about a missing baton?” “I’m excited to be spending the night at your house,” said Louisiana. “Is there going to be dinner, Mrs. Nightingale?” There was a pause. “Who are you talking to?” Raymie’s mother asked. “I’m speaking to you, Mrs. Nightingale.” “My name is Mrs. Clarke.” “Oh,” said Louisiana. “I didn’t know. I thought that you had the same last name as Raymie.” “My last name is Clarke, too,” said Raymie. “Is it?” said Louisiana. “I thought you were Raymie
KateDiCamilloStoriesConnectUs.com. Follow Kate DiCamillo on Facebook at Facebook.com/KateDiCamillo. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. Copyright � 2016 by Kate DiCamillo Cover illustration copyright � 2016 by Lucy Davey All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic,
appropriate. It was actually a great tragedy, what had happened. That was what Raymie’s mother said. “This is a great tragedy,” said Raymie’s mother. “Quit reciting nursery rhymes.” It was a great tragedy because Raymie’s father had disgraced himself. It was also a great tragedy because Raymie was now fatherless. The thought of that — the fact of it — that she, Raymie Clarke, was without a father, made a small, sharp pain shoot through Raymie’s heart every time she considered it. Sometimes
permanent marker. He was stuffed with cotton that never dried out properly, and there were stones sewn into his hands and feet and stomach so that he would sink. He smelled of mildew — a sweet, sad kind of smell. Mr. Staphopoulos had made Edgar. He had designed him to drown. It seemed like a strange reason to be called into the world — to drown, to be saved, to drown again. It also seemed strange to Raymie that Edgar was doomed to smile through the whole thing. If she had made Edgar, she
was gone, and Raymie didn’t know any more than she had before. Martha led Raymie over to an old lady sitting in a wheelchair parked by a window. “Isabelle’s eyesight is not what it once was,” said Martha, “so she is not able to read like she used to.” “I can read just fine,” said Isabelle. “Well, that is just not true, Isabelle,” said Martha. “You are as blind as a bat.” Isabelle made a fist with her right hand and brought it down on the arm of the wheelchair. Wham, wham, wham. “Don’t bother