"Babysitters Club 021 Mallory And The Trouble With Twins" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"Thanks," I replied, "but yes I do. I wouldn't if I had pierced ears and a better haircut,
though. I'd look at least twelve, not nerdy, and adorable."
Dawn smiled. "What would you do to your hair?" she asked me.
"I'm not sure. Cut it short, I think, so it wouldn't be such a wild tangle of curls."
"I want pierced ears and decent hair, too," spoke up Jessi.
"I want one more hole in my right ear." (That was Claud, of course.)
"And I want to get back to business," said Kristy.
And just as she said that, the phone rang. Kristy gave us a look that said, "See? We are here to do business, you guys."
But the caller was Stacey McGill, our former treasurer. Claud began shrieking, and begged to speak to her first. Then Dawn, Mary Anne, and even Kristy chatted with her.
Jessi and I grinned. Club meetings are great, especially when something fun like this happens. But part of me was disappointed. I hadn't gotten any suggestions on how to work with the troublesome twins - and I would have to face them again the very next afternoon.
Chapter 8.
Tuesday afternoon. I turned up at the Arnolds' at the regular time. Mrs. Arnold flurried out the door in a blur of jewelry, nail polish, and accessories. I heard the car door slam in the garage, and she was off.
I was sitting on the floor in the living room, the Kid-Kit opened in front of me. I was looking hopefully at the twins.
Marilyn and Carolyn, dressed in blue sailor dresses, red hair ribbons, white tights, and their Mary Janes, took off their bracelets, dangled them rudely in front of me, and dropped them on the floor.
"Good," I said. "Why should today be different from any other day? I think it would confuse me terribly if I could tell you two apart."
I don't know what kind of answer I was expecting from them. Maybe no answer. That was just something to say, something rude because the girls were rude and I was feeling cross.
"Poopah-key," said one twin in a voice as cross as mine had been.
I sighed. I deserved that. "Look," I said, rummaging around in the Kid-Kit. "Here's a sticker book. Oh, and Carolyn, I brought you a book about electricity. I borrowed it from
Adam. He's one of my brothers."
The girls remained standing.
"Do you want to look at the book?" I asked.
I was sure one of the girls was going to reply, "Which one of us is Carolyn?" Instead, the answer was, "Tibbie van carmin."
That was a first. The girls usually spoke English in the beginning of the afternoon, or if I asked them a question. This was the first time they had completely ignored me. Well, they weren't ignoring me, but they might as well have been. They were ignoring me in twin talk.
"How about puzzles?" I asked.
"Zoo mat," replied one twin. But at least the girls sat down then.
"Chutes and Ladders?" I tried. "Dominoes?"
"Perring du summerflat, tosh?" asked one.
"Du mitter-mott," replied the other.
"Okay. Go ahead. Have fun," I said to the girls. I pulled my copy of Dicey's Song, by Cynthia Voigt, out of my purse, sat on the couch, and began to read. The twins pawed through the Kid-Kit, babbling to each other.
After about ten minutes, one of them stood up and said, "Mallory, can I have an ice-cream sandwich? We have a box of them in our freezer."
My first reaction was to say, "Oh, thank
goodness you're speaking English again." But I didn't jump in with that answer, which I knew the twins were expecting. Out of the blue a very different kind of answer came to me, and somehow I knew that it was exactly the right thing to try. I didn't have anything to lose, and it might be kind of fun. At any rate, I could give the twins a taste of their own medicine. Fighting fire with fire.
I answered the question in pig Latin. "At's-thay ine-fay ith-way ee-may."
Marilyn-or-Carolyn looked stunned. "What?" she said.
"Oh-gay on-hay. I-hay on't-day are-cay."
The twins glanced at each other in confusion. The other one spoke up warily. "What are you saying?" she asked.
"I'm-hay aying-say at-thay oo-yay an-cay ave-hay a-hay ack-snay. O-say an-cay our-yay ister-say."
"I can't understand you!" cried Marilyn-or-Carolyn in frustration.
I smiled. "Oo-tay ad-bay."
"But can I have an ice-cream sandwich?"
"Ure-shay. Ine-fay ith-way ee-may."
The twin stamped her foot. Was she getting ready to throw a tantrum? I decided I didn't care if she was.
"I want an ice-cream sandwich!" she cried.
"Me too!" cried her twin.
"Ood-gay. Oh-gay on-hay. Ut-whay are-hay oo-yay aiting-way or-fay?"
"Talk to us!" demanded the twin.
"I-hay am-hay alking-tay oo-tay oo-yay. Oo-yay ust-jay on't-day understand-hay ee-may." I was speaking as fast as I could, which made the pig Latin sound even odder.
"Talk in English! Talk right!" yelled the foot-stamper.
I gave in. "You two haven't been speaking to me in English," I pointed out.
"Malvern toppit samway," said Marilyn-or-Carolyn.