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

Jessi and I obediently closed our eyes.
"What fashion will we be seeing?" asked Jessi while we waited.
We could hear whispering.
"You will be seeing Beach Fashion," replied Margo. "Now open your eyes."
We opened them. It was all we could do to keep from laughing. My sisters were wearing bathing suits, knee socks, some old high-heeled shoes of Mom's, and a ton of jewelry.
"Impressive," said Jessi.
"Smashing," I added.
The fashion show continued until Claire got tired of it and said, "Margo, let's play Candy Land, okay? Best out of seven."
The girls disappeared. Jessi and I made a
quick check on the rest of my brothers and sisters. Vanessa was murmuring to herself and writing in her notebook. Nicky was patiently revolving a Ping-Pong ball around the yellow tennis ball. The triplets were rewinding the movie, getting set to watch it one final time.
"All quiet on the western front," Jessi said to me as we returned to the living room.
I laughed. Jessi and 1 had both tried to read that book and had hated it, even though it was a classic and we knew we were supposed to like it.
"You know," I said suddenly, "I am so glad you moved to Stoneybrook. I think we make awfully good best friends."
"Definitely," agreed Jessi.
"But you know what would make my life perfect?" I asked.
"What?"
"Getting my ears pierced and looking more grown-up. Or at the very least, more human."
"Dream on," replied Jessi.
Chapter 5.
Ding-dong!
I rang the Arnolds' bell, expecting to hear feet running toward the door.
Nothing.
After a moment, I rang the bell again.
"Marilyn? Carolyn?" 1 could hear Mrs. Arnold call. Silence. At last the door was flung open. "Hello, Mallory," said the twins' mother.
"Hi," I replied.
"Goodness, I don't know where the girls have gotten to. I'm sure they're here somewhere. I thought they would answer the door."
I stepped inside. Mrs. Arnold was patting the bow in her hair. I noticed that she was wearing three rings on that one hand - and nail polish, of course.
"Marilyn! Carolyn!" called Mrs. Arnold again. Then, "MARILYN! CAROLYN! I am going to count to three. If you're not here by then, you will be in big trouble. . . . One, two," (no twins yet) "two and a half, two and three quarters, I hope you like your bedroom because you'll be spending a lot of time there if - "
"Here we are! Here we are!"
Marilyn and Carolyn raced into the hallway. Inwardly, I sighed. They were dressed identically again. I guess I'd been hoping for ... I
don't know. But there they were - matching plaid dresses, white tights, black patent leather Mary Jane shoes, red ribbons in their hair, gold lockets, gold rings, pink nail polish, and (thank goodness) their name bracelets.
Mrs. Arnold took one look at her daughters and exclaimed, "Why, you switched bracelets again, you monkeys!" (How could she tell?) "Now switch them back. I hope you won't be teasing Mallory today."
Believe me, I hoped they wouldn't be teasing Mallory today, either.
The twins exchanged a disgusted look as they switched their bracelets, and I frantically checked them over for some sort of difference. Anything at all. A hole in somebody's tights, a chip in somebody's nail polish. Just something that would tell me which one was Marilyn and which one was Carolyn. But I could not find one difference.
"Well, good-bye, you monkeys," said Mrs. Arnold, adding a hat to her outfit. "I'll be back before you know it. Remember to practice for half an hour, Marilyn."
Mrs. Arnold left.
I stood anxiously in front of the twins. They stared at me. I held out the Kid-Kit as if it were both a shield and a peace offering.
"Kid-Kit?" I said. "You never did read those Paddington books. And I added some new puzzles, Carolyn."
"Go-blit?" said . . . Marilyn.
"Der. Blum snider," was Carolyn's response.
And with that, the bracelets were off, tossed carelessly onto a couch in the living room.
Oh, no, I thought. But all I said was, "The least you two could do is speak English."
"Okay," replied one twin. "Let's play hide-and-seek."
"Well ... all right." How bad could hide-and-seek be?
"We'll hide, you seek!" cried the other twin. "Stand in the hallway, cover your eyes, and count to one hundred."
"Okay." I covered my eyes and listened to the twins run off.
As they went, I thought I heard one whisper to the other, "In-bro duggan, tosh?"
"Tosh," was the answer.
I began to count. I counted out loud. I had learned to do that long ago, playing hide-and-seek with my brothers and sisters, who would accuse me of cheating and skipping numbers if I counted silently and then came looking for them before they'd found a hiding place. "... Twenty-three, twenty-four," I continued. (I
hate counting to a hundred.) ". . . Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! Ready or not, here I come!"