"Martin, Ann M - BSC029 - Mallory And The Mystery Diary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"Maybe you didn't dress like that every day."
"Maybe you did if you were rich. Was Sophie rich?"
"I don't know. I haven't found that out yet."
"Stacey's house is nice, but it's not a mansion. I mean, it doesn't seem like a house for a very rich family," mused Vanessa.
"No, you're right," I agreed.
Vanessa turned back to the mirror, and I turned back to the diary. I opened it again and began to read the January 1st entry. But I closed the book. I decided I wanted to save it for good bedtime reading one night.
Instead, inspired by Sophie, I opened my own journal and began to write in it:
I stopped writing. I had just looked at the clock. Five-fifteen! I had to get to Claud's right away! I hid my journal (Vanessa never even noticed), ran downstairs, and hopped on my bike. Boy, did I have news for my friends!
Chapter 6.
I tried to be optimistic in my journal, but I was feeling a little discouraged. I knew it wouldn't be my fault if I didn't turn Buddy into a reader, but I like good challenges and I don't like failing at them. Besides, I like Buddy, too, and I certainly didn't want to fail him.
My first session with Buddy fell on an afternoon when Mrs. Barrett had to work, but she was taking his reading problem quite seriously (even if she couldn't spend extra quality time with him), and had arranged for Jessi to babysit Suzi and Marnie, so that Buddy could have me to himself.
Jessi and I talked about the afternoon's arrangements on the playground at school that day.
"I think it's good that I get there first," said Jessi. "I'm supposed to arrive at three-thirty, right after school."
"And I don't arrive until four," I said. "Yeah, that is good. It'll be clear that you're the baby-sitter and I'm the tutor."
"You should probably work in Buddy's room at his desk with the door closed."
"Right," I agreed. "That'll be like school. Maybe Buddy needs help with things like con-
centrating and sitting still. A quiet room with a desk should be good."
Our plans were made. I was sure that tutoring would be a snap. Sometimes I play spelling and writing games with Claire. She's always an eager student. So promptly at four that afternoon I rang the Barretts' bell, feeling excited. Inside, I could hear Jessi call, "Buddy, there's Mallory. That's for you. Can you answer the door, please?"
I was standing on the Barretts' steps, all smiles, ready to introduce Buddy to the wonderful world of reading.
But the door was opened by a boy with a scowl so big that my smile faded immediately. I tried to appear bright and perky, though.
"Hiya, Buddy," I said. "Are you ready to get to work?"
"No," he replied sullenly. "I just got home from school. I don't want to do more work."
But he let me in anyway.
I walked inside, called hello to Jessi and the girls, whom I could see in the kitchen, and led Buddy upstairs and into his room.
We closed the door.
"Now," I began, "first of all, we're going to sit at your desk, just like in school."
"You don't sit at my desk in school," said Buddy.
"Well, you do," I replied, "and I'm going to pull up your other chair and sit next to you. You can pretend I'm your teacher. Who's your teacher?"
"Mr. Moser. I hate him."
"Oh. Well, I guess I don't look much like him anyway. I'll just be Mallory then."
Buddy shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "Whatever. I don't care."
"Okay," I went on. "Your mom said your teacher sent home a box of flash cards. Let's start with those."
Buddy groaned. "I hate flash cards. Almost as much as I hate Mr. Moser."
"Well, let's try them anyway. Where are they?"
Buddy slapped his hand to his forehead. "Darn!" he cried. "I forgot and left them downstairs." He flew out of the room and took a long time coming back. But at last he returned with the flash cards.
"Here they are," he said grimly.
I opened the box.
"Oh, wait!" cried Buddy. "I forgot something else, too. I Ч I need a drink of water."
I let Buddy leave to get some water. He must be a camel. He was gone for an awfully long time.
When he returned, I resolutely closed the door to his room, cleared his desk of toys, sat him in the chair, and pulled the other chair up next to him.
I opened the box of flash cards. As I did so, I got an idea. I remembered the movie Mary Poppins, and how Jane and Michael's wonderful, magical nanny would make fun games out of boring things.
"Buddy," I said, "as we go through these flash cards, we'll put the words you know right away in one pile, and the hard words in another pile. For all the words you know Ч or learn today Ч I'll give you a minute of free time at the end of the afternoon, okay?"
Buddy looked mildy interested. "Okay," he agreed.
The cards in the box were all mixed up. On some were easy, short words. On others were hard, longer words.
I held up the first card.
"Easy," said Buddy. " 'At.' "
"Good. One minute of free time." I laid the card on the table and held up the second one.
Buddy stared at it. " 'Check'?" he guessed.
"Almost. The word is 'chicken.' " I laid it next to the first card.
"Do I lose my minute?" asked Buddy, dismayed.