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holding the small red wooden boat, Anastasia felt a little ambivalent, a little guilty. It was a pretty terrible burden to place on Frank Goldfish, who was so accustomed to his small bowl and would very likely feel terrified in the bathtub. But Frank was tough. Frank could take it, she was quite sure.
    And, after all, it was worth it, Anastasia thought. Because now she was legitimately a woman who owned her own sloop.
Dear Septimus Smith,
    I will send you a photograph soon. In my next letter.
    I know you got a lot of mail so just to remind you, I am the one who wrote you three letters already. This makes four. I will send a photograph in my fifth letter.
    But the thing I wanted to tell you right away is that, even though I am not the woman who you are very interested in who has her own sloop, I am—ta DA!—
also
a woman who has her own sloop.
    The reason I didn't tell you before is because I just
got
my sloop. So mine is newer than the woman who already wrote. Well, that's not entirely true, because I have to be honest and tell you that what I got is a
used
sloop.
    Still, I thought you might be interested in knowing about my sloop, especially since I live near Boston and not in Sitka, Alaska.
    Please write soon, now that you know I have a sloop.
    Sincerely,
SWIFTY
    (Sloop-owner Writing Increasingly Frequently To You)

6

    "Frank?" It was Saturday morning, and Anastasia was whispering in a solicitous voice toward the side of the goldfish bowl. "Look at me, Frank. Please accept my very humble apology. I'm truly sorry."
    But Frank aimed his tail in her direction and swam listlessly to the opposite side of the bowl.
    Sam, kneeling on the rug beside his sister, said in a small voice, "I didn't mean to sit on him in the bathtub. But I was all slithery. Is he okay?"
    "I think so. He's just mad, I think."
    "He didn't completely squish or anything. I just sat on him for one weensy second."
    Anastasia sighed and tapped a little fish food into the bowl. "I think he'll be okay, Sam," she said. "We'll leave him alone for a while. I think his feelings are hurt. When my feelings are hurt, I just need to be by myself for a while."
    "Yeah, me too," Sam said. "My feelings are hurting right now because I mashed Frank. My feelings are hurting very, very bad."
    Anastasia put her arm around Sam's skinny shoulders. "It was my fault, really," she told her brother. "I shouldn't have let you take Frank in the tub. But I needed your sloop."
    "Yeah." Sam's voice was dejected. "Now I don't have a sloop. And I had a terrible time in the bathtub. And Frank is mashed. Three bad things in a row. " He held up three fingers and looked at them mournfully.
    Then he gazed at his sister with a sad, pleading look. "Can I have my sloop back?" he asked.
    "Nope. I traded for it fair and square."
    "I'll give you ten pennies," Sam suggested.
    "Sorry. No deal. Life is hard sometimes, Sam," Anastasia told him.
    Sam sighed. "Life is hard," he agreed. "I guess I'd better go eat a banana."
    "A banana?" Anastasia looked at him, puzzled.
    Sam headed for the stairs. "Yeah," he said. "Eat a banana and watch cartoons. That's what I do when life is hard."
    "Anastasia?" her mother called from the hallway below. "Your friends are here. Do you want to come down or shall I send them up?"
    "Send them up," Anastasia called back. Then she leaned over the staircase railing and watched Sonya, Meredith, and Daphne climbing the stairs toward her room.
    "Hi, guys," she said. "What's the big problem?" Meredith had called earlier and announced that there was a humungous problem that the four of them needed to deal with.
    All three of her friends kicked their shoes off automatically. Anastasia was already in her stocking feet. Meredith settled herself on the floor, and Sonya and Daphne sprawled on Anastasia's unmade bed. Anastasia sat backwards on her desk chair, her arms folded over the top of its back. She felt like a hard-bitten detective when she sat that way.
    "You have to speak softly,"