Read Penelope Crumb Never Forgets for Free Online Page B

laughs.
    That’s when I know I’m in trouble. Because Miss Stunkel does not laugh ever. I mean, never ever. Didn’t know she could, even. “People sure aren’t acting like themselves today,” I whisper to Leonardo, “and I don’t like it.”
    Meanwhile, the chalk dust from banging erasers must have drifted into my nose because even though I’m trying to be quiet, my nose has an awful tickle, and I let out a really loud sneeze. The erasers fall to the floor. Miss Stunkel says, “Penelope? Is that you?” I sneeze again and tell her that I’ll be right there.
    But as I bend down to pick up the erasers, something shiny in the corner by the coatrack gets my attention: a white sand dollar necklace, the chain piled in a clump. I scoop it up and examine it in the palm of my hand. The chain has some hair threaded through it, the color of cherry chocolate fudge. And right away I know whose necklace this is. I squeeze it tight in my palm and slip it into my pocket.
    “There you are,” says Mom at the door. “Come on in so we don’t waste Miss Stunkel’s time.”
    I return the erasers to the chalkboard, and Miss Stunkel tells me to pull up a chair next to her desk beside my mom. Then Miss Stunkel starts talking and talking, every once in a while looking at me with a face that says, Penelope Really Is a Bushel of Moldy Peaches. But that’s okay because I give her a look right back that says, Whatever You Say, Miss Stunkel. Even though I’m really not listening to most anything she says.
    Every once in a while I hear her say the words concerned and unruly and behavior problem. And odd. And then special and report and why museums are important.
    But my brains aren’t bothered with those words so much. Instead they are on the necklace in my pocket. I rub my finger over the words FRIENDS FOREVER . If anybody is going to be friends forever, it should be me and Patsy. It’s not that I don’t like Vera Bogg or anything, except for maybe all that pink. It’s just that when you start to lose someone, like your best friend, for example, you have to do something.

10.
    I n the car on the way home, Mom pushes the buttons on the radio and asks me what I think.
    “About what?” I say.
    She finds a station playing music that’s got no words. The fast kind that’s busy with a lot of instruments and noise and makes my head hurt. “About what Miss Stunkel said in there. What we talked about.”
    “Oh, that,” I say. “Fine. No problem.”
    “Really?” says Mom, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “Just like that?”
    “Yep,” I say. “Just like that.”
    “Okay, then,” says Mom, smiling. “Great.”
    Which makes me think that I should not listen to Miss Stunkel more often, because then everybody is happy.
    • • •
    At home, I lay Patsy’s necklace on a plate and slide it into the middle of the closet. Then I make a card about the necklace that says
    Sand dollar necklace belonging to Patsy Cline Roberta Watson, best friend of Penelope Crumb (except maybe not right now), found in hallway of Portwaller Elementary School.
    And one for the hair:
    Frizzed-out hair from Patsy Cline Roberta Watson, best friend of Penelope Crumb (used to be, and I hope will be again soon), found in the chain of sand dollar necklace.

    Before closing the door, I take one more look at the shoehorn and Patsy Cline’s necklace and hair and decide they could use some company. A dark, mostly empty closet can be kind of scary, after all. Patsy Cline is allergic to things with tails, but I’m not so sure about her necklace and hair. I, Penelope Crumb, don’t believe in closet monsters anymore, especially those with tails, but you can never be too sure, I guess.
    I scan my bookshelf. Behind my Max Adventure action figures, baby-doll heads (Terrible won’t tell me what he did with the rest of them), pet rock collection, and Mistletoe Mouse Woodland Family play set, is a heart-shaped tin that my aunt Renn bought me for my last