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But even as the music swelled around them, the ballerinas refused to dance.
    They just sat.
    Julia could see the people in the audience shaking their heads and whispering to each other.
    â€œDANCE!” Madame screeched. She tried to lift Daisy to her feet, but Daisy’s body hung like a limp noodle, and she refused to stand up.
    Madame tried to lift the other girls, but they made their bodies limp, too.
    They didn’t look much like ballerinas, Julia thought.
    They looked more like boiled broccoli.
    Not one of the dancers was going to dance.
    Now this, Julia thought, was a news story.
    Julia set down her notebook and picked up her camera. As Madame pounded her stick on the ground, trying to haul her dancers to their feet at the same time, Julia clicked photographs.
    Click!
    Pound!
    Click!
    Pound!
    Click click click!
    POUND!
    â€œYOU ARE ZEE BALLERINAS!” Madame Robespierre bellowed. Her hair was flying from her bun in frightening wisps. “YOU WILL DANCE !”
    Julia took another photo.
    One by one, parents rose from their seats and climbed to the stage to scoop their pink-tutued daughters into their arms and walk out of the theater.
    And as they exited the stage, Julia noticed that each girl handed Sophie Simon what appeared to be a five-dollar bill.
    *   *   *
    By the time Mr. and Mrs. Pete got to the stage, Daisy was the last ballerina left.
    â€œMadame Robespierre,” Mr. Pete said. “I think I speak for everyone in this town when I say that my daughter will not be attending your school of dance ever again. I’ll be talking to the school board immediately and asking for your resignation. Your days in this business are over.”
    He turned to Daisy then, and held out a hand for her.
    Daisy slowly rose to her feet.
    She bent carefully at the waist.
    She took a long, deep bow.
    The audience went wild with applause.
    Julia couldn’t help but smile as Madame Robespierre ran off the stage.
    She knew for a fact that her story was going to make the paper this time. She even had the perfect headline.
    ROBESPIERRE GETS THE AX.
    Now, she thought, if only she could figure out a way for her best friend, Owen, to get that rabbit he’d been wanting for his birthday …

The Lemur at the Pool Party
    Sophie’s parents often drove Sophie bananas.
    But they had never driven Sophie more bananas than on that Sunday afternoon, as they dropped her off at Owen Luu’s birthday party.
    â€œOh, dill pickle!” Sophie’s mother gushed as they walked into the backyard. Kids were already swimming and splashing in the pool. The girls were wearing bathing suits, and the boys were wearing swim trunks. Everyone was giggling and happy and looked thrilled to be at a birthday pool party.
    Everyone, that is, except Owen and Sophie.
    Owen was wearing green dolphin trunks with a dress shirt and tie.
    Sophie had cargo pants on over her swimsuit, and her pockets were stuffed with objects she’d sneaked from home.
    Very, very strange objects.
    Objects she thought might come in handy.
    â€œOh, isn’t this exciting, jelly bean?” Sophie’s mother went on. “You’re going to have so much fun!”
    Sophie rolled her eyes to the right. She had not come to the party to have fun.
    â€œYes, biscuit!” Sophie’s father exclaimed. “I think this will be the perfect place for you to make some friends!”
    Sophie rolled her eyes to the left. She had not come to the party to make friends.
    Sophie Simon had come to the birthday party to make sure Owen got his rabbit.
    Then he would give her twenty dollars, and Sophie could finally buy the graphing calculator of her dreams.
    The Pembo Q-60.
    The latest model.
    She turned to her parents.
    â€œMom?” she said. “Dad? Can you guys leave now?”
    â€œOh, Maxwell,” Sophie’s mother said to her husband. “Did you hear that? Our little pudding pop wants nothing to do with us.”