TITLE: Scrapbook of a Tomboy Princess
GENRE: Middle Grade/Humorous Mystery
It’s not easy to escape from the long arm of the law, if you’re nine. And it’s impossible to escape from Grandma. Really, it’s not my fault I ran, the cop had a mustache. Mustache = Whiskers. I am scared of whiskers. All kinds.
Now for the details. The following pages include the cold hard truth, mostly, which is a good thing because lying = trouble from grown ups, especially teachers.
June 1, 2013
Jimmy and I were hiding very innocent like and spying on a few neighbors. Way up in Grandma’s tree house, no one could see us, not even our bratty little brothers.
It was high noon and the sun made my feet hot in my sassy high-heels. The Kleenex inside helped with my sweating toes. Of course, I’d climbed the ladder carefully, not wanting the bark to scuff the cuteness of my pink heels. When I reached the top, Jimmy had the binoculars.
From the tree house we could see every house on the street. So far we knew Mr. Keimayer wore boxers. Jimmy could also see into the graveyard, behind the spooky house on the corner. “Check it out, Pinky, John Evan Winklehauser. Died December 12, 1918.”
I scratched my pink wig and grabbed the binoculars, “Who cares about John Evans anyway. I want a snow cone.” I moved the binoculars until I could see. Broken doors, windows and chipped paint. Lots of gravestones that I didn’t want to see. Dead people scare me, because they’re dead.