The Girls Take Over by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

moved back out into the hall and looked in the other direction, toward the holding cells, they found that someone, and Wally knew who, had pasted on the wall row after row of round yellow smiley faces, now grinning at the police chief.
    Wally couldn't tell whether Chief Decker was choking or coughing or laughing, and he didn't stick around to find out. All he knew was that he was racing down the hall after his brothers—out the front door of the station, down the steps, and then, as fast as they could go, toward home.
    But a block away, the girls were waiting for them. Caroline and her sisters were leaning against a tree, helpless with laughter.
    “You dumbos!” Jake yelled when he saw them.
    “Oh, come on, Jake. You know it was funny,” said Beth.
    “Yeah, what are you going to do? Fire us?” Eddie teased.
    “I thought the hippo in the pink tutu was the best,” said Caroline. “Sergeant Bogdan can keep it if he wants, sort of a reminder of what he's going to look like if he keeps on eating so many doughnuts.”
    “Well, you could at least have let us in on the joke,” Jake complained as they started home together. “I didn't know what to say. Bogdan kept looking at me as though—” He stopped suddenly. “That's why you put me in charge, isn't it?”
    “Clever boy! You figured that out in a hurry,” said Eddie. “Well, you worked us to death with all thatscrubbing, so we earned the right to a little fun. I'd say we're about even.”
    “I thought it looked nice!” said Peter. “The peppermints were good too!” He held out his hand and showed them a fistful.
    “See?” said Beth, laughing some more. “At least somebody appreciates all our work.”
    “I'd appreciate you a whole lot more if you'd just leave Buckman!” Jake growled.
    “You'd miss us. You know you would,” Beth cooed, and Wally noticed that Josh was even smiling a little.

Nineteen

Not Again!
    M rs. Malloy insisted that the whole family attend the countywide spelling contest that night, even though none of her daughters would be in it. “It's important to show our support for the language arts, just as much as it is to support the band concerts and ball games,” she said.
    “Why should I want to go see Wally Hatford win for the fourth grade?” Caroline whined. “ I should be up there onstage, not Wally.”
    “Caroline, you missed your word, so you should not be up there,” said her mother. “Those were the rules. Thinking things through and taking your time are important too, and you didn't do either of those. Now put on a clean shirt, and let's try to be at the school by seven so we don't have to sit at the very back.”
    It was almost more than Caroline could bear. It was like being a famous actress and having to sit in the audience while an understudy went onstage, playing yourrole. Wally Hatford was a good speller but he didn't like being in contests. He never even liked standing up in front of the room. Caroline deserved to be in that contest. She, who loved the stage and the spotlight, deserved to win for Buckman's fourth grade. She would have been so good at it. She could have worn her best dress, and she would have bowed to the audience when she won first place.
    She changed her shirt, and out the door they went, crossing the swinging bridge on a beautiful April night, and walked two blocks to the school. Cars were lined up on each side the street, for people had driven in from all over the county. The air was filled with the sounds of friends calling to friends, parents calling greetings to parents, and contestants laughing and chattering.
    The Malloys took seats in the middle of the auditorium and, after they sat down, discovered that the Hatfords—all but Wally, of course—were sitting in the same row across the aisle. Mrs. Malloy leaned forward and smiled, and Mrs. Hatford waved back.
    The contest began about fifteen minutes later, with a great deal of lining up and changing places and counting heads before the