Monkey Business

  For Lucy and Leo,

  my favorite monkeys

  Contents

  Chapter One: The Big Move

  Chapter Two: The Trouble with Texting

  Chapter Three: The Panda Parade

  Chapter Four: Needed: Cold Hard Cash

  Chapter Five: The Perfect Plan

  Chapter Six: When Life gives you Lemons, do not make Lemonade

  Chapter Seven: Shop Till you Drop … a Huge Wad of Cash!

  Chapter Eight: The Sting of it

  Chapter Nine: Washed-up at the Car Wash—and not in a Good Way

  Chapter Ten: Who’s Afraid of the Dark?

  Chapter Eleven: Mystery Text

  Chapter Twelve: Leave them in Stitches!

  Chapter Thirteen: Sock Puppets to the Rescue

  Chapter Fourteen: Crafting Emergencies

  Chapter Fifteen: Unhappy Birthday

  Chapter Sixteen: Disaster Zone

  Chapter Seventeen: Clemson Court Reunion

  Chapter Eighteen: At Long Last, the Panda Parade

  Books by Leslie Margolis

  Chapter One

  The Big Move

  I woke up early on Saturday morning and panicked—big time!

  The problem? I had no idea where I was. Sunlight streamed in through large, pretty but unfamiliar-looking picture windows. It made bright rectangles on the plush peach carpet below.

  Peach carpet, I thought. My room doesn’t have peach carpet. And it’s not this big. Where am I and what am I doing in this place? Was I kidnapped by aliens in my sleep? Am I on a spaceship hurtling toward Mars? And if so, who knew spaceship bedrooms looked so much like human ones? And how come I don’t feel as if I’m racing through the stratosphere? Have those aliens already messed with my brain? With their special alien brain scrambler?

  I took a deep breath and tried not to panic.

  Then I tried to figure out what a special alien brain scrambler would look like.

  It would have a lot of wires and blinking lights, I decided as I rubbed my eyes. That’s when I realized I was under my favorite blanket. It’s fuzzy, blue, and flannel with pink polka dots. My blanket happened to be on my trusty old bed, which is twin-size with a wooden headboard. The rest of my bedroom furniture was in this strange new place too: desk, bookshelf, and dresser all in a row on the opposite wall. Hmm. All my familiar stuff was there, except my bedroom wasn’t what I was used to.

  I was seriously confused. I mean, what was going on? This whole morning made no sense. Or, I should say, the whole kidnapped-by-aliens thing was the only explanation. Like, maybe they brought along all my furniture so I wouldn’t realize right away that I’d been captured. And if so, the plan kind of worked. I’m probably halfway to Mars by now.

  Except for the fact that aliens don’t exist. And if they did, what would they want with me, Annabelle Stevens, a short and spunky sixth grader?

  I gasped when the following thought occurred to me: maybe Mars needs a whole slew of short and spunky sixth graders. Maybe they wanted to clone me into an all-girl army to fight for peace and justice. Actually, that would be pretty cool. Except, what if they plan to use my clone army for evil purposes, like to conquer Earth? I’d become the face of evil for all humankind. That would be the worst!

  It’s a good thing human-cloning technology doesn’t exist, as far as I know, and like I said before—neither do aliens. So what was going on? As the sleep fog from my brain cleared, I remembered what yesterday was: moving day!

  Aha! Now wide awake, I sat up straight. Excitement gurgled in my belly because today was no ordinary day. Big things were happening, and none of them had anything to do with aliens.

  Here’s the thing: I’m living in a brand-new house and I just woke up in my brand-new bedroom.

  Me, my mom, and my stepdad, Ted, plus my scruffy mutt, Pepper, all moved here less than twenty-four hours ago.

  Oh, wait. Let me back up a minute and explain a few things. My name is Annabelle Stevens. I’m eleven years old—practically twelve. I am short and skinny with straight blond hair that’s long and parted slightly to the left. It’s all one length—I don’t have bangs. My eyes are brown and my skin is so pale that it burns easily. That’s why my mom makes me wear sunscreen every single day. And when we go to the beach, she insists that I wear a hat, even though hats look dorky on me. Plus, they always make my hair even flatter than usual.

  I live in Westlake Village, which is outside of Los Angeles, which is in Southern California, which is in the state of California, which is in the United States of America, which is on the continent of North America, which is on the planet Earth, the third planet from the sun.

  Our sun, anyway. There could be other solar systems out there—no one knows for sure. But I guess I’ve gotten a bit off my subject.

  It could be because geography has been on my mind a lot since our big move. Not that the move was so big. That’s the funny part. When I left for school yesterday, I lived on Clemson Court. And when I came home from school, I lived on Oakdell Lane.

  Today is Saturday and here I am: in a new house, on a new block, in a new neighborhood. We still live in the same town—Westlake. Also, my new house is merely one mile away from my old house. But it feels as if it’s a whole world away because we live in an entirely different housing development. Our old neighborhood is called Morrison Woods. Our new neighborhood is called Canyon Ranch.

  Another crazy thing about this new house is that my room is literally twice the size of my old room. That’s why it felt so weird waking up there this morning. I’m not used to having so much space. Not that I’m complaining. Having a big room is great and the best part is that it’s large enough for Rachel, Claire, Yumi, and Emma, my four best friends in the entire universe, to sleep over. And that’s exactly what they’re going to do tonight!

  “Oh, good. You’re up,” said my mom, poking her head into my room. Her blond curls were piled up in a high ponytail and she was rubbing her belly. She’s been doing that a lot lately, because she’s pregnant. Yeah—that’s right. That’s the other big news in my life. The main reason my family moved to this big new house is that my mom and Ted are going to have a new baby. More important, it means that in a few months I’m going to have a brother or sister. I am dying to know which, but my mom and Ted are insisting on keeping it a surprise.

  I wish they’d change their minds and find out so they can tell me. I’ve even told them they can have the doctor call me and I’ll keep it a secret from everyone, but they were not so into that idea. It’s too bad, but regardless of whether they’re having a boy or a girl I’m going to be a big sister, which is huge! I’ve been an only child for most of my life. Then last year my mom and Ted got married. Ted has a son named Jason, but he’s super-old—twenty-one—and he’s away at college. So even though I’m kind of a little sister now, I still feel pretty much like an only child. So it’ll be weird to have a baby around—but hopefully weird in a good way.

  In the meantime, my mom’s belly is so big and round she looks as if she swallowed a regulation-size soccer ball.

  “I would say I’m barely awake,” I replied, yawning as I peeled off my covers and climbed out of bed. “When I opened my eyes this morning, I didn’t know where I was.”

  My mom laughed. “That same exact thing happened to me! I guess it’ll take a bit of time to get used to the new place.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Um, what’s for breakfast?”

  “Breakfast burritos! Ted picked them up this morning after his run. And it’s a good thing, too. We haven’t had time to do any grocery shopping.”

  Ted goes running almost every single morning. I don’t really get why, but I can’t complain when there’s delicious food involved.

  “Awesome. That
sounds perfect,” I said.

  “Good,” my mom replied. “You’ll want to eat quickly, though, so you can get started on unpacking. This room has to be all set up before your friends come, and you’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “I know, I know,” I said, stretching my arms up high over my head and then letting them flop back down with a thump. “But there are so many boxes! Are you sure you can’t help?”

  My mom laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You’re lucky you only have to unpack one room. Ted and I are dealing with the rest of the house. And believe me—that’s no easy task.”

  “Okay, fine,” I grumbled. “I suppose you have a point.”

  After my mom left I headed for the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. Then I dug around in the large cardboard box labeled BATHROOM SUPPLIES until I found a towel and my toothbrush and toothpaste. I also unpacked everything else in the box—my soap, washcloths, and towels—while I was there. One box down and ten to go!

  Next I ran downstairs. Our new staircase was curved in the shape of a C, unlike our old one that had gone simply straight up and down. I like the curviness, I decided as I headed for the kitchen. But there was something else I liked even more and I couldn’t help but smile as I gazed out at it: our new swimming pool. I’d never had my own pool before, and this particular pool was awesome. It was a big rectangle—perfect for swimming laps or just lounging around on a raft—and the water seemed extra blue and sparkly. All I wanted to do was cannonball in immediately!

  Seems like Pepper was enjoying the pool too. He’s a black-and-white mutt with about twelve tons of energy. He’s super-lovable and mostly well behaved, but he has been known to rip a doughnut straight out of my hands, and sometimes he can’t help but jump on me when I come home from school. And speaking of Pepper misbehaving, at the moment he was outside lapping up water from the pool.

  “Is he allowed to do that?” I asked my mom, pointing at Pepper through the sliding glass door that led outside.

  My mom looked up from her coffee, gazed outside, and frowned. “Probably not. I think the chlorine is bad for his stomach. And his fur could get caught in the drain, which can’t be good for the filtration system.”

  She stood, opened the door, and called for Pepper.

  He came right into the kitchen with his tail wagging, probably because he smelled food.

  “Morning, Pepper,” I said, giving his neck a good scratch. “How do you like our new digs?”

  “Please don’t say the word ‘dig,’ ” my mom whispered. “I don’t want to give him any ideas.”

  “What kind of ideas?” I asked.

  “Well, the last thing I want is for Pepper to dig up the new garden.”

  I looked at the green grass outside, still totally confused. “What new garden?”

  “The new vegetable garden I’m going to plant as soon as I get the inside of this house settled. You know, after I finish my semester of teaching and make sure everything is set up for the new baby and finish reading Proust like I’ve been meaning to do for the past ten years.”

  “Oh,” I said. My mom has been talking about reading Proust forever, and I don’t even know who she is. I took a bite of my burrito. Some salsa dripped onto my chin, and I grabbed a napkin and wiped it off. “Good luck with that.”

  Pepper whimpered and placed his head in my lap. His scruffy fur was still damp from the pool, so now my favorite baby blue, super-soft flannel pajamas had a giant wet spot. “Ugh, Pep. You smell like a wet dog!” I said, gently pushing his face away from me.

  “That’s because he is a wet dog,” my mom pointed out.

  “Um, yeah. Thanks for stating the obvious,” I replied. “The problem is, I smell like a wet dog now too.”

  I went to take another bite of my burrito, but Pepper seemed to have the same idea.

  “No jumping,” I said firmly as I held my food up over my head. “Pepper, no.”

  Even though he backed off, he kept staring at me with his big, brown puppy-dog eyes. It was cute for a second, then sad, and then kind of annoying.

  “I don’t know what’s better,” I said. “Having a dog begging for my burrito inside the house, or having him drink chlorinated water on the outside.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” said my mom, getting up and grabbing Pepper by the collar. “Let’s go back outside, buddy.” She led him toward the door and put him in the yard.

  Once outside Pepper found a red-tailed squirrel to chase.

  “Poor animal probably once had a peaceful existence,” I said as Pepper barked up at our gigantic avocado tree. “Then the Weeble-Stevens move to town!”

  “Well, at least it’ll have to get some exercise now,” my mom pointed out as she took a small sip of coffee. “That’s one chubby squirrel!”

  I chewed the final bite of my burrito, crumpled the wrapper into a tight ball, and looked around. “Where’s the trash can?” I asked.

  My mom glanced around too, bewildered. “I suppose we haven’t unpacked it yet. Why don’t you leave it on the table for now? I’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay,” I said with a shrug. “I guess I should get going. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  I headed back upstairs and actually paused at the top of the steps because I forgot which direction my room was in. When I looked to the right, I saw four doors and when I looked to the left, I saw four doors. In our old house, there was no looking to the left at the top of the steps. All the rooms were to the right. This place was literally twice the size of our old house, and it was going to take some time to get used to.

  Once I finally figured out where to go—left and all the way to the end of the hall, I kneeled in front of the first box. It was labeled GIRL’S CLOTHES.

  “Yup, I would be the girl in this scenario,” I thought as I peeled off the tape and pulled open the flaps on top. The box was stuffed full of winter clothes. And since it was only April—not even summertime—I shoved the box into the corner of my closet.

  The next two boxes of “Girl’s Clothes” were filled with bathing suits, bras, and underwear. I put all my stuff away in the lowest drawer of my dresser. Then I unpacked all my T-shirts and shorts. Dresses came next—I hung them in the closet once I found the hangers at the bottom of the box. And then I unpacked my jeans and pants and leggings. The box after that was labeled MISC., which is short for miscellaneous, which means stuff that doesn’t fall into any real category but is decidedly not junk.

  I found a few old notes from my friends, a roll of duct tape with purple and red hearts all over it, my science fair project on bugs and their color preferences, a few birthday cards from last year, an old roll of stamps, and a pair of black glasses with a big plastic nose and mustache attached to it.

  “How’s it going, Annabelle?” my mom asked, poking her head into my room.

  I slipped on the glasses. “Who’s there?” I asked. “I can’t see a thing!”

  “Very cute,” she said with a laugh. “But I’m glad to see you’re making progress. Why don’t you use an empty box for the things you don’t need anymore?”

  “Okay, good idea,” I said as I tossed an old red sweatshirt into the closest empty box.

  “I thought that was your favorite!” my mom said.

  “It used to be, but it has a gigantic hole in the sleeve.”

  My mom picked up the sweatshirt and inspected the damage. “Oh, that’s just along the seam. I can get that fixed if you want.”

  “Okay, sounds good,” I said. “Thanks.”

  My mom wished me luck and left, and moments later my phone vibrated with a new text.

  It was from Oliver Banks, my boyfriend.

  Oh, yeah—that was another exciting development in my life. I had a new boyfriend. And having a boyfriend, in general, was brand-new for me. Oliver was my first and he was super-cute and sweet, too. And guess what else? Now that I’d moved, he lived right down the street—only eight houses away.

  How r trix? he wrote.

&n
bsp; Great!!! I texted back. Then I frowned down at the screen of my phone, wondering if I’d used too many exclamation marks. Three seemed like an awful lot.

  Uh-oh …

  The more I thought about it, the more uneasy I felt. I didn’t want to scare Oliver or appear to be yelling at him or anything.

  Yikes. I kind of wished there was a way to take one of the exclamation marks back. Ideally two. Or maybe even one exclamation mark was one too many.

  If Oliver mentioned them or acted weird, maybe I could tell him my finger had accidentally pressed the button one too many times. Or two too many times—I wasn’t really sure which would be more acceptable.

  Or maybe it was okay to be excited because moving was exciting. Right?

  Except how excited should I allow myself to be? Too much enthusiasm could be construed as weird and/or not cool. It’s not that my life is all about appearing cool—it’s so not! But at the same time, I didn’t want to act like a big dork, or even a little dork. Any kind of dorkiness is best to be avoided. That’s a good motto to live by—especially in middle school.

  I stared at my phone. Why wasn’t Oliver writing me back?

  Why, why, why?

  Had I already wrecked things?

  Did my boyfriend think I was an overenthusiastic dork? Of course he did. No other explanation made sense.

  Gah! I couldn’t believe how badly I’d messed up. Oliver and I had been officially together for less than two months. And already it was over.

  All because of a text.

  And not even a whole text.

  This was all about the punctuation.

  I flopped down backward on my bed and stared up at the ceiling, wishing I could start the day over.

  But no—I’d ruined everything with those three exclamation marks. This was the beginning of the end!

  Chapter Two

  The Trouble with Texting

  Sometimes I had a tendency to overreact. And maybe this was one of those times, but in my defense, I’d only had my phone for a few months—and my boyfriend for less time than that. I wasn’t always up on the etiquette when it came to both Oliver and my phone.