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    Yours Turly, Shirley
    Yours Turly, Shirley
    Yours Turly, Shirley
    Ebook132 pages1 hour

    Yours Turly, Shirley

    By Ann M. Martin

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    About this ebook

    Surviving fourth grade isn’t going to be easy for Shirley—but the thought of repeating it with her younger sister is too much to bear

    Shirley Basini is dreading fourth grade—if she doesn’t do well this year, she’ll be held back. Having dyslexia is tough, but having a brilliant older brother makes it even worse. When Shirley’s parents adopt a young girl from Vietnam, she’s excited to have someone whom, for once, she can teach some things.

    But her new sister is actually quite adept at English and winds up in the advanced third-grade class. Shirley can’t face the prospect of repeating fourth grade—this time with her adopted sister, who might even perform better than she does. Shirley has only one talent that might prove she’s not dumb—but does she have the will to let it shine?

    This ebook features an illustrated personal history of Ann M. Martin, including rare images from the author’s collection.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateApr 22, 2014
    ISBN9781453298060
    Yours Turly, Shirley
    Author

    Ann M. Martin

    Ann M. Martin grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. After attending Smith College, where she studied education and psychology, she became a teacher at a small elementary school in Connecticut. Martin also worked as an editor of children’s books before she began writing full time. Martin is best known for the Baby-Sitters Club series, which has sold over one hundred seventy million copies. Her novel A Corner of the Universe won a Newbery Honor in 2003. In 1990, she cofounded the Lisa Libraries, which donates new children’s books to organizations in underserved areas. Martin lives in upstate New York with her three cats.

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      Book preview

      Yours Turly, Shirley - Ann M. Martin

      Chapter One: September

      BZZZZZ!

      Shirley Basini’s alarm clock went off and Shirley rolled over, grabbed it, and threw it at the wall. Shirley’s clock looked like a baseball and you were supposed to throw it at the wall. That was the only way to turn it off.

      Shirley loved things like that. She liked jokes and laughing and making people laugh. She had a pearl ring that could squirt out a stream of water when someone leaned over to admire it, and a set of windup chattering teeth, and a pair of green sunglasses a foot wide. Shirley had won the glasses at a carnival. When she wore them, she looked like a fly.

      Blam. The clock hit the wall and the buzzing stopped.

      Thank you, murmured Shirley. She buried her head under her pillow. Shirley liked sleeping as much as she liked laughing. But she knew she couldn’t go back to sleep that morning.

      It was the first day of school. The first day of fourth grade.

      Yuck, said Shirley. Shirley did not love school. She hated it. It was her number one hate. Shirley had something called dyslexia. It was a learning disability. Her eyes saw letters and numbers but the letters and numbers got twisted around on the way to her brain. They were turned upside down and downside up, and made into a big jumble. Reading and writing and math were the hardest for Shirley. If Shirley didn’t concentrate, concentrate, concentrate, reading English was as difficult as reading Chinese.

      Shirley’s parents had taken her to a million doctors and clinics before they found out exactly what was wrong. Shirley had thought that was stupid. What was wrong was that she could barely read or write, and math was a mystery to her. Who needed a doctor to tell them that? Any fool could see it.

      A more important question was what should be done about it. Everyone seemed to have a different opinion.

      One doctor said, Vitamin therapy. Take plenty of vitamins, especially vitamin A. Good for the eyes.

      Another doctor said, She has dyslexia but she also has a lazy eye, and made Shirley wear a patch over one eye for a whole year. That was in second grade. It hadn’t done any good.

      Her teachers all said (and most of the doctors agreed), Yes, Shirley does have dyslexia. School is difficult for her. But she’s a very smart girl. If she’d pay attention and try harder, she could do much better. Maybe as well as Joe.

      Joe was Shirley’s big brother. He did not have a learning disability. He was nineteen, and so smart that a fancy university had practically begged him to come be a student, and then had let him take all their hardest classes. Joe always got As. Straight As.

      However, Shirley had a big secret, and she hadn’t told it to anybody. Her secret was that she was trying. Hard. And look where it was getting her. Nowhere. She had to read baby books and count on her fingers. Furthermore, her third-grade teacher had written something scary on her end-of-the-year report card. She had written that if Shirley didn’t do well and make lots and lots of progress in fourth grade, she would have to repeat the grade. Stay back.

      Oh, boy. That was something Joe had never done. In fact, he had skipped fourth grade.

      So Shirley was worried. That report card had ruined her whole summer. And now she had to face fourth grade.

      Shirley crawled out of bed. She rescued her alarm clock, which had landed on a pile of dirty clothes, and put on a pair of jeans, her teddy-bear shirt, and her running shoes. Then she stood in front of the mirror and brushed her hair. Shirley’s hair was brown. So were her eyes. So were the eyes and hair of Joe and both her parents. But Shirley was the only one in her family who wore her hair in ponytails. She was also the only one who wore glasses. Shirley liked her glasses. She thought they made her look smart.

      Shirley tied pink ribbons around her ponytails, put on her squirting pearl ring, and went downstairs.

      Morning, said Joe.

      Morning, said her parents.

      Morning, Shirley replied. For some reason, she was always the last person downstairs. She could never figure it out.

      Shirley sat down next to Joe and across from her father. Her mother dished up plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit.

      It’s hard to believe school is starting again, said Mrs. Basini as she took her seat.

      I know, Joe replied. Back to work for everybody.

      Shirley grimaced, but all she said was, I wish you didn’t have to go back to college today, Joe. Can’t you stick around until tomorrow? Until I see what kind of teacher Mr. Bradley is?

      I wish I could, kid, but Chris and Henry are picking me up in (Joe checked his watch) twenty minutes. Classes start tomorrow.

      Shirley nodded.

      It’s back to the grindstone for all of us today, peanut, Mr. Basini spoke up. He wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. My classes start today, too. Shirley’s father taught English at DuBarre College in the little New Hampshire town where the Basinis lived.

      And fall hours start at the library today, added Mrs. Basini. I do hope you’ll spend some more time there this year, Shirley, she added. (Shirley scowled.) The first meeting of the Animal Rescue League will be held this afternoon, Mrs. Basini went on, and tomorrow the PTA holds a meeting.

      Shirley’s father had one job. Mrs. Basini had about sixty-eight. Her main job was working part-time in the children’s room at the public library. But she also volunteered at the hospital, drove the Meals-on-Wheels van one afternoon each week, and went to almost every meeting of every organization in town. She was only happy if she was busy, busy, busy—helping people and working for causes.

      Unfortunately, one of Mrs. Basini’s biggest causes over the past two years had been Shirley and her dyslexia. Mrs. Basini was a great success at everything she did, so she was very disappointed that Shirley wasn’t a success. At anything. Worse, Shirley was often a failure. Last year, in third grade, her report card had been a mass of Cs, Ds, and even Fs. Mrs. Basini was not happy about that, dyslexia or no dyslexia. Maybe, Shirley thought, fourth grade would be great and she would become a wonderful student, and Mrs. Basini could spend more time with Meals-on-Wheels and less time being upset with Shirley.

      But Shirley wasn’t very hopeful.

      A few minutes later, a horn honked in front of the Basinis’ house.

      That’s Chris and Henry! said Joe, jumping up.

      The Basinis ran outside and helped Joe load his suitcases and stereo and books and reading lamp and rug and bedspread and pillows into the car. Chris’s old Ford looked so loaded down Shirley wasn’t sure it would make it to the end of the street, let alone to their school, which was in another state.

      Bye! Joe called as the car pulled away. Good luck with Mr. Bradley, Shirley! See you at Thanksgiving!

      The Basinis watched the car until it reached the end of their street. Then Mrs. Basini said, Better get a move on, Shirley.

      It was time to go. Time for fourth grade.

      Shirley brushed her teeth, filled her squirting ring with water, and took her lunch from the counter in the kitchen. Since the Basinis had spent so much time saying good-bye to Joe, Mr. Basini drove Shirley to school on his way to DuBarre. Usually, Shirley walked.

      Shirley stood outside her classroom. She peeked in the doorway. She was not the last student to arrive at Room 4C. But she wasn’t the first, either. About ten other kids were there. And since they were sitting quietly at their desks, Shirley figured Mr. Bradley must be there, too. If he wasn’t, the kids would have been running around, talking about summer camp, showing off cuts and bruises, and throwing spitballs or playing with cootie-catchers.

      Shirley was disappointed. She had wanted to squirt her pearl ring at Ned Hernandez. Oh, well. Maybe later in the day.

      Shirley took a deep breath.

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