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A Deleted Scene From Ivy & Bean

For new readers (ages 6 and up) who have discovered chapter books, a great series to get them hooked on this summer is Ivy & Bean.  When Ivy and Bean meet in the first book, neither girl imagines that they will become fast friends, but a shared sense of humor and love of mischief quickly brings them together. 

Ivy and Bean have been together through eight books so far, most recently in Ivy & Bean No News is Good News, when they set out to create a neighborhood newspaper that turns out to deliver a lot more news than the grown-ups intended.  On September 5, the ninth adventure of the dynamic duo begins and early readers won't want to miss it when Ivy & Bean Make the Rules for their own camp--no big sisters allowed. 

Below is a deleted scene from the new book (involving an important phone call, toilet paper, and the inexplicable logic of children) sent to us by author Annie Barrows--you can read the rest after the jump.

Spring, Sprang, Sprung - a deleted scene from Ivy & Bean Make the Rules

 “In five minutes, I’m having a phone conference,” Bean’s mom called up the stairs.

 Nobody answered.

“In five minutes, I’m having a phone conference,” she called again.

Silence.

“Don’t bug me while I’m on the phone, okay?” she shouted. “Okay?”

Silence

“Did you hear me?” she yelled

Bean’s door opened. “We heard you. We’re not supposed to bug you while you’re on the phone.”

“You promise? This is a really important phone call.”

Bean sighed loudly. “Of course we promise. We’re way too busy to bug you.”

"Good.” Bean’s mom went to her office. She arranged all her papers neatly. She got out three pens. She poured herself a glass of water. She was ready. She was waiting. The phone rang.

Five minutes later:

“My plan is this,” Bean’s mom was saying, “we’ll have the meeting the day after—“

A drawer slammed in the kitchen. “Where’s the tape?” Bean bellowed.

Bean’s mom concentrated. “After the motion, and then we’ll—”

“Who stole the tape?” shrieked Bean in the next room.

Bean’s mom covered the phone with her hand. “It’s on the table! Stop yelling!”

“I found it!” screamed Bean. Something fell on the kitchen floor.

“Sorry,” said Bean’s mom to the phone. “We’ll announce that we’re ready and able to put it on the—“

“Don’t go that way!” Bean hollered. Feet pounded up the stairs.

Bean’s mom took a deep breath. “Ballot. Afterward, we can give Karen the responsibility for the—”

“Out the window! Out the window!” Bean yelled from somewhere in the house.

“For the—”  stammered Bean’s mom.

“Bring it in through the front door!” Ivy called. Feet pounded down the stairs.

“No! Let’s wrap it around the house,” Bean shouted. She was outside now.

“Bean,” said Bean’s mom. “Sorry, I meant the blog. The blog.” The person on the other end said something. “Right. Sure.”  The person on the other end said more things, but Bean’s mom didn’t hear them. She was listening to the screeching outside.

“Lookit, lookit! It goes all the way down to the street!” Feet tore down the driveway.

“Watch out!” screamed Ivy.

“Thar she blows! GERONIMOOOOO!”

“Frank! Got to go!” Bean’s mom slammed down the phone and scrambled out of the office. She was moving fast, so fast that she didn’t notice the unusual thing in her house. The unusual thing was white, and it was very, very long. It was so long that it came down the stairs and into the living room and out the living room window and in the other living room window and over to the hall and around the dining room table and back through the hall and out the front door.

Then it went down the front steps and around the side of the house and around the back of the house and around the other side of the house and halfway across the front of the  house, where it met up with itself and went up the driveway and back down the driveway before it slithered right over the sidewalk and out into the center of Pancake Court. That’s where it stopped.

It was toilet paper.

Bean’s mom stopped running. She stood on the front porch, panting. For a moment, she just looked. She looked at the toilet paper. She looked at Ivy and Bean, who were lying on the sidewalk, laughing. She looked at her front yard. And then she yelled, “WHAT THE HECK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

Bean looked over her shoulder. “Can you believe it?” she called

“No!” yelled her mother. “I can’t!”

“Only four rolls!” called Bean. “There’s a lot of paper on those things!”

Ivy sat up and nodded happily. “That’s some good toilet paper you’ve got there!”

“Girls!” squawked Bean’s mom. She waved her arms. “Do you realize—Why?—Whatever possessed you to—Why do you do these things? Why? Why?”

“Why?” Bean looked at her mother in wonder. “Why?”

“Yes! Why?”

Bean shrugged. “Why not?”

“Girls!” Bean’s mother sat down on the front steps and put her head in her hands. “Don’t you realize how wasteful this is?”

“It’s not wasteful,” said Bean. “We’re going to roll it all up again.”

“Nice and neat,” said Ivy.

“No, you’re not,” said Bean’s mom. She held up a strand of paper. “Four rolls of toilet paper, down the drain.”

“Well,” said Bean, trying to look on the bright side, “isn’t that where it all ends up anyway?”

Bang!  Bean’s older sister, Nancy, popped out the front door. “Mom! Can I have your cell phone? I need to have a super-important conference call with Mischa and Didi.”

“You’re having a conference call!” groaned Bean’s mom. “Why do you need to have one?”

“We’re planning spring break, Mom,” explained Nancy. “We’ve got to talk about what we’re going to wear.”

Bean’s mother put her head in her hands and groaned again. “Spring break? When’s spring break?”

“Next week!” crowed Nancy and Ivy and Bean together. “Yay!” Bean boinged from one foot to the other. “Break-a-break-a-break-a-break-a!”  she yodeled. It was her spring break dance. 

Bean’s mom lifted her head to watch Bean dance. “Spring break!” she muttered. “Spring break!” She gazed around at the toilet paper covering her house.

“Break-a-break-a-break-a-break-a!” sang Bean, hopping from foot to foot. “Do the funky chicken!”

Bean’s mom got up and went inside.

"I love spring!” yelled Bean.

--Annie Barrows

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