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Eleanor Roosevelt's in My Garage!

  • Fester Einband
  • 336 Seiten
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CANDACE FLEMING is the prolific author of The Family Romanov, a Sibert Honor Book and the recipient of both the Boston Globe-Horn ... Weiterlesen
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Altersempfehlung
Hinweis: Dieser Artikel ist für Jugendliche unter 7 Jahren nicht geeignet.

Beschreibung

Autorentext
CANDACE FLEMING is the prolific author of The Family Romanov, a Sibert Honor Book and the recipient of both the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award and the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Young Adult Literature; Amelia Lost, which received four starred reviews; The Great and Only Barnum, an ALA-YALSA Award for Excellence in Nonfiction nominee and a Publishers Weekly and Booklist Best Book of the Year; The Lincolns: A Scrapbook Look at Abraham and Mary, a Boston Globe-Horn Book Award recipient; Our Eleanor, an ALA-ALSC Best Book for Young Adults; and Ben Franklin's Almanac, a James Madison Honor Book. She is also the author of many highly acclaimed picture books, including Oh, No!, illustrated by Eric Rohmann, and middle grade books, including The Fabled Fourth Graders of Aesop Elementary School and Ben Franklin's in My Bathroom! Visit her on the web at candacefleming.com or on Twitter at @candacemfleming.

MARK FEARING has created award-winning editorial cartoons and animated shorts that have appeared on Nickelodeon and G4 and was a production manager for Walt Disney Television Animation. He is also the illustrator of Ben Franklin's in My Bathroom! and Margaret McNamara's Three Little Aliens and the Big Bad Robot, published by S&W in 2011. Visit him on the web at markfearing.com or on Twitter at @MarkFearing.

Klappentext

In this hilarious new entry to the History Pals series, the follow-up to "Ben Franklin's in My Bathroom, " history and hijinks collide once more when Eleanor Roosevelt accidentally time travels to a 10-year-old's home in 21st-century America! Illustrations.



Zusammenfassung
In this hilarious follow-up to BEN FRANKLIN'S IN MY BATHROOM!, history and hijinks collide once more when Eleanor Roosevelt accidentally time travels to a ten-year-old's home in 21st-century America!

When Eleanor Roosevelt time travels to Nolan and Olive's house in modern-day Illinois, the kids don't know who she is at first. After all, she's old and wearing a hairnet. But the First Lady of the United States--some 80 years ago, that is-- isn't a mystery for long when she starts spouting things like "You must do the things you think you cannot do." Fresh off a visit from Ben Franklin, Nolan and Olive know what they're in for with this latest guest: an adventure. From drawing on ideals of civil protest to save the town park, to (almost) doing a loop-de-loop in a single-engine plane, to avoiding that know-it-all snoop Tommy Tuttle, there's one laugh after the next in this second book in the History Pals series. Fun back matter expands the story and unpacks the amazing life of Eleanor Roosevelt.

Leseprobe

I groaned at the picture. Why, oh why, had Mom sent my little sister to technology day camp? Seriously. Second graders should not be allowed to text. It’s just annoying. I tapped out a reply to tell her to stop.

 

Believe it or not, she did.

 

My phone went quiet.

 

Too bad it was the only thing that got quiet. “FD?” shouted the woman in my closet. She pounded on the door. “This is outrageous. I insist you let me out this instant!”

 

Just so you know, I am not FD. And I was pretty sure I’d never met FD. In fact, I was pretty sure I’d never met the woman in my closet, either, except in the pages of some boring social studies book, or in a musty history museum, or maybe during one of my teacher Mr. Druff’s long, snore-fest lectures about “the incredible story that is America’s past.” He actually said that. He made us write it down in our social studies notebooks too.

 

“FD, are you still pouting about your speech to Congress?” the woman called out. “Truly, darling, no one noticed your zipper was down.”

 

I knew I had to open the door. I also knew that the second I did, things were going to get way out of control. I am not exaggerating. I’d experienced this blast from the past once before, and I needed just a few more minutes to brace myself. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d been expecting any . . . um . . . visitors today.

 

An hour earlier, my day had been pretty normal. I’d been lying on the family-room sofa reading another graphic novel--this one about an alien kid who crashed on Earth--while my irritating little sister, Olive, danced around the house in her brand-new mermaid Princess Aquamarina bathing suit. She was singing at the top of her lungs too. “Party, party, par-TAY! party, party, par-TAY!”

 

At first, I’d tried to ignore her by burying my nose deeper in my book. I do both these things a lot--ignore my sister and read graphic novels.

 

I love graphic novels.

 

I do not love Olive when she’s being annoying.

 

And boy, was she annoying. I knew she was really excited about the swimming party Mom was throwing for her eighth birthday that day. But geez, did she have to be such a pest?

 

“Knock it off,” I’d growled.

 

Olive scrunched her face at me. “Party party poop-ER! Party party poop-ER!”

 

I slammed my book shut and stomped up to my room.

 

Of course, she followed. “Come on, Nolan. We’re going to be late to my party.”

 

“I’m ready, already,” I grumbled.

 

Just as I was putting on my shoes . . .

 

POP! A bright light shot out from under my closet door. It grew white . . . whiter . . . crystal white. From deep within came the sounds of static and faint voices. A second later, my bedroom filled with the sound of a gazillion bubbles popping all at once. Then . . .

 

Bam! Bam! Bam!

 

Someone started banging on the inside of my closet door.

 

“It’s Ben!” Olive had cried. “He’s come back for my birthday!”

 

She flung open the door.

 

Screamed.

 

And slammed it shut again.

 

“That,” she panted, “is definitely not Ben Franklin.”

 

“Hullooo!” came a woman’s quavering voice. “FD? Is that you? Let me out, won’t you? I seem to have gotten trapped.”

 

At that moment, Mom hollered from downstairs. “Nolan! Olive! Is somebody up there with you?”

 

I swear our mother has the sharpest hearing in the universe. Maybe that’s why she’s the author-illustrator of the Bumble Bunny series of children’s books. Big ears come naturally to her.

 

Mom didn’t wait for us to reply. “It’s getting late!” she shouted. “Time to go to the party!”

 

Olive yelped and looked from the bedroom door to the closet door. “Now what?”

 

“You go,” I said urgently. “I’ll stay with . . . with . . . whoever.”

 

“But I’m dying to know who’s in there,” she whined. “I didn’t recognize her.” She reached for the knob. “Let’s take another peek.”

 

I leaped in front of her and pressed my back against the closet door. “And turn her loose in the house with Mom here? Are you crazy?”

 

“But--”

 

“You promised,” I whispered through gritted teeth. “You promised to keep all this--the crystal radio, Ben Franklin time traveling here from history--a secret until we figured it out, remember?”

 

She made a pouty face.

 

“I know you’re there, FD. I can hear you breathing,” the woman in the closet called.

 

“Remember, Olive?”

 

She nodded slowly.

 

“Then go!” I said. “Try to act normal. And whatever you do, don’t say a word about, er, this.”

 

“Olive!” Mom called from the staircase.

 

“Coming, Mother dearest!” she shouted back in this ridiculous British accent she’d learned from watching PBS. She crossed the room and stepped out into the hallway. “Pish posh, but it’s a lovely day for a party.”

 

Believe it or not, that was normal for Olive.

 

“Nolan, are you coming?” Mom called up.

 

I came out of my bedroom and stood on the upstairs landing, peering down at her. “I . . . I can’t.”

 

“But it’s your sister’s birthday.”

 

“It’s mermaid swimming, Mom. With a bunch of giggling eight-year-old girls.” I slapped on my most pathetic puppy-dog expression. “Please, can’t you give a guy a break?”

 

“Do let him stay, Mummy,” chimed in still-British Olive. “The big oaf will do nothing but ruin the party.”

 

Mom looked at me with laser eyes for a second. Then she nodded. “But stay in the house. And no friends.”

 

“No friends,” I promised. I figured it wasn’t a lie. How could the person in my closet be a friend if I’d never met her?

 

Mom looked at me another moment. Then they were gone.

 

And I was alone with the lady in the closet.

 

She knocked again. “Enough, FD. You’ve had your silly joke. Now open this door at once. Franklin? Did you hear me? I’m beginning to grow faint.”

 

So am I, I thought.

 

My belly felt tight and fluttery, like it was filling with bats. Beating their wings. Crowding my chest. Squeezing the air from my lungs.

 

Hand shaking, I reached for the doorknob . . .

Produktinformationen

Titel: Eleanor Roosevelt's in My Garage!
Autor:
EAN: 9781524767860
ISBN: 978-1-5247-6786-0
Format: Fester Einband
Altersempfehlung: 7 bis 10 Jahre
Herausgeber: Random House N.Y.
Genre: Kinder- & Jugendbücher
Anzahl Seiten: 336
Jahr: 2018

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