No Room for Dessert
By Hallie Durand and Christine Davenier
4/5
()
About this ebook
All of a sudden it seems like Dessert’s life story is being written in invisible ink! It’s getting harder and harder to believe that anyone in the Schneider house even remembers that she lives there. Her school picture hanging on the fridge? Covered! The promise of burritos? Forgotten! Her baby brother doesn't even know her name! (He calls her “dirt.”) Dessert decides that she needs a plan to get back on her family’s radar—and hopefully make them all feel like “dirt” for a change.
Let there be light bulbs! Dessert has an idea. All she has to do is win her classroom’s invention contest, which should be a piece o’ cake. But, things get worse before they get better...soon, they are so bad, Dessert may need all the double fudge sundaes in the world to make her feel like herself again—or maybe just a surprising new friend.
Hallie Durand
Hallie Durand’s favorite dessert is vanilla ice cream drowned in hot-fudge sauce. She grew up in a large, food-loving family much like the one in her books. But unlike Dessert, Hallie had to eat dessert after supper. When she’s not writing, she likes to visit fondue restaurants to do “research.” Hallie lives with her family in New Jersey.
Read more from Hallie Durand
Dessert First Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Just Desserts Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
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Reviews for No Room for Dessert
1 rating1 review
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5No Room for Dessert is about Donahue Penelope Schneider, a girl so sweet they nicknamed her Dessert. Dessert has been feeling left out lately though because as the oldest of 4, she feels like she's being forgotten because her parents are so involved with her siblings. However, when Dessert's teacher proposes an invention contest, Dessert sees her chance to get everyone's attention with her brilliant ideas. Of course, nothing goes as planned. Will Dessert ever get the attention of her parents?This book was so charming. Dessert is a fun character, and she manages to explain her problems without ever feeling too sorry for herself. All of the characters were a bit quirky but fun. Who wouldn't want a teacher who acted out things and proposed inventing contests? Dessert's parents own a fondue restaurant, which was a fun backdrop for some of the plot. I thought the invention contest was particularly entertaining. The inventions are the exact types of things I would have found entertaining at that age. The illustrations were also very well done.I think this is a great book for kids. It's a super quick read with fun characters. It could even get then thinking about their own creative inventions. No Room for Dessert is a very entertaining book.Galley provided by publisher for review.
Book preview
No Room for Dessert - Hallie Durand
CHAPTER ONE
NOT QUITE ENOUGH
It says in my baby book that when I was born, my parents couldn’t believe how big and beautiful I was—I weighed nine pounds and five ounces, and I’m convinced that’s why they called me Donahue Penelope Schneider—they wanted a fancy name to match my size. That tells you how important my arrival on this planet was to them. It also says in my baby book (I read it a lot) that when I was born, the weather was warm, sunny, and welcoming, and the trees were just beginning to bloom. And that’s not all—it says I was the best baby ever, my head was perfectly shaped and my eyes were navy blue, my fingers were long, I smiled before I was six weeks old, and I rolled over at three months! My grandmother even gave me a special nickname, Dessert,
because I was the sweet treat she’d secretly been hoping for (her first grandchild). And I’ve always signed my name like this to let the world know how I feel about myself:
But it’s not like that anymore. I’m eight now, my grandmother went on two years ago, I’m in third grade, and I’d bet you fifty bucks that my parents don’t even know whether I’m learning fractions, multiplication, or my ABCs this year. They probably don’t even know how many teeth I’ve lost so far. That’s the truth.
This morning I was reminded that I’m nobody these days. It was Saturday, and I was late to breakfast because I wanted to braid my hair. I don’t usually do stuff with my hair, but I didn’t want Mummy to see how dirty it was. We have crepes on Saturdays before my parents go to our restaurant, Fondue Paris (you can probably guess we serve fondue there). Dad is the chef, and Mummy is front of house.
That means she has to smile at the customers, even on days when she’d rather not.
I divided my hair into three sections and began to make my braids. Just as I got going, I heard a sizzling noise downstairs, and I smelled butter. Dad must have poured the batter into the frying pan. Crepes (they should be spelled k-r-e-p-s) look like the skinniest pancakes you’ve ever seen. We get to pick our own toppings, too. That’s my job, and I like to line them up so they look like they’re for sale in a grocery store.
diagramI always put honey in the lineup as a courtesy because everybody likes it but me—I don’t think it’s much better than mayonnaise. Then comes the red jam (without seeds), marmalade, Nutella (which I love because it tastes like chocolate perfume), smoked ham (my dog Chunky’s favorite), brown-yellow mustard, and peanut butter, which Mummy says is the Queen
of them all.
I finished my braids and ran downstairs. But when I got to the kitchen, I saw right away that something was wrong. The toppings were all mixed up around the table, and everybody was eating without me—I doubt they would have noticed if I hadn’t shown up at all. First there was my four-year-old sister, Charlie, who looked like her face was attached to her plate.
diagramThen on the other side of the table were the Beasties, my brothers, Wolfie and Mushy—Wolfie’s two, and he already had Nutella all over his hands, and Mushy’s one, and there was red jam everywhere. Mummy and Daddy looked like they were in a race to see who could finish eating first (they always talk about good manners, but privately they’re speed-eaters).
Just as I was about to sit down, Mushy pointed at my head and said, with a capital D
at the beginning and a perfect T
at the end, DIRT.
Mummy and Daddy started clapping.
diagramMushy knows your name!
Mummy exclaimed.
My name’s not DIRT,
I said.
DIRT,
said Mushy.
It’s close enough,
said Mummy.
Is not,
I said, but she didn’t even turn her head. So I reached for the Nutella, but when I took the lid off, it was nearly empty. I needed a rubber scraper. Why had I even bothered to cover up my dirty hair? Mummy wouldn’t notice if I never washed it again in my entire life. And how could she possibly think Dirt
was close enough
to my name? Worse, it wasn’t even nine o’clock in the morning yet. . . . There was plenty of time for more rotten stuff to happen today. . . .
CHAPTER TWO
FOSTER BROOKS
The following Tuesday, three desks over from mine at school, I saw somebody I didn’t recognize. He had on an orange shirt. His hair was sort of a mess, and I thought he might have bed head like Wolfie, or else it was just wavy. I could only see his eyes a little from the side, but I’m pretty sure he was squinting. Did he need glasses? Mummy doesn’t like it when I stare at people, so I held my hand up to the side of my face and looked at him through my fingers. Now he was pulling his eyelashes.
Then our teacher, Mrs. Howdy Doody, stood up like a big sunflower and said, My dear happy learners, today is brand-new, in all kinds of ways!
I was still watching the new boy through my fingers, and I saw him look up when Mrs. Howdy Doody said that. She looked right at him and said, Our third-grade family has a new member! Please welcome Foster Brooks to Lambert Elementary.
Now I knew what to call him. I liked the name