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    The Purr-fect Scoop
    The Purr-fect Scoop
    The Purr-fect Scoop
    Ebook122 pages1 hour

    The Purr-fect Scoop

    By Coco Simon

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    Sierra tries to find a way to balance all of the activities in her life in this third delicious book in the Sprinkle Sundays series from the author of the Cupcake Diaries series!

    Sierra does lots of things. She’s captain of the softball team, the director of the school play, and she’s on Student Council, but her favorite thing to do is work at the ice cream shop with her best friends Tamiko and Allie. But when her parents decide to foster three kittens and their mama, Sierra’s life gets a lot more catty! Can Sierra do it all—and maybe find homes for the cats, too?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon Spotlight
    Release dateAug 28, 2018
    ISBN9781534428942
    The Purr-fect Scoop
    Author

    Coco Simon

    From cupcakes to ice cream and donuts! When she’s not daydreaming about yummy snacks, Coco Simon edits children’s books and has written close to one hundred books for children, tweens, and young adults, which is a lot less than the number of cupcakes, ice cream cones, and donuts she’s eaten. She is the author of the Cupcake Diaries, the Sprinkle Sundays, and the Donut Dreams series. Her newest series is Cupcake Diaries: The New Batch. 

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    Book preview

    The Purr-fect Scoop - Coco Simon

    CHAPTER ONE

    A SECRET BETWEEN SISTERS

    I knew it had to be there somewhere! I just had to find it. I tied my long, brown hair into a ponytail to get it out of my way, and then I began searching slowly but surely, room by room, throughout the house.

    My first stop was our clean but messy bright yellow kitchen, where I circled the cluttered table, sifted carefully through the pile of newspapers and magazines for recycling, and roamed around the packed countertops and the jumbly kitchen island and even into the little closet with the washer and dryer, but no luck. I was desperate. I’d borrowed a comic book from my friend Cecelia, and I had to give it back to her at our comic book club meeting after school on Monday. That gave me only two days to find it. I had no clue where it could be.

    My abuela said that the key to finding things was that you had to really look, even in places where you thought you’d already checked or places where you couldn’t even imagine the thing being.

    I went all through the living/dining room area, lifting sofa cushions, flipping through all the colorful needlepoint throw pillows my dad had made, peeking behind the bright watercolors of birds my mom did for fun, looking underneath the box lid of the half-done jigsaw puzzle on the dining room table. Nothing! I wandered into my parents’ home office, but it was so immaculate that I could see at a glance that the comic book wasn’t on either of their back-to-back desktops or the low chest that held copies of their research and patients’ files. The only place where my parents were neat was in their offices, both at home and at work. I couldn’t really criticize them for messiness, though; I was messy and disorganized too. We all always thought we’d get back to a project, or find some time to clean up later, or organize our things, and then we would get busy and forget about it and never clean up.

    Upstairs I went into my parents’ bedroom, where their bed was still unmade and clothing was strewn across chairbacks and the small love seat by the window. A large oil painting of Cuban storefronts, by my dad’s dad, hung proudly above my mom’s dresser. She loved that picture, but my dad didn’t. Both of their families had come to America when they were babies, and while my mom was dying to go back for a visit, my dad said he never would. He didn’t even like to talk about Cuba.

    I sighed. No sign of the comic book in their room, or in their bathroom—thank goodness, because all their towels were damp and heaped in a pile. If the comic had been there, it would surely have been ruined. I knew it wasn’t in my room because that was what had started this whole search. That left only one more possibility: my twin sister’s room.

    Unfortunately, Isabel’s room was currently off-limits to me.

    Isa’s door was closed tightly, something she’d taken to doing since school had started this year. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the door was locked. She’d left earlier that afternoon, but I wasn’t sure when she was going to return, and I dared not enter without her permission or I’d face her wrath.

    I stood on the landing outside her door, my arms folded, my foot tapping in place as I thought. Finally I decided.

    I put my hand on her doorknob.

    Did I dare open the door?

    Slowly, slowly, I turned the handle, my hand shaking a little. The door was not locked, it turned out, and the handle turned easily.

    My eyes strained for a glimpse of a room I hadn’t seen inside in more than six weeks. And then . . . BANG! The back door slammed downstairs!

    I pulled Isabel’s door closed, released the handle, and scurried back to my room, where I flung myself onto my bed, trying to look natural.

    Hello? I called. I assumed it was Isa because my parents had returned to their clinic after our big Saturday lunch, as usual.

    There was no reply, only the sound of firm footsteps stomping across the floor below and then heading up the stairs.

    Isa? I called.

    Suddenly she was at my door. Were you just in my room? she demanded.

    What? Me? No! Seriously? Jeez! How on earth had she known?

    Isabel was carrying a big brown box. It had holes cut all around it, and something inside was making noise.

    What’s in the box? I asked.

    She hesitated and then turned on her heel and went to her room without answering me.

    I waited a second, and then, intrigued, I stood to follow her. She opened her door, flipped on the lights with her elbow, and crossed the room to her desk. I was right behind her, and it surprised me that she didn’t slam the door in my face like she usually would have. I stayed in the doorway anyway, just to be safe.

    Isabel and I were technically identical twins, but no one mixed us up anymore. When we were little, our mom would dress us in similar (never identical) outfits. I always had everything in pink and Isa in purple, even our bedrooms. If I got a doll with a red dress, Isa would get the exact same one but in a blue dress. All through the previous year we had been really identical. But over the last few months, especially since school had started, we’d grown to be very different. We weren’t as close as we used to be. Things were really different now.

    Isabel had changed her style—from preppy cute to wearing all-black clothes and changing her hairstyle constantly: dyeing it blue, putting it in cornrows, and then wearing her most recent rocker chick mullet. Meanwhile, my hair was still long and brown and wavy, and I wore bright and flowing clothes, kind of hippyish. You’d have to look pretty carefully to see that we were twins.

    Isabel placed the box carefully on her desk, turned on her gooseneck lamp, and peeked inside the box’s flaps.

    What is it? I said, getting more curious by the minute.

    Isabel turned and looked at me, considering me for a minute. Then with a little smile on her face, she said, Come see.

    I crossed the room, swiveling my head from side to side to look at all the redecorating she’d done in the previous few weeks. Unlike my room and most of the rest of the house, Isa’s room was as neat as a pin. But she’d covered her purple walls completely with rock band posters and photos cut out of magazines—race cars, futuristic skyscrapers, weird artwork. My eyes were spinning like pinwheels, trying to quickly take it all in during the quick journey to her desk.

    I peered over her shoulder, not knowing what to expect. When I spied the box’s contents, I gasped and reared back.

    Whoa! I said. That’s a snake!

    Isabel smiled more widely and reached her hands into the box.

    Careful! It might bite you! I said, clutching my hand to my chest. Despite being the child of two veterinarians, I was not a snake person.

    But apparently Isabel now was.

    It’s a corn snake. Corn snakes don’t bite, she said confidently.

    She pulled her hands out of the box, and in them sat an orange striped snake, coiled neatly into a pile of snakiness.

    OMG. What is that disgusting thing doing here? I said, jumping backward about four feet.

    Isabel’s smile faded into its new usual scowl, and she turned her back on me, cradling the snake. It lives here now, she said quietly but with a hint of pride in her voice. With me. I adopted it.

    I realized I’d just made a major blunder when I’d called the snake disgusting. I knew I had to apologize or this would escalate into a huge fight, like all our disagreements lately, and I needed Isa’s help to find the comic book. She was the only good finder in the family, and the odds were high that the book was in her room, anyway. While her back was turned to me, I scanned every surface, but I didn’t see it; not that that meant anything. If Isa had the comic, it would be neatly alphabetized and filed away on her bookcase.

    I sighed. "I’m sorry, Isa. It just scared me. I’m . . . I’m just not

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