Ten Read Online Free Page B

either,” Mr. Wilson said. “You can move the body to the trash can if you prefer. Just be sure to use a paper towel.”
    Amanda and I looked at each other.
    â€œOr don’t,” he said. “My guess is that Sweet Pea will be happy to take care of it.”
    â€œDad, no , and that’s not funny,” Amanda told him. I agreed. If I had a beautiful cat like Sweet Pea, I wouldn’t want her to eat a dead mouse and have dead-mouse breath, either. Also I wouldn’t want to be licked by Sweet Pea for a long time afterward.
    â€œI didn’t say it to be funny.” He turned off the faucet. “It’s the circle of life, that’s all.”
    â€œCome on, Amanda,” I said, dragging her out of the kitchen. We marched across the yard, scanning the grass until we found the little mousie’s body. It looked kind of . . . yucky, and not all that cute, to tell the truth. The If You Give a Mouse a Cookie mouse was a lot cuter. I felt bad for thinking that, though.
    â€œWe need to name him,” I said. “How about Henry?”
    â€œOkay,” Amanda said.
    â€œPoor Henry,” I said.
    â€œWhat if Henry was his mother mouse’s only living child, and now he’s dead, and her mouse husband is dead, too, and now she’s a poor childless widow?” I said.
    â€œPoor Henry’s mom!” Amanda said.
    â€œWe have to bury him. It’s our duty.”
    Amanda nodded. “I’ll go get you a shovel. Or a spoon, a big-sized spoon.”
    She dashed off, and I thought it was a little funny—not ha ha funny, but more growly hmmmph funny—that Amanda automatically assumed that I’d be the one to dig Henry’s grave.
    But I did. I dug a hole with the spoon Amanda brought me, and then I used the spoon again to nudge Henry in. Henry’s body moved—of course it did, because I moved it—but it was freaky-creepy-gross, and we both squealed and jumped away. Then I had to go back and push all the dirt back on top of him, which made me squeal and do the shudder dance again.
    â€œYou are so brave,” Amanda said when we were inside washing up.
    â€œI know,” I said, panting.
    â€œNo, really,” she insisted, as if we’d both barely escaped with our lives.
    â€œI know. Really.”
    â€œGirls, that was very nice of you to bury that mouse,” Amanda’s mom said, clicking into the kitchen in high heels. “And Amanda, I told your father that he should have taken care of it himself.”
    â€œI did take care of it!” Mr. Wilson called from their den. “Do you want mice having babies in your pillow, Theresa?”
    Theresa—otherwise known as Mrs. Wilson, or Mrs. Amanda’s Mother—ignored him. “I would like to take you two out for a ladies’ lunch to thank you. How does that sound?”
    â€œYay!” I said.
    â€œYes!” Amanda said.
    â€œYou’ve both washed your hands?” Mrs. Wilson said. “On the backs, on the sides, under your fingernails?”
    We nodded.
    She grabbed her purse from the counter, along with her jingly key chain with the jeweled butterfly dangling from it. “Then let’s go.”
    Â 
    We went to the mall, and we had the best time. We had chicken salad at a fancy restaurant called the Tea Room, and actually I didn’t like the taste of it, because I don’t like chicken salad. Or any kind of salad. Or anything involving mayonnaise.
    I did like sitting with Amanda and her mother and using nice posture, however. And we had mango sorbet for dessert, and it was just plain delicious.
    Then we went “window shopping,” as Amanda’s mom called it, and all the shop ladies smiled at us and told Mrs. Wilson what adorable daughters she had.
    â€œAre you twins?” the lady at Tiffany’s said. Tiffany’s was an extremely fancy jewelry store. It scared me to walk in there, it was so fancy.
    â€œNo,” Amanda