Isabelle the Itch: The Isabelle Series, Book One by Constance C. Greene

you.” He hoisted his new pants up under his armpits. “My mother bought ’em big because they shrink when she sticks ’em in the dryer,” he explained gloomily.
    He stuck his boil in the middle of his forehead.
    â€œYou better put that in the plastic bag when you race,” Isabelle told him.
    The boil slid off Herbie and landed on the sidewalk. He started to pick it up and dust it off. He changed his mind, stamped it flat, and smashed it into the sidewalk.
    â€œWhat’d you do that for?” Isabelle cried.
    â€œIt’s no good,” he said disconsolately. “It don’t fool anyone.”
    â€œSure it does, Herb.” Isabelle tried to scrape the boil up, but it was finished.
    When she looked up from the spot where it lay, Herbie had already started on his way to school and Mary Eliza, arm in arm with Jane, was walking toward her.
    â€œHow come you carry that big dumb pocketbook everywhere?” Isabelle asked Jane, who ducked her head and looked at her pocketbook as if seeing it for the first time.
    â€œEverybody carries one where I come from,” she said.
    â€œIt looks pretty stupid,” Isabelle said.
    â€œDon’t mind her, dear,” Mary Eliza whispered in a loud voice. “She’s not coming to my party. All she does is punch people on the arm. Her problem is she’s mean. She thinks she’s going to win the fifty-yard dash and get her picture in the paper. Just because she’s got new shoes. Let’s go,” and she pulled Jane with her.
    Isabelle crossed her eyes and yelled “Yah, yah,” while she jumped in the air and waved her arms.
    â€œGuess who this is?” she hollered. But there was no one to see.
    She walked to school alone, slowly, so she wouldn’t use up her energy.
    Just wait.

20
    â€œRemember, anyone who has more than two false starts is disqualified,” Mr. Brown, the gym teacher, told them. “Wait for the ‘go’ signal.”
    Isabelle’s heart thundered in her chest. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.
    â€œOn your mark, get ready, get set, go!”
    A rush of air and Isabelle was off. The wind whistled in her ears, she heard cheers and shouts. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that she come in first. She felt free and wild and ran as fast as it was in her power to run.
    She crossed the finish line and waited, panting, for the other runners. There was someone beside her, red faced, also panting. Funny Isabelle hadn’t seen her up until now. It was Jane.
    â€œI came in first,” Isabelle told her.
    â€œWinner of the fifty-yard dash for the fifth grade,” Mr. Brown shouted through his megaphone, “is Jane Malone of Mrs. Esposito’s room. Second is Isabelle …”
    The rat, Isabelle thought furiously. She never even said she was going to enter the race. Isabelle felt like taking her new shoes off and throwing them in Jane’s face. She stomped off the field and didn’t see Mrs. Stern until she called “Oh, Isabelle, I’m so glad I got here in time to see you race. I loved it!”
    â€œHi, Mrs. Stern,” Isabelle said, kicking at the dust. “I didn’t come in first. I lost.” Her lip trembled.
    â€œWhat do you care? You ran a beautiful race, fair and square. That’s all that matters,” Mrs. Stern told her.
    Isabelle thought about that. “Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “I’m glad you came to see me. Come on over and meet my mother,” Isabelle said. “She’s the lady sticking the straws in the sodas. Mom, this is my friend, Mrs. Stern,” Isabelle introduced them.
    â€œI’ve heard a good deal about you,” Isabelle’s mother said. “And this is Mrs. Malone, whose daughter won the fifty-yard dash. She’s new in town, Mrs. Stern.”
    Mrs. Malone was smiling and looked happy. “Isn’t it marvelous Jane won? It’ll mean so much to