3 THE GHOST OF PANCAKE COURT

THE GHOST OF PANCAKE COURT Bean was hiding inside a big, round bush in her front yard. The bush was right next to the sidewalk, and it was very scratchy and sticky inside, but Bean needed to be in the bush for her plan to work. Here's how Bean's plan went: She took a $20 bill out of Nancy's purse and taped a long thread to it. She put the $20 bill on the sidewalk. Then she held on to the other end of the thread and climbed into the bush. Nancy would be coming home from school soon. She would see the money on the sidewalk. She would bend down to pick it up. Bean would quickly pull the money away. And then Nancy would freak out. Bean could hardly wait. There was only one problem. Nancy

didn't come. Bean sat inside the bush for a long time. A branch poked her arm. Leaves fell down her shirt. She itched. She waited. Nothing happened. It was very quiet. Bean was hardly ever this quiet for this long. Because there was nothing else to do, she looked at the house across the street. Really, it wasn't across the street. It was around the street. Bean loved her street. The first reason was its name: Pancake Court. The second reason was that it ended in a big circle right in front of Bean's house. Her dad called it a cul-de-sac. Bean called it cool. If Bean started riding her bicycle at the end of the block and pedaled really, really hard, she could whiz around the circle, tilting low over the sidewalk like a motorcycle racer.

Slam! Bean looked up. She saw Ivy come out onto her front porch and plop down on the top step. Bean squinted at her. Ivy looked strange. She wasn't wearing a dress today. She was wearing a black bathrobe with lots of little pieces of paper stuck to it. Weird, thought Bean. She squinted some more. Instead of a big book, Ivy was carrying a stick, painted gold. Bean made a face. What a goony costume, she thought. What a dork.

Ivy sat. She didn't do anything. She just sat there all by herself. That was another strange thing about Ivy. She didn't mind being alone. She never played with anyone. Bean played with everyone. Big kids, little kids, all the kids in the neighborhood played with Bean. Even crummy Matt— who was so crummy he threw other kids' toys into the road—wanted to play with Bean.

She took care of the little kids. When they fell down and got blood all over their knees, Bean would take them home to get Band-Aids. The big kids let her play with them because she had good ideas, like seeing how many backyards they could cross without touching the ground. Bean loved big groups of kids playing big games, like pirates or hide-and-seek. Sometimes Bean wished she were an orphan so she could live in an orphanage with a hundred other kids. Of course, she didn't tell her mother and father that. Bean watched Ivy, alone on her front porch. Wasn't she lonely? Now Ivy was muttering something that Bean couldn't hear. And then she began to wave the stick in the air. Bean couldn't stand it anymore. "What the heck are you doing?" yelled Bean from inside her bush. Ivy looked all around. Bean forgot that

Ivy couldn't see her. "What's with the stick?" she yelled. Ivy's eyes got big. "Who's there?" she said. "Are you a ghost?" A ghost! What a great idea! Bean made her voice scratchy and spooky. "Yessss," she howled. "I am the ghost of Mr. Killop. I lived in your house before. And I died there, too." Mr. Killop had actually moved to Ohio, but Bean thought it was more interesting to say he had died. "I've come to haunt you! Tonight when you're sleeping, I'll wrap my icy fingers around your neck!" "Bean! What are you yelling about?" Oops. It was Nancy.