Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor Read online

  Kids Love Hannah Smart: Operation Josh Taylor!

  “… I would really like to read this book again, and again, and again.” — Leilia

  “I absolutely loved the funny parts in the book and I would love for the second book to have humorous parts too … you are an awesome writer.” — Charlotte

  “I recommend that you make a second book … your book was so good … I just did not want to stop reading.” — Peter

  “I think your book is amazing … I love Hannah and Rachel … Scarlett fits in perfectly.” — Robyn

  “Your book was the bomb.com … omg your book is amazing. I loved that ending … best book ever.” — Anne

  “I loved the opening paragraph of your book! It was really funny and energetic … I love your style of writing … the last sentence was great and it made me want to read more!” — Nan

  “I really like your book because it reminds me of a little company that me and some of my friends have called Live Love Loom… if I told you all of them (the parts I like) this letter would be like 10 pages long … I CANNOT wait to read your second book and hopefully there will be even more.” — Rachel

  “I liked the ending because it leaves you on a hook …” — Elliot

  “Please take the time to publish a second book because it is an amazing book!” — Aimee

  “This book was one of the best I have ever read.” — Jenna

  To my beautiful daughter, Erin, who is my inspiration and real-live version of Hannah Smart

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Acknowledgements

  1

  The Josh Taylor Duh-lemma

  “Hey, listen up all you Josh Taylor fans out there!” the radio announcer’s voice blares. “It’s official! Josh Taylor is finally going on tour and he’s heading our way. He’s going coast to coast and he’s kicking it off right here in Glen Haven on New Year’s Eve!”

  O-M-G, did I hear that right? Is this true? Am I dreaming?

  “That’s right, fans, mark that date, because on December 31st Josh Taylor is making our very own Glen Haven, Vermont, the first stop on his cross-country tour!”

  Holy crap, I’m not dreaming!

  Okay, so right off the bat, I have to explain a few things:

  Number one: I love Josh Taylor. I mean really love him.

  Number two: I just realized that my ultimate dream is about to come true. I’m finally going to see him … Josh Taylor! We’ll be in the same room, well, actually a stadium, but who cares! We’ll be literally breathing the same air!

  Number three: I must get a ticket ASAP!

  Number four: My legs have suddenly turned to Jell-O. I really have to sit down.

  “Mom … did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” she asks, whisking away at something in her bowl.

  “Josh Taylor! He’s coming to Glen Haven! Can you believe it?”

  “No, I can’t believe it.” She throws in some salt.

  Unbelievable! I’ve just told her the most exciting news — ever — and she can’t even bother to look up. I mean, we’re talking about Josh Taylor here! It’s obvious that she doesn’t appreciate the extreme importance of this information. I mean, imagine if the person you spent all your time dreaming of was coming to your town. Just think about it!

  “Who did you say is coming?” she asks.

  “Mom … Josh Taylor!” I tell her again.

  “Oh, Josh Taylor.” She raises an eyebrow.

  “Yes, Mom, Josh Taylor. He’s only the most talented singer in the entire world!”

  “So I’ve heard,” she says, rolling her eyes. “When is he coming?”

  “New Year’s Eve!” I shriek.

  “So, I’m guessing you’ll want to go to the concert, then?” she says.

  “You’re guessing I want to go to the concert?” I look at her in disbelief. “Duh!” Suddenly, I feel the sting of my hand flying against my mouth, clamping it shut before I can blurt out any other choice words.

  So, let me explain. In my family, apparently, saying the word duh to someone is as bad as calling them a complete idiot, even though in my opinion, it’s not even close. I found this out last week when I used the word duh a few too many times, and my mother, who takes things way too seriously, informed me that if that word passes my lips one more time there will be consequences.

  “Well then, Hannah, I guess you’ll have to start saving your money.”

  What? Excuse me?

  She’s showing no expression so I can’t figure out if she’s actually serious. So, I stare at her, waiting for her to crack. She’s really not bad-looking as far as moms go. I imagine this is what I am going to look like when I get to be her age because when you look at pictures of my mom at thirteen, she looks exactly like me — average height, average weight, high cheekbones, dark brown eyes, and long dark-brown hair.

  After a minute or so of staring at her, I come to the obvious conclusion that there is no way she can be serious. Of course she’s not. She didn’t like the “duh” comment and now she’s trying to scare me. What a relief. I guess I’d better play along.

  “I know, I know, I know.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t have said that word, you know … the d-word.” I hop up on the counter beside where she’s working. “I’m really, really sorry and I guess I’ll have to accept the consequences …” I let my head fall to my chest, adding another heavy sigh for effect. I love reverse psychology! It always, always works! But something’s not right. She isn’t saying anything and now she’s frowning.

  “Mom, you can’t really be serious?” I say in utter disbelief. “Save my money? What money?”

  “The money you will need to buy your ticket, Hannah. Concerts are expensive, and we’ve been spending a lot on you lately.”

  What? This is crazy! This cannot be happening.

  “Mom! I’m sorry I called you an idiot!”

  “What?”

  “I mean I’m sorry I said duh. I promise I’ll never, ever say it again … ever!”

  So, in case you haven’t noticed, I am really starting to panic now. She is definitely serious!

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hannah, stop being so dramatic. It’s not about that.”

  “Then what’s this about?” I cry.

  “Just like I said, we’ve been spending a lot on you lately. You really need to learn the value of money. It doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

  I feel like saying, Duh, what do you think, I’m a moron? Obviously, I know money doesn’t grow on trees! Still, how can she expect me to come up with enough money to buy my own ticket? They’re expensive, you know, and I’m only thirteen, technically still a child. I mean really, what does she expect? I don’t understand where this is coming from.

  For the record, they haven’t been spending that much money on me, and most of the stuff they bought me, I really needed. Like my new skateboard, they only bought it for me because my old one broke, and the helmet came with it, so it was free. And, now that I think about it, the skateboard should actually fall under the category of “sporting equipment,” which has to do with exercise, which everyone knows is an important factor in leading an active and healthy lifestyle. They also bought me some Chuck Taylors, but only because my feet ar
e growing and I needed sneakers. And really, how can I help it that I’m growing? I can’t just look down at my feet and yell, “Stop it!” Kids grow … parents just have to deal!

  Maybe she’s talking about the books from Amazon. Well if she is, I don’t think that’s fair. Books are educational, and in my opinion, anything educational shouldn’t count, should it? Even if one of them is called A Teenager’s Guide to Perfect Make-Up, it’s still a book. Right? Right! Scratch the books; they totally don’t count!

  So that’s it really … I can’t think of another thing. Well, unless she’s counting the four movies I went to this month. That’s only one per week, and really, I’m thinking about studying acting when I go to university someday, so I should probably go to as many movies as I can, you know, for educational purposes.

  Hmmm … she wouldn’t be talking about my new iPod, would she? She totally shouldn’t be. I mean, it was a back-to-school present and it was on sale! Maybe Dad told her about the new Josh Taylor album. He gave me his credit card number last week so I could download it off iTunes. Naw, I don’t think she knows; she would have said something.

  Right, so if I don’t count:

  the skateboard

  the helmet

  the Chuck Taylors

  the books

  the movies

  the iPod

  and the Josh Taylor album …

  Who am I kidding? I know my mom, and she’s totally counting all of it, all the stuff she knows about anyway. Crap!

  “So, you’re totally serious then?” I ask hopelessly.

  “I am.”

  “So, can I ask Nan and Pops?”

  “Seriously, Hannah! This is not up for debate or discussion. Begging won’t help and you are not allowed to pull the ‘poor old me’ act with your grandparents.”

  “I think I need a plan,” I mumble.

  Mom nods. “I think you do.”

  2

  Blame It on the Orange Crush

  Okay, so I need a plan … just one little idea. How hard can it be? I mean there’s got to be a million moneymaking ideas out there. Right?

  I know what you’re probably thinking: why not mow a few lawns or take up babysitting? Well, for starters, mowing lawns is just out of the question — I have a huge phobia of lawnmowers … long story, tell you later. As for babysitting, we live in a neighbourhood full of old people. There are no little kids on my street, or even close by, which I thought wouldn’t be a problem, because parents want responsible and qualified babysitters, right? Wrong! After months of training, taking the highest-level babysitting course in history, and learning advanced CPR and first aid, I found out parents don’t want to hire babysitters who need a ride home; they want babysitters who live across the street. How messed up is that?

  So, I need to think of a plan that doesn’t involve lawn mowers or taking care of small children. Usually I tap when I think. Sometimes I tap the table, sometimes I tap my desk, but right now I’m tapping my head, which by the way, is empty. I mean really, not a single idea, no lightning bolts of inspiration, just nothing, nada. How frustrating! Why can’t I come up with just one little measly idea? Maybe I’m just not an “idea person.” Hey, we can’t all be geniuses. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no dummy, but I’m definitely not a brainiac like my friend Rachel. Now that’s a girl who’s super-smart, like, I’m talking … brilliant.

  Rachel is my very best friend in the world and has been since the day we met, a little over five years ago. It was the first day of third grade. Rachel and I were in the same class but we didn’t know each other because she was new.

  So, it was lunchtime, and I was watching her (not in a weird stalker kind of way, but in an I don’t

  recognize that girl, she must be new kind of way). Anyway, she opened her lunch bag and pulled out a strange-looking sandwich that had some weird grassy stuff in it. She took a bite and squished up her nose. Then she took out a Thermos, looked inside, and took a swig. It was pretty obvious from the look on her face that whatever was in that Thermos was completely disgusting. I looked down at my delicious, first-day-of-school lunch that Mom packs me every year: a ham-and-cheese croissant, carrot sticks with dip, a Kit Kat bar, and a can of Orange Crush. When I looked back at Rachel, she was stuffing her lunch back into her lunch bag. I think she’d barely eaten a thing. Who could blame her, though? What kind of mother would pack a lunch like that? Then she got up from her desk and just left.

  Suddenly, I found myself hopping up from my seat with my prized first day of school can of Orange Crush. What am I doing? I was thinking as I walked toward her empty chair. I thought about how delicious my Orange Crush would be and then about that disgusting stuff in Rachel’s Thermos. I put the can down on her desk, turned to walk back to my seat, and that’s when I caught him! From the corner of my eye I saw Billy Butler booking it for that can of soda. I spun around, and, as fast as lightning, bolted toward her seat. But I was too late; in the split second it took to reach Billy, he’d already grabbed it and chucked it across the room. Zach jumped up, caught it, and pitched it back. In a flash, it became a full-fledged game of Monkey in the Middle. The boys were all flailing their arms and leaping in the air, trying to catch it, while the girls were all ducking for cover. That can had to have been hurled across the classroom at least twenty times before the lunch monitor poked her head in the door and insisted that it be put away at once!

  So, the game stopped; the can was put back on Rachel’s desk, and everyone went back to eating lunch, including me. I didn’t have my Orange Crush, but at least I had something good to eat. I checked the clock. We had fifteen minutes of lunch left. (I remember this detail because below the clock was Rachel’s desk, and as my eyes fell from the clock to her, well specifically to the can of soda in her hand, I suddenly realized that she was back and nobody had filled her in; she had no idea what was about to happen.)

  In my mind I was screaming, “No! No! No! New Girl … don’t do it … don’t open that can …” But before I could warn her, she poked her finger through the loop of the pull-tab and then … snnnnnnnnnnnap … swishhhhhhhhhhhhhh … orange syrupy liquid was spraying everywhere, in every direction. It was all over her — in her hair, on her clothes, on her desk, on the floor. She sat frozen, like a sticky orange zombie, with everyone’s eyes glued on her.

  I knew one thing for sure: she needed my help. I sprang from my desk, sprinted to the craft table, and grabbed a massive roll of paper towel. Looking back now, I think everything would have been fine if I had just gone a tiny bit slower, but I kind of panicked.

  Now to be clear, I don’t think it was my fault that I slipped; the Orange Crush had turned the floor into a Slip ’N Slide, and how could I have known that Rachel would pick that exact moment to snap out of her daze and spring up from her desk?

  It was like bowling a perfect strike. I hit her square on, and like a bowling pin, she went flying … and so did the can. It flew out of her hand and into the air, turning end over end, spraying an Orange Crush mist over everything in its path. When it finally landed, it was upside down on Scarlett Hastings’s lap. Now, if you knew Scarlett Hastings like we know her, you would realize that this was the worst place for that can to land. I’ll explain more about that later.

  Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with a concussion and the strangest feeling that I was being watched. Sure enough, the first thing I saw, as soon as I was able to focus, were two big blue eyes staring at me through a tangled mess of sticky, long, strawberry-blond hair. Those eyes, peering at me from the next bed over, belonged to Rachel. She was also the proud owner of ten brand new stitches, a broken arm, and a new best friend.

  In the hospital we found out how much we had in common. Most importantly, this is where we discovered we were (and still are) Josh Taylor’s absolute biggest fans!

  Wait a second … we are his biggest fans … Rachel and me … could it be that easy? Of course it is. I just figured out a plan, a brilliant plan. I’ll cal
l Rachel! She’ll know exactly what to do. Problem solved! I told you I’m no dummy.

  “

  3

  The Highs and Lows of Celebration Pizza

  Hey, Mrs. Carter, is Rachel around?” I say into the phone.

  “Well, she is supposed to be in her room doing her homework, but you know Rachel.”

  So, I told you Rachel is smart, but the weird thing is she hates pretty much everything to do with school, especially homework. Her mom is always on her case about this. I guess it makes sense though since her mom is a teacher, well actually a university professor. She teaches holistic nutrition, which, according to Rachel, just means she teaches people how to be completely obsessed with organic food. Rachel’s dad is a pediatric surgeon. So, it’s not surprising that Rachel’s IQ is like over 140, not that she seems to care. This is the one thing I don’t get about Rachel. I’d love to be smart like that. I know it drives them crazy when she goofs off, which I hope she’s not doing now, but I know she probably is.

  “Rachel Lynn Carter!” I hear her mom bellow. “Turn the music down! What are you doing?”

  I hear Rachel mumble something in the background. She’s probably doing a Josh portrait again. She’s super talented, and she should be; she gets lots of practice. I think every girl in our class has at least one of her Josh Taylor sketches.

  “What’s up?” she says, with a sigh.

  I can tell by her voice that I was right; she’s in trouble again, but right now I’ve got much more important things on my mind.

  “You are not going to believe what I am about to tell you!” I squeal.

  “What?”

  “It’s the best news!”

  “What!”

  “Oh, you are going to be so excited!”