Daisy Dreamer and the Totally True Imaginary Friend Read online

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: Good Morning, Daisy!

  Chapter 2: Upsy’s Special Journal

  Chapter 3: Morning Meeting!

  Chapter 4: The Secret Journal Club

  Chapter 5: Disaster Strikes

  Chapter 6: Missing!

  Chapter 7: Things Get Weird

  Chapter 8: So. Totally. Cool.

  Chapter 9: An Imaginary Friend

  Chapter 10: A Whole New World

  ‘Daisy Dreamer and the World of Make-Believe’ Excerpt

  For my family and fellow adventurers of the imagination

  —G. S.

  Good Morning, Daisy!

  “Knock, knock!”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Mom.”

  “Mom who?”

  “Mom who’s about to come get you out of bed if you don’t wake up, Daisy Dreamer!”

  “Five more minutes to finish my dream!” I say, like I do every morning.

  Then I close my eyes and try to remember my dream, but POOF! Just like that, it’s gone. I ask my pillow if it remembers. But it doesn’t.

  Aw, man! It was a good one too. . . . At least, I think it was. I sigh and flop over onto my stomach. Then I feel something tickle my toes.

  “Daddy, STOP!” I shout as I squirm this way and that. “I asked for five more minutes! That was only two!” And I know I’m right.

  Daddy laughs and says, “Wake up, Daisy Dreamer! You have to get out of bed, or you’ll dream the day away!”

  So I tug my blanket right off the bed and hop onto the floor. Then I zoom out the door, dragging my blanket behind me.

  “If I can’t stay in bed, then I’ll bring my bed with me!” I hide under my blanket and walk slowly down the hall. My blanket is actually a magical robe that makes me invisible. Now I can sleep and no one will see me.

  Uh-oh! Sir Pounce has found me! Sir Pounce is a cat detective and secret spy for the United Pet Spy Agency. He has X-ray vision and can see through my invisible robe. He pounces, and OWIE! His claws are sharp!

  “Okay, okay!” I say to him. “I’m up! And do you know what else? I’m starving!”

  With my blanket still around me, I bumble down the stairs to the kitchen. My arms are stretched out like a zombie.

  “Beware of the blanket monster!” I call out. I hear Sir Pounce race right by me. “Scaredy-cat!” I say and giggle.

  As I enter the kitchen I drape my blanket around my shoulders. My blanket has now become a fur-lined cape. I am a princess for breakfast! And the princess would like milk and cereal. I shake some Toasty Squares into a bowl. Sir Pounce, my royal subject, gets kitty treats.

  Then Daddy and I read the news. Daddy reads a big newspaper called the Daily News. I read the Dreamer Report, which is my very own special newspaper written by—ta-da—me. This paper has all the important news in the house. Obviously.

  “Dad!” I shout as I wave the Dreamer Report in the air. “Did you hear there was a blanket monster sighting on the stairs this morning? They say it was terrifying!”

  “Oh my!” Dad says, raising an eyebrow. “We’d better look into that right away!”

  Mom sits and nods in agreement.

  “Have no fear, Detective Daisy has it under control,” I tell everyone at the table. “I’ll get to the bottom of this blanket mystery, even if I have to go undercovers.”

  That gets a great laugh from my parents. This is shaping up to be a good day after all!

  After breakfast, I cross my arms and become a genie.

  “I wish my breakfast dishes would be clean!” I command. Mom says it doesn’t work that way, so I clean the dishes myself.

  Then I fold my arms, squeeze my eyes shut, and make another wish. This time I wish for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. And guess what? This time my wish really works! When I open my eyes, Mom hands me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  “I love magic!” I say as I plop the sandwich into my lunch box. Then I fly my magic carpet back upstairs to get ready for school.

  Sir Pounce helps me pick out what to wear. He is my very own personal fashion stylist. Today he chooses a striped blue shirt with pink leggings and the perfect jean jacket. Cats make the best fashionistas! Obviously.

  Then I brush my teeth and gargle my mouthwash really, really loudly.

  Sir Pounce thinks I am a lion and runs away. Guess I’ll have to fix my hair all by myself. I wear pigtails to tame my mane! Obviously. Oink! Oink! I do a quick, quirky pose in front of my mirror. Look at that girl with black hair, freckles, and a button nose. That’s me! Little do I know that I’m looking at a girl who is about to have the weirdest time of her entire life.

  Upsy’s Special Journal

  But hold on, my day hasn’t gotten weird—yet. First I have to run down the checklist that hangs on the back of my door.

  Wake up. Check!

  Eat breakfast. Check!

  Find Sir Pounce’s super-secret spy headquarters. Hmmm . . . maybe I’ll have to find that tomorrow. Skip for now!

  Pack lunch. . . . Brush teeth. . . . Fix hair! Check! Check! Check!

  Wait! I almost forgot the most important thing! I grab my brand-new journal from my desk. I got it from Upsy. Upsy is my grandma, and she’s the coolest person in the whole wide world. I nicknamed her Upsy when I was little because we totally belong together, like Upsy-Daisy. And guess what? She likes to write stories—just like me. Upsy has the best imagination, too. Mom says that’s where I get mine from, but I’m pretty sure it just comes from inside my head. Silly Mom!

  Anyway . . . Upsy always tells me stories when she comes to visit. One time she told me about a haunted bowl of porridge. No one dared to eat it until a brave girl named Goldilocks tried it. Or the one about a boy named Peter who could never grow up—that’s because he was born floating five feet above the ground, and instead of growing up, his feet grew down!

  I always beg Upsy for more stories. And she always tells me another. Then, on her last visit, she gave me my very own journal. It has orange and yellow daisies all over it and a lime-green button with a pink satin ribbon around it. To open it, I have to untwirl the ribbon.

  Upsy says this journal is for my stories. But to get me started, she wrote the first sentence of a story on special pages. Now I get to finish each one! And guess what she wrote in sparkly ink on the inside of my book?

  Never stop dreaming.

  That’s a promise I know I can keep! In fact, I want to write something right this second, but . . .

  “DAISY! What’s taking you so long up there? It’s time to leave for school!”

  Oopsy-daisy, gotta go! I stuff my journal in my backpack, grab my skateboard and helmet, and then hop down the stairs like a frog. Boing! Boing! Boing!

  Mom swirls on her scarf, and we leave for school.

  Guess what? My mom and I go to the same school—only she’s a teacher. My mom teaches the older kids in fifth grade. We go to school together every day. Mom walks—boring. And I cruise on my skateboard—fun!

  “What are you looking forward to at school today, Daisy?” she asks me on the way.

  “CHOICE TIME!!!” I shout. Obviously. Choice Time is when we get to do whatever we want. “And I know what I’m going to do today. . . .”

  Mom grins. “Are you going to write in your new journal?” she guesses.

  I bob my head up and down as I clickety-click over the lines in the sidewalk. I count the cracks all the way to Weaverley Elementary.

  Mom gives me a great big squeeze when we get there. Then I step on the end of my skateboard and grab it with my hand.

  “Dream big things today!” Mom calls.
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br />   I wave and run up the stairs to school. “Don’t worry, Momma. I always do!”

  Morning Meeting!

  I’m in Mr. Roberts’s class—room 2R. He is calling attendance while he balances a pencil on the end of his nose. Today he is being a seal. Yesterday he was a penguin. I love my class!

  “Daisy Dreamer?” he calls.

  “AARRP, AARRP!” I shout and flubber from my table like a seal to the Morning Meeting rug.

  He goes down his list, calling out everyone’s names. They all shout back and flubber like seals too.

  “Lily Flores?”

  “AARRP! AARRP!”

  “Jasmine Wood?”

  “AARRP! AAAARRRP!”

  Jasmine is always the loudest. She doesn’t sit at my table, and neither does Lily, but they are my best friends. We’ve always been best friends because we all have flower names. And also because we’ve lived in the same neighborhood since, like, forever.

  “Gabby Gaburp?”

  “BLAAH! BLAAH! Whatever,” she says.

  Gabby does not flubber like a seal from her seat. When she walks, she looks like a prancing poodle. Her strawberry-blond ponytail, which sticks out of the side of her head, bounces up and down as she goes. Gabby and I are not friends.

  “Well, that seals it, we AARRP here!” says Mr. Roberts. “And you know what that means. . . .”

  “MORNING MEETING!” we all shout. Everyone except Gabby. Obviously.

  Morning Meeting is when we all get to sit together on the rug. It’s my second-favorite time of the day because I get to sit with Jasmine and Lily. Obviously.

  “Okay, class. You know what’s next. It’s time for the Morning Mental Riddle!” says Mr. Roberts. We always have one.

  “What building has the most stories?” he asks.

  “That’s easy. The Empire State Building,” Gabby says, without even raising her hand.

  “No, but good guess,” says Mr. Roberts.

  Everyone takes turns guessing—the Pyramids, the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty—but none of them are right.

  Then suddenly I know, and I hold up my hand so high I could touch the sky!

  “The library?!” I guess. “Because it’s filled with stories in books!”

  Mr. Roberts claps his hands. “That’s right, Daisy!”

  Jasmine and Lily cheer for me. Gabby crosses her arms and rolls her eyes.

  “That’s not fair!” Gabby complains. “She probably cheated!”

  My cheeks burn. “I did not cheat!” I say. Mr. Roberts smooths things over when he says it is time to start the next lesson, which means we have to go back to our tables.

  Unfortunately, that idea doesn’t always work because I have to sit at the same table as Gabby. Ugh.

  It’s going to be a long day.

  The Secret Journal Club

  At recess, Lily, Jasmine, and I go to the Hideout.

  The Hideout is our top secret space underneath the slides at the playground. There are no doors, and you have to crawl through a tube to get there. We’ve made it our own special place.

  Jasmine’s fountain of curly black ringlets dusts the top of the tube as we go. She has to fix her purple headband after she climbs out. I cannot wait to show Lily and Jasmine my new journal.

  “This is a humongous secret, okay?” I whisper as I carefully untwirl the ribbon from around the button closure.

  Lily and Jasmine nod in agreement.

  “We won’t tell anyone,” Jasmine whispers.

  “Not a soul,” adds Lily as she tucks a lock of her long brown hair behind her ear.

  “We are now the Secret Journal Club,” I whisper.

  We quickly link our pinkies for a pinkie-swear promise.

  Then I tell them how Upsy has written the beginning of a story on special pages and now it’s my job to finish all the stories in the book. “And I want you to help me,” I whisper.

  “How do we pick which story to start first?” asks Lily.

  Jasmine raises her hand as if we’re in class. I call on her.

  “What if we just let the journal decide?” Jasmine suggests. “Let it open to whatever page it wants. That way it will be a surprise!”

  “Great idea!” I say. Then I rest the spine of the book on my lap.

  “Go ahead, Daisy!” says Lily eagerly.

  So I let the journal fall open. I look at the words and start to read. . . .

  “Wait . . . a magical friend named Posey?” Jasmine asks. “Is a posey a type of flower?”

  “The flower is spelled P-O-S-Y—you know, like a pocket full of posies,” I tell her. “But maybe adding an E to it makes it special, like an imaginary friend?”

  “I like that Posey has a flower name like us,” Lily says.

  “Flower power!” says Jasmine, flexing her arm muscles.

  We all laugh.

  “Okay, the story starts here,” I say. “What happens next?”

  Lily leans closer to me. “It’s your new journal, Daisy. Why don’t you write something first?”

  “Thanks,” I say. Then I pull my ladybug pencil out of my pocket. I stare at the page.

  “I think I’ll draw Posey first,” I say. “That will help me know what to write.” Lily and Jasmine watch closely as I draw. The pencil glides across the journal’s page. It feels like I’m not drawing at all, but like I’m tracing a picture that’s already there. I can hear my friends hold their breath as I continue doodling. Posey has a round body, with lots of bright stars because he has lots of bright ideas. Hmm, Posey is a he? I never would have guessed! The pencil keeps moving, as if I am actually pulling Posey’s image up from the blank page, like a magician pulls a rabbit out of a hat! Posey needs a nosey and a perfect goofy smile. And antlers. Obviously.

  Finally, I hold up the journal to formally introduce Lily and Jasmine to our first story mascot. “Secret Journal Club, meet Posey.”

  That’s when someone from inside the tube says, “POSEY? What kind of stupid name is that?”

  I hug my journal close to me. All three of us look at the entrance to the Hideout. Guess who just broke into our top secret hideout? It’s Gabby and her grumpy, pointy-looking friend Carol Rattinger.

  Ugh!

  Disaster Strikes

  “Gimme!” Gabby cries. Then grabby Gabby storms in and tries to snatch the journal right out of my hands!

  No way, I think, and I hold on tight. Then sha-rrrip! The page with my picture tears. Right. In. Two. And guess what? I see fireworks spark out of my book. . . . Or maybe I’m just that mad.

  Everyone freezes like ice cubes.

  “Oooh!” I wail. “My journal! My beautiful picture!”

  Then Gabby shoves the crumpled, torn page in front of me.

  “Geez, I just wanted to see what you were writing,” she says. “If you hadn’t pulled the book away from me, it never would have ripped.”

  I snatch the page from Gabby’s hand. I’m too mad to say anything else. Obviously.

  “Just tape it back together,” Gabby adds, like it’s no big deal. Then Gabby and Carol do a matching hair flip and crawl back into the tunnel like squeaky little meany mice.

  As soon as they leave, my friends each put an arm around me.

  “Gabby is the gabsolute WORST!” says Jasmine, squeezing my shoulder.

  “That creepy Carol probably put her up to it,” Lily adds.

  I smooth out the crinkly torn paper.

  “You probably can tape it back together, Daze,” says Lily. “It should be an easy fix.” Jasmine agrees, and I feel a teensy bit better.

  Then the recess bell rings. I am about to close my journal when I do a double take at Posey on the page. Did my drawing just move? I blink and look again. Holy daydreams! I think my drawing just waved at me!

  “Hey!” I shout. But my friends are already halfway through the tunnel.

  “Hurry up!” Jasmine calls.

  I tuck the ripped page into my journal and hurry after my friends.

  That did NOT just happen,
I tell myself on the way back to class. That was absolutely, positively just my imagination.

  Right?

  Missing!

  I count the minutes until the bell rings. Then I zoom away from school on my skateboard. I’m so boiling mad that I could turn to steam.

  Mom is already home because her class had a field trip. She sees the frown on my face and tilts her head. “Everything okay, sweetie?”

  No, everything is NOT okay, I think. But I don’t want to talk about it right now. I just want to fix my poor torn picture. Obviously.

  “Everything’s fine!” I say as I dash toward my room.

  Mom shakes her head and smiles.

  I head upstairs and search my room for tape. Sir Pounce rubs against me.

  “Did you hide it, Sir Pounce?” I ask.

  “Mer-rrrow,” he answers as he stretches down low.

  You’re right, silly cat! It’s on the floor under my desk! I grab the tape and open my journal to the torn page.

  That’s weird, I think. The piece of paper with Posey is MISSING! I shake my journal to see if it got stuck between the other pages. Nope.

  I put on my thinking cap. Detective Daisy is on the case!

  I dig through my backpack. I unzip my lunch box. I search all my pockets. Twice. I even look in my socks—because you never know. But that missing page must not want to be found! How will I ever see Posey again?