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From Judy Blume, bestselling author of Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing!
Fans young and old will laugh out loud at the irrepressible wit of Peter Hatcher, the hilarious antics of mischievous Fudge, and the unbreakable confidence of know-it-all Sheila Tubman in Judy Blume’s five Fudge books. Brand-new covers adorn these perennial favorites, and will entice a whole new generation of Fudge—and Judy Blume—fans.
“As a kid, Judy Blume was my favorite author, and Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing was my favorite book.”—Jeff Kinney, author of the bestselling Wimpy Kid series
said. “Ya-hoo . . .” I yelled, jumping so high I almost knocked over one of Mrs. A’s hanging plants. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a long time!” “Is it the best news of the century?” Fudge asked. “It could be!” I told him, as I ya-hooed again. In a minute all three of us were jumping up and down and ya-hooing all over the porch. That’s when the Perfect Baby-Sitter appeared, holding a pitcher of juice. “I’m gone for five minutes,” she said. “Five minutes and look at
three of us went next door to Ickle’s. I was glad Libby doesn’t work mornings. She was the last person I wanted to see now. Tony Ickle, the owner’s son, waited on us. I ordered a vanilla cone. Jimmy ordered a chocolate cone with sprinkles and Sheila ordered a strawberry. “You’re Libby’s sister, aren’t you?” Tony said to Sheila. “Yes.” “Great girl, Libby . . .” he said. You can’t mean Libby Tubman, I thought. You must mean some other Libby. Nobody in his right mind would call
she said. “And while he ties us up I’ll drop the sail.” She looked over at Dad. “Wait for me to give you the signal, Warren . . .” But Dad didn’t wait. He jumped too soon . . . and landed in the water! “Person overboard!” Sheila shouted. Mrs. Tubman and I remembered our responsibilities. We pointed at Dad. We pointed as some guy from the dock reached into the water and pulled him out. We pointed as someone else wrapped him in a blanket. We pointed until Dad looked at us and called,
Tootsie Pie?” She held her arms out to him. He swung her up in the air. “I think we’ve got something here,” he told her. “I think those little baby feet of yours are going to be a big hit!” None of us knew what he was talking about but we were all relieved. * * * That night after supper, Jimmy and I used up a whole jar of Noxzema. We had sunburned faces, necks and ears. Our ears hurt more than anything. “Why didn’t you use suntan lotion?” Mom asked. “I never burn,” Jimmy said.
straight I banged my head on it. “What about when Jimmy comes?” I asked Mom. “We’ll work it out,” she said. “Don’t worry.” But how could I not worry? At least Mom was able to convince Fudge that Uncle Feather would be happier downstairs. “We’ll put his cage in front of the picture window in the living room so he can watch what’s happening,” she said. “Suppose he has a bad dream?” Fudge said. “Does he usually have bad dreams?” Mom asked, as if Fudge were an expert.