Quotes from Chris Grabenstein

If so, did the law of "finders keepers, losers weepers" apply? Because if Billy could find the gold or jewels or winning Mega Millions Lotto cards—whatever treasure Dr. Libris had hidden on his island—he could buy himself a new iPhone. He could also pay for some of his father's silly toys and maybe get his mom a bunch of those blueberry pies she said she liked so much.

That's what some grown-ups called Riley and his friends Ben, Briana, Jamal, and Mongo (whose real name was Hubert Montgomery but, because he was so huge, everybody called him "Humongo," which quickly morphed into "Mongo").

Thanks," said Walter. "My dad's an engineer. He knows how to take wacky ideas and actually make them work.

But Pinocchio's just a story," said Billy. "It's not real." "That's exactly what I told Dr. Libris! When I did, he shook his head and said I had 'no imagination whatsoever.' Ã¢â'¬Â "That's awful." "Yeah. Dr. Libris can be kind of crabby. That's why I never rowed out to his island except that one time. Didn't want him going all grumpy on me.

I wouldn't," said Sierra.

Mr. Ball was Fairview Middle School's vice principal. Its disciplinarian. The guy who liked nothing better than running detention hall. He'd strut up and down the rows of chairs, tapping a ruler behind his back, his eyes darting from one inmate to the next, just itching to whip out his pink pad and give one of the troublemakers another hour in the after-school punishment zone.

Thoze four beople who will reprasent awl of the bibrareans id the creat and heroik Mountain states knaw one thing aboot anything primted in a card cadalog sydtem. Without it, library users would simply be lost.

The promise of "treasure" has proven quite effective in luring Billy G. back to the island.

Mr. Ball came through the front doors wrapped in a dull gray parka that made him look like a quilted pork sausage. He stomped snow off his rubber boots; shook it off his pant cuffs. Then he wiggle-waggled the large pair of tan hiking boots he held in his hand.

D'Artagnan leapt out of his chair. One hand went to the hilt of his sword, the other to his hip. "You dare to insult moi?" "No," said Billy. "Sorry." "You must forgive D'Artagnan," said Athos. "He takes every smile for an insult.

We are merry people," added Hercules. "We rob from the rich and pour it on the floor." "No," said Robin. "We rob from the rich and give to the poor." Hercules nodded. "Right. Got it. Sorry.

Riley had a strict ethical code for his team's operations, too. They would never execute a caper that was just plain wrong. For instance, on Monday, an eighth grader named Steve Duffy had come to Riley's office in the media center, begging for help.

infrared technology

This is all a dream and we're both asleep right now.

In truth, Riley's crew didn't make trouble. They were fixers. The school's go-to team of Robin Hoods. They only tried to right wrongs, protect innocent kids from bullies, look out for abused animals, and, basically, use their talents to do all the good they could.

Why, hello, Mr. Mack," said Briana in a snooty, lockjaw voice, like she went to college in Connecticut. "I'm ever so delighted to see you again.

Briana would hit the locker room, change into her New Goth Girl disguise/costume, and then try to find a seat at Elyssa Shapiro's table. It shouldn't be hard. Nobody much wanted to sit with Elyssa except her nose- and eyebrow-studded friend with the purple hair, Charlotte Edelman.

Pirate booty," said Grace. "You mean gold doubloons or those cheesy corn puffs?

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

Riley and his crew usually met up in the library every morning before the first bell. After school, they'd meet up again at the Pizza Palace on Main Street. They were a little like firefighters or the Avengers. They were always ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

Riley put on his snow boots and coat and trudged across the ballfields to the scene of the "crime." The edges of the FART letters were crusting over with ice. Riley wondered why Mr. Ball hadn't sent out the custodians to plow away or cover up the word. Probably because it was on Old Man Jenkins's property, not the school's.

old song by Queen, "We Are the Champions.

Riley scooched through a hole he knew about in the fence and carefully headed toward Mr. Jenkins's elevated back porch. It was made of concrete and free of snow, shielded by an angled aluminum awning overhead. As he moved closer, Riley could see the tops of a pair of tan boots peeking out of a wooden crate pushed into a corner where the porch's railings met the house's brick wall.

I'd like to quote the lyrics of Rodgers and Hammerstein—something that's extremely easy to do when you're in a library near 782.14 and all those magnificent Broadway show tunes—'I flit, I float, I fleetly flee, I fly!'