Allergic to Girls, School, and Other Scary Things (Alvin Ho Series, Book 1)
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ALVIN HO IS an Asian American second grader who is afraid of everything--elevators, tunnels, girls, and, most of all, school. He's so afraid of school that, while he's there, he never, ever, says a word. But at home he's a very loud superhero named Firecracker Man, a brother to Calvin and Anibelly, and a gentleman-in-training, so he can be just like his dad.
From the author of the ALA Notable Ruby Lu series comes a funny and touching chapter book--perfect for both beginning and reluctant readers-- that introduces a truly unforgettable character.
He held up the newly repaired and heavily bandaged Johnny Astro. “Maybe the guys tried to fix it at recess,” said Calvin. My dad turned seaweed green. Then he turned sea-foamy. Then he turned pomegranate, then grapefruit, then orange. Normally I like orange. It is the color of tigers and sherbet and sunsets and mango. But I did not like this orange. It was danger-alert orange, which is only helpful around construction sites. Anibelly and Calvin stared with their mouths wide open. Getting
can hardly tell where it’s going. If Pinky didn’t catch it, the ball could smack him right between the eyes. “C’mon!” said Pinky. “You waitin’ for retirement or something?” I shivered. I squinted. It was hard to tell the gang apart from the other creepy shadows in the yard. “I haven’t got all night!” screeched Pinky. So I wound my pitch, leaned back on one leg, then fired it with all my might. . . . There was no thud in the glove. A thick, soupy silence poured into our ears. Then
bright light in the doorway. Anibelly and I ran toward the light. “Lucky your mother wasn’t home,” my gung-gung said as I stepped past him. “You can tell her what happened in the morning.” I nodded. Then I looked over my shoulder. The rest of the gang had disappeared. Our yard was quiet. The house next door was completely dark and quiet too. Lucky the neighbors weren’t home either. after breakfast the next morning, and after I had forgotten to tell my mom about what had happened with the
all the cooking shows and cartoons you want. The common cold? One bad-tasting zinc drop, some tissues and you’re back in school the next day. Medical mysteries? If you get foreign-accent syndrome or barking madness or squeaky chalk phobia, forget it. You’re back in school the same day. So you have to be patient. It’s like choosing a car, or a house; my mom says you shouldn’t jump at the first offer because a better deal might be right around the corner. And it was. One day, Jules was
out—with chicken pox. “Don’t go near Jules’s house,” Miss P warned our class. “It’ll take two weeks for all the blisters to scab over completely. Until then, Jules is highly contagious.” Highly contagious? I felt like dancing! I nearly burst like fireworks! But I didn’t. I had to wait until after school. It was hard not to go near Jules’s house. It is on the way to everything. It is as though Jules’s house is a big magnet and I am an iron filing, and every time I so much as step out of