Ivy and Bean No News Is Good News (2 page)

Ivy had been practicing to become a witch for a long time. She was going to be one when she grew up, for sure. She had already learned a lot of important witch things, like spells and potions. Especially potions. Potions were fun
because you had to mix ingredients to make them. Ingredients for potions were things like bugs and hair and leaf juice and rust. Ivy’s collection of ingredients stood on a shelf in a special section of her room she called the magic lab.

Ivy took her magic book from its hiding place and flipped through the pages, looking for a potion to sell. It had to be something that people would want to buy.

“What do people want?” she asked.

“Horses,” said Bean. She wanted a horse.

Ivy looked in her book. “Here’s one for making your horse as fast as an eagle.”

Bean rolled her eyes. “That’s not much help if you don’t have a horse.”

Ivy nodded. Then she giggled. “Here’s one that makes the first person you touch fall in love with you.”

“Eeeww, gross! Touching.” Bean shivered.

“Maybe we could sell it to Nancy,” suggested Ivy.

“Too mean,” said Bean.

“To Nancy?” asked Ivy.

“No! To whoever touched her! Geez!”

“Okay.” Ivy looked through more pages. Then she stopped. “This is a good one. A flying potion. Hey, and flies are one of the ingredients! I’ve got tons of flies!” She looked at the bottle of dead flies on her shelf.

“That’s perfect,” Bean said. “Everyone wants to fly. I bet we could charge ten dollars a bottle for a flying potion.”

“Ten dollars. That’s two bags of Belldeloon cheese,” said Ivy.

“That’s twelve pieces of wax,” said Bean.

+ + + + + +

“Yuck,” said Leo the next day at lunch recess.

“But you’ll
fly
,” said Bean, flapping her arms up and down to show flying.

“What are those black things?” he asked, looking at the jar of potion. It had turned out sort of yellowish, except for the bits that were black.

“Secret,” said Bean.

“Flies,” said Ivy at the same moment.

“Gross!” he said. “Nobody’s going to drink that. You guys are nuts!”

Ivy and Bean looked at each other and sighed. The potion business was not so good. No one wanted the potion, not even at the special sale price of one dollar. Eric said that he would give Bean a quarter if she drank it, but she decided not to. A quarter wasn’t enough to buy Belldeloon cheese anyway.

Lunch was almost over. They needed a potion-buyer on the double. Vanessa walked by, a lump of red wax in one hand and her brother Toby in the other. Even though he was only in kindergarten, he had a lump of red wax, too.

It was worth a try. “Hey, Toby, trade you a flying potion for your wax!” called Bean. He turned around and looked at her. She waved the jar of potion. “Don’t you want to fly?” She waved the jar some more. “Look, I can hardly keep it in my hand! It’s trying to fly away!” She gave the jar a little toss. “See? It’s—” The jar slipped through her fingers and crashed against the cement of the breezeway. Ivy and Bean stared at a million pieces of glass sitting in a puddle of dead flies and yellow glop.

“Just what do we have here, young ladies?”

Ivy and Bean turned around. It was Rose the Yard Duty. The potion business went from bad to worse.

That afternoon, Bean’s dad wandered into the kitchen. “Holy moly cannoli, what are you eating?” he squawked.

“Gmckr tnch,” said Bean. Her mouth was full. “Ff bplzrp npnd rr.”

“Graham cracker sandwich,” explained Ivy. “With maple syrup and peanut butter.”

“Wow,” said Bean’s dad. He sat down at the table to watch.

Bean swallowed. It took a long time. Finally, she said, “Dad. Can we have some money?”

“You get an allowance.”

Bean sighed. “No, I don’t. Not for two more months. Don’t you remember?”

His eyes got narrow. He remembered. “Serves you right.”

Bean didn’t want to talk about that. Quickly, she asked, “But what if I need some money?”

“Earn it!” he said. “When I was a kid, I didn’t get extra money from my parents. If I wanted a comic book, I had to buy it myself. With money I earned myself.”

“But how did you make the money? Did you have a job?”

“Sure. I had a bunch of jobs. I washed my father’s car, for instance. And mowed the lawn. And vacuumed the house.” He paused. “And there was the newspaper, too.”

Ivy and Bean looked at each other. Car, mouthed Ivy silently.

“We’ll wash your car for ten dollars,” said Bean at once.

“No,” said her father.

“What do you mean, no?” yelped Bean. “You just told us we should make money by washing cars.”

“Hello? Do you remember the time you washed the house? Do you remember what happened in the basement?” he said. “No water.”

Bean rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay. Lawn.”

“Ha!” Her father snorted. “You think I’m going to let you drive a lawn mower? Think again.”

“Vacuuming?” said Ivy.

“Excuse me?” he said. “Aren’t you the ones who vacuumed up the tuna salad?”

Bean sighed deeply. “Fine. What was the newspaper?”

“I made a newspaper,” said Dad. He smiled. “It was called The Explosion.”

“Cool! Did it explode?” Bean asked. That sounded like a pretty good newspaper.

“No, no. That’s just what it was called,” her dad said. He leaned back in his chair and stared into space. “It was about all the stuff that happened in my neighborhood. You know, who’d gotten a dog, who’d fallen off their bike, that kind of news.” He started to look dreamy. “It was great. Everyone wanted it. I charged a quarter a copy. Which was a lot of money back then. I went to all the houses in my neighborhood.
I remember exactly what I said, too. I said, ‘Hello, I’m David. Do you want to know what’s going on in the world around you? Subscribe to The Explosion and you’ll learn about all the thrilling events that happen on Aspen Avenue. Plus, you’ll be helping to keep a neighborhood child off the streets.’”

“What’s subscribe mean?” asked Ivy.

“That means they gave me the money.” Bean’s dad still looked dreamy. “And then I brought them the newspaper when it was done.”

Bean sat up straight. “They gave you the money first?”

“Yup.”

“How much money did you make?” asked Bean.

“Lots,” he said. “I don’t remember.”

“More than ten dollars?”

“I guess,” he said. “Everyone bought it.”

“Dad,” said Bean. “Let me get this straight: You went around your neighborhood asking for money, and people just gave it to you? You didn’t have to give them
The Explosion
first?”

Her dad shook his head. “No. They gave me the money, and then I made the newspaper.”

Ivy looked at Bean. It sounded too good to be true.

“Are you sure, Dad?”

“Sure I’m sure,” he said. “That’s what subscribing is.”

Bean looked at Ivy and shrugged. Dads don’t lie. Both girls stood up. “Thanks for making such a great snack, Dad! See ya!” said Bean.

“Wait. Don’t you want to hear about what I wrote?” asked Bean’s dad. But Ivy and Bean were already gone.

+ + + + + +

Bean sat down with a thump in her basket chair. “Bet we could charge a dollar.”

“Your dad only charged a quarter,” Ivy reminded her. She was stretched out on the floor.

“But that was back in the old days,” said Bean. “And besides, our newspaper will be great. It’ll be worth a dollar.”

“What should we call it?” asked Ivy.

“The Explosion!” said Bean.

“No, that would be copycatting,” Ivy said.

“Okay,” Bean said. “How about The Wax?” After all, wax was the whole point of the newspaper.

Ivy frowned. “I don’t think most people like wax as much as we do.”

“Well, you think of something.”

“I am thinking,” Ivy said. She put her feet up on Bean’s wall so that all her blood would go into her head and help her brain.

Suddenly Bean slid out of her basket chair and collapsed onto the rug. “
The Flipping Pancake!
Get it? Because it’s Pancake Court! Isn’t that great?” Sometimes her ideas were so good she amazed herself.

“
The Flipping Pancake,
” said Ivy slowly. “
The Flipping Pancake.
” She took her feet down off the wall. “It’s perfect. Everyone who lives here will buy it.”

“We’ll be rich, rich, rich!” cackled Bean.

“We’ll be rolling in wax!” cackled Ivy.