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    Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There
    Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There
    Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There
    Ebook74 pages55 minutes

    Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There

    By Melody DeFields McMillan

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    About this ebook

    Addison Addley hates math.

    He hates public speaking too. Actually, he hates anything that involves work, but he only has a couple of weeks to write and memorize his grade five speech. The problem is, he can't think of a single topic. When he finally comes up with an excellent idea for a speech, it almost writes itself, but it's his poor math skills that make speech day unforgettable.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateMar 1, 2008
    ISBN9781554695683
    Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There
    Author

    Melody DeFields McMillan

    Melody DeFields McMillan is a teacher who lives in Simcoe, Ontario, not far from where she grew up. When she's not writing, she's enjoying all that nature has to offer. Her first book about the irrepressible Addison, Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There, was nominated for a Silver Birch Award.

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      Book preview

      Addison Addley and the Things That Aren't There - Melody DeFields McMillan

      help.

      Chapter One

      I hate doing speeches. I hate doing speeches more than I hate being the skinniest guy on the baseball team. Just because my name is Addison, everyone thinks I should be smart or something. Maybe they’re confusing me with Edison, the inventor of the light bulb. Maybe they think that my yellow hair sends some sort of weird Vitamin Cenergy to my brain. I don’t know.

      My name may be smart, but I’m sure not. Not at school stuff, anyway. I could be, my teacher tells me, if I would apply myself. Apply myself to what? It sounds like I need a giant tube of glue.

      Now, Addison, I can hear her say, if only you would apply yourself, you’d grasp fractions in no time at all.

      Now I can think of a lot of things I’d like to grasp, like maybe the controller for my new video game or the reel of my old fishing pole, but fractions aren’t on the list. Besides, who would want to be an expert on fractions anyway? They’re useless except for the odd saying like I’m halfway done my ice cream or If I had half a brain, I’d be able to come up with a topic for my speech.

      That’s what I was thinking about on Saturday morning. If I had half a brain, I’d be able to come up with some incredible idea that would stun all the other kids in my grade five class, I thought. Heck, I’d even settle for a quarter of a brain. It’s not that I don’t have much of a brain. It’s just that I choose not to waste my brain on school stuff. Personally, I think I’ve got more common sense than anybody I know, except for the guy at the gas station where I buy my worms. He’s got to be pretty smart to make people pay for those slimy creatures. I’d probably make a great worm seller.

      If I could think of a really great topic, I might be able to just make up the speech right while I was saying it. No sense wasting energy, I told myself as I brushed my teeth. Let me get that straight. I wasn’t really brushing them, just giving them a quick scrape and then pretending they were clean. Sometimes I just let the water run and then I spit as loudly as I can into the sink to make it sound like I’m brushing them. I always pay for it at the next trip to the dentist though. Things have a disgusting way of catching up to you. In the back of my mind I knew I should be brushing longer. But that’s where the thought usually stays—in the very back of my mind, where it belongs. This was definitely going to be a quick-scrape day.

      I spit one more time and closed my eyes, trying to force a quarter of my brain into action.

      Breakfast! Mom called from downstairs.

      Saved by the yell. That was enough work for now anyway. Little did I know that by the time breakfast was over, I’d have my incredible topic. And how was I to know that, like dirty teeth, fractions have a disgusting way of catching up to you?

      Chapter Two

      What’s up? I asked as I caught the piece of French toast that came flying through the kitchen doorway. Mom sometimes goes crazy in the kitchen. If she doesn’t get to cook a big meal for a couple of days, she saves up all her energy and throws it into the food. Once she made three different salads, four kinds of sandwiches and two types of pudding, all for my lunch and all in ten minutes. I bet she could make breakfast, lunch and dinner all at once, in between rearranging the kitchen furniture.

      Saturdays were French toast days. French toast days were sometimes good, sometimes bad. It all depended on what wacky health-food-store ingredients Mom had decided to use that day. Last week it was honey and alfalfa sprouts—definitely not a good day. The week before it was organic sunflower with burnt crusts. I’m not sure if the burnt crusts were organic or not.

      This week looked better. There seemed to be almonds and cherries flattened into the bread. At least I hoped they were cherries. They might have been kidney beans. With my mom you never know.

      What’s the big rush? I asked as I watched her throw another piece into the frying pan.

      It’s the big astronomy event today, she said between gulps of organic papaya juice.

      Now, I might not know much about science,

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