Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Betsey Plays Finders, Keepers!
Hurricane Betsey!
Betsey and the Insult Contest
Betsey and the Monster Hamburger
Hurricane Facts
About the Author
Also by Malorie Blackman
Copyright
About the Book
“A hurricane is coming! A hurricane is coming!”
When Betsey finds out there’s a hurricane headed for the island, she’s so excited – she can’t stop whirling and twirling about! She’d better watch where she’s going or she’ll make more botheration than the storm outside!
Four funny adventures in the stormy Caribbean, perfect for building reading confidence.
Also available:
Betsey Biggalow Is Here!
Betsey Biggalow the Detective
Betsey’s Birthday Surprise
Magic Betsey
For Neil and Lizzy,
with love as always.
Betsey Plays Finders, Keepers!
“It’s mine! It’s mine! I found it! Finders, keepers!” said Betsey.
Sherena, Betsey’s bigger sister, raised her head from her history homework book.
“What have you found?” asked Sherena.
“This shell necklace. Isn’t it pretty?” Betsey replied. She held it up for her sister to see. “I found it here on my bed.”
“Betsey, you know very well that necklace is mine.” Sherena frowned.
“No I don’t.” Betsey shook her head. “It hasn’t got your name on it and it was on my bed. So it’s mine! Finders, keepers!”
“Betsey, you toad! Give that back,” ordered Sherena.
“Won’t! Won’t! Won’t!” said Betsey.
Sherena stood up, her eyes flashing like lightning. “Betsey, I’m warning you. Give that back.”
“Gran’ma . . . GRAN’MA!” Betsey yelled. And she ran out into the living-room with Sherena chasing after her, trying to snatch back her necklace.
“What on earth is going on?” asked Gran’ma Liz.
“Tell Betsey to give me back my necklace, before I get annoyed,” said Sherena crossly.
“It’s not her necklace. It was on my bed. It’s mine! Finders, keepers!” said Betsey.
Gran’ma Liz frowned. “Betsey child! You know as well as I do that that necklace belongs to your sister. Give it back.”
“But Gran’ma . . .”
“Elizabeth Ruby Biggalow! Give it back. Don’t let me have to tell you again,” said Gran’ma Liz.
There was Gran’ma using Betsey’s whole, full name! That meant that Betsey had better step carefully or her next step might get her into a lot of TROUBLE!
“Botheration!” Betsey muttered under her breath. Reluctantly, she handed the necklace back to Sherena.
“Hhumph!” said Sherena, before marching back to her bedroom.
Betsey wandered out into the back yard, muttering to herself all the while.
“I found that shell necklace on my bed,” Betsey said to herself. “So it should’ve been mine. It didn’t have Sherena’s name on it . . .”
Then Betsey spied a cricket ball, lying in the middle of the yard. She ran over to it and picked it up.
“I found it! It’s mine! Finders, keepers!” Betsey smiled.
“What are you mumbling about?” Desmond, Betsey’s bigger brother, called out from across the back yard.
“Look what I’ve found, Desmond,” beamed Betsey. And she held up the cricket ball for her brother to see.
Desmond frowned. “You’ve found my cricket ball there because that’s where I put it.”
“This cricket ball was lying there, waiting for someone to find it – and that’s me!” said Betsey. “This is my cricket ball now.”
“Betsey, give me back my ball,” said Desmond.
“I won’t! It doesn’t have your name on it!” Betsey replied.
“Betsey, I’m warning you . . .” Desmond said.
“Won’t! Won’t! Won’t!” said Betsey. “This ball is mine.”
“Right!” And with that, Desmond started chasing Betsey all around the garden. Betsey ducked around the breadfruit tree and ran through the chickens with Desmond racing after her.
“BETSEY! COME BACK HERE!” Desmond yelled.
Betsey ran into the house, followed by her brother.
“Wait a minute!” said Gran’ma Liz. “If you two want to chase each other then go and do it in the back yard, not in the house.”
“Gran’ma Liz! Tell Betsey to give me back my ball,” Desmond said.
“It’s not his ball. I found it in the back yard,” Betsey argued.
“Betsey! What has got into you today?” asked Gran’ma Liz. “You know as well as I do that that ball belongs to your brother.”
“But . . .”
“No ‘buts’!” said Gran’ma Liz. “Give Desmond back his ball.”
And although Betsey huffed and puffed and pouted, she had to hand over the cricket ball. Sherena came out of her bedroom just as Betsey went out into the back yard.
“What’s going on?” Sherena asked.
“Betsey’s playing silly games,” sniffed Desmond. “She took my cricket ball and insisted it was hers just because I wasn’t holding it at the time.”
“She did the same thing to me. She said my shell necklace was hers just because I didn’t put my name on it,” said Sherena.
“I think it’s time we taught Betsey Biggalow a lesson.” Gran’ma Liz winked.
So Sherena and Desmond gathered around her as Gran’ma Liz told them of her plan.
That evening, Uncle George came round for dinner. While Betsey was out of the room, Gran’ma Liz grabbed Uncle George for a quick, secret chat. Then they all sat down to dinner – and what a dinner it was too! Vegetable and dumpling soup, the way only Gran’ma Liz and Mum could make it.
“Betsey, what have you been up to today?” asked Uncle George.
Betsey glanced at Sherena who was staring at her. Then Betsey glanced at Desmond who was glaring at her.
“Er . . . nothing much, Uncle George,” said Betsey, taking another spoonful of her soup.
“Betsey! What’s that behind you?” Sherena suddenly called out.
Betsey quickly turned her head. “Where? Where?”
“Over there,” said Sherena, pointing to the corner of the ceiling.
“I can’t see anything.” Betsey frowned. Betsey turned back to her soup. The bowl was empty . . . Betsey stared and stared, but it didn’t help. Her bowl was still empty.
“Where’s my soup gone?” Betsey asked, amazed.
“Oh, was it your soup?” asked Uncle George. “I didn’t know that. It was just sitting on the table, so I helped myself.”
“But . . . but . . . that was my soup,” Betsey spluttered.
“It didn’t have your name on it, Betsey,” said Gran’ma Liz. “So how was your uncle to know it was yours?”
“Because . . . because . . . the bowl was in front of me,” said Betsey.
“But the whole table is in front of me. So the table and everything on it is mine,” said Uncle George. “Finders, keepers!”
“But that’s not fair,” said Betsey.
“In fact, not only does the table and everything on it belong to me, but everyone at the table belongs to me too!” said Uncle George.
And Uncle George stood up and went over to Betsey. Before she could say “dumplings!”, Uncle George picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“Look what I’ve found, everyone!” Uncle George grinned. “This girl was just sitting here and I found her. As she hasn’t got anyone’s name on
her, I’m going to keep her. Finders, keepers!”
“You can keep her for as long as you like, Uncle!” said Desmond.
“Uncle! Uncle! Put me down,” yelled Betsey.
“Who said that?” said Uncle George, looking around.
“I said it, Uncle George. Put me down,” said Betsey.
“Why?”
“Because I . . . I don’t belong to you,” said Betsey.
“Who do you belong to then?” asked Uncle George.
“I belong to . . . myself,” Betsey decided.
“Where does it say that?” asked Uncle George.
“It doesn’t say that anywhere. But it’s true,” said Betsey.
“What about this shell necklace? Whose is it?” asked Sherena, holding up the necklace for Betsey to see.
“It’s yours. Mum gave it to you for your last birthday,” Betsey replied.
Desmond held up a cricket ball. “And who does this belong to?” he asked.
“It’s yours,” said Betsey. “It’s the special one Dad bought for you.”
“So have we heard the last of this finders, keepers nonsense?” asked Gran’ma Liz.
“Yes! Yes! I’m never going to say those two words ever, ever again,” said Betsey.
“In that case, I’ll put you down,” said Uncle George. And he put Betsey back on her feet.
“And I’ll give you some more soup!” Gran’ma Liz smiled.
Gran’ma Liz filled Betsey’s bowl with some soup from the pot. Betsey helped herself to some more dumplings.
When Sherena finished her soup, she peered into the pot.
“Gran’ma Liz, are there any more dumplings left?” asked Sherena.
“Sorry, Sherena. Betsey had the last one,” Gran’ma Liz replied.
“Finders, keepers!” said Betsey.
Hurricane Betsey!
“Sherena, Desmond, Betsey, come in here a minute,” called Mum.
Sherena came in from the back yard where she was polishing her bike. Desmond came in from his bedroom where he was doing his homework – for once! Betsey was already in the living-room.
“What’s the matter, Mum?” asked Sherena.
Mum looked very worried.
“I’ve got some bad news,” said Mum at last. “There’s just been a hurricane warning on the TV. Hurricane Boris is heading this way.”
“A hurricane?” asked Betsey.
“Oh, you’ve never seen a hurricane, have you?” said Desmond, his eyes big and round like saucers. “A hurricane is like a huge, ferocious storm with winds gusting at over one hundred and fifteen kilometres an hour. The winds are so strong, they can lift you right off your feet and they can blow down trees and blow the roofs off houses and make the sea spin like it’s being stirred by a giant spoon . . .”
“That’s quite enough, Desmond,” said Mum sternly.
“Will we spin up and up in the air as well?” asked Betsey quickly.
“Of course not,” said Mum. “As long as we stay in the house, we’ll be fine.”
“But I want to spin up and up in the air,” said Betsey, very disappointed. “I want to fly.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait until you fly in an aeroplane like the rest of us,” said Sherena. “If a hurricane spun you up in the air, when you landed you’d probably break almost every bone in your body . . .”
“That’s quite enough from you as well, Sherena.” Mum frowned.
“What should we do, Mum?” asked Desmond.
“I want the three of you to help me pack away all the breakable things,” said Mum.
Betsey stared and stared.
“What’s the matter, Betsey?” asked Mum.
“I don’t want to be packed away! I don’t want to be packed away!” Betsey sniffed, very close to tears.
Everyone burst out laughing.
“Betsey, child! We’re not going to pack you away,” said Gran’ma Liz.
“We’d never find a box big enough!” muttered Desmond.
“We’re going to pack up my best plates and glasses and anything else that’s fragile,” Mum told Betsey.
“Fragile?” said Betsey.
“That means easily breakable,” Sherena told her. “And Betsey, you aren’t fragile!”
So that’s what they did. Betsey and Sherena and Desmond wrapped up Mum’s best glasses and plates and ornaments in newspaper before packing them into boxes.
“Mum, where do we go so we don’t get swirled and whirled up into the air?”
“We’ll stay in the living-room,” Mum answered.
“Will we be safe?” asked Betsey, anxiously.
“Of course. We’ll be together, won’t we?” Gran’ma Liz smiled.
“Sherena, bring your bike in from outside, and Betsey, go and get Prince from the back yard, please,” said Mum.
Prince was the family Alsatian dog.
Betsey ran out into the back yard to fetch him. Once outside, Betsey noticed that the leaves of the breadfruit tree were jiggling madly, as if dancing to some music that Betsey couldn’t hear.
“A hurricane is coming! A hurricane is coming!” Betsey shouted out.
And she whirled and twirled around, knocking the flowerpots off the ledge beside her.
“BETSEY! Bring Prince inside and stop dancing about,” said Gran’ma Liz. “Hurricanes are serious business and nothing to be glad about.”
“Yes, Gran’ma,” said Betsey.
Betsey looked up at the sky. It was dark and grey and she couldn’t see the sun. A drop of water landed on her forehead, then another drop landed on her cheek. The storm was beginning. Betsey called Prince over and together they went into the house.
“What else should I do, Mum?” asked Betsey.
“Now we have to board up all the windows so that they don’t blow in on us,” said Mum, looking around. “Sherena, Gran’ma and I will do that. You and Desmond fill all the flasks in the house with water. Then make sure that the bath tub and the sink are clean and fill them with cold water as well.”
“Why do we have to do that?” asked Betsey.
“The hurricane might disrupt the water supply, so we should make sure we’ve got enough drinking water to last us for a while,” Mum explained.
For the rest of the morning, the whole family was busy, busy, busy, but at last everything was done.
“Desmond, bring your homework in here so you can carry on with it,” said Gran’ma Liz.
“Do I have to?” Desmond pleaded.
“Yes you do. Sherena, if you’ve got any homework, you might as well do it now too,” said Gran’ma Liz.
“We’ll all stay in this one room and watch the TV for news of the hurricane,” said Mum.
Betsey sat next to Mum, who put her arm around Betsey’s shoulders.
“Will we be all right?” Betsey whispered.
“Of course we will.” Mum smiled.
Outside, Betsey could hear the heavy rain splashing against the roof and the windows and she could hear the wind howling around the house.
“Please stay in your homes and listen to your radios or your TVs for further information. Please do not use your phones unless it is an emergency. Please stay in your homes and listen to your radios or your TVs for further information.”
“What’s that?” Betsey squeaked.
“Don’t worry, Betsey. It’s just the police, advising people about what they should do,” said Mum. “They’ll drive around for as long as they can, talking through a loudspeaker so that everyone can hear them.”
“Oh!” said Betsey, and she cuddled up closer to Mum.
A while later, an announcement came on TV.
“This is a hurricane update. The hurricane has changed course and is now heading out to sea. Repeat. The hurricane has changed course and is now heading out to sea.”
“Thank goodness for that.” Gran’ma Liz gave a sigh of relief.
“We’re still going to get stormy weather for a while but at least the hurricane won’t be passing this way,”
said Mum. “OK, everyone, let’s start unpacking the boxes and putting everything back in its place.”
Betsey sprang up off the sofa and ran to the nearest box.
“I’ll help. Let me help,” she said, picking up the box which was filled with a few cups and saucers wrapped in newspaper. Betsey whirled and twirled around with the box in her hands. “The hurricane has gone! The hurricane has gone!” she grinned. But because of the box, Betsey didn’t see that she was heading straight for Prince . . .
“No, Betsey . . .”
“Don’t . . .”
Too late. Betsey tripped over Prince and the box of cups and saucers in her hands went flying up into the air to land with an enormous SMAAAAASH-CRAAAAASH! All of the crockery in the box was shattered!
Betsey stared at the mess at her feet.
“Is everyone all right? No one got cut, did they?” asked Mum.
Everyone was fine – except Betsey.
“Mum, it wasn’t me. It was . . .” Betsey began.
“Betsey, sit on the sofa and watch the TV,” interrupted Gran’ma Liz. “You’re causing more damage than the hurricane would’ve done! In fact I know what we should call you . . .”
And everyone shouted out, “Hurricane Betsey!”
Betsey and the Insult Contest
Betsey came home from school, with her chin drooping and her mouth frowning and tears in her eyes.
“Betsey child, what’s the matter with you?” asked Gran’ma Liz, immediately concerned.
“I . . . I had a quarrel with May,” Betsey whispered.
“A quarrel? What about?” asked Gran’ma.
Betsey didn’t answer. She just shook her head and stared down at her sandals.
That evening, Betsey hardly touched her dinner. It was one of her favourites too – flying fish and French fries and fresh salad. There was a huge jug of orange juice in the middle of the table but Betsey didn’t ask for seconds and thirds the way she usually did. She drank half a glass of orange juice and left the rest. Gran’ma Liz and Sherena and Desmond looked at each other, then at Betsey. They were beginning to get worried.