I continue. “In the past two years, everything has changed. My parents separated. My father moved to Paris. My best friend, Justin, moved to Alabama. My parents divorced. My mom started dating Max. Then he asked her to marry him, and for us to become a family. Now they’re engaged. My favorite teacher, Mr. Cohen, stayed in the third grade, and I had to go into fourth grade. And now my feet are getting bigger. My legs are getting taller. Nothing fits the same way anymore.

“Say something,” I tell the gorilla.

The hairy ape just sits there.

PUFFIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group

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Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England

First published in the United States of America by G. P. Putnam’s Sons,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 1997
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2009

THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Danziger, Paula, dates.
Amber Brown sees red /
by Paula Danziger; illustrated by Tony Ross.
p. cm.
Summary: The year that she is in fourth grade is a difficult one for Amber, as she tries to deal with
escalating telephone fights between her divorced parents and her father’s impending return to take
joint custody of her.

eISBN : 978-1-101-07580-7

[1. Divorce—Fiction. 2. Schools—Fiction.] 1. Ross,Tony, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.1.D2394Ao 1997 [Fic]—dc20 96-41227 CIP AC

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume
any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

http://us.penguingroup.com

To Bruce Coville

Chapter One

I, Amber Brown, am going through a growth spurt.

Either that or the mirror’s getting smaller.

I keep looking at myself from different angles.

Either my legs are getting longer or my pants are getting shorter.

Either my eyesight is getting bad or my bangs are covering my eyes.

I can practically feel myself getting taller ...

My new shoes that I got only two months ago at the beginning of fourth grade are too small.

I’m not sure that I’m ready for this growth spurt.

Sitting down on my bed, I pick up my favorite stuffed toy, the one that my dad won for me at the town fair.

“Gorilla,” I say, “it’s not that I’m complaining .... it’s not that I want to stay the same size forever .... it’s just that I would like something in my life to stay the same for a while.”

The gorilla says nothing, but then he never talks. He just listens. At least that’s one thing that stays the same.

“Say something,” I tell the gorilla.

The hairy ape just sits there.

Looking around my room, I think about how my room is the only thing that hasn’t changed. Doofy dancing-animal wallpaper, boring curtains and bedspread.

Even though the gorilla doesn’t tell me, I know that I sound like such a complainer.

Things could be worse.

I know that.

I look at my mirror again and I see a spot on the right side of my face.

Things ARE getting worse.

I’m getting some weird disease.

I’ve already had chicken pox.

This must be vulture pox.

I touch the spot and it smears.

It’s not vulture pox. (Which I’m not actually sure is a real disease.)

It’s a mark from the pen that I used when I wrote a letter to my dad this morning.

Lately, he’s been writing long letters about how, even though he loves Paris, he’s home-sick for me and for the United States.

“Amber Marie Brown. Get down here right now or you’re going to be late for school,” my mom calls up the steps.

Grabbing my knapsack, I rush downstairs.

It’s Friday.

It’s school.

It’s math test day and I forgot to study.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and something will happen so that the test gets canceled.

Chapter Two

“Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin.” Brandi runs up to me right after my mom drops me off at school.

“What is it this time?” I grin at her. “Did the janitor change another lightbulb? Did Mr. Cohen call Ms. Levine by her first name again? Has someone glued rhinestones on the school basketballs?”

“No.” She stamps her foot. “That all happened last week ... and I’ve already reported those things, so they’re no longer bulletins.”

“So what is it this time?” I continue to grin at my friend, who wants to be a television reporter when she grows up and believes in being prepared for the future.

“Bulletin. Bulletin. Bulletin.” She’s jumping up and down. “The school stinks.”

“I thought you liked school. What’s happened to make you think it stinks all of a sudden?”

She holds her nose and giggles. “The school stinks. It REALLY stinks.... Big time! Really big time. I’m talking SKUNK time. I’m talking SKUNK FAMILY time.”

I start to laugh. “Skunks?!”

She nods. “Take a deep breath.”

I can’t. “I have a cold.”

She tries to look serious. “It’s a good thing that I can give you this bulletin then.... We may be sent home ... the school really stinks.... So, as Mr. Cohen said about ten minutes ago, nose news is good news.”

Now I start to laugh a lot. “Some schools have snow days.... We may have a Skunk Day.”

Jimmy Russell and Bobby Clifford come running over to us.

They get down on their hands and knees, lift one leg, and pretend to be skunks.