ATTENTION, BUSY PARENTS!

Great Rapscott School for Girls of Busy Parents has a unique curriculum designed solely for your daughter.

Including our essential introductory program:

How to Find Your Way

Plus! everything your daughter needs to know that you are too busy to teach her!

We understand that you are too busy to even apply for admission for your daughter, so we will be sending a letter of acceptance shortly!*

Too busy to bring your daughter to
Great Rapscott School?
Not a Problem!

For your convenience we have provided this easy to use self-addressed box in which to safely mail your precious daughter.

No postage necessary. Crackers and cheese are free.

*Great Rapscott School is exclusive only to the daughters of the busiest parents in the entire world.

OUR MOTTO: “Adventure is worthwhile in itself!”

—Amelia Earhart

Dear Dr. Loulou Chissel & Dr. Lou Chissel,

It has come to our attention that you are one of the five busiest parents in the entire world.

And so . . .

We are happy to inform you that Beatrice has been selected for admission.

Congratulations!

Sincerely,

Ms. Rapscott

DIRECTOR OF ADMISSIONS

GREAT RAPSCOTT SCHOOL FOR GIRLS OF BUSY PARENTS

BIG WHITE LIGHTHOUSE BY THE SEA

Chapter 1

It was a perfect day for getting Lost on Purpose.

Ms. Rapscott stood at dawn on the observation deck of the lighthouse that was Great Rapscott School for Girls of Busy Parents. A huge beam of light rotated slowly above her. The teacher peered through binoculars while her two corgis looked on.

Armies of dark clouds marched ominously in from the west. The weather would be bad—but here in Big White Lighthouse by the Sea the weather was always bad. “Do you think it will storm, boys?”

Lewis licked the tip of a paw and held it up in the air to check the direction of the wind. Clark nodded a confirmation; it would most likely storm.

Ms. Rapscott scanned the horizon and, in the distance, she saw five faint objects whizzing through the air. They were in a V formation—a pattern used by geese flying south for the winter. But these were not geese, these were boxes—five large boxes. They flew north over the sea road that snaked along the cliff of the rocky coast, straight for the school. “They’re here!” She hurried inside, and clattered around and around, down the circular staircase. Lewis remembered his watch and hurried to strap it on his wrist, and Clark grabbed his clipboard with the list of names. Then they both followed a moment behind.

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

Thump!

The boxes landed on the front porch of Great Rapscott School for Girls of Busy Parents.

The teacher poked the first box with her foot.

“Let me out!” came a voice from inside the box.

“Stand back!” Ms. Rapscott warned.

The dogs kept a safe distance.

The headmistress pulled the E-Z open tab with one quick zip and leaped away. A second later, out popped a girl.

“Where am I!?” she hollered.

“You are at Great Rapscott School,” Ms. Rapscott replied. “What is your name?”

“Beatrice Chissel!!” Beatrice had been packed wearing a soiled plaid jumper and shirt, the uniform from a previous school that she had been kicked out of some weeks ago. Her short dark hair looked as if she’d cut it herself, her nose was running, and her teeth needed brushing. She didn’t smell very good, either.

Lewis checked his watch; it was 7:00 a.m. sharp. Clark put a checkmark next to her name.

“This one’s got pluck!” Ms. Rapscott winked at her corgis.

Beatrice Chissel was very small and round, like a beach ball with arms and legs. She narrowed her eyes and gave Ms. Rapscott a suspicious look, then bounced off the porch to take it all in.

She lifted her snub nose and sniffed the salt sea air. She cocked an ear and listened to the racket made by the waves that crashed against large pointy rocks. She felt the sand sting her podgy cheeks like little needles. A clamshell bopped her on the head from a passing seagull and that was it.

Beatrice Chissel climbed back inside her box and pulled the flaps over her head. “Mail me back!!” For once her shrill voice was muffled, which was highly unusual because, for such a young girl, she had developed a set of lungs the size and strength of a professional hog caller.

The reason for this was that no one ever heard Beatrice unless she screamed.

Her parents, Dr. Loulou Chissel and Dr. Lou Chissel, were very busy. They had started out in the cinder-block business and slowly but surely had worked their way up to become prominent cosmetic surgeons. In a stroke of genius Beatrice’s father, Dr. Lou Chissel, had even devised a way to fill out wrinkles and lips from the raw materials that he had used to make his cinder blocks.

“It’s a win-win situation,” Dr. Lou often said.

But the Chissels didn’t stop there. Dr. Loulou Chissel had shortened her daughter’s name from Beatrice to Bea to save time, because Dr. Chissel was busy experimenting with ways to grow hair on cinder blocks.

“Just think of the possibilities,” she crowed.

Dr. Lou rubbed his bald head, “Just think.”