Allergic to Science Projects, Birthday Parties, and Other Man-made Catastrophes (Alvin Ho Series, Book 3)

Allergic to Science Projects, Birthday Parties, and Other Man-made Catastrophes (Alvin Ho Series, Book 3)

Lenore Look

Language: English

Pages: 58

ISBN: 2:00170590

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Here's the third book in the hilarious Alvin Ho chapter book series, which is a Kirkus Reviews Best Continuing Series.

Alvin Ho is a boy who's afraid of everything. For example, what could possibly be so scary about a birthday party? Let Alvin explain:
You might be dressed for bowling . . . but everyone else is dressed for swimming.
You could get mistaken for the piñata.
You could eat too much cake.
You could throw up.
So when Alvin receives an invitation to a party--a girl's party--how will he ever survive?

Lenore Look's touching, drop-dead-funny book about an Asian American second grader--with pictures by New York Times bestselling illustrator LeUyen Pham--has tons of boy appeal and is great for reluctant readers. The previous books in the series, Alvin Ho: Allergic to Girls, School, and Other Scary Things and Alvin Ho: Allergic to Camping, Hiking, and Other Natural Disasters, have received rave reviews. "Alvin's a winner," declares the New York Post, and Newsday says, "The novel . . . shares with Diary of a Wimpy Kid the humor that stems from the hero's Herculean efforts to manipulate the world around him in his favor, without all the facts at his disposal." Perfect for beginning and reluctant readers alike, Alvin Ho perfectly captures the trials and tribulations of boyhood.

Ivy and Bean: Doomed to Dance (Ivy and Bean, Book 6)

The Space Between (Disney: The Never Girls, Book 2)

The Valley of Adventure (Adventure Series, Book 3)

Sink or Swim (Whatever After, Book 3)

Patches (The Puppy Place, Book 8)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the bus went thumpity-thump. The lunch boxes on the bus went clickity-clack. The _______ on the bus went ______________. Oops. Something was missing … Something that’s usually rattling on the bus wasn’t rattling … it wasn’t even there. What was it? I scratched my ear. I picked my nose. WHERE WAS MY PDK??? “OH NO!” I cried. I was so excited to see the police car in my driveway this morning that I’d forgotten my PDK! I’ve never gone to school without my PDK! “STOP THE BUS!!!” I cried.

Hobson’s party, the stranger I felt. And the more I thought about going to Flea’s party, the happier I felt. I knew what was the right thing to do. My dad was right. No one had to tell me. But I was not dressed for sipping tea. I was dressed to kill. Worse, I was wearing Flea’s present! There was only one thing to do. I unwrapped the present I had under my arm. “Deluxe Indian Princess,” it said on the box. But you could see through the plastic windows that it was not the Deluxe Indian

the same creepy rooms until we got to the gift shop, where—gasp!—we bumped into another Louisa May! “Hey,” said the other Louisa May, who was also wearing a three-hundred-year-old dress. “Hey yourself,” said the first Louisa May. “How’s your group going?” asked the second Louisa May. “Fine,” said Louisa May, “except for this kid who needs the bathroom.” “There’s one in every group,” said the other. “It’s there in the corner, kid,” said the original Louisa May, pointing past the books.

super-duper! Then a bunch of cop cars screeched to a halt and surrounded Orchard House. “Will the real Louisa May Alcott please come out with your hands up!” a policeman’s voice boomed through a megaphone. “You are under arrest to go to the cemetery.” Everything was going just great until … boom, boom, boom! “Is someone in there?” a voice yelled. “Open this door, or we’re comin’ in.” I blinked my eyes open. I was sprawled in an X on a cold, hard floor. Where was I? It didn’t feel like

me. there was nothing in the mail for me for days. Then there was something. I could hardly believe it! It was addressed to “Mr. Alvin Ho.” But it was pink. Invitations to duke it out at a birthday party that was more like a war than a party would not be pink. TV static filled my brain. I read it out loud: Oops. How could so many stars—and a hairball—have gotten it so wrong? “How nice!” said my mom. Nice? At a boys’ party, you duke it out. At a girls’ party, you dress up fancy and

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