Claudia and the New Girl (3 page)

then, just as Ashley was sitting down next to me, Ms. Baehr entered the room.

Ashley got to her feet, looking both nervous and hopeful, and I introduced her to our teacher.

Ms. Baehr was apparently expecting Ashley and seemed just as impressed that Ashley had studied at Keyes as I had been. She looked through Ashley's portfolio, raising her eyebrows, murmuring to herself. I knew I should feel jealous, but I didn't. After all, Ashley had studied at Keyes and she'd said / was really talented. She ought to know. Furthermore, she'd chosen me (out of all the kids in the class) to be her friend. She'd barely looked at the other kids, and the only people she'd talked to were Ms. Baehr and me.

I was so wound up, I thought I couldn't stand another ounce of excitement.

And just as I was thinking that, Ms. Baehr finished talking to Ashley, went to the front of the room, and said, "I have an announcement to make. A new art gallery will be opening in Stoneybrook, and in honor of the opening, the owners have planned a sculpture contest for the students at the Arts Center. I'd like all of you to think about entering. You can start a new piece for the show or finish one of the pieces you're working on now. Even if you

don't win, your entry will be exhibited at the gallery the week it opens. I think it would be a good experience for all of you."

Ashley turned to me excitedly. "A show!" she whispered. "Oh, we have to enter!"

"Is there a prize?" Fiona McRae wanted to know.

"First prize is two hundred and fifty dollars," replied Ms. Baehr.

Wow! What I could buy with two hundred

and fifty dollars! It was mind-"When's the show? I mean,

line for entering?" asked John "Four weeks from today." Only four weeks. My face

the prize money good-bye.

toggling, /vhat's the dead-Steiner.

ell. I could kiss way could I

have something good enough to enter in a month. My hand was a practice piece, not a show piece. At home, I was working on two sculptures — one of Mimi (my favorite subject) and one of Mary Anne's kitten, Tigger. The Mimi sculpture was too personal to enter, and Tigger wasn't the right kind of thing for a show. No, if I were going to enter, I'd have to start from scratch. And a month wasn't enough time to start and finish a piece, take my pottery course, keep up in school, and baby-sit.

"I can't enter," I told Ashley later, when class had begun.

Ashley looked up from the lump of clay before her. "Why not?"

I explained my reasons.

"You have to enter," said Ashley. "It would be a sin not to. You shouldn't waste your talent. I could help you," she went on. "I bet I could teach you lots of things. Show you ways to branch out. And I only spend time on people with talent."

"I can't enter," I said simply.

"Well, I'm going to. If it's all I do for the next four weeks, I'm going to create a piece worth entering. And I think you should, too. Remember. I'll help you."

"We-ell," I said. "I'll see."

Ashley smiled. "I thought you'd change your mind," she said.

Chapter 4.

"Ohi, no! Look out!" I cried.

THUD! Crunch, crunch.

"Oops," said Jackie Rodowsky.

I buried my face in my hands. I was hoping that maybe when I opened my eyes the Rice Krispies would have disappeared from the kitchen floor. But no, when I took my hands away, the linoleum was still covered with a crunchy carpet of cereal, and Jackie was still sitting in the middle of the mess with the overturned box in his hands.

It was Thursday, and my ordeal with the Rodowskys had only just begun., After his mother had left, the very first words out of Jackie's mouth had been, "I'm hungry. Let's make a snack." The next thing I knew I was up to my ankles in Rice Krispies.

I glanced at the kitchen table, where nine-year-old Shea and four-year-old Archie were sitting. (Can you imagine naming a helpless

little baby Archibald?) Shea and Archie were never any trouble. Well, not usually. They might look exactly like Jackie, but that red-haired, freckle-faced seven-year-old was the only walking disaster in the Rodowsky house.

"Well, let's clean up," I said with a sigh. I meant for Jackie and me to clean up, but Shea and Archie leaped out of their chairs, disappeared for a moment, and returned with a dustpan and brush, and a mini vacuum cleaner. They know everything there is to know about cleaning. Life with Jackie has done that to them.

Archie held the dustpan, Shea swept the cereal into it, and I followed them around, vacuuming up Rice Krispie dust.

Jackie watched from the sidelines. "What can I do?" he asked.

"Stand still," I replied.

But for Jackie, that was much, much easier said than done.

I concentrated on making sure that Shea and Archie and I left no traces of cereal on the floor. Then I helpfully added "Rice Krispys" to Mrs. Rodowsky's grocery list, which was fastened to the refrigerator with a magnet.

I was just finishing when I heard Shea speak the dreaded words: "Where's Jackie?"

"Uh-oh," I said. "Shea, you and Archie look

upstairs. I'll look down here and in the rec room."

The boys tore upstairs while I dashed into the living room and then the dining room. No Jackie and no signs of him, either — everything was intact and unstained. I leaned down into the rec room. "Jackie?" I called.

No answer.

Then I heard Shea's voice. "Um, Claudia? Can you come here?"

I ran upstairs and found Shea and Archie standing outside the bathroom. The door to the bathroom was closed.

Y'Is Jackie in there?" I asked.

"Yes," answered Shea. "And the door's locked."

"Hey, Jackie!" I yelled. "Unlock the door! You know how to do that, don't you?"

"Yeah!" he replied. "Only I can't."

"How come?"

"I'm stuck in the bathtub."

"How can you be stuck in the bathtub?"

"My hand's down.the drain. I can't get it out."

Archie tugged at the hem of my shirt. "He was trying to get his Blasto-Plane out. It gurgled right down the drain last night."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," I said, clapping my

hand to my forehead. "All right. Shea, where's the key to the bathroom?"

Shea shrugged.

"You don't know?" I exclaimed. Us babysitters think to ask parents a lor of questions, such as whether any of the children has food allergies and where the first-aid kit is, but I'd never bothered to ask about the key to the bathroom.

Shea looked at me, teary-eyed. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, Shea. No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound angry. It's just that I don't know how to help Jackie."

"I do," said Shea, brightening.

"You do?"

"Yeah. It's simple. Go in through the window."

"But Shea, we're upstairs," I reminded him.

"I know. All you do is get on the doghouse roof, then get on the toolshed roof, then get on the porch roof and you can open the bathroom window from there. Want me to do it?"

"No, thanks. I better be the one," I said grimly. "I hope the bathroom window isn't locked, too."

Five minutes later, I was standing on top of

the doghouse. Archie and Bo (the dog) were watching me. Shea was inside so he could talk to Jackie. As I struggled to hoist myself onto the toolshed, I thanked my lucky stars I was wearing blue jeans, and decided to wear jeans to the Rodowskys' from then on.

"Yea!" cried Archie as 1 walked unsteadily across the toolshed roof and began the last leg of my trip.

When at last I was standing by the bathroom window, I prayed silently, Please let it be open.

It was. "Thank you," I said as I crawled into the bathroom.

"For what?" asked Jackie.

"I didn't mean you," I told him.

I unlocked the bathroom door. Shea was still standing patiently in the hallway. Now what? I thought, eyeing Jackie with his hand down the drain. All at once I had an idea. It was a good idea, and it also made me appreciate the Baby-sitters Club Notebook a whole lot more than I ever had. I'd just remembered reading about how Mary Anne and Logan Bruno had once gotten Jackie's hand out of a mayonnaise jar.

"Shea," I said, "could you run into the kitchen and get me some margarine? Oh, and also call Archie inside."

"Sure," replied Shea. In a moment he returned with Archie and a tub of margarine.

I rubbed a healthy, greasy amount around Jackie's hand and the edge of the drain. "Now pull your hand up very slowly," I instructed him.

He did, and after adding a few more glops of margarine, his hand was free.

"Whew," I said.

"Whew," said Jackie.

"Whew," said Shea and Archie.

"Why don't we go outside?" I suggested. Somehow, the Rodowskys' yard seemed much safer than the inside of their house.

"Okay," agreed the boys. So as soon as we'd cleaned the margarine off Jackie, we went into the front yard. The front yard was closer to the street, but there wasn't much room to play in the backyard, what with Bo's house and the toolshed and all.

"What do you want to play?" I asked the boys. They couldn't agree on anything, so I said, "Do you know Red Light, Green Light?"

Three red heads shook slowly from side to side.

"Okay, it's easy," I told them. "You guys stand here." I lined them up on one side of the yard. Then I ran to the other side. "I'm

the policeman. When I turn around and close my eyes, I'll say, 'Green light/ Then you start sneaking up on me. But don't go too fast. Because when I say, 'Red light,' I'm going to turn around again and open my eyes. And anyone I see moving has to go back to the beginning. The first one to sneak all the way over here and tag me is the winner and gets to be the new policeman. Got it?"

"Got it," said Shea.

"Got it," said Jackie.

"Got what?" asked Archie.

"Never mind," I said. "Let's start the game and see what happens. If you don't understand the rules, stop and tell me, okay?"

Archie nodded.

"Now remember," I went on. "I'm the policeman, so you have to do what I say." I turned my back and closed my eyes. "Green light!" I shouted.

I heard rustlings as the boys snuck toward me.

"Red light!" I spun toward them as I opened my eyes. Shea and Archie, both about a third of the way across the yard, were standing stock-still in running position, as if they'd been on a videotape and someone had pushed the pause button on the VCR. But Jackie, who

was slightly ahead of them, was still moving. When he tried to freeze, he lost his balance and fell over. "Okay, back to start," I told him.

Grumbling, Jackie took his time returning to the opposite side of the yard. When he was ready, I closed my eyes and called, "Green light!" again. Almost immediately, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Winner!" I announced in surprise. Who had reached me so quickly? I opened my eyes.

Ashley Wyeth was at my side.

"Ashley!" I exclaimed.

The three Rodowsky boys, who didn't know whether to stop or go, all lost their balance and toppled to the ground.

I giggled, but Ashley was looking at me strangely.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Baby-sitting," I replied. "We're playing Red Light, Green Light. What are you doing? I mean, what are you doing here?"

"I live next door." Ashley pointed to the house to the right of the Rodowskys'.

The Rodowsky boys had recovered their balance and abandoned the game. They crowded around Ashley. I guess they'd never seen anyone wearing a long petticoat and work-

boots. Not anyone from the twentieth century, anyway.

"Why do you have to baby-sit?" Ashley asked me.

(The boys looked somewhat hurt.)

"I don't have to," I replied. "This is my job. I love sitting." I told her about the Baby-sitters Club and how it works and the kids we sit for.

"What do you do in your spare time?" I asked Ashley.

"I paint. Or sculpt," she replied.

"I mean, what do you and your friends do? Well, what did you guys do in Chicago?"

"Just . . . just my artwork. That's really all that's important to me. I had one friend, another girl from Keyes. Sometimes we painted together. The only way to develop your talent is to devote time to it, you know."

I listened to Ashley with interest. She must know what she was talking about, being from Keyes and all. Maybe, I thought, I should set aside one afternoon a week just for my art. No distractions, no interruptions. I bet Ashley did that — and more.

"The baby-sitting club must take up a lot of your time," said Ashley.

"It does," I answered proudly. "The club's doing really well."

"But when do you have time for your sculpt-ing?"

"Whenever I make time," I replied. Was Ashley saying I wasn't serious enough about my art?

Ashley frowned slightly at Archie, who had wrapped his arms around my legs and was blowing raspberries on my blue jeans. Suddenly I felt embarrassed and sort of ... babyish. I unwound Archie and stepped away from him.

"I," I said, "spend plenty of time on my art. In fact, I've decided I have enough time to enter something in the sculpture show."

Ashley smiled. "Good," she said. Then she started to walk away.

"Hey, don't you want to stay for awhile?" I asked her.

"Well, I do. I mean, I'd like to talk. But — " (she paused, eyeing the Rodowskys as if they were ants at a picnic) " — not right now."

And then she left.

I thought about Ashley for most of the rest of the afternoon. She seemed so grown-up. She was serious and she set goals for herself and then went right ahead and worked toward them. That was how I wanted to be — serious and grown-up, just like Ashley. As I rode my

bike home from the Rodowskys' that day, I decided two things: I would let Ashley help me with my sculpture, since she had offered. And I would not let her see me play any more stupid outdoor games when I sat at the Rodowskys'.

Chapter 5.

One of the very nicest things about the Baby-sitters Club is how it has made good friends out of the five members. A year ago, we were all split up. Mary Anne and Kristy, because they were a little immature and were already best friends anyway, always stuck together. And when Stacey moved to town, she and I were so much alike (and so different from Kristy and Mary Anne) that we became best friends immediately. The four of us hardly ever hung around together, except at meetings. We even ate lunch with different groups of friends. Then Dawn moved to Stoneybrook. She became Mary Anne's friend first, but once she joined the club, she was sort of friends with all of us and would go back and forth between our crowds in the cafeteria.