Claudia and the New Girl (8 page)

I dashed into the dining room. There I found Jackie peering into the hose of the vacuum cleaner as Shea and Archie looked on guiltily. All three boys were barefoot. Their shoes were lined up under the dining room table.

"What is going on?" I asked, trying not to sound too exasperated.

"We tried a speriment," said Jackie. "And guess what? You can vacuum up socks."

"Socks?!" I exclaimed. "Did you vacuum up all of your socks?"

"Six of 'em/' said Archie. "Three pairs, six socks."

I groaned.

"We didn't mean to, exactly," spoke up Shea. "They were in a pile. We thought maybe the vacuum would just get one, but they all went. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh," he said, demonstrating with his hands.

"Shea, really. You're the oldest," I said, knowing that didn't mean a thing. (Why should it?)

"It was Jackie's idea," he countered.

"Well, what did you plan to do about your sock if it was vacuumed up?" I asked Jackie.

"See what happened to it," he replied simply.

This wasn't getting us anywhere. "All right," I said, sighing. "The next thing to do is find the socks."

"Goody!" cried Jackie, jumping up and down. "I wonder what they'll look like."

"Maybe the Vacuum Monsvter attacked them. Maybe they'll be all chewed up," suggested Archie.

I was just dying to ask Archie what he thought the Vacuum Monster was, but I didn't want to start anything. Instead, I lifted the

cover of the vacuum, pulled out the dusty bag at the back, and headed into the kitchen with it. The boys trailed behind me.

"What are you going to do?" asked Jackie.

"Cut it open and see what's inside," I replied.

"Awesome," said Shea.

I took a look. Nothing but a cloud of dust.

"Ew, gross," said Jackie, and sneezed.

I threw the bag away and returned to the vacuum cleaner. I noticed that the boys hadn't put an attachment on the end of the hose. Gingerly I reached into the hose as far as possible, which really wasn't very far, and withdrew my hand, a sock between my fingers. The sock was rumpled but otherwise fine.

The Rodowskys looked on in surprise.

"I wonder why the Vacuum Monster didn't want it," said Archie.

"Some experiment," commented Shea.

It took more than fifteen minutes, but after poking, prodding, and digging around with a pair of toast tongs, I managed to remove all the socks from the hose.

"Will you guys promise me something?" I said as they put their socks and shoes back on.

"What?" asked Jackie.

"That you won't use the vacuum again without asking me first."

"Promise," they replied.

"Thank you. Now let's do something fun."

"Let's watch Sesame Street," said Archie.

"Wouldn't you rather play a game?" I asked.

"Red Light, Green Light!" cried Jackie. "Please, Claudia?"

"Well . . ."I replied, remembering my vow not to play stupid games in the Rodowskys' front yard anymore.

"Puh-lease?" added Archie. "That was fun. Can I be the policeman?"

I hadn't even answered the boys and already they were racing for the front door.

I followed them. Red Light, Green Light it would be. That was my responsibility as their baby-sitter.

Jackie threw the front door open. Standing on the stoop was Ashley, her hand poised to ring the bell.

Despite the fact that the boys had been somewhat awed by her the first time they met her, Jackie began jumping up and down. "Hi!" he cried. "We're going to play Red Light, Green Light again. You want to play?"

He pushed open the screen door and squeezed by Ashley, jumping down the steps (and nar-

rowly missing the hedge that lined the front walk).

Archie followed, calling, "But you can't be the policeman. I'm the policeman first. That's my job today!"

Shea was the last one out the door. Just before he leaped down all four stairs in a single bound, he turned and said, "Claudia's the best police officer, though. Right, Claudia?"

Luckily, he wasn't really expecting an answer.

I stepped onto the front porch, closing the doors behind me.

Ashley looked at me, an eyebrow raised.

"Red Light, Green Light again?" she asked.

I tried to laugh. "They love it," I replied.

Ashley frowned. "I just don't understand why you waste all your time on . . ." (she held her hand toward the Rodowskys, who were gearing up for the game) ". . . all this."

I paused. "All what?" I finally said, somewhat testily.

"This uselessness."

"They're children," I replied quietly. "They're important to me."

"Oh, you sound so sentimental," Ashley scoffed, looking at the ground.

"Sentimental doesn't sound so bad for an

artist. Artists are very feeling people. They have to put their emotions into their work."

Ashley didn't respond and I realized this was the first time I'd ever tried to tell her something about art.

"Besides," I went on, as Ashley fidgeted with the ruffles on her peasant blouse, "who was the one who said she'd sculpt 'love' with gentle curves and tender feelings? That's pure mush if I ever heard it."

"Mush?!"

"Sentiment, soft stuff, you know."

Ashley's ice-blue eyes turned icier. "This is the thanks I get for — "

"For what, Ashley? What did you do that you expect thanks for? What did you do that you wouldn't have done just because you're my friend?"

"I taught you about sculpting. I taught you how to look beyond Ms. Baehr and see what else you can do."

"And you think you deserve to be paid back? You think I owe you something? Friendship doesn't work that way. Friends are friends because they like each other, not because they're in debt," I said. I was angry, but I didn't raise my voice. I didn't want to upset the Rodowskys.

"I do like you," replied Ashley, and for the

first time since I'd met her, I thought she looked, well, not in control. Her chin quivered and her voice quivered and her eyes filled with tears. "I do want you to be my friend," she added.

"But you want me to devote my life to art. And that's not fair. You shouldn't make up conditions for friendship. Besides, there's more to my life than you and art. I'm not giving anything up."

Ashley regained her cool as quickly as she'd lost it. "You mean, you're not giving anything up just for me. Because I'm not important enough to you. That's what you're saying, isn't it? Well, I'll tell you something, Claudia Kishi. You are ungrateful. And foolish. And you don't know a thing about being a friend."

With a swish of her hair, her eyes flashing, Ashley spun around and marched down the steps and across the yard to her house. She left me standing on the Rodowskys' porch, feeling like an empty sack that had once held something nice, like dried flowers, and was now slowly being filled with rocks. And each rock was an unpleasant thought:

Clunk: She's right. I haven't been a good friend. At least, not to Stacey and the other members of the Baby-sitters Club.

Clunk: Everyone must hate me.

Clunk: I wish I could talk to Stacey, but I'd be surprised if she ever speaks to me again.

"Hey, you guys," I called to Jackie, Shea, and Archie. "Come on inside, okay? Red Light, Green Light wasn't a very good idea after all. It looks like it's going to rain."

The boys came inside with only a little grumbling. I settled them in front of the TV in the rec room, and then went to the living room to think. I needed to be alone for a while. What had happened to me over the past couple of weeks? Somehow I'd allowed myself to be swept away by Ashley. Did I have any other friends now? Before Ashley came along, I'd call Stacey when I was upset about something. Now I couldn't do that. And what about the art show? Ms. Baehr expected me to enter. I'd told my parents I was going to enter. And I didn't even have a subject for the sculpture.

"Claudia?"

My thoughts were interrupted by Jackie. He approached me with one sneaker on, the other in his hand, the laces bunched into a huge tangle.

"Can you help me?" he asked, holding out the sneaker. He was smiling his great smile.

"Of course," I answered.

And as I worked at the knot, I suddenly

104-

thought: Jackie. I'll sculpt Jackie. He'd be a great subject. I've been wanting to sculpt something "alive" all along.

I gave Jackie a grin and was rewarded with another of his gap-toothed ones.

Chapter 12.

When Mary Anne wrote "What an interesting afternoon this turned out to be," she sure was right. I think it was more interesting for me than it was for her, though. Once I got the idea to sculpt Jackie, my mind began working overtime. And my fingers began itching to start the project. I went over to the Rodowskys' the very next afternoon so that I could make some sketches of Jackie to work from, since he couldn't model for me hour after hour. Also, I wanted to ask Mrs. Rodowsky for permission to do the sculpture, and of course I had to ask Jackie himself whether he was interested in being my model.

Boy, was I surprised when I rang the Rodowskys' bell and Mary Anne answered the door! For some reason, I just hadn't expected another club member to be there. I don't know why.

"Claudia!" exclaimed Mary Anne when she saw me on the stoop. The faintest of frowns flickered across her forehead.

"Oh ..." I said. I was almost speechless. "Urn, hi."

"Are you supposed to be sitting?" Mary Anne asked, looking confused.

"Oh, no," I replied. I held out my sketch pad. "I wanted to sketch Jackie. I mean, I want

to sculpt him, but I have to sketch him first. Oh, and I have to ask if he can do it."

"We-ell," said Mary Anne slowly. "Mrs. Rodowsky isn't here, of course, but why don't you ask Jackie? He's here." Mary Anne sounded a little frazzled.

"Is it one of his bad days?" I asked.

"You could say so. He didn't mean to exactly, but he knocked over a ten-pound bag of dog chow, and then got nail polish all over a pair of socks."

"Gosh, what is it with socks, anyway?" I wondered out loud. .
   
"What?"

"Never mind. It's a long story. How did he get nail polish on his socks?"

"That's a long story, too. Why don't you come on in?"

I stepped inside and was greeted by an excited Jackie. "Hi!" he exclaimed. "I'm the only kid here today. Shea's at his piano lesson and Archie's at his tumbling class."

"Don't you like to take lessons?" I asked Jackie.

"Yeah, but I break too many things. Mrs. Schiavone said so."

"Who's Mrs. Schiavone?" Mary Anne and I asked at the same time. We glanced at each

other and I could tell she was debating whether to hook my pinkie and say "jinx." I knew because I was wondering the same thing. But we didn't do it.

"Mrs. Schiavone's the piano teacher," Jackie replied. "She lets Shea come to her house because he didn't break her metronome. Or her umbrella. Or her doorbell."

"How did you break her doorbell?" Mary Anne wanted to know.

Jackie frowned. "I'm not sure. But it's broken all right. It used to play 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.' Now it just goes 'boing, boing, bonk.' "

I tried hard not to giggle. Jackie wasn't laughing and he gets upset about his accidents sometimes — because they really are just accidents. Mary Anne hid her smile, too.

"Jackie/' Mary Anne said when the laughing danger was past, "Claudia came over because she wants to ask you something."

"What?" replied Jackie.

He plopped down on the couch and I sat next to him. I explained about the sculpture and the sketches and the art show.

"You want to make a statue of me?!" he exclaimed finally.

I couldn't even look at Mary Anne then.

"Well, yes. Sort of. Except that I'm not going to sculpt all of you. Just your head."

"Sculpt my head?" he repeated. "Will it hurt?"

"Not a bit. I won't even touch you."

"And I'll be in a show? Where everyone will see me?"

"Yup."

"Oh, boy! Oh, boy!" was all Jackie could say.

"Do you want to start now?" I asked him. "I need to make some drawings of you."

"Is it okay?" Jackie asked Mary Anne.

"Fine with me," she replied.

I posed Jackie at one end of the couch, settled myself at the other, and began sketching. At first, Jackie sat almost motionlessly. He didn't smile, didn't even blink his eyes.

"Jack-o, you can relax a little," I told him. "You can even move around if you want. I mean, don't stand up, but — "

"How about if I get him a coloring book?" suggested Mary Anne.

"Oh, great," I replied.

While Jackie was coloring and I was sketching, Mary Anne sat in an easy chair. At first she just watched. Then, after what seemed like a very long time, she said, "So, um, how's Ashley?"

I shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

Mary Anne gathered up her courage to ask me an important question. I can always tell when she's doing that. Gathering her courage, I mean. She starts to fidget, then she starts breathing heavily, then she's silent for a few moments, and finally she clears her throat. "Ahem."

"Yes?" I replied.

"Claudia, I was wondering. Is Ashley your, um, best friend now?"

"She most certainly is not."

"She isn't?"

"No way."

"But I thought — "

"I thought we were friends, too," I interrupted her. "I thought nobody understood me the way Ashley did, but I guess I was wrong." I paused. "You know what I was wishing yesterday? I was wishing I could talk to Stacey. Stacey — and the rest of you guys — understand me in other ways. Ways that mean nothing to Ashley. But Stacey's probably mad at me, too."

"Too?"

"Yeah." I didn't say anything else. I didn't feel like telling Mary Anne about the fight with Ashley just then.

"Claudia?" Jackie spoke up. "You and that

girl who wears the long dresses are mad at each other, aren't you?"

"I guess so," I replied. I flipped a sheet of paper to the back of my pad and started a new drawing.

"Mommy says when you're mad, you have to tell the other person why. Did you do that?"

"I tried to."