Claudia and the New Girl (9 page)

"You know what happens when you do?"

"What?"

"Then the other person tells you why he's mad, then you say something, then he says something, and then . . ."

"Yes?" I prompted him.

"I don't know. It's funny, but sometimes you're mad all over again."

I smiled at Jackie and he shrugged.

The doorbell rang then. For the first time I noticed that it sounded like boing, boing, bonk.

"Hey, did you break this one, too?" I asked Jackie as Mary Anne got up to answer the bell.

"Sort of," he replied sheepishly.

A few seconds later, Mary Anne, wearing a huge, fierce frown, returned. Ashley was right behind her. Mary Anne didn't utter one word. She just stood aside, folded her arms, and looked from Ashley to me as if to say, "Well? What's going on?"

"Ashley!" I cried. "What are you doing here?"

Ashley leaned over to look at the sketch I was working on. "I saw your bike outside. What are you doing here? I couldn't believe you were baby-sitting again . . . and I see you aren't."

"Nope. I'm starting my sculpture for the show. That should make you happy."

"Not if you're going to sculpt him," replied Ashley, pointing.

Jackie's eager face fell.

"Him has a name/' I told her. "He's Jackie. And he's one of my good friends."

Jackie's smile returned cautiously.

"So you lost your nerve/' Ashley went on, as if she hadn't heard me. "You're going to sculpt a person."

"Right."

"Why?"

"Because I'll sculpt what I want to sculpt. I'll sculpt what I do best, and I do people best, even though I still have a lot to learn."

"I'll say. Well, you're not going to learn it from me," retorted Ashley, and she headed for the front door. Her parting words were, "You're ruining your career, you know." Then she let herself out.

"Whoa/' said Mary Anne under her breath. "Intense."

Jackie was looking at me worriedly. "It's okay/' I told him. "Really."

"Are you still going to put my head in the show?" he asked.

"You bet. That is, if I finish on time."

"Hey, Claud, you know you really stood up to her," said Mary Anne, looking impressed.

"I guess. I mean, I know. But I don't think it did any good. She still doesn't understand what I'm saying."

"She doesn't want to understand," Mary Anne corrected me. "And that's a big difference. She knows you don't agree with her."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Are we going to see you at the next club meeting?" Mary Anne asked carefully.

"I think so. Not today's, because I'm behind in my homework and I got a D on a spelling test. And there's this library project I haven't even begun yet. So I'm going to hit the books."

"But couldn't you come back from the library by five-thirty?"

"Usually, but . . . just not this time." The problem, was, I didn't think I'd be welcome at the meeting. Even if it was in my own room.

"All right," said Mary Anne briskly. "I'll tell the others."

"Okay." I gathered up my pencils and closed the pad. "I've got enough sketches for now, Jack-o," I told him. "Thanks a lot."

It was time to go. I had a lot to do. And I mean a lot.

Chapter 13.

One of the best things to do when you have a lot to do, is make a list. Then you can cross things off as you complete them. Also, you won't forget anything. After dinner that evening, the first thing I did was go to my room and make a list of lists to make. That's how behind I was!

This is what my first list looked like:

1. Freinds

2. Schoolwork

3. Scupture show

This is what my second list looked like:

1.
  
Call Ashley - try to explain.

2. Call Stacey -- apologize.

3.
 
Call Kristy -- apologize. Tell her will try to be at next meeting.

This is what my third list looked like

I sat on my bed and looked at all my lists. Then I threw away the first one since I'd made the other three lists. I felt very organized — and very panicked. How could I get everything done?

I didn't know, but the best thing to do was dig right in. The number-one item on the Friends list was to call Ashley. So I did. I

closed the door to my room, curled up on my bed, and dialed her number. I'd called her a lot lately, so I knew her number by heart.

"Hi, Ashley," I said, after Mrs. Wyeth had called her to the phone. "It's me."

"Who?"

"Me. Claudia."

"Oh."

"Well, it's nice to talk to you, too," I said sarcastically.

"Look, I'm really busy — " Ashley began.

"Tell me about it," I replied, glancing nervously at my lists. "Listen, I'm calling because I kave to tell you something. I want you to try to understand this."

"What?"

"That my life is very . . . big. I mean, there's a lot to it. I have friends and my family and school and art and pottery and baby-sitting. Maybe someday I'll decide I want to narrow things down, but not right now. I like to try new things. I like, what do you call it? Variety, I guess. I'm happiest when I'm busy, even if sometimes I'm too busy.

"I really like you, Ashley, but I can't spend all my time with you, working on sculptures, even if you are the most talented person I know. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yes," replied Ashley after a pause, "I do."

And then she hung up on me.

For a moment I sat and stared at the receiver. I wanted to cry. Ashley didn't like me anymore. She probably didn't value me as an artist anymore, either. But what had I really lost? Certainly not a friend. A real friend would have listened and tried to understand. A real friend would not have hung up on me. Ashley was not a real friend. It wasn't that she was a mean person or a bad person; it was that art was the only thing that truly mattered to her. So if I wasn't going to be as serious an artist as Ashley, then I didn't much matter to her. Ashley's only friend was art.

I hoped my theory about a real friend not hanging up on me was true — because 1 was about to call Stacey. If she hung up on me, I'd be crushed. But I dialed her number anyway. I'd just crossed item number one off list number two and I had to move on to item number two.

Stacey answered the phone before the first ring was finished. She must have been sitting on her bed. (She has a phone extension in her bedroom, but not a private, personal phone number like I do.)

"Hi, Stace," I said tentatively.

"Claudia?"

"Yeah, it's me. Stacey, I'm calling to apologize. I know I've been a really rotten friend. I got all carried away with Ashley because she studied at the Keyes Art Society and said I had talent." For five more minutes I explained everything to Stacey. When I finished, she was still on the other end of the phone.

"Claudia," she said, and she sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. "Reach under your pillow."

"My pillow? Okay." I felt underneath it and my fingers closed over a wadded-up piece of paper.

"Did you find the note?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Then read it, ignore it, and throw it away."

The note said: In my breadbox of friends, you are a CRUMB.

It was kind of funny, but I didn't laugh. I threw it away as Stacey had instructed.

"Did you write that?" I asked.

"Yes. But I only meant it a little. Claud, we're still friends. At least, I still want to be your friend. But I think we have some things to talk about."

"I agree," I told her.

We decided to try to find a time to talk in

person. Maybe in school or before the next meeting.

I crossed item number two off list number two and phoned Kristy.

Karen, Kristy's little stepsister, answered the phone. "Claudia!" she exclaimed. "We're having a terrible night over here! Ben Brewer's ghost hypnotized Boo-Boo, and — "

"Karen," I interrupted, "I'm really sorry, but I have to talk to Kristy. Can you get her for me, please?"

Karen grew all huffy, but she brought Kristy to the phone. When Kristy was on, I started my little speech all over again. Then I told her that I was probably going to spend my lunch periods in the Resource Room making up work, but that I would definitely be at the next club meeting.

"Okay," said Kristy shortly. "Great." She sounded as if she didn't believe me.

"I really will be there."

"Fine."

"I'll even call Dawn and tell her she can go back to being the alternate officer again."

"Okay."

"Okay."

'"Bye."

'"Bye."

That wasn't much of a start, but it was something. I'd just have to be patient, and I certainly better turn up at the meeting.

I spent the rest of the evening and a lot of that weekend doing homework and looking at the sketches I'd made of Jackie. By the time I went to bed on Sunday, I'd reached an important decision.

"Ms. Baehr?"

"Yes, Claudia?"

Another art class was over. Ashley had sat in the front of the room. I'd sat in the back. With the sketches of Jackie spread across the table, I'd begun my sculpture. Now, the rest of the students were gone. I'd just called Ms. Baehr over to look at my work.

"I like the subject you finally chose," she said, smiling approvingly.

"Me, too," I replied. "But I'm not going to be able to finish this in time for the show. I've only got one more week. I have schoolwork to catch up on — you know how my parents feel about that — and other things to do, too. So I'm not going to enter anything in the show. I'll talk to Mom and Dad tonight. I'll work on this sculpture for class, but it won't be ready for the show."

"Claudia, I wish you'd re-think this," replied Ms. Baehr. "If you work hard, I think you could finish in time."

"Only if I drop everything else, and I don't want to do that."

Ms. Baehr nodded. "All right. I respect your decision."

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a lot."

I did talk to my parents that night. They were surprised that I'd decided not to be in the show, but they have this thing about school. They think it is very, very, VERY important. So when they heard that I was putting school before art, they were delighted. Even though they tried not to show it.

After I was finished talking with my parents I went to my room, settled myself at my desk, and looked over the lists I'd made the night before. I'd done everything on the Friends list so I threw it away. I'd done everything on the Sculpture Show list so I threw that away, too. My School Work list was not in such good shape, which wasn't surprising. Hardly anything having to do with schoolwork is in good shape if I'm involved.

However, I had asked Mrs. Hall if I could take the spelling test again — and she'd said

yes! I reached into my pencil jar so I could cross off item number one. I pulled out a pencil with a piece of paper wrapped around it.

I sighed. Another note.

I unrolled the paper. The note was in Kristy's handwriting. It said: Famous jerks — Benedict Arnold, the Wicked Witch of the West, Claudia Kishi.

I threw away the note and crossed off number one on the list. I couldn't cross off two, three, or four, though. But that was all right. Soon I'd be able to. I was almost finished with The Twenty-One Balloons and I'd taken A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle out of the library. While I was thinking about it, I opened A Wrinkle in Time and read the first sentence. "It was a dark and stormy night." Well, that didn't sound so bad. In fact, it sounded kind of like the Nancy Drew books I like so much. And the titles of the first three chapters were "Mrs. Whatsit," "Mrs. Who," and "Mrs. Which." They sounded like fun! I looked longingly at the book as I put it aside to start studying for my spelling test. Maybe finishing up my School Work list would go quickly after all. I smiled.

And tomorrow I would go to a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club.

Chapter 14.

The next day, I packed a lunch (something I hardly ever do) and at lunchtime went to the Resource Room. I'd done that the last couple of days, too. This time, I brought The Twenty-One Balloons with me. I had finished reading it, and now I needed someone to quiz me on the spelling of the hard words so I could get ready to retake the spelling test. One of the Resource Room teachers worked hard with me during the whole lunch period. I was proud of myself. Maybe I wouldn't get an A on the test, but I thought I could get a C or even a B.

After school, I had to do a chore. Well, maybe chore isn't the right word, but I had to do something I didn't want to do. That certainly sounded like a chore.

As soon as I got home, 1 jumped on my bike and rode over to Jackie Rodowsky's house. The Rodowskys weren't expecting me, so Jack-125

ie's mother was a little surprised to see me standing on the front stoop.

"Claudia!" she said. "Has there been a mix-up? Did I — "

"Oh, no," I interrupted. "I came to talk to Jackie. Is he home from school yet?"

"He got here a few minutes ago. Come on in, honey."

Mrs. Rodowsky led me inside just as Jackie came bounding downstairs, leaped over the last three, stumbled against a table as he landed, and knocked a vase to the floor. Luckily, it landed on the rug and didn't break.

"Whoops," said Jackie.

Mrs. Rodowsky shook her head. But all she said was, "Jackie, Claudia's here to see you." Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

"Claudia!" Jackie exclaimed. "Are you going to start sculpting my head?"

"Not today," I replied. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Come sit with me." I sat down on a sofa and patted the cushion next to me.

Jackie charged across the room and threw himself down on the couch, accidentally kicking my right knee.

"Ow!" I couldn't help crying out.

"Oops. Sorry."

"Jackie," I began, rubbing my knee, "I came

over to tell you something. I'm really sorry, but I'm not going to be able to put you in the show after all."

Jackie had been bouncing and wiggling around. Now he stopped. "You're not?" he said. His eyes began to fill with tears.

"No," I replied. As simply as I could, I explained how I'd run out of time.

Jackie didn't say anything. He poked the end of his shoelace inside his sock.