Booger-head.
(I know, I know. That’s incredibly first-grade of me. But it’s how I felt.)
I thought all these things as I rode the bus home, let myself into the house, made a snack, and ate it. I could not get over the fact that Cary had duped me.
When I’d finished my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I headed upstairs to my room, still fuming about Cary. As I closed my door, I heard Sam and Charlie arrive home. I didn’t go downstairs to see them. I needed to cool off before I could deal with anyone.
I threw my backpack on the bed and began to pull stuff out of it. My gaze fell on the notes for my biography. Ha! I grinned to myself. Biographies weren’t always flattering to their subjects. What if I wrote the truth about Cary? Maybe it would help me work out some of my anger.
I sat down at my desk and turned on the light. Then I spread my notes in front of me, read through them one more time, and began.
I giggled as I wrote. I was starting to feel better already.
Now I was on a roll. The world was about to meet the real Cary Retlin.
I heard the doorbell ring downstairs, but I ignored it.
There was a knock at my door. “Come in,” I said.
“Hey.”
It was Cary.
He was standing in my doorway, carrying a notebook and wearing a determined look.
I started to say something (something like, “Get out of my room!”), but he cut me off.
“Listen,” he said. “I have something to say. The thing is, I understand why you’re mad.”
He did? I found that hard to believe. But I didn’t bother to say anything.
Cary was pacing around my room, up and down along the windows opposite my bed.
“But you know what?” he went on. “It doesn’t matter that the stuff you read was more fiction than fact. See, I write stories instead of writing a diary.” He held up the notebook, a notebook that looked just like the one I’d read in his room. “And the plotlines of the stories aren’t exactly the same as what happens in my life, but there are similarities.” He saw my mouth open and put up a hand. “No, I did not get kicked out of school, or even suspended. But there is a lot of my life in these notebooks. And they aren’t meant for people to read. Especially you.”
“But —”
“No ‘buts,’ Kristy Thomas. Fact or fiction, you shouldn’t have read it in the first place. And you know I’m right about that.”
Of course. But I wasn’t ready to admit it to Cary. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. I had tried to apologize to him time after time, and he hadn’t accepted.
I stared at him. “Are you finished?” I asked.
He looked surprised. “Uh — yes, I guess so,” he answered.
“Okay, then. Thanks for coming by.” I turned my back on him and leaned over my desk, pretending to be absorbed in my work.
I heard him shift from foot to foot behind me. He cleared his throat once. Then he left the room.
As soon as I heard his footsteps on the stairs, I dropped the pose and slumped over my desk.
This was ridiculous. Cary and I had created a humongous mess, and I didn’t know how to clean it up. I was mad at him, he was mad at me. We’d both done dumb things. And neither of us was ready to forgive.
I looked down at my “biography.” It was nothing I’d ever hand in. It had just been a way of blowing off steam. But the fact was that I did have to write a biography of Cary. And I wanted it to be good, since Ted was the one who had given me the assignment in the first place. His opinion meant a lot to me.
I picked up my pen again.
I threw the pen down and put my head in my hands. I didn’t know what to write about Cary. I didn’t know what to think about Cary.
I crumpled the pages I’d written and tossed them into the trash basket. Then I gathered up my notes and stuck them back into my notebook. “Later for you, Cary Retlin,” I muttered as I shoved the notebook into my backpack.
I headed downstairs and found Nannie in the kitchen, starting to put together a beef stew.
“Hey, Ms. K,” she said. “Who was that boy? Someone you’re — interested in?” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows.
I rolled my eyes. “Please,” I said.
“He seemed nice enough,” Nannie went on. “Polite, well-spoken —”
“Could we just forget about him?” I asked impatiently.
Nannie backed off immediately. “Sure,” she said. “Sorry.” One thing about Nannie is that she always knows when to tease and when not to. “Want to help me chop some carrots?” she asked. She handed me a knife. “About this big.” She showed me the carrot she’d already cut up.
I started chopping. “Nannie,” I asked, “do we still have those Christmas lights in the shape of chili peppers? I was thinking I’d like to use them as part of my party decorations.”
“Sure,” she answered. “I think they’re in the garage. I’ll help you find them later. How’s the rest of your planning coming?”
I told her about my ideas for music, food, and games, and she offered a few of her own. We talked and chopped, and soon I began to feel more relaxed than I had in days.
The phone rang just as Nannie was asking me how much garlic I thought she should add.
“At least three cloves,” I advised, reaching for the phone. “Hello?”
“Kristy, it’s me, Claud.”
“Hey, what’s up?” Claudia sounded excited.
“My mom just heard from a friend of hers who works in the school library,” she said. “The administration made its decision.”
I held my breath. Judging by Claudia’s tone, it was good news. But I wanted to hear her say it. “And?” I asked.
“Ted has his job back!”
“Wait, no! That goes over here!” I motioned to Mary Anne, who was carrying a platter full of mini-pizzas. I couldn’t believe she was about to put it down on the coffee table. Wasn’t it obvious that I’d cleared a space for it on the main food table? Only desserts were supposed to go on the coffee table. The night of my party had finally arrived, and I was just a teensy bit nervous.
Mary Anne whirled around and followed my directions, placing the pizzas between a plate of nachos and a bowl of dip.
“Where are you going with that?” I demanded as Stacey walked through the room with a big bottle of Coke.
“Uh, to the kitchen?” she said. “Is this a test or something?”
“Very funny,” I said without a smile. “The party is starting in” — I checked my watch — “fifteen minutes. I want to have everything in place before the guests arrive.”
“Why, is Prince William coming?” Claudia asked. She’d joined us in the dining room. She was carrying a gorgeous centerpiece she’d made out of glass Christmas tree balls tied together with ribbon.
“No, Prince William is not coming,” I said. “But I want everything to be perfect.”
“Kristy, you have to chill,” said Stacey. “It’s going to be a great party. Everybody is psyched for it.”
“Especially since Ted has his job back,” Claudia added. “Everybody will be in a great mood.”
I knew they were right. But I was finding it hard to relax, I guess because this was the first party I’d thrown on my own. I was grateful that Claudia and Stacey seemed to have declared a truce in honor of the party. I’m lucky to have such loyal friends.
The doorbell rang then, and I gasped. “That can’t be guests already!” I cried. What a disaster. I hadn’t even put out the cheese balls.
“It’s probably just Dawn,” said Mary Anne. “She was still napping off her jet lag when I left the house, but she said she’d be here as soon as she could.”
We were having a mini BSC reunion that night. Dawn and her younger brother, Jeff, had just arrived from California to spend the holidays with their mom and Mary Anne and Mary Anne’s dad. Mallory was home from boarding school for Christmas break. Abby, Jessi, and Shannon would be coming by too.
Mary
Anne ran to answer the door while I headed for the kitchen to round up the cheese balls. When I returned to the dining room, Dawn was there. She was in the middle of giving Claudia a big hug, but when she saw me her eyes lit up.
“Kristy!” she said. “The place looks awesome. The decorations are great. And you guys all look excellent,” she added, gazing around at us.
I was glad to hear she liked the decorations. I was pretty proud of myself. The chili pepper lights were strung around the dining room, and red candles were burning on the table. I’d hung ropes of evergreen (Watson had helped me pick them up at the nursery) all through the house, and our gigantic Christmas tree, hung with our traditional trimmings and dripping with tinsel, stood proudly in the living room. Claudia’s centerpiece brightened the dining room table, and some paper chains that Karen and Andrew had made were draped in the hallways. I’d even put our red and green guest towels in the downstairs bathroom.
As for our outfits, I had to agree with Dawn that everybody looked great. I was wearing a holiday version of my usual “uniform”: instead of jeans I wore dark green corduroys, and I’d topped them with a bright red turtleneck. Stacey was wearing a red woolen miniskirt topped with a little red woolen jacket (she looked like a very hip Mrs. Claus). Claudia had on red-and-white-striped stockings (the candy cane look) and a white dress with red polka dots. Miniature green Christmas tree earrings dangled from her ears. Mary Anne looked beautiful in a navy blue velvet dress. And Dawn was doing Christmas California-style, in a white denim miniskirt and green silk blouse.
I took a deep breath. Maybe I was ready, after all. The doorbell rang again, and this time my heart didn’t jump. The cheese balls were in place. There wasn’t anything else to do but enjoy the party.
Mal and Jessi arrived together, giggling and talking and clearly thrilled to be reunited. I knew they’d monopolize each other all night long, but that was fine with me. I could imagine how hard it must be for best friends to be apart as much as they were.
Abby showed up next, with Shannon. “We walked over together,” Shannon explained. “Have you looked outside? It’s starting to snow.”
Perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better evening. Very atmospheric. I ran to turn on the outdoor lights so we could watch the snow drifting down in the backyard.
Before I knew it, the party was in full swing. The doorbell was ringing every five seconds. Watson and my mom were in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of eggnog. Karen, Andrew, David Michael, and Emily Michelle were the “coat squad”: They were piling everyone’s coats on the guest room bed and pounding up and down the stairs as they raced one another to answer the door and help the next arriving guest. Sam and Charlie cranked up the volume on the CD player. They’d volunteered to DJ the party and keep the mood happy and fun.
It was an excellent party — I think. It went by in such a blur that I can’t even be sure. I know that everybody seemed to be having a great time. I know that a bunch of people were dancing in the living room, and that almost all the food and all but one bottle of soda disappeared. There was lots of talking and plenty of laughter, especially in the corner where kids were playing Pictionary. I know I talked to just about every one of my guests, though only one of the conversations really sticks in my head (more about that later). But for the most part, the evening was like a speeded-up movie. A few scenes do stand out. For instance, I’ll never forget the moment when Ted arrived. The doorbell rang while I happened to be standing in the front hall, so I was the one to answer the door.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa was on my doorstep — a Santa wearing red corduroy pants, a red flannel shirt, and a red Polar fleece hat. Instead of a white beard, his was black, and the bulge in his stomach was obviously fake.
“Ted!” I cried. I opened the door wide and motioned him inside. I was incredibly happy to see him, and I knew everybody else would be too. Sure enough, his entrance into the dining room brought on cheers and applause.
Watching him circulate through the room, I thought how great it was that things had worked out the way they had. Mrs. Dow and her group had made a lot of noise, but we’d been organized and determined and unafraid to take a stand, and our side had won in the end. I’d learned a good lesson from that.
I saw Claudia and Jeremy talking with Ted. Then he moved on, and the two of them continued chatting. Jeremy had arrived with a corsage for Stacey, and he was her date for the party — but I couldn’t help noticing that he kept gravitating toward Claudia. He seemed to be enjoying himself more when he was talking to her than when he was dancing or making the rounds with Stacey.
Logan had arrived on his own, to my relief. Still, he and Mary Anne spent most of the evening in separate rooms. He’d be nibbling on nachos in the dining room, and she’d be talking in the living room. She’d walk into the dining room to find some soda, and Logan would head for the CD player to request a song from Sam and Charlie.
When I asked Mary Anne if she was having a good time, she said she was. But at one point, she walked into the dining room, where Logan and Emily Bernstein were having a lively conversation about the book he was reading for Ted’s class. I saw her notice them and watched a shadow cross her face. For a second, she looked a little sick. Then she stood up straight, helped herself to a cheese ball, and went back toward the living room. I could tell it wasn’t easy for her to see Logan with another girl, even if they weren’t dating.
All evening I’d been wondering if Cary would show up. After all, I’d invited him way back when, before this mess had taken over our lives. But eventually I stopped watching to see who’d arrived every time the doorbell rang. It looked as if he’d decided to stay away.
Then, as I was walking through the living room, offering a box of chocolates around, I spotted him in a corner talking to Alan Gray. He must have arrived when I wasn’t looking.
I held out the box to him. “Chocolate?” I asked.
Alan took three pieces and shoved them into his mouth all at once. “Thggs,” he said as he chewed.
He is so gross sometimes.
Cary helped himself to a piece. “Good party,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied. “Did you guys have some of the eggnog my mom and Watson made?”
“Eggnog? Where? I love eggnog!” Alan took off for the dining room.
Which left Cary and me standing there alone.
I glanced at him. He met my eyes. And he didn’t turn and walk away.
Maybe it was time for us to clear the air, once and for all.
“Cary,” I began, putting the chocolates down on a nearby table. “You were right. Whether or not that was your journal, I was wrong to read it. I’m sorry. Really, I am.”
He nodded. “I know,” he said. “Apology accepted.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook it.
A feeling of relief washed over me. Finally! Suddenly, I felt a little tongue-tied. Now that we’d “made up,” what would we talk about?
Cary broke the silence. “I have to say, I’ve had a great time writing your biography,” he said. “There’s more to you than I would have guessed.”
“Well, thanks — I think,” I said. I’d enjoyed writing his too. I’d found that writing about what I didn’t know about him told as much as writing what I did know.
“I just have one more question,” he said.
“Shoot,” I told him.
“Where did you get the name Louie for your dog?”
I laughed. “It just came to us,” I said. “He was a Louie. If you’d ever met him, you’d know what I mean.” I looked at Cary. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Anything,” he said, smiling.
There was one thing I was dying to know. And this was my chance to find out. I looked into his eyes and asked, “Why did you really leave Illinois?”
Cary grinned. “Oh, that’s simple,” he answered. “See, the aliens decided it was time for me to go. So they beamed me up — and beamed me down right here in Stoneybrook.”
“Cary! Come on, really.�
��
“Oh, you want the truth?” Now he was in full Cary mode: smirk, eyebrow, and all. “Well, the townspeople accused me of being a witch, so my family had to leave in the dead of night —”
I just stood there, shaking my head. I was incredibly glad to have my old archenemy back.
The author gratefully acknowledges
Ellen Miles
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.
Copyright © 1999 by Ann M. Martin
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
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All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Kristy Power! Page 8
