Jessi's Gold Medal

by Ann M. Martin

  Then I tried to demonstrate it — and promptly began to sink. My arms were great, by my head was underwater!

  “Pkaccchh!” I said (more or less), as I stopped being Nefertiti and started frantically treading water. “Why can’t I keep myself afloat?”

  “You really have to push off with your legs,” Elise explained. “Watch.”

  We worked like that for a while, until Ms. Cox blew her whistle signalling the end of class. Then we hauled ourselves out of the pool and walked to the lockers.

  The locker room was noisy with laughter and conversation and gossip, but Elise and I hardly said a word as we changed into our street clothes.

  It wasn’t until we were walking back to school that I said, “I can’t believe the festival is coming up so soon.”

  Elise sighed. “Yeah. Do you think we’ll be ready?”

  “I hope so,” I replied. I didn’t dare say no, but that was how I was feeling.

  “I’m sort of nervous about this,” Elise admitted.

  “Me, too.”

  “You know, it’s funny. Yesterday the swim team had a meet, and I won a first place in the butterfly —”

  “You didn’t tell me that!” I said. “That’s great!”

  Elise smiled modestly. “Well, I wasn’t saying it to brag or anything. What I meant was, it’s weird how one thing comes easily to me and the other one doesn’t.”

  “I know what you mean!” I said. “I feel the same way. Yesterday in ballet class I did this incredible combination that ended with a triple pirouette and an entrechat.”

  “A what and a what?” Elise said.

  “Those are two really hard movements I never used to be able to do.”

  “I thought they were French pastries,” Elise said.

  I couldn’t help but laugh, and boy, did it feel good. “I don’t know, Elise. I guess I’m taking this too seriously, but it’s hard not to. I mean, one day my ballet teacher is telling me I should train to be professional, and the next day I come here and feel like a total dork.”

  Elise looked at me and frowned. “You’re not thinking of dropping out, are you?”

  “No way!” I stopped in my tracks. “Are you?”

  “No way, José! I want to keep working till I get it right!”

  “Me, too.” Then an idea came to me. “Why don’t we get together and practice by ourselves?”

  Elise’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! The pool’s open for the season now, so we can use it after school and on weekends.”

  “Every spare minute,” I said. “Like … after school today?”

  “Sure!” Elise said. “If my parents will let me.”

  I looked at my watch. “Well, we have three minutes before next period starts. Last one to the pay phone is a rotten egg!”

  We ran the rest of the way to the school. I was beginning to feel inspired. I kept thinking of the Olympic athletes I saw on TV. They worked day and night to get where they wanted to be.

  If that was what it took for them, that’s what it would take for us.

  I think Stacey was too hard on herself. She always means well. Anyway, no one’s perfect.

  Let me tell you about Charlotte. She’s eight years old, but she’s in fourth grade already, because her parents let her skip. She is very smart (so are her parents — her mom’s a doctor and her dad’s an engineer), but she’s also fun and sensitive and friendly. In fact, she was the first kid in the neighborhood who didn’t avoid us because we were black. Other kids were acting like we were poisonous or something, but not Char. She made friends with Becca right away. That meant a lot to our family.

  Char’s really cute, with chestnut brown hair, dark eyes, and a great dimply smile — and she’s an only child, which makes sitting jobs especially easy. Her favorite sitter is Stacey. They call each other “almost sisters.”

  The evening Stacey sat for Char was warm and muggy. Stacey ran straight to the Johanssens’ house from the community pool complex (she was using it after school to work on her breast stroke). By the time she got there, she felt all sticky and gross.

  Putting on her best smile, she rang the doorbell. “Hi! Anybody home?” she called through the front screen door.

  Dr. Johanssen came into the living room, holding a briefcase. “Hi, Stace!” she said, pulling the door open. “Thanks for coming. My meeting shouldn’t last more than two hours, but at any rate, Mr. Johanssen will be home around dinnertime. I left the emergency numbers by the phone.”

  “Okay,” Stacey said.

  “Char’s in her room, reading,” Dr. Johanssen went on, hurrying out the door. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. ’Bye!”

  “ ’Bye!”

  Stacey shut the door behind her and walked upstairs. She knocked on Charlotte’s door. “Can I come in?”

  “Stacey?” said Char’s voice. “Hi! I didn’t hear you downstairs.”

  Stacey pushed the door open. Char was sitting on her bed, holding a set of earphones. A pile of books was on her left and a cassette recorder on her right. “Hi! What’re you doing?” Stacey asked.

  “Listening to ‘Peter and the Wolf.’ It’s exactly the same words as this.” She held up an open copy of the book. “I can read it, but I love hearing the music, too. Want to hear?” She pulled the earphone plug out of the machine.

  “Sure,” Stacey said.

  They listened for awhile, until Charlotte looked at her Mickey Mouse clock on the wall and announced it was time to walk Carrot.

  Carrot is Charlotte’s pet schnauzer. He was snoozing in the shade under the maple tree in the Johanssens’ backyard, but he sprang up the moment he heard the back door open.

  Charlotte took a leash off a hook near the door and called out, “Want to go bye-bye?”

  Carrot went wild, running around in circles and yapping excitedly.

  Giggling, Charlotte raced after him and clipped the leash on his collar. Then she and Stacey started walking with him down the driveway.

  “Did you come from school?” Char asked Stacey.

  “Yup,” Stacey answered.

  “Then how come your hair’s all wet?”

  “I was practicing at the community pool. I’m going to be doing the breast stroke in the SMS Sports Festival.”

  “You are?” Charlotte seemed amazed.

  Stacey laughed. “Yeah. Why does that surprise you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  That was when Stacey thought about my idea. “Hey, Char. Have you heard about the Mini-Olympics?”

  “Uh-huh,” Charlotte said, stopping while Carrot sniffed a tree.

  “Do you want to be in it?”

  Charlotte made a sour face. “Yuck.”

  “Come on, Char. Why not?”

  “I hate all that stuff,” Charlotte said. “I hate sports and I hate gym class. Besides, all these people are going to be there, and you know I get nervous in front of an audience.”

  Stacey did know. A long time ago, Charlotte was supposed to recite a passage from the book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in a kids’ pageant, and she got so frightened she forgot the whole thing.

  Stacey knew she shouldn’t push Charlotte. But when she thought about how much fun the kids were going to have in their Olympics she wanted so badly for Charlotte to be included.

  “I guarantee it won’t be this big, high-pressure thing,” Stacey said. “There’ll be silly races, awards, refreshments, all kinds of fun stuff. And your friends are going to be in it. Really, Char, I know you’ll have a good time.”

  Charlotte just started silently at the road as Carrot pulled her forward.

  “What if Becca said she’d be in it?” Stacey suggested.

  Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know …”

  “Hey, why don’t we invite her over? Would you like that?”

  Finally Charlotte perked up. “Sure!”

  They finished walking Carrot around the block. Then, when they returned to the Johanssens’, Stacey called our house.

  Guess who answere
d the phone. Becca. When Stacey asked her over, she got all excited. In minutes Becca was at Charlotte’s. Stacey took the two girls into the backyard. She wanted to try out some ideas. “Char,” Stacey said, “do you still have bubble stuff in your bathroom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you get it? Two bottles would be better, if you have them.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll go, too!” Becca cried.

  The girls raced inside. Sure enough, they each returned with a bottle of bubble soap and two wands.

  “Okay,” Stacey said. “We’re going to have a bubble contest!”

  “Yippee!” Charlotte yelled.

  Well, the two of them had the best time. Becca and Charlotte spent the next ten minutes blowing big, wobbly bubbles and running after them.

  The next game Stacey played with them was “Trash Fashion Models.” You wear the tops of plastic garbage cans like hats (clean ones — you wash them off first), then you try to walk in a straight line without letting them fall — like those runway models you see on TV. That was good for a few more minutes of giggles and squeals.

  Next they ran inside for a snack. Stacey prepared bowls of fresh fruit with crackers. As they were eating, she noticed something strange on the floor — a big, light brown balloon in the shape of a hand. “What is that?” she asked Charlotte.

  “Oh, one of Mom’s surgical gloves,” Char said. “She has boxes of them. Sometimes she lets me blow them up like balloons.”

  Stacey picked it up and tapped it into the air. “How about this game? Keep it up — whoever lets it fall loses!”

  “Yeeaaaah!” Charlotte and Becca squealed. They ran outside, batting the glove upward. Stacey said it was the weirdest sight, seeing these two girls hitting a hand in the air.

  By the time they finished that, it was starting to get dark. The three of them collapsed onto the grass with happy sighs.

  “That was fun, wasn’t it?” Stacey said.

  “Yeah,” the girls agreed.

  “You know, the events in the Mini-Olympics are going to be just like these,” Stacey said. “So do you think you guys want to be in it?”

  She said it innocently, and I think she expected the girls to say yes enthusiastically. But both of them became kind of quiet.

  “I don’t know,” Becca replied. “Maybe.” (It turns out that Becca was more interested in the idea of the Olympics than in actually being in them — but how was Stacey to know?)

  Charlotte just shrugged and looked glum.

  Before Stacey could say anything, Becca jumped up. “Uh-oh. I forgot, I promised Mama I’d help set the table for dinner.”

  Charlotte and Stacey followed her down the driveway. Becca waved. “ ’Bye! See you at school tomorrow!”

  “ ’Bye!” Char yelled back.

  Char turned to go inside without even looking at Stacey. It was as if she were completely shut off inside.

  “Char?” Stacey said, following her into the house. “Is everything okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” Charlotte said.

  “Um, are you mad at me for something?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “No … you’re mad at me.”

  “I am?”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte said. “Aren’t you?”

  “Well … why would I be?”

  “Because I don’t want to be in the Mini-Olympics.”

  Stacey felt about two inches high. She realized she had been pushing Charlotte too hard. She hadn’t meant to, but Charlotte felt awful. “Oh, Char … I’m sorry. I don’t mean to force you into something you don’t like. Really. I — I just open my mouth too much. You don’t have to be in the Mini-Olympics. I’ll like you just as much either way.”

  “You will?” Charlotte said.

  “Of course.”

  “Are we still ‘almost sisters’?”

  Stacey smiled a big smile. “You’d better believe it.”

  They both felt better. And Stacey vowed never to bring up the Mini-Olympics in front of Char again.

  “They said yes!” Dawn screamed, as she and Mary Anne ran into Claudia’s room.

  “Yaaaaay!”

  You should have heard the noise. I could swear the windows rattled. Why? Because we had solved the biggest problem facing the Mini-Olympics: where to have it. We had talked about using Dawn and Mary Anne’s big backyard, but we had to wait till they asked permission.

  “Both Richard and my mom think it’s a great idea,” Dawn went on. “All we have to do is give them a date — any Friday after school or any Saturday during the day.”

  “That’s perfect,” Kristy said. “What about the Saturday after the SMS Sports Festival?”

  “Perfect,” Stacey said.

  “Sounds good to me,” I added.

  “I move we do it then,” Kristy said.

  “I’ll write it down,” Mary Anne said, picking up the club record book.

  “All in favor …?” Kristy said.

  “Must we, Kristy?” Claudia moaned.

  “All in favor …?” Kristy repeated.

  “Aye,” we said wearily.

  “All opposed?”

  No one answered.

  “Motion carried. The official date of the Mini-Olympics will be the Saturday immediately following the Sports Festival.”

  “ ‘Immediately following’?” Claudia said with a sly smile. “What’s wrong with ‘after’?”

  Kristy shot her a Look, but Claudia just handed her an open bag of pretzels and said, “Sorry! Peace offering!”

  Kristy grinned and grabbed a handful. “Offer accepted.”

  Mary Anne was scribbling in the record book. “So that’s two weeks from this Saturday, right?”

  “Wood,” Kristy said. She meant to say “Right,” but her mouth was full of pretzel.

  Over a month had passed since I had suggested the Mini-Olympics — and the idea had caught on like wildfire! At least thirty kids had already signed up, and most of their parents had agreed to help supervise.

  Pretty amazing, huh? Just call me Jessi, Idea Sponge II.

  Riinnnng!

  Claudia picked up the receiver. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club…. Oh, hi, Mrs. Hobart! … Yes…. Oh! Sure they can…. Uh-huh…. Uh-huh…. Two weeks from Saturday…. You’re welcome. ’Bye!”

  “Two weeks from Saturday?” Mary Anne said. “But we can’t do a job that day —”

  Claudia shook her head. “That wasn’t about a job,” she said. “Mrs. Hobart wanted to ask us if her boys could be in the Mini-Olympics.”

  “All of them?” I asked.

  “The three younger ones. James wants to be in the three-legged race, Mathew wants to be in a regular race, and Johnny wants to do weight lifting.”

  “But he’s only four!” Stacey commented.

  “Well, Archie Rodowsky and Jamie Newton want to lift weights, too,” Mary Anne said. “I think all the four-year-olds have been talking about that for some reason.”

  “We could get some kind of plastic weight set,” Kristy suggested.

  Mary Anne removed a folded sheet of paper from the record book. “I think we need to update our schedule of events … let’s see, three-legged — James Hobart …”

  “Oh!” Dawn said. “I sat for the Braddock kids last night. Haley decided to enter the funny-face race, and Matthew wants to be in the Wiffle ball derby.”

  See what I mean? There were new entrants every day. I have to admit it was a boost to my ego. And I really needed one, considering how I was feeling about my synchro class.

  “You know,” Kristy said, “I think we should just let the kids enter as many things as they want. It’ll be easier that way.”

  “You’re right,” Mary Anne replied, putting down her pencil.

  “Hey, Stace, did you talk to Charlotte?” Kristy asked. (No one had read the notebook entry yet.)

  Stacey nodded. “She’s not going to be in it.”

  Kristy seemed shocked. “No? Why not?”

  “She just doesn’t like sports
,” Stacey said with a shrug. “Or crowds.”

  “What?” Kristy said. “Maybe we should talk to her again.”

  “I don’t know about that, Kristy,” Mary Anne said.

  “She feels pretty awful,” Stacey added.

  “Yeah!” said Mallory. “So what if she doesn’t want to be in the Mini-Olympics? Not everyone does, you know.”

  Wow. I’d never heard Mal stand up to Kristy like that. Us junior members usually keep a pretty low profile.

  Something was still bugging Mal. For the last few weeks she hadn’t been herself. I wished I didn’t feel so distant from her, but between ballet class and after-school synchro, we just weren’t seeing much of each other.

  I promised myself that I’d talk to her as soon as I could.

  Kristy was pretty cool about Mal’s reaction. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess I get carried away.”

  “We can’t all be big stars like you and Alan Gray,” Stacey said mischievously, breaking the tense mood.

  “I hear The New York Times is going to cover your event at the Sports Festival,” Claudia added.

  “What?” Kristy said. “You don’t — not the —” Then her face turned red. “Hey, no fair, guys! Now you’re ganging up on me!”

  “It is news all over school, Kristy,” Dawn said. “People are making a bigger deal out of it than the Summer Olympics.”

  “Uh, let’s change the subject.” (Kristy looked embarrassed, but I could tell she kind of liked the attention.) “How’s your swimming class going, Jessi?”

  “Oh, fine,” I answered. “I like it.”

  “I’m amazed you can learn all that new stuff so fast,” Mary Anne said. “You are so talented!”

  “Someday she’ll be deciding between the real Olympics and the New York City Ballet,” Stacey added.

  This is what I wanted to say: “Are you kidding? I’m the worst in the class!” But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe I didn’t think they would believe me. Maybe I didn’t want to let them down, since they all seemed to think I was some kind of super-athlete. Maybe I didn’t want to jinx myself.

  Whatever it was, this is what I did say: “It’s fun. You should try it sometime.”