Whoa. Poor Rosie! I never thought I'd feel sorry for her, but I did. The two teachers were getting carried away.
Fortunately (for Rosie), the lesson seemed to end soon afterward. I could tell because the music stopped and the teachers' voices grew quieter. Ms. Van Cott was telling Rosie to "warm down" (whatever that means), and Mr. Bryan kept saying, "And stretch . . . and stretch!" (Even with my small brainpower, I figured that meant he was leading her in stretching exercises.)
Before long the teachers bounced happily out of the house, calling good-bye to me.
I listened for Rosie, but I didn't hear her. For a moment I thought she might have collapsed with exhaustion.
Finally I heard her footsteps on the basement stairs. "Rosie?" I called. "How did it go?"
"Fine," she answered.
Her voice sounded hoarse, and that made me feel even worse for her. When she entered the den, she was drenched in sweat and her face was red.
"What a workout!" I said.
"Yeah," answered Rosie. Her eyes went from me to my sketch pad, which I had put on the coffee table. "Can I see?" she asked.
I was shocked. Rosie the Great, showing an
interest in ray drawings? I held up my pad. "Sure."
Rosie stared at the Milk Duds for a long time without saying anything. Then she flipped to the Twinkie. "I hate these," she said.
"The drawings?" I asked.
"No, Twinkies." She flipped through some more drawings. "You erase a lot."
"Well, they're only sketches," I said. "I'm going to make paintings of them."
"Of candy?" she said with a little sneer.
I shrugged. "Why not? It's fun."
Rosie didn't answer. She kept flipping the pages, staring at each drawing.
"The Ring Ding is better than the others," she said.
"Thanks." It wasn't a rave review, but I had to take what I could get.
Rosie looked at all the sketches, then handed the pad back to me. "I like to draw sometimes," she said.
"Really?" I asked. I supposed she was going to say her art was appearing in a New York gallery.
"Yeah," she said. "A little. Well, I'm going to change and start working on a project before my mother comes home."
"You're done with homework?"
"Yup. When Janine was here."
"Okay." I decided to be daring. "Hey, if
you like to draw, how about working here with me?" I asked. I figured as long as we had something in common, there was hope.
Rosie turned around. I smiled. "It would be really relaxing," I said.
"Thafs okay," Rosie answered in a dull voice.
Then she turned and trudged up the stairs.
Oh, well. I had tried.
Chapter 6.
Thursday was the one day I couldn't sit for Rosie. And I have to admit, I was relieved.
Stacey got stuck with — oops, I mean Stacey got the job. I thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad for her. Maybe she and Rosie could get into a really exciting conversation about math (yawn).
I was wrong.
The job started well enough. Stacey wanted to make a good impression. She raced to SES after school so she wouldn't keep Rosie waiting. She arrived a moment after the final bell had rung. As the kids streamed outside, Stacey took a good long look at the photo of Rosie I'd given her (I had asked Mrs. Wilder to give me a copy of Rosie's professional photo, because Stacey had never met Rosie).
It wasn't hard to spot that thick red hair. Rosie was with a group of four other girls, all chatting away.
Stacey could hear every word. They were talking about Disney World. "I wasn't even afraid of Space Mountain," one of them said.
"Neither was I," said another. "It was fun."
"I know," said a third one. "I've been there five times. My grandparents live near there."
"I've been there three times," piped up a fourth girl.
"I had a picture taken with Mickey Mouse,"
said the second girl. "He was really an actor, and I could see his eyes through the costume."
Finally Rosie spoke up. "I had to wear a costume like that, too."
"At Disney World?" the second girl said. "They let kids work there?"
"No," Rosie answered loudly. "In a commercial. It's for cat food, and it's airing next month. I wear this kitten costume, and I feed some food to a real cat, then I take off my mask and the cat runs away — "
"What's that got to do with Disney World?" asked the third girl.
"I bet you've never even been there, Rosie," said the fourth one with a sneer.
Rosie grew red in the face. "Well — it's only because I have a career! I'm too busy to do baby stuff like go to Disney World — "
"Cut it out, Rosie," the first girl said. "You're just jealous."
That was where Stacey stepped in. "Hi . . . are you Rosie?"
"Yeah," said Rosie, still scowling.
"I'm Stacey. I'm going to walk you home."
Rosie answered with her two favorite words. "I know."
The girls said good-bye. Two of them were headed in the same direction as Rosie and Stacey, but they made sure to cross to the other side of the street.
Stacey felt bad for Rosie, but she knew how the other girls must have felt. Rosie was not easy to like.
» "So, I hear you're a really good singer and tap dancer," Stacey said.
"Yeah," said Rosie.
"And good-in math and science," Stacey went on.
Rosie nodded. "English, too. I'm in the Grand Crossword Competition next week."
"Really?" said Stacey.
"Do you know what it is?" asked Rosie.
"Uh . . . no," Stacey admitted. "I guess it's a crossword puzzle contest, right?"
"The school finals," Rosie corrected her. "First I won the competition in my class, and then in the whole third grade. Now I go up against the fourth- and fifth-graders. It's going to be in the auditorium next Thursday. They put three huge puzzles on blackboards on stage, and we each work on one. The first person to complete one correctly wins."
"Sounds like fun," Stacey said. "Maybe I can help you prepare this afternoon."
"No," Rosie said. "Uncle Dandy's coming over. Didn't my mom tell you?"
"Uncle who?" asked Stacey.
"Uncle Dandy!" Rosie said. "You don't know about him?"
"No."
Rosie exhaled impatiently. "It was in all the papers. He's going to be the host of a talent show on TV called Uncle Dandy's Star Machine. It's going to be on Channel 3, with kids from all over central Connecticut."
"Wow," said Stacey. "Did he see you in a show or something?"
"No, my agent contacted him. She's bringing him over at four-thirty."
"Four-thirty?" said Stacey. "Aren't you nervous? Do you know what you're going to perform?"
"I'm never nervous," answered Rosie. "First I'm going to do my new tap number, then play the piano and the violin, then do a scene from a soap opera. See, we're not sure which of my talents Uncle Dandy will want to use on the show."
"So you'll do a little of everything," said Stacey.
"Right."
Sure enough, when Stacey reached Rosie's house, she found a note from Mrs. Wilder on the kitchen table. It told about Uncle Dandy's visit, and politely suggested that Stacey do her homework in the den during the audition. (In other words, make herself scarce.)
Rosie didn't agree. "You can watch if you want," she said. "I don't mind."
Stacey compromised. She set up her
schoolwork in the Wilders' dining room. From there she could see part of the living room, where Rosie was going to do the music and acting parts of her audition. The dance part was going to take place in the basement.
Rosie went downstairs to practice her tap number. Stacey began studying. Then, at four twenty-five, Stacey's stomach went into knots. She didn't know why. Can you imagine? Sophisticated Stacey, who used to see famous people on the sidewalks of New York every day, nervous about meeting Uncle Dandy!
Actually I th
ink she was nervous for Rosie. Stacey felt a lot more sympathetic to her than I did. She says conceited people are actually insecure.
I didn't believe it. Insecure was about the last word I'd use to describe Rosie.
Well, it wasn't until a quarter to five that the doorbell rang. "Can you get that?" Rosie called from the basement. "I'm practicing my pullbacks."
(Huh?)
"Sure," answered Stacey.
She went to the door, opened it, and saw a glamorous-looking Asian-American woman wearing a silk scarf and a long, flowing dress. Next to her was a heavyset (all right, fat} man with a bright smile and thick blond hair. Stacey
didn't want to stare, but she was sure he was wearing a toupee.
"Hi, I'm Daa Beasley, otherwise known as Uncle Dandy," the man said. "Are you Mary Rose?"
"No, she's the baby-sitter, Dan," the woman said as Stacey opened the door. "Hello, dear, I'm Rosie's agent, Sandra Yu. I'm so sorry we're late."
"That's okay," Stacey said. "Rosie's in the basement. She's practicing her backpulls."
"Sounds dangerous," Uncle Dandy said with a laugh.
Stacey cringed. She knew she had gotten the word wrong. She slunk back to her homework as the other two walked downstairs.
Rosie performed her tap number, and Stacey said it sounded great. Uncle Dandy clapped loudly and yelled, "Brava!" (Janine explained that you say that to a girl, instead of "Bravo!")
Soon Rosie, Sandra Yu, and Uncle Dandy trooped upstairs and Rosie played some complicated "piece" on the piano. Uncle Dandy clapped loudly at that, too, and at Rosie's violin playing (despite a couple of embarrassing squeaks).
Then came Rosie's acting. Stacey could see Rosie clearly as she stepped into the middle of the living room with a script in her hands.
"I shall perform a selection from the daytime
television serial The Brash and the Beautiful," Rosie announced in a singsong voice. "It's the part of Josephine, the runaway girl. In this scene, she meets her father after having escaped from a home for wayward children, where she was treated terribly and lost her memory. For this scene, I shall require someone to read the part of the father."
"Sweetheart, can't you do a monolog instead?" Ms. Yu asked her.
Rosie frowned. "I don't have one prepared," she replied. "Besides, you said I was perfect for this role — "
"Yes, yes, of course," Ms. Yu answered. "Uh, Dan, what's your policy on scene auditions?"
"I could read the part," Uncle Dandy said, "but not without my glasses. I'm liable to hold the thing upside down and sound like I'm reading Russian — har har!"
"I know!" Rosie said. Then she called out, "Stacey?"
Stacey gulped. She thought she was hearing things. Rosie couldn't possibly expect her to —
"Stacey, will you read with me?" Rosie called.
The house fell silent. Rosie, Uncle Dandy, and Ms. Yu stared at Stacey. Her heart started beating like crazy. "Uh . . . okay."
Stacey was stuck. How could she say no?
She walked into the room, feeling as if she were going to pass out. She stood next to Rosie and looked at the script. "Start here," Rosie whispered, pointing to a place that said SCENE 3.
Stacey cleared her throat. " 'Dad answers knock/ " she read.
"No, that's a stage direction!" Rosie said.
"Oh, sorry. Uh . . . 'Who could be bothering me at this hour? Yes, what can I — ' "
" 'You got anything to drink?' " Rosie said in a dull, flat voice.
It said pause, so Stacey paused. " 'Darling,' " she said. Then it said, He stares at her, so Stacey stared at Rosie, then lost her place. "Uh . . . wait a minute . . .oh! Here! Um, 'It can't be. Oh, darling, my darling, it's you!' "
" 'Leave me alone, you creep, I'm thirsty,' " Rosie said.
" 'But my sweet, dear Josy, my love. Don't you remember? It's me, Daddy!' " Then it said, He grabs her by the shoulders and kisses her, but Stacey decided against that. " 'Daddy, who changed your diapers. Daddy, who sang, "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Poppa's gonna buy you a mockingbird . . ." ' "
Stacey was dying. This was so embarrassing!
(I would have given anything to have been there.)
Anyway, Rosie dropped her script on the
floor. She turned to Stacey and gawked with her mouth hanging open. " "D-D-Daddy?' " she whispered.
Stacey tried to look at the script on the floor. She bent down, thinking she must have had a line.
Then Rosie threw her arms around Stacey, practically tackling her. " 'Daddy!' " she shrieked. " 'Oh, Daddy! Oh, I love you so! I love you! Am I home? Am I really, really home?' "
"Um ..." Stacey wrestled out of Rosie's grip. But when she bent to pick up the script, she stepped on it. She heard a huge rrrrrip as it tore in half. Stacey picked up the pieces and frantically looked for her line.
Rosie stood by the piano, ad-libbing "Oh, Daddys" and crying dramatically.
"Uh ..." Stacey said. "Uh ..."
Ms. Yu finally spoke up. "I think that covers the dramatic ground nicely," she said. "Don't you, Dan?"
"Yes, very nice," Uncle Dandy said, smiling at Rosie. "Very emotional. Thank you so much for sharing your talent, Mary Rose. You'll be on my show, all right. When I figure out in what capacity, I'll call Ms. Yu right away."
He stood up, shook Rosie's hand, and left with Ms. Yu. Neither of them even looked at Stacey.
When Stacey turned around, she saw Ros-ie's eyes filled with tears. Stacey wasn't sure if she was acting or if they were for real.
Rosie went straight to a tissue box and blew her nose. Then she said calmly, as if nothing had happened, "I've got something to do in my room. Call me when my mother comes."
Stacey didn't have the strength to answer. She felt about two inches tall.
Chapter 7.
F ive-eighteen.
I looked at the clock out of the corner of my eye. It was Monday evening, four days after Stacey's fateful evening with Rosie. I was hard at work on my painting, Milk Duds, Spilled.
Yes, painting. Over the weekend I'd started turning my sketches into the real thing. On Sunday I finished Twinkle Unwrapped, and it had turned out really well. The colors were rich, and made you hungry just looking at the painting.
Milk Duds was harder to do. At the moment, the Duds resembled metal balls, and I was determined to fix them.
At five-twenty, I realized I needed a lot more time. I'd have to wait till after the meeting to finish. Meanwhile, my room was a war zone, and I had to clean up in a hurry.
I shoved my paints and brushes into the closet. Then I scooped up the old newspapers
I'd laid out to protect the floor and ran downstairs to put them in' the recycling pile. My canvases weren't so easy to put away, though. I just leaned them against the walls of my room.
When Kristy showed up, her eyes zeroed in on the two canvases. She laughed.
"What's so funny?" I asked.
"I don't know," Kristy said. "Those just . . . make me laugh."
"Thanks a lot," I said.
"No, no! I'm not laughing at them. They make me feel good. It's a compliment, Claud. I think they're great."
I was excited to hear Kristy say that. Especially after her first reaction to my project, back in the beginning.
Soon the others showed up, and Kristy called the meeting to order. I passed around the usual junk food.
"Any new business?" Kristy asked.
"I have some," I said. "On Friday, Mrs. Wilder told me she's going to need us for at least another week. Her mom's still not better."
Kristy nodded. "Mary Anne?" she said.
Mary Anne checked her book. "Claudia, you're free Tuesday and Friday. You've got Charlotte Johanssen on Thursday, but Kristy's free that day, and so's Stacey and Jessi — "
"Uh, count me out," Stacey said. Then she smiled and added, "Please. I'm still recovering from the last time."
"I don't want to be part of any audition," Kristy said. "I'd die."
There was an emb
arrassed silence. Fortunately Mary Anne saved the day. "Look, we're talking about Rosie like she's a monster. She's human, too, you know/'
"I know," I said, "but she's so ... pushy. She's got all this talent, but she uses it like a machine."
"She is like a machine," said Stacey. "I mean, you work hard on your art, Claudia, but you love it. It shows. Rosie always looks so . . . grim. Or else she has this forced smile. I don't think she really likes what she's doing."
"Yeah," I said. "She's not a very happy girl."
"Maybe her parents are pushing her," Mary Anne suggested. "Maybe we should encourage her to loosen up, have more fun."
"Maybe we should take her to a fun kids' place, like the zoo," suggested Mal.
"It would probably interfere with some lesson," I said.
Then Jessi spoke up. "I'd like to take that Thursday job with Rosie. She's into dance, right? We have that in common. Maybe we'll get along."
"That might work/' Mary Anne said.
"Uh-oh," Dawn exclaimed suddenly. She was looking at Kristy, who was obviously thinking hard. "Kristy's working on an idea — "
"Boy, do I have a great idea!" Kristy blurted out.
Dawn giggled. "I thought so."
"What?" said Mal and Stacey and I at the same time.
Kristy glanced at me. "You should have a show!"
"Huh?" I said. "What does that have to do with Rosie?"
"It doesn't/' Kristy said. "But I was looking at your paintings, and it just popped into my head. You should have an art show, Claudia. I mean, why should your paintings sit up here where nobody can enjoy them?"
"We'll enjoy them," I replied.
"I know, but the public should see them, Claud," Kristy insisted.
"Yeah, but where? I can't just walk into a gallery and ask someone to give me an exhibit!"
"Make your own gallery," Kristy said. "Your garage! We could have an opening and invite all our kids. They would love it, and the subject of junk food is perfect. It would show them that art can be fun."
I hadn't thought of being so public with my paintings, but a show did sound like fun. And if I was going to be a famous artist someday, this would be good practice. "I guess we could," I said. "I'd need some help cleaning the garage, though. It's a pigsty."
"With seven of us, it'll take no time," Kristy said. Everyone nodded enthusiastically.
"I could easily hang the paintings on the wall," I said, "and the lighting's not bad. I guess I'd have to figure out a date I could be finished; then that'll be the opening."
Claudia And The Genius On Elm St. Page 4
