by Betsy Haynes
I know! I decided with a smile. Jana is so jealous of me she can hardly stand it. She pretends she isn't, but she is. I'll just tell her that I have to call one of the local television stations—no, I'll say a national network—about my big audition and that I'm looking in my purse for the number. My smile turned into a delicious laugh. That should do it.
"Hi, Taffy. What's so funny?"
My heart almost stopped as Randy Kirwan came around the corner and stopped beside me. It wasn't Jana, after all. It was Randy, and he was giving me a gorgeous smile. Had he followed me into the building? Had he seen me come inside and decided that it was the perfect chance to talk to me? Alone?
I had to think fast. "Nothing's really funny," I said, smiling back at him. "I was just trying to imagine what Curtis's party will be like Friday night. I think it's going to be a ball. I can hardly wait."
Randy looked surprised. "You're going? That's terrific. But Curtis was telling everybody that you couldn't come because you had to try out for some television commercial or something like that."
"Oh, I'll be there," I assured him. "In fact, that's why I came into the school. I have to call the TV station and tell them I can't audition Friday night because I have something much more important to do. I'm looking for their phone number. It's somewhere in my purse."
I was trying as hard as I could to look casual, to act as if this sort of thing happened every day, but my hand was shaking so badly that I plunged it into my purse.
When I looked at Randy again, his eyes were glowing with admiration. "Wow. Do you mean that you would give up something as important as a chance to be on television again just to come to a party?"
"Of course." I could feel my confidence rising. Randy thought I was special. He didn't even have to say it out loud for me to know. I wondered for a fleeting moment if my hair looked okay. Then I flashed an even bigger smile and said, "This isn't just an ordinary party. All my best friends are going to be there."
I don't know if he got the message that I meant him when I said that my best friends would be there or not, because just then Scott Daly charged down the hall yelling to Randy that a game of touch tag was starting on the playground.
After the two of them left, I stood there tingling all over as I thought about what Randy and I had just said to each other. He was glad that I was going to the party! He even thought I was special for giving up an audition to go.
I had to go to Curtis's party. That's all there was to it. It could be the most important night of my life. There were only two things that could spoil it. Two big things. The television audition—if I couldn't convince my mother to let me go to the party instead. And my diary—if I couldn't get it back before Friday night.
CHAPTER SIX
"Taffy, I know it seems important to you now, dear, but believe me, when you're a famous star you won't even remember some silly old sixth-grade graduation party. It won't matter to you one bit that you missed it. In fact, you'll be grateful to me for insisting that you audition for that television commercial instead. Taffy, love, didn't you hear me? You're going to be a star!"
I stared down at my feet so that my mother wouldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes. When I got home from my ballet lesson, she had met me at the door with the news. Now we were sitting in the family room with all the autographed pictures of famous stars the Rockettes had appeared with hanging on the walls. People such as Frank Sinatra and Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford, and she was saying that the television station wanted to audition me at eight o'clock Friday evening—right in the middle of Curtis's party.
"But, Mother," I insisted for the umpteenth time. "Can't we postpone it? Can't I audition Saturday morning instead? I promise I'll get up early and be there when the station opens. Oh, please?"
"In the morning? When your eyes are all puffy? And besides, I have it on good authority that Cynthia Cameron is going to audition, too, and you know she's your biggest competition. If you don't look your best, she'll get the job instead of you."
"My eyes are hardly ever puffy in the morning," I argued, ignoring the bit about Cynthia Cameron. I would deal with her later. "Besides, all my friends are going to be at that party."
A look of pain crossed her face, and she glanced up at the picture of Barbra Streisand on the wall above her. It said, "Best of everything to Sally Starre (that was my mother's stage name) from Barbra."
"After all I've tried to do for you," she said, sniffing back tears and looking at me again. "All the sacrifices I've made so that my only daughter could have the show business career that I gave up when I got married. And this is the thanks I get. You can't even miss one, insignificant little party when it could mean the big break we've been waiting for."
Some big break, I thought. It was just a commercial for the local television station advertising their summer lineup of children's programs. From the way my mother was acting, you would have thought that it would be shown across the country on all the major networks. She should have been an actress instead of a dancer with the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes, I thought with a sigh. But she wasn't an actress. She was my mother, and I could see that our conversation was going nowhere. There was only one thing to do. Go along with her until I could think of a new approach.
Later, in my room, I tried to do my homework, but all I could think about was Randy Kirwan and the way he had followed me into the school at noon. I was certain that he had been waiting for the right moment to talk to me about Curtis's party. A moment when we could be alone. And now my mother was going to ruin everything by insisting that I go to the television audition instead of the party. She was at least going to try to ruin everything. No, I thought, shaking my head sadly. She wasn't actually trying to ruin things for me. She thought that what she was doing was for the best. It's just that sometimes what seemed the best to her was really the worst for me.
I drummed my fingers on my desk excitedly. This was only Tuesday. Anything could happen between now and the party Friday night. And something would. I would see to that. A plan was already forming in my mind.
I raced through my homework. I had something important to do, and the sooner I got started, the better. Throwing open my closet door, I jerked things off the hangers as fast as I could and pitched them onto my bed. Tops. Skirts. Jeans. Then I sauntered casually into the living room where my parents were watching television. I was about to put part one of my plan to work.
"Mother. Would you come here a moment? I need some advice."
Since I hardly ever ask her for advice, she sprang up from the sofa. "What is it, dear?" she asked eagerly.
I led her into my bedroom, then put my hands on my hips and sighed loudly as I nodded toward the mess on my bed. "I've tried on absolutely everything I own, and nothing will do for my big audition Friday night. I just don't know what I'm going to wear."
Mother looked surprised for an instant and then began picking through the things strewn across my bed. "Here," she said, holding up my favorite blue outfit, the one with the knee-length pants and ruffled top that matched my eyes exactly. "You look gorgeous in this. I remember when you wore it to the Fourth of July parade last summer. You were stunning!"
"That's just it," I insisted. "That's last year's outfit. You know as well as I do that Cynthia Cameron will have on something new. She's bound to show up in an outfit that's the very latest."
I could tell instantly that I had gotten through to her. Cynthia Cameron was my age and lived in Monroe, a town a few miles north of Bridgeport, and she had tried out for the same part in Interns and Lovers that I had played on television. Of course I got the part, but ever since then her mother and mine had been enemies as terrible as Jana Morgan and me. If there was anything that would convince my mother to buy me a new outfit, it was the mention of Cynthia Cameron's name.
"Maybe you're right," Mother mused. "It might be a good idea to go out to the mall after school tomorrow and see what we can find." She paused a moment and then beamed at me. "After all, we both kn
ow how important Friday night is, don't we?"
"That's right, Mother." I crossed my fingers and held them behind my back. "Friday night could be one of the most important nights of my life."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Now that part one of my plan had gone just as I had hoped, the next thing I had to do was get my diary back. This called for part two of my plan.
I left for school fifteen minutes early the next morning so that I could head off Mona Vaughn a block from the playground. I would rather have called her the night before and talked to her in total privacy, but meeting her would have to do. Her parents didn't have much money, and a telephone was a luxury they couldn't afford. Luxury? I wondered. How could anyone consider something so important as a telephone a luxury? But those had been Mona's very words when she had explained the situation to me a few weeks before.
Standing there waiting for her, I had time to think about my diary again. I would die, absolutely die, if Jana and the others read it. Or worse yet, if they took it to the party and read it out loud in front of everybody. I knew exactly what they would do. They would pick out the parts that would embarrass me the most. Parts such as what I said about the club they had against me.
Dear Diary:
Today I found out something awful. It has been bad enough that Jana and her friends hate me and are jealous of my looks, but today I found out that they have a club against me. It's called The Against Taffy Sinclair Club, and the purpose of the club is to spy on me and write down everything I do and then get together and talk about me. I think that's the meanest thing I ever heard of!!!
It would be embarrassing for everyone to know about that club, all right, but that wasn't the worst of it. The rest of what I wrote was even more humiliating.
Dear Diary:
Today I did something to get even with Jana for having a club against me. I told her that I have a club against her, too. I said that it is called The Against Jana Morgan Club. What I didn't tell her was that I am the only member.
I shifted my books nervously. Now Jana would know the truth. She had always thought that I had other girls in my club. She thought that at least Mona Vaughn was in it because Mona always followed me around like a lost puppy. I wished now that Mona had been in my club. I wished that I had asked every other girl in our class to be in it. I had wished it then, too.
Dear Diary:
Today I saw Jana and her friends writing things about me in their notebooks. It made me furious. I really wish I had other girls in my club, too, so that we could talk about them and write things in our notebooks. We could write about how Jana always makes goo-goo eyes at Mr. Neal, the fifth-grade teacher, or how flat-chested she and her friends are compared to me. I could write those things myself, but it wouldn't be any fun. Not without someone to share them with. I thought about asking some girls to be in my club. I've thought about it a lot lately, but I couldn't stand for anyone to think that I had to beg someone to be my friend.
Actually, most girls were too jealous of me to want to be friends, I thought. Everyone, that is, except for Mona Vaughn. Fortunately The Fabulous Five liked Mona, too. That's why right now she was my only hope.
When Mona walked up the street, I was so deep in thought that I didn't even see her coming.
"Hi, Taffy," she said cheerfully. "Waiting for someone?"
"Oh, hi." I looked around to make sure no one from school was nearby to hear what we were saying. "As a matter of fact, I was waiting for you."
Mona was obviously pleased. She danced up to me, grinning like crazy. I looked her over quickly. Actually, her dark hair did look better now that Jana and her friends had shown her how to style it. And her violet eyes were finally visible with her bangs pulled away from her face. But she still looked like the pits with her baggy, mismatched clothes and her dingy sneakers. I had been counting on that to make my plan work.
"I really like the way you're wearing your hair lately," I said. "That's a neat style."
Mona looked a little embarrassed for a moment. "Thanks," she murmured. "Jana and her friends showed me how to fix it this way."
"They've really been buttering you up lately, haven't they?" I asked, trying to sound innocent.
"Buttering me up? Of course not. What makes you think that?"
"Oh, nothing." I didn't say anything else for a minute, and then I added as casually as I could, "They were really hanging around with you a lot for a while, weren't they? You know, when Melanie Edwards and I were in the same modeling class and were spending so much time together. I'm sure they weren't trying to make me jealous, or anything. They probably just like you."
Mona's eyes widened in horror, but she kept looking straight ahead and didn't say anything. She probably didn't think I saw the expression on her face. She probably didn't think that Jana and the others would do something so mean to anyone, either. But of course I knew better. Just look at all the mean things they had done to me.
When I saw Mona's chin start to quiver, I knew it was time to bring up my diary.
"They just love to act goody-goody and then do terrible things behind people's backs," I said. Mona shot a questioning look in my direction, so I went on. "For instance, did you know that they are the ones who have my diary, and they won't give it back?"
"You're kidding! I heard on the playground that it was missing. But how do you know that they're the ones who have it?"
"I saw them with it," I said triumphantly. "They were crowded around looking at it yesterday morning when we found the lockers all mixed up. It was just before Miss Wiggins told everybody to give back what they could identify."
"Maybe they didn't know it was yours."
"They knew, all right," I said. "Not only that, I asked them for it, but they wouldn't give it to me. Now they've probably hidden it somewhere, but I don't have the slightest idea where."
"Oh, Taffy. That's terrible. Maybe I could find out for you."
I sighed deeply and gave her a hug. "Thanks a lot, Mona, but it's no use. Even though they really like you and trust you, I'm sure they wouldn't tell even you where they're keeping it. They want to make me as miserable as they possibly can!"
Mona started to protest, but I shook my head. "Forget it," I said with a sad little smile. "I know that there isn't anything you can do. But thanks anyway. I appreciate your wanting to help. Let's change the subject and talk about something fun, like Curtis's party. Do you know yet what you're wearing?"
This time her expression turned dismal, and she gazed dejectedly toward her feet. "I don't have anything to wear," she admitted. "Not anything nice enough for a party. I was even thinking about not going."
"Don't be silly. Of course you're going. You don't need anything special for Curtis's party. Probably most girls will be in jeans."
"So?" said Mona. "These are my best jeans, and they're patched in three places."
"So?" I teased. "Patched jeans are in. But wait. I have a better idea. I have tons of clothes, and I can't wear them all to one party. Why don't you come over after supper and try on some things? I'll bet we could find the perfect outfit for you. Okay?"
"Do you mean it?" she asked, but before I could answer, she added, "But I couldn't. I mean, your clothes are so . . . so beautiful."
"They're just clothes," I reassured her. "Besides, you and I are friends."
Mona's eyes were shining with such gratitude that I knew instantly that she would do everything in her power to get my diary back for me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I left Mona at the entrance to the school ground, saying that I had to look over my spelling words one more time before the bell rang. Actually, I wanted to make sure she had the chance to talk to Jana and her friends about my diary before she changed her mind or chickened out. Besides, the sooner I got it back, the better.
Just as I had predicted, she went straight over to the girls who were standing in their special spot by the fence. I leaned against a tree and opened my notebook to my spelling words, holding it up so that I could look
over the top and watch without anyone's realizing what I was doing.
Melanie was the first one to notice Mona walking toward them, and as soon as Melanie waved and called to her, the others acted glad to see her, too. I breathed a sigh of relief as they gathered around her and started talking. If anyone could find out about my diary, Mona could.
It was all I could do to lower my eyes and pretend to be looking at my spelling words. I had to stay cool and keep anyone from suspecting that I was spying on The Fabulous Five.
I counted to ten and looked over the top of the notebook again. They were still talking. They were even laughing. What was that all about? There wasn't anything funny about their stealing my diary. Having something that belonged to someone else and refusing to give it back was just the same as stealing, I assured myself.
Maybe they were laughing about something that was written in my diary. I bit my lower lip and tried to think what it could be. I remembered some more problems I'd had with Jana and what I had written about them.
Dear Diary:
Today Jana Morgan's friends are mad at her, and I'm pretending to be her friend. I couldn't believe that she actually fell for it and even said yes when I offered to teach her how to use body language to send messages to cute boys. Boy, was that funny!!! Her body language looked like baby talk.
I started giggling when I thought about how I had tricked her. She really had looked pretty strange when she wiggled her hips and batted her eyes at every cute boy in sixth grade. And Miss Wiggins had even seen her doing it and asked her if she felt okay. Yipes! I thought. Jana wouldn't laugh if she read that. And she certainly wouldn't tell anyone else about it. She'd be steaming mad.
I gulped and checked out The Fabulous Five and Mona again. They weren't laughing now, either. They were huddled close together talking, but I couldn't see their faces clearly enough to tell if they were happy or mad.
