by Betsy Haynes
By the time I got to school, I was feeling pretty optimistic that I would get away with it. I was feeling that way until I caught sight of Taffy Sinclair. My friends and I were standing near the street watching three boys up by the side of the building where there aren't any windows. The boys were passing around a cigarette. While one of them puffed away like crazy, the other two kept watch for teachers. Then the next boy would take the cigarette, and so on. You could tell they thought they were pretty cool.
Anyway, I was so busy watching them that until she called my name, I didn't know Taffy Sinclair had come out the front door of the school and was standing on the top step as if she were on a stage. As usual, she looked absolutely perfect. Her blond hair was brushed back from her face, and she was wearing gorgeous burgundy corduroys, a gray sweater, and a matching burgundy and gray down vest. In my faded jeans and my New York Mets baseball jersey I had never felt more tacky.
"Jana! I've got to talk to you!" she yelled, and started toward me. I couldn't believe my eyes. She was smiling so big that you could see her one crooked bicuspid, the only flaw on her otherwise perfect body. Then she pulled some papers out of her notebook and started waving them around.
"What's the matter with her?" whispered Christie.
"Who knows?" I whispered back.
But as she got closer, I saw that the papers in her hand weren't just any papers. They were the Mark Twain Sentinel, mimeographed in that putrid shade of purple and stapled together.
"Oh, no," I groaned as she swooped down on us. She was still smiling and I had the terrible feeling I knew what was coming next.
I did.
"Oh, Jana. I'm so glad I stopped by school this morning to get my assignments before I go into the city for the filming," she gushed. "Mr. Scott gave me a copy of the Sentinel to take along with me and read on the train. Otherwise I wouldn't have known anything about this super story you wrote about me."
She shoved the paper so close to my nose that my eyes crossed, but just the same I couldn't help reading that headline.
TAFFY SINCLAIR: QUEEN OF THE SOAPS
by
Jana Morgan
I sputtered something about not writing the story myself, but Taffy just kept on grinning and holding the paper up to my face. I could feel my friends all glaring at me. It was as if their eyes were laser beams, and they were boring into me. Not only that, but we were drawing a crowd. Kids from all over the school grounds were drifting over to see what was going on.
At that moment I thought things couldn't get any worse, but just then Taffy did a terrible thing. She whipped the paper around and started reading the article out loud.
"'Taffy Sinclair, the beautiful, blond-haired, blue-eyed sweetheart of the sixth grade, is about to become a big television star.'" Taffy read it in a really loud voice, emphasizing the words beautiful and sweetheart. It was so disgusting I thought I'd die. How could that nerd Curtis Trowbridge do a thing like this to me?
But Taffy wasn't finished yet. She stopped reading and looked at me with an icky sweet expression on her face. Deep down I was sure Taffy knew I hadn't written that story and she was enjoying seeing me squirm. "Really, Jana, I didn't know you were such a big fan of mine," she said. Then she put this innocent look on her face, which, of course, was fake, and asked, "Would you like my autograph?"
That did it. I went stomping across the school grounds as fast as I could. She really had her nerve. But then Taffy Sinclair was the most conceited person in the world. If there was an Olympic event for being conceited, Taffy would not only make the U.S. team, she would win the gold medal. I could hear her reading more of the story, so I covered my ears with my hands and started to run.
A minute later my four best friends came up behind me. "Jana, would you slow down and tell us what's going on?" demanded Katie. She looked really mad and she swung her thick red hair around her shoulders angrily.
"Yeah," said Melanie. She was frowning, too. "I can't believe you'd do Taffy such a big favor. I mean, with a story like that, you could just about become her publicity agent."
I stopped and turned around to face them. I hoped that they weren't really mad at me, that they were just confused. I could certainly understand that.
"First," I began. "I didn't write that story. You've got to believe me, because it's true." Then I went on to tell them about Curtis and about how Mr. Cagney had said they would have to pick another sixth-grader to be editor if he didn't write more exciting stories. Then I crossed my fingers for luck and went on to tell them that in a moment of weakness I had given him a scoop. "I wasn't trying to do Taffy any favors," I said, and added what I hoped would be a big finish. "I only did it to help a friend in need."
Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Christie sort of shrugged and said, "Oh, well. Curtis deserves a little help, I guess, and everybody would have found out about Taffy anyway."
"Sure," said Beth. "She certainly wouldn't have kept it a secret."
"Besides," Melanie added hopefully. "According to the article, Taffy is introduced in the first episode, gets a lot worse in the second, and dies in the third. She isn't going to be a big television star for long."
Just then the first bell rang, and I was glad for it as I trudged off toward the school. But I could hear Taffy laughing and talking to all her new fans. I didn't look in her direction. I didn't want to give her that satisfaction. But looking straight ahead wasn't any better. There was that nerd Curtis Trowbridge marching toward me, his glasses bouncing on his nose.
"Just wait until you see the Sentinel," he said excitedly. Then he winked at me and wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx. "I gave you your by-line just the way I promised, even though you didn't write the story. I don't mind sharing the glory with you, even though I did interview her and write it up. After all, it was your news tip." All I could do was stare at him. He was such a jerk that he actually thought I wanted my name on that story and that I would fall madly in love with him if he gave me a by-line. No wonder he didn't have any friends.
"Thanks, Curtis," I mumbled, and brushed on past him. I knew there was no use telling him how I really felt. He was too much of a nerd to understand.
The rest of the day was pretty boring. Taffy left to go into New York City to film her soap, or her "daytime drama" as I heard her correct one of her fans. Mr. Scott brought around the Sentinel, to be handed out at the end of homeroom, and Christie turned red and almost fainted when he looked in her direction and smiled. That gave me an idea for another scoop. I could see the headline now:
SIXTH-GRADER ELOPES WITH ASSISTANT PRINCIPAL
by
Jana Morgan
I had to chuckle to myself. Maybe the job of reporter wouldn't be so bad after all. I could keep my eye out for great stories and do interviews with sports heroes like Randy Kirwan. The more I thought about that idea, the more I liked it. Maybe Mom could give me some pointers. After all, she does work at the newspaper. She isn't a reporter, but she's the classified ad manager and she's pretty smart.
Anyway, all day long I kept wondering about Taffy Sinclair and the filming. Did she have a dressing room with a star on her door? Did she bring her own clothes or would they furnish her with a gorgeous wardrobe? Of course, since she was playing the part of a girl dying of leukemia, she probably wouldn't need a lot of changes. And what if she forgot her lines? Would they get mad and yell at her or would they just stop the cameras and shoot the scene all over again? I had millions of questions, but, of course, I would never ask her any of them. I'd die if she ever thought I was jealous.
After school I streaked home as fast as I could. Even though I hated Taffy Sinclair more than anybody I knew, I couldn't help myself. I had to watch the soap. I filled a bowl with chips, grabbed a can of soda, and flipped on the tube. I just made it in time, too, because at that instant, organ music swelled and across the screen flashed the words:
INTERNS AND LOVERS
CHAPTER FOUR
After what seemed like a dozen commercial
s, the organ music came back, lingered on a quivery note for an instant, and the camera faded in on a hospital room and a dark-haired young woman lying in bed. She was staring sadly out the window, and beside her hung an upside-down bottle connected to a long tube and a needle stuck in her arm. Yuck! I thought. What you had to go through to be an actress.
The camera shot widened, taking in the door, but there was still no sign of Taffy Sinclair. Humph, I thought. Her part is probably so small that the audience won't even notice her. Just then the young woman in the hospital bed began to cry softly, and as she reached for a tissue to wipe away her tears, the door burst open and the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life came into the room. He was huge and handsome with sun-streaked blond hair, but what really impressed me were his eyes. They were the bluest blue imaginable. But that's not all. They were kind and sensitive. I could tell right away that he was a truly kind and sensitive person, just like Randy Kirwan. I held my breath as he stopped at the foot of her bed, gazing down at her with those kind and sensitive eyes. Then he went to her side and clasped one of her hands in his. You could tell he was crazy about her, and when he started speaking, I forgot all about Taffy Sinclair.
"Cynthia, my darling. Oh, Cynthia. What have you done to yourself?"
"Chad! How did you ever find me?"
"That doesn't matter note. What matters is you. Look at yourself. You're skin and bones. You've lost so much weight that you look like a tiny frail bird."
"You don't understand, Chad. I really need to take off a few more pounds. Doctor Norris is being absolutely awful about it. He put me into the hospital and he's treating me like a prisoner. Oh, Chad. You've got to help me get out of here."
I watched in horror as Cynthia sat up and tried to get out of bed. Chad was right. She was pretty skinny. But she was also weak. She stumbled, falling into Chad's strong arms. Thank goodness he was standing so close. But, of course, someone like Chad would always be there when you needed him. He lifted her gently and put her back into bed and she lay there looking pale and exhausted. Just then the camera zeroed in on his face where the look of love that had been in his eyes only a moment ago had been replaced by fear.
"Cynthia, my love. You have to realize that your desire to lose weight is really a sickness, a sickness known as anorexia. Doctor Norris explained it all to me. He said that you're wasting away and that if you don't start eating again . . . you'll die."
I held my breath. What would Cynthia do now? Surely she wouldn't let herself die when Chad loved her so much. Nobody would. She'd have to be crazy. I could hardly wait to hear what she would say next.
But instead of moving to Cynthia, the camera stayed on Chad, and the angle widened as he moved away from her toward a second bed in the room. At first I didn't understand what was happening, but then I saw that someone was lying in that second bed. It was Taffy Sinclair! And she was in the very same room with kind and sensitive Chad. I thought I'd die.
My throat tightened as Chad tiptoed over to Taffy's bed, looking down at her as if his heart would break.
"Look at this poor, beautiful girl, Cynthia. Doctor Norris tells me she's dying of leukemia. I know she would give anything to have your chance for life."
The camera cut to Taffy in a mint-green nightie lying pale and beautiful on her mound of pillows, just the way I had imagined, but instead of worried doctors and interns hovering around her, it was Chad. I felt like throwing up. Taffy's eyes were closed, and a single tear was glistening on her cheek. I grunted in disgust. It probably wasn't a real tear, but just a drop of water flicked onto her cheek by a prop man while the camera was on Chad and Cynthia. But Chad didn't know that. He was taken in by Taffy. He thought it was a real tear. You could tell by the tender way he was looking at her. I wished I could shout to him and tell him what a truly horrible person Taffy Sinclair really is.
Then Cynthia started talking again, and the camera swung away from Taffy and onto her.
"You don't understand. I don't want to die. I just want to be thin and beautiful and have some discipline and self-control in my life."
"Very well, Cynthia. If you are determined to destroy yourself, I can't stop you." Chad turned and walked to the door, where he paused and looked back at her. The camera closed in on his pain-filled face. "But without you I have no reason to live."
The organ music swelled again, and Chad's face dissolved into mist as a bunch of commercials paraded across the screen. I looked nervously at my watch. Ten minutes to go before the end of the show. Surely Cynthia wouldn't let Chad do anything desperate, but she was so weak. Could she stop him in just ten minutes?
The commercials seemed to last forever, but finally the cameras were on Cynthia again. I couldn't believe that she was still lying in bed staring out the window the way she had been at the start of the show. Why wasn't she doing something? Hadn't she heard what Chad said? Didn't she believe him? She must have heard my questions because she began talking to herself.
"He's only bluffing. I know he's only bluffing. Chad would never take his own life. Never."
Just then I heard another sound. It was sirens and they were getting louder. My heart began to pound. Was Chad all right? I leaned closer to the television set as a nurse ran into the room. She looked scared to death and she ran straight to Cynthia.
"He's on the roof. That handsome young man who was in here just now. He's on the roof, and he's threatening to jump!"
The scene faded, ending the show for the day and leaving me paralyzed on the sofa. I sat there for a long time. I didn't even change the channel when a stupid cartoon came on. All I could think about was Cynthia. How could she be such a jerk? How could she just lie there when kind and sensitive and wonderful Chad was about to jump off the hospital roof? I was so worried about Chad I almost cried.
Then I thought about Randy Kirwan. He and Chad had a lot in common, even though Chad had blond hair and Randy's hair was dark. I would never let Randy jump off a hospital roof. He wouldn't even have to beg me to eat. I'd do anything to save his life. I closed my eyes. I could see it all.
"Jana, my darling, Oh, Jana, what have you done to yourself?"
"Randy! How did you ever find me?"
"That doesn't matter now. What matters is you. Look at yourself. You're skin and bones. You've lost so much weight that you look like a tiny frail bird. If you don't start eating again . . . you'll die. Promise me that you'll eat something. Otherwise I'll jump off the roof."
"Of course, Randy darling. I'll eat anything to save you."
"Sauerkraut?"
"Yes. Even sauerkraut."
"Liverwurst?"
But before I could answer him, I heard another sound. Was it sirens? My heart began to pound. No, it was only the phone.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was Beth.
"So what did you think of Taffy Sinclair?" she demanded.
I gulped. In my concern over Chad and Randy I had practically forgotten about Taffy Sinclair. But now I remembered that fake tear on her cheek and how taken-in Chad had been.
"She was so sickening I almost threw up," I blurted out.
"So did I. She was totally disgusting."
"Totally!"
"'Look at this poor, beautiful girl,'" Beth mimicked in her best theatrical voice. "Poor? YUCK! Beautiful? YUCK!"
"Puke!"
"Regurgitate!"
"Vomit!"
We both started making throwing-up noises and laughing. We got so carried away that after a couple of minutes I was gagging and thought I might really throw up, but luckily I didn't.
When we finally calmed down, I asked Beth if she wanted to watch Interns and Lovers at my house tomorrow. She said yes, so I called Christie, Katie, and Melanie and asked them and they said yes, too. I thought it was a good idea for us to watch together. That way if any of us got sick to our stomachs over Taffy Sinclair's disgusting performance, the others would be there to help. Good grief! I thought. What if we all got sick? The living room would look like a hospital w
ard.
At that moment the front door opened. An instant later it slammed so hard that the pictures rattled on the walls. Mom was home. I cringed. Where could I hide?
Mom and I usually get along fairly well, but that week the mere thought of Mom coming home from work filled me with terror. She'd been in a disgusting mood. I was sure it had something to do with Pink. Pink is short for Wallace Pinkerton, and he's Mom's boyfriend. At least he used to be. He's a printer at the same newspaper where Mom is the classified ad manager, and they have lunch together every day and dinner at our house a couple of nights a week. Every Saturday night Pink takes Mom bowling. He's an absolute bowling nut. But last Saturday night Pink brought Mom home early—so early I was still up watching TV. Mom stormed in the door muttering something about "that hussy at the bowling alley" and headed straight to bed. She's been a holy terror ever since.
"Jana," she roared. She looked so mad that I wouldn't have been surprised to see her breathing fire and smoke. "What are you doing watching TV at this hour of the day? Is your homework finished? And look at this apartment. It's a wreck!"
"I was on my way to do my homework now," I lied and made a beeline for my room. I started to tell her about Taffy Sinclair being on television and then decided she wasn't in the mood to be told anything. The best thing was just to stay out of her way.
I should have known that everyone at school would be talking about Taffy Sinclair the next day. But I didn't think of it. If I had, I would have invented an excuse to stay home. It was sickening. My four best friends thought so, too.
"Can you believe all this?" Christie was standing beside my locker looking exasperated. "Kids who hate Taffy Sinclair just as much as we do are going around acting like she's their best friend."
"I just overheard Clarence Marshall telling a bunch of guys that he kissed her at Scott Daly's pool party last summer," said Katie.
