Baby-Sitters Club 033

by Ann M. Martin

  Anyway, by the time Kristy and her brother reached the ball field that day, David Michael was feeling pretty cocky from all the compliments Kristy had paid him. And it showed up later during the practice.

  "Okay, team!" Kristy shouted, clapping her hands together.

  The ragtag Krushers gathered around their coach. There were Myriah and Gabbie Perkins (Gabbie, you'll remember, is only two and a half); Jamie Newton, who ducks every time a ball comes toward him; Max Delaney and Hannie and Linny Papadakis, who can barely hit the ball; Jackie Rodowsky (the walking disaster); Matt Braddock, who's deaf; and a bunch of other little kids, including Timmy Hsu, who had just joined the team. Guess who else was there - the Krushers' cheerleaders! They are Vanessa Pike, Charlotte Johanssen, and Haley Braddock.

  The practice began. Kristy separated the Krushers into two teams and assigned David Michael to pitch for his side. Then she gave the Krushers a pep talk: "Now get out there and play your hardest! We've got a big game against the Bashers coming up!" First up at bat was Hannie Papadakis. David Michael pitched unusually well that day. Hannie struck out.

  Myriah stepped up to the plate, swung at David Michael's first pitch, connected with the ball, and made it to second base.

  Everybody cheered for her, even the kids on the other side. That's just the way the Krushers are.

  Then it was Claire Pike's turn to hit. Kristy exchanged a glance with the cheerleaders. Immediately they launched into, "Krush those Bashers! Krush those Bashers!" to encourage Claire.

  But Claire struck out. And as everyone had feared, she threw a tantrum. "Nofe-air! Nofe-air! Nofe-air!" she shrieked, growing red in the face.

  Vanessa is used to her sister's tantrums. She took her aside, calmed her down, and returned her to the batting lineup. Claire didn't have another chance to hit in that inning, though, because Jackie Rodowsky was up next and he struck out, too.

  "Okay, change sides!" yelled Kristy. (She thinks this is nicer than yelling, "Three strikes, you're out!" Or, "Three outs!") The batters took their places in the ball field, and Kristy lined up the other players in their batting order.

  The new pitcher was a boy named Jake Kuhn. David Michael was the first up at bat. He swung at Jake's pitch, and . . . CRACK/ He hit a home run! "Way to go, David Michael!" Kristy shouted.

  And the rest of the kids screamed and jumped up and down.

  When practice was over, David Michael's side had won. His teammates (well, all the Krushers) gathered around him, slapping him five and telling him how well he'd played.

  "Maybe I'm ready for Little League now," said Kristy's brother.

  "Oh, no! You can't leave us!" said Timmy Hsu.

  "Yeah, the Krushers need you," added Max Delaney.

  David Michael couldn't help grinning. "I'll stay for another season," he said as the kids started to leave for home.

  Kristy and her brother had just gotten ready to leave, too, when someone tapped Kristy on the shoulder.

  She turned around.

  She found herself facing Bart Taylor - and she nearly had a heart attack.

  "Bart!" she exclaimed; heart thumping.

  "I thought I'd find you here," said Bart.

  "Are you spying on the Krushers?" teased Kristy.

  "Of course not. I just wanted to walk you home." Bart slipped his arm through Kristy's.

  David Michael looked on. Kristy could tell he felt left out again, so she linked her other arm through David Michael's. "I'm pretty lucky," she said. "I've got two handsome guys to walk me home." (And she had two handsome guys to help her to carry the equipment.) David Michael beamed.

  When Kristy and her escorts reached the Brewer mansion, Kristy was all ready to invite Bart to visit for awhile - but just then Nannie's car pulled into the driveway.

  "Bart," said Kristy quickly, "I have to go. I'll explain later. Thanks for coming to practice. I'm really glad you did." Bart is pretty easygoing, so he left. No questions asked.

  Kristy made a beeline for Nannie. "What did the teachers say? What did the teachers say?" she asked as Nannie unbuckled Emily from her car seat.

  "Oh, honey," said Nannie. "We won't know for awhile. The teachers need several days to go over the test results." "Oh." Kristy was disappointed. But hopeful. She said to me later, "Claud, I've got faith in you. I'm sure you've helped Emily. You can do almost anything." Boy, did I hope she was right.

  Chapter 13.

  The day after Kristy's Krushers' practice, Charlie brought Emily over to my house for a tutoring session. Honestly, Charlie ought to go into the chauffeuring business. He could probably make a fortune.

  "Hiya, Miss Emily," I said as I opened the door and Charlie set Emily on our front steps.

  "Hi, Ko-ee," replied Emily. She smiled. Emily was beginning to greet people and to call them by name, and she pronounced the names as well as she could.

  "Thanks, Claud," said Charlie. "I'll be back for Emily in about an hour, okay?" "Perfect," I replied. "See you." " 'Bye, Emily," said Charlie as he started down the steps.

  " 'Bye, Shar-ee." Not a whimper from Emily. She'd been to my house plenty of times by then and knew that Charlie (or someone) would come back for her. Her fears were starting to disappear.

  "Okay, Emily," I said, ushering her inside. "Let's go to my room." We always worked in my room. I had decided to follow a routine for Emily, just as if she were in school and always went to the same classroom.

  So we trudged up the stairs to the second floor. (Emily is not a very fast stair-climber.) We passed Janine's room.

  "Hi, Nee-nee!" called Emily cheerfully.

  Who could resist that? Not even Janine.

  "Emily!" my sister exclaimed, and handed her a balloon, which she'd obviously been saving for Emily's next visit.

  "What do you say?" I whispered to Emily.

  "Fank-oo," she answered promptly.

  Then, never missing a teaching opportunity, I said, "Emily, what color is your balloon?" "Bwow up!" replied Emily.

  "Yes, but what color is it?" "Red. Bwow up!" Since she was right, I blew it up immediately. Then we continued down the hall and into my room, where I settled Emily on the floor. I put the balloon on my desk. "You can have it when Charlie comes back," I told Emily. (If I let her play with it, she'd never be able to concentrate.) For the next hour, Emily worked hard. By now, she was an old pro at matching, could name quite a few colors, and could identify shapes. She couldn't say the words for the shapes, though. Most of them were just too hard. Once, I asked her to say "triangle" and she looked at me as if I were crazy.

  Today's lesson, I had decided, would be on counting. From watching Sesame Street, Emily already knew how to count to ten, but the words didn't mean anything to her. She'd just haul off and say (very fast), "One-two-fee-foe-five-sick-seben-eight-nine-ten." Now I needed to show her what those words meant.

  I placed three blue triangles on the floor in front of Emily.

  "Bwoo!" she said.

  "That's great, Em," I told her. "They are blue, and they are all the same - they're triangles - but how many are there?" Before Emily had a chance to get frustrated, I took her finger and pointed to each one, saying clearly, "One . . . two . . . three!" "Foe-five-sick-seben-eight-nine-ten!" continued Emily triumphantly.

  "No, let's start over." So we did. I added another triangle and we counted to four. That afternoon we counted circles, squares, Emily's fingers and toes, my shoes, some pencils, and finally - just as Charlie was arriving - we counted one piece of candy, which I gave Emily as a reward for her hard work. She was definitely not a counter yet, but she was on her way.

  When Emily had left, I quietly closed the door to my room. I could hear the clickety-clack of Janine's computer and knew she was hard at work, and probably a million miles away (mentally), but I wasn't taking any chances. I had decided to call Wyoming, and I didn't want Janine to overhear.

  It had taken me a long, long time to work up the nerve to make the Wyoming call (or calls), and now I was ready. If I didn't call, I'd nev
er find out about Resa Ho, and that would drive me crazy someday. I was pretty sure of it.

  I got out the phone book. I looked up the area code for Wyoming, hoping desperately that there would be only one. There was. It was 307. I didn't pause. I plunged ahead and dialed (307)555-1212.

  "What city, please?" asked the operator.

  "Cuchara," I replied.

  "Okay, go ahead." Go ahead? Oh. She meant what number did I want.

  "I need the phone number for the Hos." "The Hos?" "Yes, Ho. H-O." "There are three Hos in Cuchara, ma'am," said the operator patiently. "Do you know the party's address or first name?" The party?

  "Um, is there a George Ho?" I asked.

  "I'm sorry, I have no such listing." "Oh. Well, could you give me the numbers for the three Hos that you do have?" The operator then gave me the numbers for a Mary Ho, for Sydney and Sheila Ho, and for Barry and Patty Ho.

  "Thank you," I said, and hung up.

  I just kept forging ahead. I dialed Mary Ho first. The phone rang twelve times. No answer. She wasn't home.

  Next I tried Sydney and Sheila Ho. A woman answered on the first ring! And then - I swear, I don't know where this idea came from - I found myself saying, "Congratulations! Your daughter Resa has been chosen as the winner in the - " "Excuse me," said the woman, "but I don't have a daughter named Resa. My daughter is Pamela." "Is she thirteen?" I asked briskly.

  "Yes." "Hmm." I pretended to be puzzled. "Do you know of a thirteen-year-old girl in Cuchara whose name is Resa?" "No." The woman sounded irritated.

  "Too bad," I said. "I mean, about your daughter. She would have been the winner of a twenty-one-inch color television and a VCR." Then I hung up. I called Barry and Patty Ho and tried the same trick. But the boy who answered the phone said he was fourteen and had two younger brothers.

  I tried Mary Ho again. Still no answer.

  Then I dialed Stacey. "Guess what," I said. "I've found my birth mother." "You're kidding!" Stacey sounded astonished.

  I explained what had happened when I'd called Wyoming. I said that by the process of elimination, Mary Ho must be my mother.

  After quite a bit of silence, Stacey said, "Claudia, believe me when I say this. I really think you may be adopted. But I do not think that Mary Ho is necessarily your birth mother.

  In the first place, you didn't talk to her. For all you know, she's only twenty-one years old. In the second place, what makes you so sure you were born in Stoneybrook?" "I don't know," I said. "It just seems logical. Once I heard a news story about a woman who gave birth to a baby she couldn't keep, so the doctor who delivered the baby adopted him. That baby would have been born in the same town where his birth mother had lived. Anyway, think about it. I'm like no one else in my family. I even look different. I think maybe I'm only half-Asian. I think - "I began to cry.

  "Claud, slow down. You're jumping to all sorts of conclusions. Look, everyone is different, and not everyone fits into her family, or his family. I'm the only McGill with diabetes. And think how different Jessi and Becca Ramsey are. And look at Nicky Pike, for heaven's sake. Talk about not fitting into your family. His brothers tease him and he doesn't like to play with his sisters." I sniffed. "I guess you're right," I said.

  "The thing is," Stacey went on, "you're not going to feel better until you know the truth. You don't even know for sure that you're adopted." "But how am I going to find out? I don't know how to search anymore." "Ask your parents," said Stacey flatly.

  "They'll never tell me the truth." "Why are you so convinced of that? They told you the truth when Mimi was sick. They've told you the truth about plenty of things. Ask them. You have to confront them." I let out a shaky breath. "Okay," I said. "I'll talk to them after dinner." Chapter 14.

  Think it was tough waiting until after dinner?

  Well, you're right.

  But it had to be done. Mom and Dad came home from work and they were starved, so my family ate dinner together right away. And I was not going to bring up the subject of my adoption in front of Janine. I needed a private talk with my parents. My adoptive parents, that is.

  Dinner was almost painful. Those butterflies were back, so I could hardly eat. I couldn't concentrate, either. I kept saying, "What? What?" Mom asked me twice if I was sick. She even leaned over and felt my forehead. When Janine dropped her fork, I jumped a mile. I nearly fell out of my chair. At that point, I saw Mom and Dad exchange a glance, which of course was about me.

  All during dinner I'd wondered how to ask my parents for a private conference, but in the end, I didn't have to ask. They asked me. First they said, "Janine, will you clean up the kitchen tonight, please?" "But it's Claudia's turn," Janine replied.

  "You're switching," said Dad in his no-nonsense voice. "Claudia will make up for it later." "Okay," replied my sister, pouting.

  Then Mom said, "Let's go into the den, Claudia. Your father and I want to talk to you." They did? Were they going to say they knew what I'd been up to - my search and all - and they'd decided to tell me the truth?

  No.

  We settled ourselves in the den, Mom and Dad on the couch with me between them. A Claudia sandwich with parent bread.

  "Claudia," said my father, "something is obviously very wrong. Your mother and I couldn't help but notice your behavior at dinner. We hope you'll talk to us and let us try to help you." I nodded. A big lump in my throat kept me from speaking.

  "Are you having trouble at school?" asked Mom gently. She brushed a strand of hair from my face.

  I shook my head.

  "It isn't report-card time," said Dad, trying to make a joke.

  I couldn't even smile.

  "Did you have a fight with Stacey?" asked Mom.

  Again I shook my head. And then (I couldn't help it) I began to cry.

  My parents were truly alarmed.

  "Claudia?" said Dad.

  "You lied to me!" I finally said in a tight whisper.

  I didn't see it, but I know that Mom and Dad frowned at each other over the top of my head.

  "We lied to you?" repeated Dad.

  "Yeah," I said with a little gasp. "All these years. All the times when you said, 'When Claudia was born . . .'or, 'When Claudia was a baby . . .'or, 'When Claudia came home from the hospital . . .' And not one of those times - not one - did you say I came home from the hospital as an adopted baby." "An adopted baby!" exclaimed my mother.

  "Yes. I know all about it. I found the clues. Everything makes sense. There are hardly any baby pictures of me and there are tons of Ja-nine. Tons," I added for emphasis.

  "But - " said Dad.

  "And I'm so different from you guys and Janine. You're all smart and you're sort of - what's the word? - conventional. And I do terribly in school and I'm a wild dresser and maybe a little boy-crazy. And I don't even look like the rest of you." "But - " said Mom.

  "Plus," I rushed on, "I found the locked box. In there," I said, pointing to the desk. "I wasn't snooping. Honest. I was looking for more baby pictures when I couldn't find enough in the photo albums. I know my adoption papers are in that box." "But - " said Dad.

  "And last of all, the final proof," I continued, "is that there's no birth announcement for me in the Stoneybrook News. I went to the library and I used the microfiche machine to check. So I know I wasn't born here. Or if I was, my birth mother gave me a different name. So now I want you to please tell me the truth. Come on. I can take it." My parents looked shocked. That's the only way to describe their faces. I bet they didn't think I was smart enough to figure things out.

  "Come on," I dared them again.

  "Claudia, dear," said Mom. "You are not adopted." She said it so simply that I believed her right away.

  "I'm not?" "No," she and Dad replied at the same time.

  "You mean I'm your real kid?" "Of course." Dad took my hand.

  "But what about the pictures?" I asked.

  Mom looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, honey, but we have no explanation for that except that you are our second child. It
's just a sad fact that there are usually more pictures of a first baby than of a second one. Parents are awed by their first baby. They can't believe what they've created. So they can't stop taking pictures. But when the second child - or the third or fourth or fifth - comes along, they're more used to things. And they don't have as much time for picture-taking because the new baby isn't their only child. They're a lot busier." I relaxed a little.

  "As for being different," said Dad, "believe me, everybody is different. And think how boring a family would be if all the people in it were alike." "Think of Peaches and me," added Mom. "Who would ever guess we're sisters? You know, you and Peaches are very similar." "And Janine may look like me," said Dad. "I know that's what you've been thinking. It's hard not to notice that, but you're a pretty good cross between your mother and me. And believe it or not, you look very much the way Mimi did when she was young." "I do?" I almost began to cry again.

  "Yes," said Mom, looking teary herself. "I'll show you some old pictures of Mimi later." I relaxed even more.

  "Now," said Dad, "would you like to know why your birth wasn't announced in the Stoneybrook News?" "Yes," I answered. "Very much." "Because it was announced in the Stoneybrook Gazette. So was Janine's birth." "The Stoneybrook Gazette? What's that?" "A local paper that went out of business about nine years ago." "If you went back to the library and looked at the Gazette on the microfiche machine, you'd find your announcement," said Mom. "But you won't have to bother with that, since I have a copy of the entire paper in the desk in my bedroom." "Oh, wow!" I said. I actually laughed. Mom and Dad smiled.