“Am not!” cried Suzi indignantly.
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Can it, you guys,” Dawn called. “Marnie and I will be there in a minute. Just as soon as she finishes her milk.” (We have all learned that it is not a good idea to let Marnie eat or drink anything in a room with a rug on the floor.)
When Marnie’s cup was empty, Dawn led her downstairs (a slow process). She was greeted by the sight of Buddy and Suzi sitting scrunched up at opposite ends of the couch, purposefully ignoring each other. Their heads were turned away from one another and their arms were crossed.
“All right,” said Dawn. “I don’t know what’s going on, but stop it. Suzi, would you like to be my big helper today?”
“Sure!”
“Good. Why don’t you and Marnie build something with blocks. I’m going to give Buddy a hand with his reading.”
“You are?” said Buddy in astonishment.
“Yup.”
“Do you promise — no flash cards?”
“Cross my heart,” replied Dawn solemnly.
“Well … okay.”
Suzi and Marnie settled themselves at one end of the rec room. They dumped out a big carton of wooden blocks and turned Sesame Street on low. At the other end of the room, Dawn sat Buddy next to her. She held a copy of Green Eggs and Ham in her lap.
“Here,” she said to Buddy. “Try reading this.”
Buddy made a face but opened the book to the first page. “‘I … am … same,’” he read slowly.
“No, no,” interrupted Dawn. “Not ‘same.’ It’s ‘Sam.’ See? It’s that funny guy’s name.”
Buddy nodded. He turned the page. The words were repeated. “‘I … am … Sa — Sam,’” he corrected himself.
“Good!” exclaimed Dawn.
Next page. “‘Sam … I am.’”
“Great!”
Next page. Nothing. Buddy didn’t open his mouth.
“Go ahead,” said Dawn.
“No. This is too hard.”
“Okay, I’ll read a few pages.” Dawn read up to page nineteen. Then she gave the book back to Buddy. “Now you try again.”
“‘Wuh-wuh —’”
“Would,” supplied Dawn.
“‘Would … you like … them … in a …’”
Buddy paused.
“House!” cried Suzi. She had crept to the couch and was peering over Buddy’s shoulder. “I know that word. We learned it in kindergarten. And that word is ‘mouse’!”
With that, Buddy slammed the book shut. He stuffed it between the cushions of the couch. “I hate this old book anyway,” he announced. “It’s for babies and it’s boring.”
“It is not for babies!” squawked Suzi, insulted.
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, okay,” said Dawn. “Enough reading. And enough fighting,” she added. “Suzi, you go help Marnie again. Buddy, the rain has stopped. Why don’t you take Pow out in the backyard and give him some exercise?”
Dawn knew Buddy needed to escape. She also knew he needed help — lots of it — with his reading. And by the time Mrs. Barrett came home, she had an idea.
She waited until she was alone at the front door with Buddy’s mother. Then she said, “I was reading a little with Buddy today and I think he is having some problems. I was just wondering — would you like somebody in the Baby-sitters Club to tutor Buddy? I mean, spend a few hours a week working alone with him? Maybe he just needs some special attention.”
“Oh, Dawn, that would be wonderful. You’re a lifesaver. As always,” said Mrs. Barrett.
Dawn grinned. “I’ll have to wait until our next club meeting so we can see who could fit something like that into her schedule. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay!” Mrs. Barrett looked very relieved, and Dawn felt quite proud of herself.
Monday and Tuesday had passed. So had Wednesday and Thursday. Now, on Friday afternoon, we still hadn’t opened the trunk. It was another drizzly day. I had nothing to do until our BSC meeting at five-thirty. Vanessa and I were sitting on my bed, staring at the trunk. We were on my bed because Vanessa’s was littered with half-finished poems and there was no room for her.
Suddenly Vanessa jumped up and cried, “I can’t stand it any longer! That trunk is driving me crazy. We’ve got to open it. Now!”
“But we can’t,” I replied. “We’ve tried everything. And I don’t want to break it.”
“So you’re going to let it sit here locked up forever, and never get to see what’s in it?”
That did seem sort of silly. But all I said was, “I don’t want to ruin it.”
Vanessa looked thoughtful. Then she said, “If you do not open that trunk, then I will be in a big, bad funk.”
“Are you going to start talking in rhymes again?” I asked warily.
“Probably.”
I ran to our doorway. “Byron! Jordan! Adam! Come quick! And bring a hammer and a wrench!”
I absolutely cannot stand it when Vanessa speaks in rhymes. I’d do anything to prevent it. Even break the locks on the beautiful trunk.
A few moments later the triplets arrived with the tools.
“What is it?” asked Adam. “What are you doing?”
I pointed to the trunk. “Open it,” I commanded. “Break the locks.”
“All right!” exclaimed Jordan.
The boys attacked the locks. I squinched my eyes shut. I couldn’t bear to look. I heard pounding and smashing and grunting. I heard Byron say, “I’ll go get the crowbar.” (Oh, no. Not that, I thought.) At last I heard a skreek, and Vanessa cried, “It’s open! It’s open!”
I dared to peek. The trunk was in better shape than I’d expected. Except for the fact that the locks were just barely hanging onto the lid, the trunk looked okay.
Vanessa was already digging into it.
“Look! Look!” she was crying. “Clothes! They’re … they’re gorgeous. I bet they’re antiques.”
“Be careful with them, then,” I said. I peered into the trunk. I saw mounds of old, white, lacy petticoats and dresses and blouses. They were all handsewn. And Vanessa was right. They were probably antiques. “They look awfully fragile,” I added.
Vanessa nodded. She was already handling them more delicately.
“Thanks, you g —” I started to say to the triplets, but they were heading down the hall, muttering things like, “Boring,” and, “All that work for a bunch of old clothes.”
Vanessa and I carefully lifted the clothes out of the trunk, one by one. We hadn’t even finished when Vanessa began trying things on. Most of the clothes were in girls’ sizes. But I kept emptying the trunk. I had a funny feeling that something else would be in it besides clothes.
I almost decided I was wrong, though: I didn’t find the diary until I’d reached the very bottom of the trunk.
“Ooh,” I said under my breath. “Look at this.” But Vanessa was too busy looking at herself in the mirror.
I sat on the edge of my bed and opened the diary. The first page read, “This is my book, by Sophie. And this is a year in my life — 1894.”
“Eighteen ninety-four,” I said, awed. “That’s ages and ages ago.”
“Huh?” said Vanessa, but I could tell she wasn’t really interested.
I turned to the next page. It was headed January 1, 1894. Underneath was a whole page in Sophie’s handwriting. It wasn’t easy to read. She made her letters oddly — all sprawled out, she wasn’t the world’s best speller, and the ink was faded. But of course I began reading right away. I didn’t even feel guilty. I would have felt horribly guilty sneaking a peek at a friend’s diary, but Sophie said on the first page that she was twelve years old, so I figured she wasn’t alive anymore. If she were, she’d be over a hundred. This wasn’t prying — it was history.
As I read, I thought how lucky I was. I mean, just to be reading. When you read, you can sit in your room and travel back and forth in ti
me, or to other countries, or to made-up lands, or to outer space. And all without moving a muscle, except to turn pages. I thought about Buddy Barrett. It was going to be my job to help turn him into a reader. I was going to be his tutor. Mrs. Barrett and I had agreed that we would try a few sessions (Tuesdays and Thursdays from four until six) to see how things went.
I wanted them to go well. I wanted Buddy to like reading as much as I did.
“How do I look?” spoke up Vanessa. She turned away from the mirror. She was completely dressed in white — with a lot of lace. She was wearing a white dress over two white petticoats. On her hands were white lace gloves. But on her feet were black shoes with about a million buttons on them.
“Where did those come from?” I asked, pointing to the shoes.
“On the bottom. Over to one side. They were with all that stuff.”
I opened my eyes wide. On Vanessa’s messy bed were several hats, a book, and two small boxes. I must have missed them because I’d been so engrossed when I found the diary.
“What are these things?” I asked, rushing for them.
“Don’t know,” replied Vanessa. She was gazing at herself in the mirror again. I had to admit that she looked uncannily like someone from another century. And I could almost see poetry forming in her head.
I shoved aside some of Vanessa’s crumpled papers, sat on her bed, and opened the book. I was hoping for another year in the life of Sophie. But there were no words in the book at all, just pressed flowers. They were so crumbly and faded that they were hard to identify, but I thought that some of them might be pansies and others, violets.
I put the book down and gingerly opened one of the boxes. Inside was a pearl brooch (well, it might not have been made from real pearls) edged in gold.
“Ooh, Vanessa,” I said. “Put this on. Isn’t it pretty?”
Vanessa’s eyes lit up.
“See? It goes right here on the collar of the blouse, at your throat.”
I pinned the brooch on Vanessa and thought she would die of happiness. Then she tried on the hats while I opened the second box. It contained a different brooch, which I handed over to Vanessa.
“Who do you think all these things belonged to?” she asked dreamily, switching brooches.
“Sophie,” I replied, just as dreamily.
“Who’s she?”
“A girl who lived in the eighteen hundreds. She was born in eighteen eighty-two. Probably right in Stacey’s house. I found her diary in the trunk.”
“Gosh,” was all Vanessa could say.
“Can you imagine living way back then?” I asked.
“And dressing like this every day?” added Vanessa.
“Maybe you didn’t dress like that every day.”
“Maybe you did if you were rich. Was Sophie rich?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t found that out yet.”
“Stacey’s house is nice, but it’s not a mansion. I mean, it doesn’t seem like a house for a very rich family,” mused Vanessa.
“No, you’re right,” I agreed.
Vanessa turned back to the mirror, and I turned back to the diary. I opened it again and began to read the January 1st entry. But I closed the book. I decided I wanted to save it for good bedtime reading one night.
Instead, inspired by Sophie, I opened my own journal and began to write in it:
I stopped writing. I had just looked at the clock. Five-fifteen! I had to get to Claud’s right away! I hid my journal (Vanessa never even noticed), ran downstairs, and hopped on my bike. Boy, did I have news for my friends!
I tried to be optimistic in my journal, but I was feeling a little discouraged. I knew it wouldn’t be my fault if I didn’t turn Buddy into a reader, but I like good challenges and I don’t like failing at them. Besides, I like Buddy, too, and I certainly didn’t want to fail him.
My first session with Buddy fell on an afternoon when Mrs. Barrett had to work, but she was taking his reading problem quite seriously (even if she couldn’t spend extra quality time with him), and had arranged for Jessi to baby-sit Suzi and Marnie, so that Buddy could have me to himself.
Jessi and I talked about the afternoon’s arrangements on the playground at school that day.
“I think it’s good that I get there first,” said Jessi. “I’m supposed to arrive at three-thirty, right after school.”
“And I don’t arrive until four,” I said. “Yeah, that is good. It’ll be clear that you’re the baby-sitter and I’m the tutor.”
“You should probably work in Buddy’s room at his desk with the door closed.”
“Right,” I agreed. “That’ll be like school. Maybe Buddy needs help with things like concentrating and sitting still. A quiet room with a desk should be good.”
Our plans were made. I was sure that tutoring would be a snap. Sometimes I play spelling and writing games with Claire. She’s always an eager student. So promptly at four that afternoon I rang the Barretts’ bell, feeling excited. Inside, I could hear Jessi call, “Buddy, there’s Mallory. That’s for you. Can you answer the door, please?”
I was standing on the Barretts’ steps, all smiles, ready to introduce Buddy to the wonderful world of reading.
But the door was opened by a boy with a scowl so big that my smile faded immediately. I tried to appear bright and perky, though.
“Hiya, Buddy,” I said. “Are you ready to get to work?”
“No,” he replied sullenly. “I just got home from school. I don’t want to do more work.”
But he let me in anyway.
I walked inside, called hello to Jessi and the girls, whom I could see in the kitchen, and led Buddy upstairs and into his room.
We closed the door.
“Now,” I began, “first of all, we’re going to sit at your desk, just like in school.”
“You don’t sit at my desk in school,” said Buddy.
“Well, you do,” I replied, “and I’m going to pull up your other chair and sit next to you. You can pretend I’m your teacher. Who’s your teacher?”
“Mr. Moser. I hate him.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I don’t look much like him anyway. I’ll just be Mallory then.”
Buddy shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Whatever. I don’t care.”
“Okay,” I went on. “Your mom said your teacher sent home a box of flash cards. Let’s start with those.”
Buddy groaned. “I hate flash cards. Almost as much as I hate Mr. Moser.”
“Well, let’s try them anyway. Where are they?”
Buddy slapped his hand to his forehead. “Darn!” he cried. “I forgot and left them downstairs.” He flew out of the room and took a long time coming back. But at last he returned with the flash cards.
“Here they are,” he said grimly.
I opened the box.
“Oh, wait!” cried Buddy. “I forgot something else, too. I — I need a drink of water.”
I let Buddy leave to get some water. He must be a camel. He was gone for an awfully long time.
When he returned, I resolutely closed the door to his room, cleared his desk of toys, sat him in the chair, and pulled the other chair up next to him.
I opened the box of flash cards. As I did so, I got an idea. I remembered the movie Mary Poppins, and how Jane and Michael’s wonderful, magical nanny would make fun games out of boring things.
“Buddy,” I said, “as we go through these flash cards, we’ll put the words you know right away in one pile, and the hard words in another pile. For all the words you know — or learn today — I’ll give you a minute of free time at the end of the afternoon, okay?”
Buddy looked mildy interested. “Okay,” he agreed.
The cards in the box were all mixed up. On some were easy, short words. On others were hard, longer words.
I held up the first card.
“Easy,” said Buddy. “‘At.’”
“Good. One minute of free time.” I laid the card on the table and held up the second one.
> Buddy stared at it. “‘Check’?” he guessed.
“Almost. The word is ‘chicken.’” I laid it next to the first card.
“Do I lose my minute?” asked Buddy, dismayed.
“No, you just don’t get a second one yet. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Buddy still looked disappointed.
“Try this one,” I said, showing him the next card.
“Ball,” said Buddy. “Simple.”
“Good. Now you have two free minutes.”
We worked our way through about half the deck of cards. Buddy began to slump in his chair. He sat with one hand under his chin, as if his head might drop off if he didn’t support it.
“Mallory,” he whined, “I hate these cards. They’re stupid. Sometimes I don’t know a word all by itself, but if I see it in a book with a lot of other words around it, then I can figure it out.” (Well, that made sense.) “Besides, look at the piles. There’s a huge one of words I didn’t get right away. The other pile is short. How many free minutes did I earn?”
I counted the cards in the small pile. “Seven,” I told him.
“Seven! That’s nothing.”
Buddy looked like he was going to cry, so I put the cards back in their box. “I guess we’ve spent enough time on flash cards. Do you have any homework?”
Buddy nodded. He told me what it was.
“Then how about reading in your reading book and doing the homework pages in your workbook?”
Buddy let out a huge sigh. Then he slapped his hand to his forehead again. “Darn! I forgot my reading book. I left it downstairs, too. I’ll have to go get it.”
“While you’re at it, get your workbook,” I said slyly. I just knew Buddy would “forget” it otherwise, and have to make yet another trip downstairs.
Buddy left, took his time finding the books, but finally returned with them. He was scowling again.
I ignored the scowl. “What did you say your workbook pages are?” I asked him.
“Sixty-seven and sixty-eight.”
“Okay. Open to page sixty-seven.”
Buddy did so.
“Now read the instructions out loud.”
“Mallory,” said Buddy, “I am not Cinderella. You can’t order me around.”
Mallory and the Mystery Diary Page 3
