“It’s okay,” I said.
“Well, ‘bye.” She walked away, toward a table near the window.
I couldn’t stop smiling. It was Monday, almost a week since that rumor started. I’d kind of forgotten about it. Now that I’d been reminded, I felt a little different than I had before. Although I’d never admit it to Logan (or Kristy), I was flattered to think that some unknown tenth-grader was pining away for little old me.
You see, something unexpected had happened because of my New Look. I was getting to know all these girls I had only vaguely known before, plus some others, like Hannah, I’d never met at all. She’d always seemed so glamorous and popular and aloof. Now I was discovering that she wasn’t aloof at all.
And Hannah wasn’t the only one. Sabrina Bouvier and Susan Taylor, for instance, were two girls the BSC never liked. Why? Because they wore lots of makeup and expensive clothes, and seemed snobby. Well, seemed is the important word. It turned out that Sabrina and Susan were really friendly. On Friday they had complimented me on something, out of the blue.
I was beginning to realize that snobbery can go two ways. Maybe it was the BSC members who were sticking their noses up at other girls, just because of the way the girls looked.
After all, that’s what they were doing to me.
After Kristy’s nasty comment at Friday’s meeting, I made a vow to myself. No, I wasn’t going to quit the club (although I had thought about it). Instead, I decided this: I would honor all my sitting jobs, but I wasn’t going to go to another meeting until someone apologized to me. Or at least said something nice.
Just thinking about the BSC was enough to upset me. As long as I kept my mind off the club members, I felt pretty good. Looking around during study hall, I could see Sabrina a couple of tables away. Our eyes met, and I smiled. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wanted to say something, but a teacher was pacing the floor beside her. So she just smiled back and glanced down at her work.
I sneaked the compact out from my purse and checked my makeup. Funny, I always thought that was so tacky when other girls did it, but there was really no other convenient way. Besides, I was very quick about it.
And the makeup still looked fine.
I opened the book A Separate Peace, which was my English assignment (I may have been the New Mary Anne, but I still had the Old Study Habits). But it was about these boys in some boarding school, and I was having a hard time keeping my eyes on the page.
Before I knew it, Sabrina was pulling up a chair next to me. “So is it true about Carlos?” she whispered.
Now, Sabrina had told me she was a soap opera fan. So at first I thought she might be talking about some soap character. I had this image of a TV screen with credits rolling by and an announcer saying, “Today … the Truth About Carlos!”
“Um, I don’t know,” I said. “Who’s Carlos?”
She looked flabbergasted. “Carlos Mendez. You know.”
I thought for a moment, trying to place the name. Then I shook my head. “Nope.”
Sabrina rolled her eyes. She grinned mischievously. “You haven’t heard? It figures, the one person who should know, doesn’t!” She laughed, as if that were the most hilarious thought in the world.
This was getting ridiculous. “Well?”
Sabrina leaned forward. “He’s only one of the hunkiest guys in the high school. And everyone’s saying that he invited you to the Winter Dance.”
“Well … he didn’t,” I replied. “And I don’t even know about the Winter Dance. Is it different than the January Jamboree?”
“Yes,” Sabrina said. “You’re going to that with Logan.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Yes!”
“The Winter Dance is at SHS, for the high school students.” She sighed. “It’s always so much fun.”
Always? She sounded as if she’d been going to it since she was a toddler. “Anyway,” she continued, “maybe it’s just a rumor. Or maybe he hasn’t gotten up the nerve to call yet.”
Now I really wanted to laugh. “We’ll see, I guess,” I said.
“Let me know what happens,” Sabrina whispered. And she scooted back to her table.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to make of that. The idea was absurd. But who knew? Maybe my life was about to change. Maybe I really was going to learn the Truth About Carlos.
No, no, no. I didn’t honestly feel that way. Nobody was about to take me away from Logan. I mean, it was fun to think that yet another older boy liked me, but I’m definitely a one-boy girl.
Still, I felt uncomfortable when I saw Logan at lunch later on. Just the thought of these two phantom guys made me a little uneasy around him. I wanted to talk about them, but I couldn’t.
My dad once told me that a rumor hurts three people: the person whom the rumor’s about, the person who tells it, and the person who hears it. What if the rumor was really a lie? What if Carlos (or Chris) didn’t know about me at all? Why involve Logan? He’d say it was no big deal, but he might not mean it.
So lunchtime was not exactly carefree. There I was, ignoring my best friends because they hated me, and keeping secrets from the only person I felt close to. Fortunately, Logan didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong.
We managed to avoid the subject of the BSC for a record amount of time. But eventually Logan asked, “Anybody call a truce yet?”
I shook my head. “We’re still not talking.”
“Not even with Dawn? How do you manage that?”
“It’s a big house.”
Logan speared some spaghetti and twirled it around. “I don’t know, Mary Anne. Something’s got to give.”
“Yeah, but they’re all acting so awful. And you know what? I just can’t face them another time, Logan. Friday was torture. I’m not going back until they’re nice to me.”
“Not going to the meetings? Isn’t that a little extreme? I mean, this is getting out of hand. I can feel the tension myself.”
I shrugged and fiddled with my food. “Well, maybe I’ll reconsider.”
I did reconsider, but each time I made up my mind to face my “friends,” I got cold feet. To begin with, I’m terrible at confrontations. I always tremble like a leaf — and that’s when it’s one on one. The idea of going up against all the members of the BSC was terrifying.
I was still reconsidering at five-fifteen that afternoon. I was in my room, trying to decide whether to grab my down coat or stay put. Dawn was home, too. Usually, if we’re both here, we leave together. The past few meetings, we’d managed to avoid each other because of after-school activities or other commitments that kept us out of the house.
I was sort of hoping Dawn would knock on my door and make a peace offering. We could cry, laugh, make up, then walk to the meeting together. All would be forgiven and forgotten.
When I heard the front door slam, I ran to my window and looked out.
There was Dawn, hands in pockets and head bent to the ground. She was walking quickly in the direction of Claudia’s house, her breath making little cotton puffs in the frigid cold.
I stared at her for awhile. Then I went to my desk and began a long homework assignment.
* * *
An hour later, Sharon poked her head in my room. “Oh. Mary Anne! When did you get back?”
“I’ve been here all along,” I replied.
She scratched her head. “Is it Tuesday already? I thought —”
“No, it’s Monday. I — stayed home.”
I was trying to figure out what excuse to make when Dawn’s voice shouted from downstairs. “I’m ho-ome! Anybody here?”
“Excuse me,” Sharon said. She went to the stairs and shouted, “I’ll be right down!”
Then she turned back into my room and said, “Mary Anne, have you seen the spaghetti tongs?”
“They’re on the towels in the linen closet,” I told her.
“Oh. Thanks.”
(You get used to that kind of thing in this house.)
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Sharon left, and I got ready for dinner.
I didn’t feel too bad. I really thought that staying home from the meeting had relieved pressure. I figured the distance was good for me.
What I didn’t figure was that I’d be eating dinner with the Stepsister from the Black Lagoon.
“Hi,” I said as I ran downstairs to set the table for dinner.
“Hello, beautiful,” said Dad, peeking out from the kitchen.
“Hope you’re hungry,” added Sharon cheerfully.
Nothing, said Dawn.
I went into the kitchen to get plates, napkins, and utensils. Dad had this gleam in his eye. “I brought home a special treat tonight.”
“More clothes for Mary Anne?” Dawn called in from the dining room.
Fire One.
“Nope,” Dad said. “Four different dishes from a new Thai restaurant that opened near work. I asked the chef to give me the best — meatless, of course.”
“Yum!” I said as I carried everything to the table.
“Oh, is Mary Anne eating with us tonight?” Dawn asked her mom, as if I weren’t in the room.
Sharon looked confused. (I think she and Dad knew exactly what was going on, but they were trying to let us fight our own battle.) “Yes, Dawn,” she said.
“Oh,” Dawn replied nonchalantly. “I thought maybe she was going to Logan’s.”
Fire Two.
I did not answer. I just set the table and took my seat. Calmly.
“Mmmm, smell that coconut sauce!” Dad said, taking the lid off a food tin.
“I’m starving,” Sharon put in.
“Me, too,” I said.
“You should be,” Dawn said. “You missed all your favorite junk food.”
That was enough. I pushed back my chair and stood up. “Excuse me, please.”
Fighting back tears, I ran upstairs to be alone.
“Will you listen to this piece?” Marilyn Arnold asked. “Please, just once? So I can feel what it’s like to perform it in front of someone?”
Carolyn burst into the living room, wearing a down parka. “I’m going outside,” she announced.
“I wasn’t asking you!” Marilyn snapped.
“I wasn’t answering you!” Carolyn shot back.
It was Saturday afternoon, and I was sitting for the twins again. Since I hadn’t gone to meetings all week Kristy had actually called me to ask if I was still going to take the job. She didn’t apologize, didn’t ask why I hadn’t shown up at the meetings, didn’t even yell at me. Just, “Hi. Should we send someone else to the Arnolds’?” I said, “No, I’ll go,” and that was the end of the conversation.
I may have been having problems with the Baby-sitters Club, but I still liked baby-sitting.
Marilyn was practicing for a big recital. I had no idea what Carolyn was doing. “Okay, one at a time, please,” I said. “Yes, Marilyn, I’d love to listen. And you can go outside, Carolyn. Do you have your gloves and hat?”
“It’s warm out today!” Carolyn insisted.
She was right — sort of. The temperature had gone up to the low forties, which felt like midsummer after the cold spell. “Well, take them along, just in case,” I said. “And don’t go too far. If you decide to play at a friend’s house, let me know. Okay?”
“Uh-huh. ’Bye!”
“ ’Bye!”
As she ran out the front door, Marilyn said, “Sit on the sofa and pretend you’re the audience.”
“Okay.” I sat down and smiled.
Marilyn stood stiffly by the piano. In a barely audible voice, she mumbled, “Thefopeeisfrayoasebabaswelltenklavy,” and quick sat down.
“Huh?” I said.
“I was just introducing the piece,” Marilyn replied. “The teacher makes us do that.”
“But I couldn’t understand what you said. Don’t forget, the introduction is part of the recital. People will want to know what you’re playing. Can you speak more clearly?”
Marilyn exhaled impatiently and pulled herself to her feet. “The following piece is from Johann Sebastian Bach’s ‘The Well-Tempered Clavichord,’ ” she said in a monotone. “Okay?”
“Much better,” I said, applauding enthusiastically.
Marilyn played away. I’m not much of a musician, but I thought she sounded pretty good. I heard a couple of clinkers, but everybody makes mistakes. Anyway, I sure couldn’t have done better. I cheered at the end.
“Encore! Encore! That was great!”
Marilyn giggled. “Mary Anne, that stunk.”
“Stank,” I said. “That stank.”
Her face fell. “It did?”
“No! I meant, you were using the wrong word. When you said, ‘stunk,’ you meant ‘stank.’ It’s like, ‘it stinks, it stank, it has stunk’ — you know, like sink, sank, sunk.”
“Huh?”
My explanation stank. And I was sunk.
“Never mind,” I said. “You sounded great! I think you have nothing to worry about.”
“Well, I need to work on the fingerings. I’m going to practice some more. Will you listen to me later on?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Marilyn began playing again, and I went into the kitchen. I had brought A Separate Peace with me, and I started reading.
It seemed as if only a few minutes had gone by when Marilyn came into the kitchen. “I’m ready,” she said. “Want to listen?”
“Sure.” I put down my book and looked at the clock. Almost an hour had passed. In the back of my mind, I began wondering where Carolyn was.
Marilyn announced her piece, much more clearly than before. And even I noticed how much better she played it. I clapped wildly.
She sprang up from her seat, beaming. “That didn’t stink, did it?”
“No way!” I said. “Even Bach couldn’t have done better.”
“Thanks.”
I looked out the living room window, thinking about Carolyn again. “What do you say we go look for your sister?”
“Okay,” Marilyn said.
We put on our coats and went outside. It didn’t take us long to track down Carolyn. She was down the street, standing with a clipboard on someone’s front lawn. Eight or nine kids were gathered around her.
“Time?” she asked one of them.
He shrugged. “I can’t tell time.”
Carolyn exhaled. “Haven’t you been listening? I want you to tell me what time you want to travel to in my time machine — you know, like to ancient Greece, or to the year you were born, or to the future …”
“I want to go to now!” one kid blurted out. “Dzzzzzit! Hey, it worked!” He laughed loudly.
I guess there’s an Alan Gray in every bunch.
“This is serious!” Carolyn insisted. “The first flight leaves on Thursday night, at the full moon. Be there or be square.” She turned to the nearest girl, pencil in hand, and asked again, “Time?”
“Um … when my grandma was a girl,” she said.
“Can you be more exact? Say, 1930?”
“Okay.”
“Place?” Carolyn asked.
“Brooklyn,” the girl answered. “That’s where she grew up.”
Carolyn scribbled furiously on a legal pad that was attached to the clipboard. “That’ll be one dollar, in today’s currency.”
The girl dug into her jeans pocket. “That’s expensive,” she muttered.
“It would buy a lot in 1930,” Carolyn said. “Things were much cheaper then. Think of it that way.”
“Me next!” a boy shouted.
“Time?” Carolyn asked.
Marilyn shook her head. “What is she doing?”
“Taking reservations for her time machine,” I replied.
“Does she really believe that thing works?”
It was a good question. If she did, she was going to be in for a big shock. And so were all the kids who had paid her money.
If she didn’t, then she was cheating them.
I didn�
�t know what to do. I stood there like a fool, watching Carolyn scribble away and rob those poor kids. Her pocket was stuffed with dollar bills and the kids seemed awfully excited.
Kristy came to mind. She was so practical about things like this. So was Stacey. What would they do?
Normally I would have called them and asked their advice. But I couldn’t do that now. Not while I was a BSC pariah.
I thought I’d managed to go a whole day without feeling frustrated and upset about the Baby-sitters Club.
I was wrong.
I thought Sabrina was going to burst. Her eyes were wide open and her fingers were clenching and unclenching her books. “So?” she asked.
I stuffed my book in my locker. “So?” I repeated.
“So … wasn’t I right?”
“Right about what?”
“Carlos!”
“Oh, Carlos!”
“So he did call you — and you’re going, right? Oh, I knew it! You are soooo lucky!”
“Wait, wait!” I protested. “Sabrina, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mary Anne,” said Sabrina seriously, “are you trying to make fun of me? Because if you are —”
“Oh, no!” I said.
“I mean, it’s all over school. You accepted Carlos’s invitation. It’s a little silly to try to keep it from me when —”
“Um, Sabrina, I’m supposed to see a teacher before lunch. I’ll — I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I hated lying like that, but this conversation was completely dumb. I wanted to put an end to it.
“If you say so,” Sabrina replied with a shrug. “ ’Bye.”
“ ’Bye.”
I walked through the maze of hallways, pretending to head to a classroom.
Imagine! The week before, Carlos had asked me to the dance. This week, I had accepted. I supposed next week we’d be engaged. What a story.
But it was no longer amusing. And I was having second thoughts about Sabrina as a friend.
After a while I turned around and walked to the cafeteria. I wasn’t going to let this silly rumor upset me. There was too much else on my mind.
For one thing, it was Monday, and I was about to see my ex-friends for the first time since Friday. Once again I’d go through the daily ritual: Pretend not to notice them, try not to be depressed that they weren’t noticing me, stick with Logan.
Mary Anne's Makeover (9780545767859) Page 6
