It was true, too. Perfect Janine. She never misses the bus, her homework is always done on time, and probably if she wanted to wear a white blouse one would be hanging neatly in her closet.
“Good morning, everyone,” said Janine, as she slipped into her seat at the table.
“Morning, honey,” said my mom, still not looking up from her report.
“Good morning, Janine,” said my father, who was just finishing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. He didn’t look up, either. “Have a roll,” he added.
“Good m —” I stopped short as I took a look at Janine. I could hardly believe my eyes. Janine was, as usual, dressed in a gray kilt, a pale-blue button-down shirt, and a gray crew-neck sweater. (I would fall asleep immediately if I ever put on such boring clothes.) But something was very, very different about the way she looked that morning. It was her eyes. Or, to be more specific, her eyelids. They were covered with blue eyeshadow. This was the first time I had ever seen Janine wearing any kind of makeup. And it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t used to it. She kept blinking and squinting, as if she had something in her eye. Plus, I think she had just smeared the stuff on without rhyme or reason; it didn’t do anything for her looks, believe me. “Janine, I —” I was just about to point out that her makeup was smeared, when she reached for the roll I’d left her, and I saw something else that made me gasp.
Janine was wearing nail polish. It was applied about as well as her eyeshadow was, and the orangey color she’d chosen clashed horribly with her outfit, but there it was. Nail polish. On Janine. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but no sound came out. I was speechless.
But Janine wasn’t. “Mom, Dad, I just want to let you know I’ll be late for dinner tonight,” she said. “I have to go to the college library to work on a paper.”
“That’s fine, honey,” said my mom. She glanced up at Janine, and I saw the shock in her eyes when she noticed my sister’s makeup. But she didn’t say anything. And she shot a Look at dad, warning him to keep quiet, too. My parents are pretty good that way; they don’t make rules about what we can wear, and they hardly ever comment on the wild outfits I’ve been known to come up with. I guess my mother sensed that Janine didn’t want to hear anything about the makeup she was wearing.
“Fine, honey,” echoed my dad.
How about that? My parents trust Janine so much she doesn’t even have to ask permission to be late for dinner. She just announces it. And they accept it. I don’t think I could get away with that. But then, I don’t have Janine’s spotless record.
I got up to put my plate and glass in the sink. “You know I’ll always stay, ’cause I love it when you look at me that way,” I sang. The song was stuck in my head. It would be with me all day.
Janine looked at me and frowned. “Why are you singing that song?” she demanded.
“What?” I asked.
“What do you mean by singing that song?”
“I — nothing,” I said. “I heard it on the radio this morning, and I can’t get it out of my head. It’s really catchy. Especially the part that goes, ‘So I’ll love you forever, forever I’ll love you.’ I like that part, don’t you?”
Janine was glaring at me. She didn’t answer. I guess I had been rambling a little.
“Well, I have to catch a bus,” I said quickly. I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door without looking behind me. “ ’Bye, everybody!” I called over my shoulder as I left. Out on the sidewalk, I shook my head. What a weird morning.
That day, at lunch, I told Stacey about Janine’s strange behavior. “… and she was wearing nail polish!” I said as I peeled an orange.
“So what’s the big deal?” asked Stacey. “I mean, I know Janine doesn’t usually wear makeup, but after all, she is sixteen. Maybe she finally decided to look a little more sophisticated.”
“It’s not just that,” I said. “She was late for breakfast, too.”
Stacey giggled. “She’s just going wild!” she said. “I’d call the cops if I were you.”
“It’s not funny,” I said. But suddenly, it was. I imagined the police taking mug shots of Janine and booking her for “incompetent makeup application,” and “meal tardiness.” I giggled. Stacey giggled. Soon we were completely hysterical.
That night, I helped my mom make dinner, something I hadn’t done in a long time. I’m often busy with art lessons or a sitting job, so Janine usually helps out in the kitchen. “This is fun,” I said, as I scraped carrots for a salad. “It reminds me of how I used to help Mimi make dinner.” Mom and I smiled sadly at each other. Mimi was my grandmother — Mom’s mother — and she used to live with us. She died not long ago, and I miss her all the time.
Dinner was ready by six-thirty, but we waited until past seven to start eating. We were waiting for Janine. Finally, I couldn’t wait anymore. “I’m starving,” I said. “Is it okay if I have just a little stew?”
“Go ahead and eat,” replied Mom. “I’d join you, but I don’t seem to have much of an appetite. I’m worried about Janine.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” said my father, helping himself to a bowl of stew. “She did tell us she was going to be late, remember?”
“Of course I do,” said my mother. “I just didn’t think she’d be this late.”
Guess what time Janine finally got home? Eight-thirty!
“Where have you been?” cried my mother, when Janine walked in. “I was just about to call the police.”
I thought of my lunchtime discussion with Stacey, and a giggle flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. My father frowned at me. Then he turned to my sister. “Janine, your mother was very worried about you,” he said to her. “Please assure us that this won’t happen in the future.”
Janine apologized and promised she’d never be late again. I thought she’d be upset since our parents were so mad at her, but it didn’t seem to bother her much at all. Humming that silly song from the radio, she rummaged around in the fridge and found some food. Then she headed upstairs to her room.
I stayed downstairs and watched TV for a little while since I had finished my homework, but soon I decided I was sleepy and ready for bed. As I climbed the stairs I noticed some movement at the end of the upstairs hall. It was Janine. She was walking quickly toward her room — and she was coming from the direction of my room.
“Hey!” I said. But she didn’t seem to hear me. She hurried into her room and shut the door firmly behind her. I ran to my room and looked around. Once again, it looked messy — different messy. But I couldn’t be sure that someone had been in there. And I couldn’t figure out why Janine, of all people, would be sneaking around in my room. Something weird was going on, but I was too tired to figure it out that night. I fell asleep, and — would you believe it? — that song kept playing through all my dreams.
When I woke up the next morning, the sun was streaming through my window. “Oh, no!” I cried, throwing off the covers. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my clock, and shook it. “Eight o’clock! Why didn’t the alarm go off? I’m going to be late for school.”
I was in a total panic. I looked wildly around the room, trying to figure out what I should wear. This was no time for fancy outfits; I just had to get dressed as quickly as possible. I grabbed my jeans, which were draped over a chair. Then I turned to my bureau and started to open drawers and slam them shut. I was looking for my favorite red sweater, but it was nowhere to be found.
“What are you doing?” asked Janine. She was standing in the doorway, staring at me. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. She was wearing pajamas and a robe.
“What do you mean, what am I doing?” I asked. “What are you doing? You’re not even dressed yet. Oh, I don’t believe it. How did we both manage to oversleep? You never oversleep.” As I was talking, I was racing around my room, grabbing socks and shoes and trying to French braid my hair, all at the same time.
“Claudia,” said Janine quietly. She had a funny little smile on her face. “There’s somet
hing you may not realize.” She paused for a moment.
“What?” I asked, as I hurriedly applied some mascara, smearing it in the process. “What?”
“Today is Saturday.”
“Saturday?” I said, staring at her. I put down the lip gloss I’d just picked up.
“Saturday,” Janine repeated. Then she cracked up, and so did I. “You should see yourself,” Janine said. “You’re wearing one red sock and one pink one. A big piece of hair is sticking out of your braid. You have black rings around your eyes, and your pajama top is still on.”
“Hmm,” I said. “All dressed up and nowhere to go.” I threw myself on the bed, laughing. “I don’t believe I just did that,” I said. “All that running around for nothing.” Then I remembered something. I had a sitting job over at the Pikes’. And I was supposed to be there at nine-thirty. So at least I hadn’t gotten up early for no reason.
Janine was still standing in the doorway. “Um, Claudia,” she said, sounding a little nervous. “I was wondering. Do you think I could borrow your red sweater?”
“My red sweater?” I asked, surprised. First of all, Janine never borrows my clothes. Secondly, if she did, I’d expect her to borrow clothes that were black, or brown, or navy blue. Janine never wears wild colors like red. “Well, sure,” I said. “I guess so. Except I can’t seem to find it.”
“It’s in my room,” admitted Janine. “I — I saw it on top of the clean laundry pile, and all of a sudden I thought maybe I’d like to try it on. So I did.” She sounded kind of defensive, as if she thought I was going to be mad at her.
“Well, I’m glad to know where it is,” I said. “I thought it was lost. Sure, you can borrow it. But Janine, why —?” I was about to ask her why she was acting so weird; why was she wearing makeup, and missing dinner, and stealing my clothes. But Janine had disappeared. I heard her call “thanks” as she headed back to her room, and I realized I’d lost my chance to find out what was going on with her. I shrugged. I couldn’t wonder about it if I was going to make it to the Pikes’ on time.
* * *
“Claudia’s here! Claudia’s here!” I heard footsteps running down the hall, away from the front door. I was standing outside on the porch. I’d rung the bell, and Claire, Mallory’s five-year-old sister, had come to see who was at the door. She’d peeked through the window at me, and waved. I’d waved back. I could tell she was excited to see me. So excited, in fact, that she forgot to let me in.
I stood on the stoop for just a second, then let myself in. I’m no stranger to the Pikes, so I knew it would be okay. “Mal?” I called.
“In here,” she yelled. Her voice was coming from the kitchen. “We’re just finishing up the breakfast dishes.”
As I approached the kitchen, I heard squealing and giggling and clattering sounds. The Pike family never does anything quietly. They can’t, since there are so many of them. I poked my head into the kitchen. The room was full of noise and activity — and kids. “Hi!” I said.
“Hi,” said Mallory. “Boy, am I glad you’re here. My parents had to leave early, so they’ve already been gone for half an hour. I was okay for a little while, but now I’m definitely ready for some help!”
“You should have called me,” I said. “I would have come earlier.”
“I know,” said Mal. “But it’s Saturday. I figured you’d be sleeping in.”
I giggled. “Ordinarily I would have been,” I said. “But you won’t believe what happened this morn —”
I was interrupted by a loud crash. I turned to Nicky, Mal’s youngest brother. He’s eight. He looked down at the floor, where a pile of forks and spoons lay scattered, then glanced up guiltily. “I didn’t mean —” he began.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s pick them up and put them back in the sink. I’ll wash them again, and then you can dry them and put them away. Deal?”
“Deal,” he said. “And this time I won’t try to pick all of them up at one time.”
I rolled up my sleeves and started to wash the silverware.
“So, what happened this morning?” asked Mallory, who was putting away the pots and pans.
“Well, I woke up in a total panic,” I said, “because I thought —”
There was another crash. This time Byron looked up guiltily. “It was Jordan’s fault,” he said quickly.
“Was not,” said Jordan. “Adam did it.”
“No way!” said Adam. “It was Byron.”
Adam, Byron, and Jordan are triplets. They’re ten years old, and they are almost always getting into some kind of trouble. This time, though, Mal let them off the hook. “It doesn’t matter who dropped the frying pan,” she said. “Just give it to me, and I’ll put it away.” Byron handed it to her, looking sheepish. I realized I’d probably never get around to telling Mal about what had happened that morning, and decided to concentrate on finishing the cleanup, instead. After I had washed the last fork, I looked around to see what else needed to be done.
Vanessa, who’s nine, was wiping the kitchen counters with a sponge. She looked dreamy, as if she were in another world. Vanessa wants to be a poet, and she’s often composing sonnets in her mind. That probably explained why she’d already wiped the same counter about ten times.
Claire was helping Margo, who’s seven, organize the cereal boxes as they put them back in the cabinet. “I think the Chex should go next to the Shredded Wheat, since they’re both squares,” she said.
“Uh-uh,” said Margo. “The Chex go next to the Cheerios, since they both start with C.”
“Just get them in there however you can make them fit,” said Mallory. “We could have been done by now if you all didn’t dawdle so much. It’s already almost time for lunch.”
“Lunch?” said Byron. “What are we having for lunch, anyway? Derek likes hot dogs, I think.”
“Derek?” repeated Mallory.
“Yeah. He’s coming for lunch,” said Adam. “Didn’t we tell you?”
“No, you didn’t,” said Mallory. “But that’s okay. I’ll be glad to see him.”
“Me too,” I said.
“Me three!” said Nicky.
“We all want to see Derek,” said Jordan. “And maybe we can have Hershey’s Kisses for dessert, right, guys?” He nudged Adam and Byron. They snickered.
“Uh-oh,” said Mallory under her breath. We exchanged glances. Obviously the kids at school had found out about Derek’s kissing scene. Mal and I had already heard about it from Kristy. I smelled trouble, and I could tell Mallory did, too.
“There’s the doorbell!” said Jordan. “I bet that’s kissy-face Derek right now.” He ran to answer the door.
As soon as he’d left the kitchen, Byron and Adam grabbed Vanessa. “Are you ready?” Byron asked her. “Your boyfriend is here!”
Vanessa pulled away. “I’m not so sure about this,” she said.
“Sure about what?” asked Mal. “Hey, you guys, what kind of plot are you hatching?”
Byron tried to look innocent as Jordan and Derek came into the kitchen. As soon as the other kids saw Derek, they were all over him.
“It’s like he’s magnetic!” I whispered to Mal. She nodded. After we’d said hello to Derek, we stood there, waiting to see what was going to happen next.
The triplets pushed Vanessa so that she was standing next to Derek. “Go ahead!” hissed Jordan.
After a moment of hesitation, Vanessa closed her eyes, pursed her lips and tilted her chin up. Derek gave her a funny look. Then Adam bumped Derek from behind, pushing him into Vanessa. “Hey!” said Derek. “What are you guys doing?”
Nicky and the triplets just giggled. I was beginning to catch on, and so was Mal, I think. But Derek caught on even quicker. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’re trying to trick me into kissing Vanessa.” He shook his head. “You guys are so immature. Kissing a girl is no big deal. I’ve done it tons of times.” Derek spoke with plenty of confidence, but he didn’t fool me. I could tell he was embarrassed, and boa
sting just to cover up.
Mallory looked as if she were in shock. “You have?” she asked Derek.
“Sure,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m an expert. I’ll show you. Ready, Vanessa?” He grinned devilishly and started toward her. She shrieked and ran out of the room.
The triplets seemed awestruck, and so did Nicky. Claire and Margo gazed admiringly at Derek. Mal’s mouth was still hanging open in surprise. But I folded my arms and looked straight into Derek’s eyes, and when he looked back at me the truth was obvious. Derek had never kissed a girl in his life.
I winked at him, to let him know his secret was safe with me. Then I said, “Who’s ready for lunch?”
The kids began talking and fooling around again. They forgot about kissing, at least for the moment. Derek gave me a grateful look, and I knew I had just made a friend for life.
I was all set. Six boxes of beads were arranged on my desk, along with plenty of string and a couple of needles. I was planning to work on some necklaces and bracelets, and I was hoping to finish at least a few of them before the BSC meeting, which would start in about an hour.
I love to string beads. It’s relaxing, because once you decide on your design, there’s not much to think about. You stick the beads onto the needle and push them down the string, and that’s it. I make beaded jewelry for myself, for friends, and even for some of the kids we sit for. This time, though, I was making it as a favor to my mother. See, she’s the head librarian at the Stoneybrook Public Library. And recently the library’s budget was cut. Mom has had to be really creative about raising money for things the library needs — like books. Her latest idea was to hold a crafts fair, at which local artists and craftspeople could sell their work. The library would keep most of the money, and the artists would get some nice exposure. I thought it was a great idea, and I’d offered to donate some handmade jewelry. I was going to do beadwork, and also make some papier-mâché jewelry. But as usual, I had procrastinated (that’s a word my mother taught me a long time ago — she uses it often to describe what I’m doing) and now I was going to have to work like crazy to finish the pieces.
Mystery at Claudia's House (9780545690645) Page 3
