"Jackie!" I replied, before I had even turned around. Then I ran to him and hugged him. "Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" Jackie pulled away from me, pink-faced. "Do not hug me," he hissed. "You are a girl," He searched the faces in the yard. "I hope Nicky didn't see that," he added nervously.
I grinned. "Oh, Jackie. Come on, let's get organized. The show will start in ten minutes. And look how big our audience is." Jackie Rodowsky stood in front of the company of All the Children, who were arranged behind him in neat blue-jeaned, red-shirted groups. In front of him were grandparents and parents and children and neighbors and friends. Most of them were seated comfortably on blankets or beach towels. The others occupied the folding chairs.
The audience looked expectantly at Jackie as he said, "Welcome, Lysol and germs. You know, a funny thing happened to me on my way over to this backyard." Jackie glanced questioningly at me, and I waved my arms back and forth. I was sending him a gigantic NO signal.
(Next to me, Kristy had buried her head in her hands and was muttering, "I don't believe it. Who does he think he is? Johnny Carson?") Luckily, Jackie got my message. He started over again. "Welcome, parents and friends, brothers and sisters, and grandparents and families," he said. (I heaved a sigh. Kristy un-buried her face.) "Today I am proud to present All the Children. This is our new band and this is our first concert and actually this was all my idea." "Jackie! Jackie!" called Claire Pike from the oatmeal drum section. "You aren't supposed to say that! You didn't say it before!" Jackie ignored Claire. "We will be playing music from . . . from ..." "From Fiddler on the Roof." supplied Karen, and several people laughed.
"From that ever-popular musical Fiddler on the Roof," said Jackie. "And now for our first song, 'Anatevka.' Hit it, Shea and Marilyn." Jackie ran to the kazoo players (without tripping). He did drop his kazoo twice before getting a solid grip on it, but I don't think anyone noticed.
When "Anatevka" came to an end, the audience clapped. Kristy's big brothers even whistled. Then Shea and Marilyn played the opening notes of "If I Were a Rich Man." This was a difficult piece. We had arranged the number so that the keyboard and violin and guitar often played while the other instruments were at rest.
But Claire kept forgetting.
The third time she beat her drum out of turn, Archie nudged her.
The fourth time, Claire opened her mouth and - "She's going to yell!" I whispered urgently to Mallory.
Mal looked calm. "I don't think so. I told her that if she had to yell, she should do it inside her head." Sure enough, Claire closed her mouth a few moments later.
The rest of the song, and the entire first portion of the concert, went quite well. Buddy Barrett sang once when everyone else was quiet, Charlotte forgot part of the music for "Tradition," and Jackie dropped his kazoo several more times, but nobody cared much.
Before the intermission, Jackie announced politely that there were three baskets for donations for the band T-shirts - but that was all he said. And when the concert ended he said, "Thank you for coming. I hope you enjoyed our show." I wish someone had videotaped the concert. I really do. Especially the end. After Jackie thanked the audience, they clapped and clapped (and whistled) and clapped some more. Then a whole bunch of the parents stood up, ran to their kids, and hugged them and congratulated them.
"I'd say this was a success," I shouted to Stacey over the noise.
Stacey grinned. "Definitely!" The yard seemed like a train station at rush hour; people running here and there, calling to one another. I looked from side to side, surveying the scene, and I saw two small figures sidling toward the gate in the Newtons' fence. Caitlin and Mackie Lowell.
Jessi was standing next to me and I elbowed her. "Look!" I exclaimed, pointing to the Low-ell kids.
Jessi looked just in time to see them run through the gate and down the sidewalk toward their street. "I don't believe it," she murmured. "I bet their parents don't know they're here." "Probably not. You know what? When I first noticed them they looked kind of sad." Wistful was the word I meant to use.
"I bet they wish they were playing today. I think they wanted to be in the concert," said Jessi.
"Even with us around? The funny-looking ones." "I guess so." "Jessi," I began thoughtfully, "do you think the Lowell kids really thought we were funny-looking or ... or mean or stupid or whatever? Or were they just repeating things they heard their parents say?" "I don't know." "Because I was thinking. Right now Caitlin and Mackie and Celeste are pretty young. Maybe when they get older their opinions will change. Maybe they won't just automatically think what their parents think." "You mean maybe they'll grow out of this?" "It's possible. After all, they go to school. I don't know which school they go to, but there must be at least a few Asian kids and African-American kids and Jewish kids there." "Yeah." "And today they looked like they really wanted to be a part of this." "Maybe we'll see them around the neighborhood sometimes." "Maybe." "Maybe one day they'll even be members of All the Children again." "Maybe." "Claudia! Claudia! How did I do?" cried Jackie, running to me.
I wanted to hug him, but instead I stood back and smiled. "Fantastic!" "You should see the money everyone's giving us!" "A lot?" "Pretty much. . . . Did I really do a good job?" "You really did." "How good?" I couldn't resist. I wrapped my arms around him in another hug. "Like I said, fantastic." "Thank you," Jackie replied politely.
About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. She is a former editor pf books for children, and was graduated from Smith College.
Ms. Martin lives in New York City with her cats, Mouse and Rosie. She likes ice cream and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.
Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks include Yours Turly, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters Club series.
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BSC056 - Keep Out, Claudia!
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Baby-Sitters Club 056 Page 8
