Jessi and the Superbrat

by Ann M. Martin

  “What did Mr. Rossi do during all this?” I asked. Mr. Rossi was Derek’s teacher. “Didn’t he break it up?”

  “Break it up?” said Derek. “He made it worse. When the bell rang, he got the reporter out and everybody in their seats. So I thought, Oh good, he’s gonna ask us to get out our readers or something like that. But no. The first thing he does is introduce me to the class. He says, ‘It’s a great honor to welcome back our returning student, that fine boy and wonderful actor, Derek Masters.’”

  I couldn’t help it. I knew Derek was upset, but I had to giggle. The teacher sounded like some talk show host introducing his next guest.

  “It’s not funny,” Derek said with a groan. “After he introduced me, you know what he made me do?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “He made me come up to the front of the room and he asked me to give a little talk on my career. ‘Tell the class what it’s like to work on P.S. 162,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we’d all be interested in hearing how a television show gets produced.’ So I had to stand up there and say dopey things, and then I had to answer all the questions the kids had.”

  I shook my head. It did sound like an awful lot for a first day back.

  “One girl asked me if I have to wear makeup on the set and I do, so I said yes. But I should have lied. I should’ve just said no. You should’ve heard the boys hooting after that. The boys don’t like me, Jessi. They won’t talk to me. They wouldn’t play with me on the playground. I knew this was going to happen.”

  “Just because you said you wear makeup on the set?”

  “No, that’s not just it. When the girls crowded around, the boys called me ‘lover boy.’ They called me ‘spoiled brat.’”

  “Brat?” Todd piped in. Poor little Todd sounded horrified. I guess, to a four-year-old, “brat” is about the worst name a person could ever be called.

  “Derek, you’re not the brat,” I said. I shook my head. How come kids can be so mean? Derek just wanted to be one of the guys, but I could see how the boys would be sort of jealous of him. It’s not easy to like a kid and think he’s a regular guy when reporters are running after him and the girls in the class are practically tearing at his clothes.

  “What about Nicky?” I said. “Was Nicky friendly?”

  “Oh, yeah,” said Derek. “Nicky’s real nice. But all of the other boys hate me.”

  Believe it or not, there was more to the story. As the school day had worn on, the boys had gotten nastier and nastier. One of them had knocked Derek’s pencil off his desk when Mr. Rossi had turned his back. Another boy had squirted him when he walked by the drinking fountain.

  “What’d you do then?” I asked.

  Derek looked uncomfortable.

  “What do you think I should’ve done?” he asked.

  “Well …” I paused, “you could just tell them to knock it off.”

  “I did,” said Derek.

  “And did they?”

  “No, they got worse. What do you think I should do?”

  I sat there for a moment, trying to think of a solution to this mess.

  “Jessi?” Derek said.

  “Yeah?”

  “What if I try fighting back? What if I play tricks right back on them?”

  “No,” I said carefully, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. No use stooping to their level. That never helps.”

  “You don’t think so?” Derek asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Jessi,” Derek said slowly, “there’s one boy in the class who’s worse than the rest.” I looked at Derek’s face. It was all twisted, like he was about to cry. “This kid is really mean to me.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “John,” Derek said quickly. “John. When lunch came around, he took my lunch bag and threw it out the window.”

  “You didn’t have lunch?” I cried. No wonder Derek was stuffing cookies into his mouth.

  “And during gym, when I wasn’t looking, he tied my sneakers together. When I got up, I tripped. Everybody laughed.”

  “You’re kidding!” I exploded. “What a brat! Derek, these kids are calling you a brat and they are the biggest brats around. John is … is …” I couldn’t even find the words. “This kid John is a … Superbrat!” By this time, I was practically shouting. “I never heard of such a thing. When a new person comes into your class you’re supposed to welcome him, not tie his shoes together in gym and throw his lunch out the window.”

  Derek’s face was brightening. Now that I had gotten angry, I think it made him feel better, like somebody finally understood what he’d been going through.

  “Yeah,” he said. “These kids are mean.”

  Not much later, Derek’s mom returned. I stuck around while Derek told her what a horrible day he’d had. Mrs. Masters gathered Todd up and sat him in her lap while Derek went through the story a second time.

  I wanted to stay long enough to see if we could put our heads together and come up with some kind of solution. But it was already 5:15. Almost time for the Monday meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. I’d have to hurry to get to Claudia’s house on time. On my way there, I noticed that I was walking through the streets much faster than usual. All that anger was really giving me a push. I even got to the meeting a few minutes ahead of time, which for me is really unusual. Everybody was surprised to see me.

  “Jessi!” Kristy looked shocked. She checked her watch to make sure she had the right time. “Did my watch slow down? Is it five-thirty already?”

  As usual, I plopped onto the floor next to Mallory.

  “No,” I replied. I was still catching my breath. “But you won’t believe what happened to Derek in school today.”

  My friends were all ears.

  “There’s a kid in his class,” I explained, “a kid who’s a real brat. The boy’s name is John. But I call him Superbrat!”

  Kristy’s afternoon sounded like quite a production. That Saturday she had a job sitting at her own house. Her parents and Nannie were out visiting friends, and her two older brothers were out doing whatever it is that high school brothers do. Karen and Andrew, Kristy’s stepsister and stepbrother, were at the house for the weekend, so that left Kristy with Karen, who’s six, Andrew, who’s four, Kristy’s own little brother, David Michael, who’s seven, and Emily Michelle, who’s two. (She’s the little girl who was adopted into Kristy’s family.)

  When Kristy’s parents left, David Michael and Andrew were quietly playing a game of cards and Emily Michelle was taking her afternoon nap. But Karen … well, Karen is Karen. That little girl has a wild imagination and more energy than a month-old puppy. You know how puppies just can’t help chewing on slippers and shoes and socks and anything else they can get their teeth on? Well, Karen’s sort of like that. Only it’s not slippers she chews on. It’s more like … life.

  Kristy told me that Karen had started getting a little wild the night before, when the family had sat down together to watch P.S. 162. (I guess a lot of families in Stoneybrook had taken to watching the show.) While they were watching, Kristy happened to mention that the actor who played Derek was back in town and that the Baby-sitters Club had lined up a few jobs at his house. Well, that was enough to set Karen’s mind spinning. Kristy said that Karen sat there wide-eyed, staring at the TV, amazed that this character on the screen was really a little boy named Derek who actually lived in Stoneybrook.

  “You mean he’s from here?” she sputtered. “But then, but then how did he ever get to be on TV?”

  Kristy explained as best she could about actors and how they get jobs.

  “Does that mean I could be on TV?” This was a whole new revelation for Karen. She jumped up and started reciting all the lines after the actors on TV.

  By the time the show was over, Karen’s eyes were glazed over. She’d gotten the bug, all right.

  “You know, I could do that,” she said. “I could be an actor, too. I know how to do what they were doing. It’s not so hard.
I could be on TV.”

  That night, Kristy thought the whole thing might blow over. She figured Karen would go to bed and wake up the next morning having forgotten all about this acting business. Well, obviously, Kristy had forgotten who she was dealing with. This, after all, was Karen Brewer, the same Karen who for months and months has sworn that the older woman who lives next door to them is really a witch named Morbidda Destiny. Now, mind you, Karen’s had plenty of evidence to the contrary. But will she give up her idea? Not on your life. And she wasn’t about to give up this acting idea, either. So she’d had a good night’s sleep. So what? That Saturday morning, when Karen woke up, she was ready and eager to start her career. At the breakfast table she made her first move. She asked if Kristy could introduce her to Derek.

  Kristy sighed.

  “Karen,” she said, “Derek is having a very hard time adjusting to being back in Stoneybrook. The last thing he needs right now is people calling him up and asking him favors.”

  “But he could get me on TV,” Karen protested. “I’m sure he could get me on P.S. 162.”

  “The answer,” said Kristy, “is no.”

  Karen kept pestering Kristy all morning and into the afternoon, and finally Kristy suggested that if Karen wanted to be an actress so badly, maybe she should think of some way to do it herself.

  “Okay!” said Karen.

  Karen dashed up to the playroom and dug into a big trunk she has there. The trunk is filled with old dress-up clothes. Karen pulled out a big straw hat with a bunch of fake violets on the brim, a pair of long black silken gloves (the kind that go all the way up to your elbows), high-heeled shoes, and a yellow flouncy dress that looks like it had been somebody’s prom outfit. She put this odd costume on and walked back down the steps in her tippy shoes.

  “Kristy,” she called. “I have an idea. Can I call Hannie and Amanda to come over and help me?”

  Hannie Papadakis and Amanda Delaney are two little girls who live on Kristy’s street. Both of them are good friends with Karen, though the two of them don’t get along quite as well.

  Kristy took a look at Karen’s getup. She felt the edges of her mouth start to twitch into a smile, but she knew she couldn’t laugh. That it would hurt Karen’s feelings.

  “Sure,” she said. “Call ’em up.” Kristy’s used to having a lot of kids around. For her, the more the merrier.

  By the time Hannie and Amanda arrived, Karen had already rearranged the living room so it worked better as a stage. She pushed the chairs around so that there was a big empty space at one end of the room, and the chairs became the seats for the audience.

  “There!” Karen said, eyeing her work.

  Hannie and Amanda stood crammed behind the chairs.

  “What are we playing?” asked Hannie.

  “Playing!” cried Karen. “This isn’t play! This is work!” Karen adjusted the straw hat on her head and hiked up her long yellow gown. “I’m an actress,” she announced, as if that explained everything, “and Hannie, you and Amanda can be actresses, too. Of course, I’m the star, though,” she added.

  “I want to be a star, too,” said Amanda.

  “Well,” Karen paused, “okay.”

  “If she’s a star, I want to be a star,” said Hannie.

  “Everybody can’t be stars,” Karen protested.

  Kristy poked her head in through the door. She’d been listening all along.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Because,” said Karen. It was as simple as that. “And anyway, Kristy,” Karen went on, “you can’t come in here yet. We’re going to put on a play, but we have to practice it first. You and David Michael and Andrew and Emily Michelle are going to be the audience. The audience isn’t supposed to see the practice part.”

  Just then, Kristy heard Emily Michelle stirring upstairs. She had woken up from her nap. Kristy left the girls alone and went upstairs to tend to her new little sister. Karen shut the door to the living room behind her.

  Over the course of the next hour or so, Kristy could hear all sorts of commotion coming from Karen’s rehearsal.

  “No!” she heard Karen shout. “Hannie, you’re not supposed to stand here. You’re supposed to stand there.”

  “But Amanda’s standing over there,” Hannie said.

  “Amanda, weren’t you listening? I told you to do a dance with a little twirl and end up on this side of the room,” Karen directed.

  It’s always difficult being a director.

  When the rehearsal was almost finished, Karen brought her friends up to the playroom and rummaged through the trunk with them, looking for their costumes. Amanda found a black lace dress she wanted to wear.

  “No,” said Karen. She gave her a red cotton one instead. I think Karen didn’t want anyone to be more dressed up than she was. She was, you remember, the star.

  The girls ran up and down the stairs several more times, then closed themselves back up in the living room. Kristy could hear Karen’s orders and Hannie and Amanda’s giggles. Finally, Karen swung open the living room door.

  “Come on, everybody!” she cried. “Come on, audience!”

  It was time for Karen’s production.

  Kristy hiked Emily up on her hip and brought David Michael and Andrew into the living room. The “audience” settled themselves into their seats. Karen walked to the center of the stage area and held up her hands for attention.

  “Quiet, everybody,” she said, though no one was saying a word. “We have a play today and the name of it is —” Before she could finish, Hannie tiptoed over to Karen and whispered a question in her ear. “No, no,” Karen said firmly. “You come on after.”

  Karen turned back to the audience. “Like I was saying,” she continued, “the name of our play today is Getting to Be Stars. I will be the biggest star, and Hannie and Amanda are two other stars. Okay,” she said. I think she wasn’t sure how to make the transition from her opening speech to the actual play. She walked to the back of the stage, turned around, and walked back again. “Now it’s the play,” she said simply.

  Suddenly, Karen struck a melodramatic pose, her hand across her forehead.

  “Oh, dear,” she wailed in a high, false voice. “I want to be a star. In fact, I know I’m a star. But the question is, how do I get on TV?”

  There was a long pause. Something was obviously supposed to happen, but someone was missing her cue.

  “Hannie!” Karen prompted loudly.

  “Oh!” Hannie started. She tottered over in her too-big dress-up shoes to deliver her (late) line.

  “Did you think of calling up that Darrel boy?” Hannie asked loudly.

  “Derek,” hissed Karen. “Derek.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Hannie tried again. “Did you think of calling that Derek boy? Maybe he could get you on TV.”

  “Kristy says no,” wailed Karen. She looked directly at Kristy, to make sure the line was having some effect. Then she broke into loud, fake sobs and cried into her arm. She was an actress, all right.

  “So what are you going to do?” cried Amanda.

  “I’ll do the only thing I can do,” said Karen. Now she was holding her arms grandly up to the sky. “I’ll go to Hollywood and be discovered and I’ll get lots of costumes and my own dressing room.”

  Well, you can imagine the rest of the play. Karen did go to Hollywood. She knocked on door after door, but (sob, sob), she couldn’t get a job. After many tries, she started thinking that maybe she should go home — crawl back defeated, with her tail betwen her legs.

  “Well,” she said dramatically. “I’ll just try one more door.”

  She knocked. Amanda answered.

  “Who are you?” asked Karen.

  “I’m the director,” said Amanda. “We’ve got a show to do here, but my main actress just got sick. I need someone else to step in and be a star.”

  “I’m a star!” cried Karen.

  “Then you’re hired!” said the director.

  In the last scene of the play
, two reporters (Hannie and Amanda) crowded around Karen to interview her. They held up their microphones (which were really a spatula and a soup spoon) for her to speak into.

  “What is the secret of your success?” asked Hannie.

  “Well,” Karen said, smiling, “all along I knew I was a star. It would’ve been very easy if I could’ve met Derek, but I knew, I just knew, I had to get on TV.”

  Hannie and Amanda dropped their microphones and applauded loudly. Karen took a long, low bow. She was some kind of star, all right. Kristy and the rest of the audience joined in the applause.

  Later, when Kristy told me about the play, I felt the knot in my stomach again. Oh, I found myself thinking, if only stardom were as easy as that.

  On that Saturday when Kristy and her crowd were “getting to be stars” in the safety of their house, I was out in the big, wide world trying to do the same thing. That’s because Saturday was my first Swan Lake audition.

  I can’t tell you how crazy I was that morning. You know how usually, when you wake up, it takes awhile to shake the sleep off? Well, that morning, when I opened my eyes, my heart was already racing and adrenalin was already pumping through my veins. One word was pounding in my head: AUDITION! I hopped out of bed and began my morning’s work … driving my family nuts.

  Mama was in the kitchen making coffee. I joined her and started pacing around.

  “’Morning, Jessi,” Mama said. She smiled an amused sort of smile. I could tell that she recognized this nervousness of mine. My whole family is used to it. This is the way I always get before an audition or a performance.

  The rest of my family drifted into the kitchen and we all sat down for breakfast. At least, they sat down. I kept jumping up from my place. I had to check on the toast, I had to get another spoon, I had to fill my glass with orange juice, and, of course, I had to change my mind and switch to grapefruit.

  I caught Daddy throwing Mama his own little amused smile. When breakfast was done, I jumped up from the table.

  “I’ll do the dishes,” I said.

  “I have a better idea,” said Daddy. “Why don’t you go downstairs to your practice room and do some warming up. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure you could hold a plate steady in those hands of yours this morning. Better for you to grab onto something stable, like the barre.”