“That would be helpful,” said Stacey.
“Where will we bury the capsule?” asked Mal.
We thought for a few minutes and finally decided on Mary Anne’s yard, which is big and also a central place.
“And when will the capsule be dug up?” Stacey wondered.
That was a fascinating thought — digging up our capsule sometime in the future. We talked and talked. Did we want to open the capsule in a hundred years? In five years?
“In seven years,” I said slowly, “the oldest kids we sit for now — the triplets and other ten-year-olds — will be going off to college. It might be fun to open the capsule that summer. Before they go away.”
“That is so weird,” said Mal. “In seven years the triplets will be going to college. And I will have been in college for a year already.”
“We’ll be going into our senior year in college,” said Mary Anne.
“Oh, I can’t think about it!” I cried.
But we talked about it anyway, of course. Then we decided where and when to hold the meeting with the kids.
I was grateful to think about the meeting instead of the future.
From: ckishi
Subject: grate idea
To: NYCGirl
Date: Monday, June 5
Time: 8:14:44 P.M.
This is a day of grate ideas. Mary ann had one this aftrenoon and know I have one its a REALY grate idea. I cant wait to tell you about it but I am gong to wait anyway. I’ll tell you at lunch tomorow when I can tell Kristy and Maryanne and Abby too. Are you exited? It really is a good idea.
Ok now I am going back to my studying. I am geting VERY nervouse about the math finale.
Love Claud
I was so excited about my idea that, at least for the rest of the evening, it even drove away some of my thoughts about flunking my final exams. But the moment I walked into the school the next morning, those awful thoughts came flooding back. Everywhere were signs that we eighth-graders were about to graduate. And each one reminded me that I might not graduate.
The first thing Stacey and I saw when we entered SMS was a notice about where and when to pick up our caps and gowns.
“Cool!” cried Stacey. “Imagine us in our caps and gowns, Claud. Our parents are going to take thousands of pictures of us.”
“Not if we’re not wearing them,” I replied.
“What?”
“I have to pass my exams first,” I pointed out.
“Oh, you’ll pass,” said Stacey breezily.
“I have flunked many things in my life.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t a wonderful and talented person.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” (Coming from Stacey so soon after our fight, I especially appreciated it.) “But it doesn’t make me a better student. Remember my science midterm last year? Remember my math midterm this year? Remember when I was in seventh grade and you were in eighth?”
Suddenly Stacey looked worried. “What do you think will happen if you flunk your exams?”
“Well, I don’t think I’m going to flunk all of them.”
“All right. What do you think will happen if you flunk one of them? Math, for instance?”
“That’s the one I’m worried about. And … I don’t know what will happen. I’m afraid to ask. I think I better just hope I pass everything.”
“I’ll help you study,” Stacey offered. “I can give you special help with math.”
“Thank you.” I smiled at her. “I accept.”
“Excellent. Now, what’s your idea about?”
“I’m not telling. Not until lunch.”
“Please? Won’t you puh-lease just give me a little clue?”
“Nope. I want to surprise everyone at once.”
“Hey, look.” Stacey was pointing to a banner outside the library. Huge red letters said, CONGRATULATIONS, SMS 8TH-GRADERS! A bulletin posted at the end of the sign read, In order to graduate, all students must return overdue library books by June 20.
“Well, that’s one thing that won’t keep me from graduating,” I said. “I don’t have any overdue library books.”
The first bell rang then, and Stacey and I hurried to our lockers.
“See you,” I called.
“Later,” replied Stacey.
* * *
By lunchtime I was starving. But instead of heading for the food line, I ran for our table. Kristy was already sitting at it, opening her bag lunch.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked.
“In line,” she replied.
“In line? But I can’t wait that long to tell them my idea.”
“Chill, Claud. Why don’t you get in line too? You can tell us while we’re eating.”
“Oh no, oh no. I can’t wait any longer. I really can’t.” I was like a little kid on Christmas morning who has been told she can’t open any presents until after her parents have had their coffee.
“Claudia.” Kristy looked sternly at me.
“Okay, okay.”
Ten minutes later, Abby, Kristy, Mary Anne, Stacey, and I were seated around our table.
“Don’t make me wait another second!” I cried. “I have to tell you my idea now.”
“What idea?” said Abby, taking a huge bite of a sandwich.
“My idea! My idea! I had a great idea and I was waiting until we were together at lunch to tell you. So now I’m telling you. And I already asked my parents about this and they said it’s okay. I’m going to have a party for us after graduation.”
“Oh, excellent! A party just for us?” said Stacey.
“Well, for the Baby-sitters Club members. So for Jessi and Mal too. And Dawn, if she’ll be here by then. Will she be here, Mary Anne?”
“Yup. She’s going to be at graduation.”
“So we’ll go to my house after graduation. And we’ll have a party in my room.”
“Just like an old Baby-sitters Club meeting,” said Kristy.
“Exactly,” I replied.
“We can remember all the good times we’ve had together at SMS,” said Mary Anne, and I thought her eyes looked a bit teary.
“And all the good times we’ve had baby-sitting,” added Kristy.
“Yeah. Which will be important because I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do much sitting this summer,” said Stacey. “I want to go into New York to be with Dad and Samantha pretty often — like maybe every weekend — and in between I’ll want to help out with Mom’s store.”
“I want to help out too,” I said to Stacey. “The store is going to be so cool.”
“Are you going to have any time for sitting?” Kristy asked me.
I cleared my throat. “Well … ”
While I was struggling for an answer, Mary Anne said, “Actually, Dawn and I were thinking of taking a little time off this summer. You know, not working at all, because once ninth grade starts we’re going to be awfully busy.”
I glanced at Kristy then. She was staring hard at the table.
“Well, that’s why the party is going to be sooooo good,” I said brightly.
From: NYCGirl
Subject: Back to the Future
To: MRDALI
Date: Wednesday, June 7
Time: 7:59:10 P.M.
Dear Ethan,
Hi! How’s everything going? How’s the final project for sculpture coming along?
I’ve been studying a LOT for finals and also have started to help Claud study for her math final. But this afternoon I took a break and we had a really fun time with a bunch of the kids we sit for. Mary Anne had this great idea to help them make a time capsule, so we met with the kids this afternoon to tell them about the project. Much excitement.
The plans for Mom’s store are really coming along. I like that Mom is letting me help her so much. I feel almost like a partner.
Okay. Back to my French review. Write when you have time.
Love, Stace
The kids who wanted to help make the time ca
psule gathered in Mary Anne’s yard this afternoon. We had phoned lots of our sitting charges the day before to tell them about the meeting, and today twenty-two kids showed up. (Kristy was thrilled.) Thank goodness all four regular BSC members plus Mal were there.
When I arrived at Mary Anne’s house, she and Claudia were waiting in the yard, and Kristy was just arriving, with Karen and Andrew in tow. A few minutes later Mal showed up with every single one of her brothers and sisters. Then Mrs. Newton walked Jamie into the yard, followed by Charlotte Johanssen and Haley and Matt Braddock. Fifteen minutes later the three Rodowsky boys, Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold, and the Kuhn kids arrived as well.
“Wow,” said Kristy as she counted heads.
We waited five more minutes to see whether anyone else would appear, and then Kristy stood up on an old milk carton and blew a whistle that was hanging around her neck.
“Attention!” she cried, and the kids quieted down. “Okay, we are here to tell you about an exciting idea. How many of you know what a time capsule is?”
Quite a few hands shot in the air, including all of the Pike kids’.
“We made one in our classroom,” Jake Kuhn called out.
“Do you want to explain what you did?” Kristy asked him.
“Okay.” Jake paused to think. “First we took a big tin box —”
“Like this one?” Kristy interrupted him.
Jake looked at the enormous tin can she was holding up. Mary Anne had just given it to Kristy. Someone had sent it to her when her family had moved into their new house. It had been filled with three gallons of popcorn.
“Yeah, kind of like that. And we filled it with things about our school. We put in one of our lunch menus, and a program from an assembly, and some of the work we’ve done to show what we’ve been studying, and a school newspaper article about a field trip we took. Stuff like that. Then we buried it on the playground. Our teacher said that sometime way in the future some other kids will dig it up and open it and they can find out what our school was like in the past.”
“Excellent,” said Kristy, sounding like a teacher. “And that’s pretty much what we thought we’d do. Except our time capsule is going to be about us. The way we are right now. So the things we’ll put in our time capsule can be about ourselves or our neighborhood or even the world — as long as they make a picture of us now. Do you understand?”
The kids nodded and murmured, and a few hands were raised.
“Is that going to be our time capsule?” asked Haley, pointing to the popcorn tin.
“Yes,” replied Kristy, “so keep that in mind when you’re deciding what to put in the capsule. Nothing too big, okay?”
“When are we going to bury the time capsule?” asked Nicky Pike.
“Two weeks from today.”
Two weeks from today was two days before our graduation. I felt butterflies in my stomach at the very thought.
“So come back here to Mary Anne’s house then,” Kristy went on, “and we’ll put your things in the capsule and bury it in the yard.”
“How long will it stay buried?” wondered Carolyn Arnold.
“That’s a good question. We thought you guys could open it in seven years. That will be right before the oldest of you will be going off to college.”
I heard a choking sound from the direction of the triplets.
“College?” croaked Byron.
“Seven years? In seven years I’ll be … I’ll be fifteen,” cried Charlotte. “In high school. Older than you are now,” she said to me.
“And I’ll be fourteen,” said Karen Brewer. “Older than you, Kristy!”
“I’ll be six … seven … eight … nine … How old will I be?” Claire asked Mallory.
“You’ll be twelve.”
Claire looked as if she might faint.
The kids became distracted by imagining themselves seven years in the future, and Kristy eventually had to blow her whistle to recapture their attention. Twenty minutes later the meeting ended, and everyone left, their minds filled with thoughts of the present and of the future.
I stopped writing. Was this what I wanted to read four years from now? I didn’t think so. I hardly wanted to read it now. It sounded so bitter.
I decided to try a different approach.
“Kristy! Kristy? Are you home? Is anybody home?”
With a huge sigh of relief I put down my pen, ran to the door of my room, and threw it open. “Charlie? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Where is everybody?”
“Well, Mom is at work, of course, and Nannie took the kids downtown. Sam is still at school, I think, but Watson should be in his office. Didn’t he hear you?”
Charlie had come pounding up the stairs and had thrown himself across my bed. He was holding a letter. “Maybe Watson’s on the phone,” he said breathlessly. “I won’t disturb him. But Kristy, you have to hear this news!”
“What?” I looked warily at the letter in his hand.
“It’s from Boiceville State. I got in! Even though I applied late and everything.”
Of course Charlie had gotten in. His grades are excellent. Any school would want him.
I plastered a smile across my face. “Wow! Cool. So you’re going to college after all. At least it’s nearby. You can still live at home —”
Charlie held up his hand. “Oh, no. That’s the best part. I’m going to live on campus. They have room for me. The dorm —”
“But you’ll only be forty-five minutes away. Why aren’t you going to stay here?”
“Living away from home is half the college experience,” said Charlie, sounding as though he were quoting from the college catalog, but also sounding as though he really meant it.
“I guess.”
“And you know what else? I think I’m going to apply to UCLA for next year. I don’t know what got into me — why I put off applying — because I really want to go to college, and a good one at that.”
“UCLA?” I repeated. “Isn’t that in California?”
“Yup.”
“So you’d be near Dad.”
Charlie frowned. “That is not a factor,” he said crisply, and I believed him. After an uncomfortable pause he brightened and went on, “UCLA has everything I want. I wonder if I could even transfer mid-year, as a freshman. Maybe … Well, first I just have to get ready for Boiceville. I have to do really well there, make top grades and all. I have to tell Watson,” he went on in a rush. “I don’t care if he’s on the phone.”
Charlie bolted from the room. I looked at my pathetic attempt at a letter to myself. I crumpled the pages and threw them across the room, making three baskets in a row. I did not impress myself. I leaned back against my pillows and put my arm over my eyes.
A week and a half until graduation. Mine. Charlie’s.
I didn’t want any of it to happen.
I didn’t want time to march on. I wanted it to march backward.
Stop. Why am I telling myself this? I know I have diabetes. And I’ll still have it four years from now when I read this letter. Hmm. I see what Kristy meant when she said that writing her letter was a lot harder than she had thought it was going to be.
I stopped writing. Thinking about Samantha had caused an image of graduation to pop into my head. This was the image: I am standing with my friends behind the podium that will be set up on the grounds of SMS (assuming we have good weather on graduation day), and looking out at the audience — all the gathered friends and family members. In the front row I see Mom, Dad … and Samantha. Only not seated in that order. Samantha is between Mom and Dad, for some reason. And I can feel the tension from where I am standing. Mom, who has been seething ever since Samantha sat down, pokes Samantha in the side. Samantha pokes her back. Dad pretends not to see this. Then Mom subtly pulls a strand of Samantha’s hair, and Samantha yanks a whole handful of Mom’s hair. In a flash, a huge fight has broken out. Everyone knows it’s my stupid family having the fight and hundreds of pairs of eyes turn on me. I have
disrupted the entire graduation ceremony, and I haven’t done a thing.
I shuddered. How bad would graduation actually be? Was Samantha going to come? If she did, where would she and Dad stay?
I shook my head and put down my pen. I needed a break. That was when I realized I had forgotten to bring in the mail when I returned home from school. Perfect excuse to leave my room and walk outside for a breath of air.
I retrieved our mail and leafed through it as I headed back inside.
Hmm. An envelope addressed to me from Stoneybrook Middle School. Now, what could that be? A reminder about something to do with graduation? Probably. Still, as I opened the envelope a funny feeling crept over me. I felt as if I were in second grade and I’d been sent home with a note from the teacher.
This is to inform you, the letter began, that Stacey McGill has one overdue book(s) from the Stoneybrook Middle School library before June 20. Please return Ribsy, by Beverly Cleary, to the library before June 20. Please note that 8th-grade students with outstanding library books cannot graduate.
The funny feeling changed to a feeling of horror. What? What was this? I had an overdue library book and I couldn’t graduate until I returned it? And that overdue book was a copy of Ribsy? When had I taken Ribsy out of our library? I couldn’t believe I had ever checked it out. Ribsy is a fabulous story (I love Beverly Cleary’s books), but it is a tad on the babyish side for someone who is about to enter high school.
I knew I hadn’t checked the book out this year. It must have been something I had checked out in seventh grade. Probably near the beginning of seventh grade. Something I needed to read for comfort when I had first moved to Stoneybrook from New York and hardly knew anyone and just wanted to feel little and secure again.
Where on earth was the book? I didn’t remember seeing it in my room in recent history. Worse, between the beginning of seventh grade and now I had moved back to New York again and then returned to Stoneybrook. Had the book survived two moves? I didn’t think so.
Oh, lord. Oh, lord. This was just horrible. I wasn’t going to graduate, and all because of a copy of Ribsy.
Graduation Day Page 3
