Claudia and the New Girl

by Ann M. Martin

  I hoped my theory about a real friend not hanging up on me was true — because I was about to call Stacey. If she hung up on me, I’d be crushed. But I dialed her number anyway. I’d just crossed item number one off list number two and I had to move on to item number two.

  Stacey answered the phone before the first ring was finished. She must have been sitting on her bed. (She has a phone extension in her bedroom, but not a private, personal phone number like I do.)

  “Hi, Stace,” I said tentatively.

  “Claudia?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Stacey, I’m calling to apologize. I know I’ve been a really rotten friend. I got all carried away with Ashley because she studied at the Keyes Art Society and said I had talent.” For five more minutes I explained everything to Stacey. When I finished, she was still on the other end of the phone.

  “Claudia,” she said, and she sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. “Reach under your pillow.”

  “My pillow? Okay.” I felt underneath it and my fingers closed over a wadded-up piece of paper.

  “Did you find the note?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then read it, ignore it, and throw it away.” The note said: In my breadbox of friends, you are a CRUMB.

  It was kind of funny, but I didn’t laugh. I threw it away as Stacey had instructed. “Did you write that?” I asked.

  “Yes. But I only meant it a little. Claud, we’re still friends. At least, I still want to be your friend. But I think we have some things to talk about.”

  “I agree,” I told her.

  We decided to try to find a time to talk in person. Maybe in school or before the next meeting.

  I crossed item number two off list number two and phoned Kristy.

  Karen, Kristy’s little stepsister, answered the phone. “Claudia!” she exclaimed. “We’re having a terrible night over here! Ben Brewer’s ghost hypnotized Boo-Boo, and —”

  “Karen,” I interrupted, “I’m really sorry, but I have to talk to Kristy. Can you get her for me, please?”

  Karen grew all huffy, but she brought Kristy to the phone. When Kristy was on, I started my little speech all over again. Then I told her that I was probably going to spend my lunch periods in the Resource Room making up work, but that I would definitely be at the next club meeting.

  “Okay,” said Kristy shortly. “Great.” She sounded as if she didn’t believe me.

  “I really will be there.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll even call Dawn and tell her she can go back to being the alternate officer again.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  That wasn’t much of a start, but it was something. I’d just have to be patient, and I certainly better turn up at the meeting.

  I spent the rest of the evening and a lot of that weekend doing homework and looking at the sketches I’d made of Jackie. By the time I went to bed on Sunday, I’d reached an important decision.

  “Ms. Baehr?”

  “Yes, Claudia?”

  Another art class was over. Ashley had sat in the front of the room. I’d sat in the back. With the sketches of Jackie spread across the table, I’d begun my sculpture. Now, the rest of the students were gone. I’d just called Ms. Baehr over to look at my work.

  “I like the subject you finally chose,” she said, smiling approvingly.

  “Me, too,” I replied. “But I’m not going to be able to finish this in time for the show. I’ve only got one more week. I have schoolwork to catch up on — you know how my parents feel about that — and other things to do, too. So I’m not going to enter anything in the show. I’ll talk to Mom and Dad tonight. I’ll work on this sculpture for class, but it won’t be ready for the show.”

  “Claudia, I wish you’d rethink this,” replied Ms. Baehr. “If you work hard, I think you could finish in time.”

  “Only if I drop everything else, and I don’t want to do that.”

  Ms. Baehr nodded. “All right. I respect your decision.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”

  I did talk to my parents that night. They were surprised that I’d decided not to be in the show, but they have this thing about school. They think it is very, very, VERY important. So when they heard that I was putting school before art, they were delighted. Even though they tried not to show it.

  After I was finished talking with my parents I went to my room, settled myself at my desk, and looked over the lists I’d made the night before. I’d done everything on the Friends list so I threw it away. I’d done everything on the Sculpture Show list so I threw that away, too. My School Work list was not in such good shape, which wasn’t surprising. Hardly anything having to do with schoolwork is in good shape if I’m involved.

  However, I had asked Mrs. Hall if I could take the spelling test again — and she’d said yes! I reached into my pencil jar so I could cross off item number one. I pulled out a pencil with a piece of paper wrapped around it.

  I sighed. Another note.

  I unrolled the paper. The note was in Kristy’s handwriting. It said: Famous jerks — Benedict Arnold, the Wicked Witch of the West, Claudia Kishi.

  I threw away the note and crossed off number one on the list. I couldn’t cross off two, three, or four, though. But that was all right. Soon I’d be able to. I was almost finished with The Twenty-One Balloons and I’d taken A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle out of the library. While I was thinking about it, I opened A Wrinkle in Time and read the first sentence. “It was a dark and stormy night.” Well, that didn’t sound so bad. In fact, it sounded kind of like the Nancy Drew books I like so much. And the titles of the first three chapters were “Mrs. Whatsit,” “Mrs. Who,” and “Mrs. Which.” They sounded like fun! I looked longingly at the book as I put it aside to start studying for my spelling test. Maybe finishing up my School Work list would go quickly after all. I smiled.

  And tomorrow I would go to a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club.

  The next day, I packed a lunch (something I hardly ever do) and at lunchtime went to the Resource Room. I’d done that the last couple of days, too. This time, I brought The Twenty-One Balloons with me. I had finished reading it, and now I needed someone to quiz me on the spelling of the hard words so I could get ready to retake the spelling test. One of the Resource Room teachers worked hard with me during the whole lunch period. I was proud of myself. Maybe I wouldn’t get an A on the test, but I thought I could get a C or even a B.

  After school, I had to do a chore. Well, maybe chore isn’t the right word, but I had to do something I didn’t want to do. That certainly sounded like a chore.

  As soon as I got home, I jumped on my bike and rode over to Jackie Rodowsky’s house. The Rodowskys weren’t expecting me, so Jackie’s mother was a little surprised to see me standing on the front stoop.

  “Claudia!” she said. “Has there been a mix-up? Did I —”

  “Oh, no,” I interrupted. “I came to talk to Jackie. Is he home from school yet?”

  “He got here a few minutes ago. Come on in, honey.”

  Mrs. Rodowsky led me inside just as Jackie came bounding downstairs, leaped over the last three, stumbled against a table as he landed, and knocked a vase to the floor. Luckily, it landed on the rug and didn’t break.

  “Whoops,” said Jackie.

  Mrs. Rodowsky shook her head. But all she said was, “Jackie, Claudia’s here to see you.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Claudia!” Jackie exclaimed. “Are you going to start sculpting my head?”

  “Not today,” I replied. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Come sit with me.” I sat down on a sofa and patted the cushion next to me.

  Jackie charged across the room and threw himself down on the couch, accidentally kicking my right knee.

  “Ow!” I couldn’t help crying out.

  “Oops. Sorry.”

  “Jackie,”
I began, rubbing my knee, “I came over to tell you something. I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to be able to put you in the show after all.”

  Jackie had been bouncing and wiggling around. Now he stopped. “You’re not?” he said. His eyes began to fill with tears.

  “No,” I replied. As simply as I could, I explained how I’d run out of time.

  Jackie didn’t say anything. He poked the end of his shoelace inside his sock.

  “I’d still like to sculpt you, though,” I told him.

  “You would?”

  “Yup. I showed the drawings of you to my teacher and she really liked them. She wants me to sculpt you, too.”

  “But no show?”

  “No show … Would you like to be my model anyway?”

  Jackie screwed up his face in thought. “Yes,” he replied at last.

  “Great!” I said. “I’m sure you’re going to be a terrific model. I am sorry about the show, but I wanted you to know the truth if I was going to sculpt you.”

  Jackie nodded. “You know what, Claudia?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.” Jackie wrapped his arms around my waist and I hugged him back.

  I was glad I’d been honest with him. A smile spread across my face as I realized something. I hadn’t been baby-sitting much lately and I missed little kids. Only someone Jackie’s age would hug me and thank me when I’d just disappointed him.

  When I left the Rodowskys’ I rode over to the public library. I worked on my War of 1812 project again. But when the clock over the front door said 5:10, I gathered up my papers and notebook, hopped on my bike, and rode home. I reached my house at 5:31 and ran to my room. Kristy, Mary Anne, Dawn, and Stacey were already there.

  “Hi, everybody!” I exclaimed. “I’m back!”

  I flopped onto the floor and looked around. Kristy was sitting in the director’s chair, drinking a soda and wearing her visor. Mary Anne and Dawn were lying across my bed on their backs. Stacey was perched on my desk.

  “Hi,” the others replied. They didn’t look at me.

  “Any calls yet?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Good. Then it’s time for …” I reached under my bed and pulled out a Hershey’s Kisses bag, only I knew there weren’t any Hershey’s Kisses in it. I held the bag out. “Everyone has to take one, even you, Stacey.”

  “But I can’t —” she began.

  I held up my hand for silence. Then I offered the bag to Kristy. She reached in and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Everyone else did the same.

  “Now,” I said, “who has the paper with the number one on it?”

  “I do,” said Dawn, unfolding the note.

  “Okay, you read yours first. Then whoever has number two, read yours. And then three and then four, okay? Dawn?”

  Dawn cleared her throat. “‘Friends,’” she announced, reading the title. “‘Long ago in another time, I had four friends and they were mine.’” Dawn stopped and looked around.

  “Oh,” said Stacey. “Um, ‘Then I found an artist who said I am good and so are you.’”

  “‘So I followed her here and there,’” read Kristy, “‘and round and round and everywhere.’” She giggled.

  “‘But,’” went on Mary Anne, “‘she was false and it took you, to show me friends that are really true.’”

  When Mary Anne was finished, no one said anything.

  “I guess,” I spoke up, “that’s my way of saying I’m sorry. And that I kind of learned the hard way who my real friends are. I, um, really missed you guys. And baby-sitting. And meetings. And I’m sick to death of animated objects or whatever they’re called. I know you’re still mad, but I hope we can be friends again. Someday.”

  “Oh, that is so sad and lovely!” cried Mary Anne and burst into tears.

  At that, Kristy burst out laughing.

  “Lunatics,” said Stacey. “We have a club full of fools.”

  “Club of fools!” I repeated, and then everyone laughed, even Mary Anne.

  “I’m not asking you guys to forgive me right now,” I went on. “I know it’ll take time —”

  “Claudia, Claudia, Claudia,” said Stacey. “Save your breath. We forgive you.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “We do?” Kristy asked.

  “Yes,” said Stacey firmly, glaring at Kristy, “we do.”

  I began to feel teary-eyed myself then. “I don’t deserve friends as good as you,” I choked out. “I’m too lucky.”

  “Oh, Claudia!” wailed Stacey. She slid off the desk and ran over to me and we hugged.

  “Hey, are you wearing new perfume?” I asked her, sniffing.

  “Yeah!” she exclaimed. “Do you like it? It’s called Moonlight Mist.”

  “It’s fabulous.”

  “Let me smell,” said the others, crowding in.

  “Ooh, nice,” breathed Dawn.

  “Heavenly,” added Mary Anne.

  “It’s okay — if you want to smell like a rosebed,” said Kristy.

  We were all talking at the same time.

  “What’s wrong with a rosebed?” Mary Anne wanted to know.

  “Can I try some?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ve got the bottle right here in —”

  Ring, ring.

  The phone!

  “Oh, can I get it? Puh-lease? It feels like years since I’ve taken a job call,” I exclaimed.

  “Go to it,” replied Kristy.

  “Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” I said, picking up the receiver. “Yes … Yes … Oh, no problem … Sure. Okay, call you right back. Bye.” I hung up the phone and faced the others. Mary Anne was holding the record book in her lap, pencil poised.

  “Who was it?” asked Kristy.

  “Mrs. Newton. She needs a sitter for Jamie and Lucy next Thursday evening. It won’t be a late night. They’ll be back by nine.”

  “Let’s see,” said Mary Anne. “You’re free then, Claud. Want the job?”

  “Sure!” I replied. I called Mrs. Newton back to give her the information. As I was talking, I began to feel like a real, official club member again. “Boy,” I said when I’d hung up. “It sure is good to be back with you guys.”

  “Claudia?” asked Mary Anne seriously from the spot on my bed. “What happened?”

  “What happened?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean with Ashley and the club and us.”

  “Oh. That … I just got carried away, I guess. You have to understand something. Hardly anybody ever tells me I’m really good at something. I mean, actually talented. When you’re me, that just doesn’t happen often.”

  “We always say how good you are in art,” Mary Anne pointed out, looking hurt.

  “I know. And that means a lot. But the thing is, if you’ll excuse me for saying this, you guys don’t know much about art. So your comments are nice but … when Ashley came along, and she was an excellent artist and she had even studied at Keyes, well, her comments meant a lot. Suddenly I felt very important. At least I did when I was with her. And I didn’t want to lose that.”

  Mary Anne and Stacey were nodding slowly.

  “I see,” said Stacey. “I understand.”

  “But it turned out that Ashley only liked my talent,” I went on. “I mean, she liked the person she thought I was, and she doesn’t really want to hang around anyone who isn’t an artist. But that’s not what makes a friendship, is it? I mean, if we didn’t like baby-sitting, we would still be friends.”

  “Right,” said Stacey.

  “Right,” said Dawn, Kristy, and Mary Anne.

  “And now,” added Kristy, “let’s get down to business. Where’s the treasury? We have money to count, dues to be paid.”

  We all got to work.

  And I thought, I’m back, I’m really back!

  “Oh, I am so nervous. I am so nervous!” I kept exclaiming.

  “Relax, Claud, you’re going to give yourself apoplexy,” said Kristy.


  I was even too nervous to ask Kristy what apoplexy was.

  It was 7:45 in the evening. Milling around in front of Stoneybrook’s new art gallery were a bunch of students from the Arts Center and their families and friends. I was there with Mom, Dad, Mimi, my sister Janine, and the members of the Baby-sitters Club.

  In exactly fifteen minutes, the front door was going to open and everyone would be allowed inside to see the new gallery — and the Arts Center sculpture show. I wasn’t nervous about the opening of the gallery. That was exciting, but it wasn’t enough to give me appendicitis, or whatever Kristy had said. No, I was nervous because of a phone call I’d gotten that afternoon. I’d picked up the receiver, and Ms. Baehr had been on the other end of the line.

  “Claudia?” she’d said.

  “Yes?” I’d replied, trying to get over my shock. (You just never expect a teacher to call you at home.)

  “I have to tell you something. I’m not sure I should have done this, but I did, so it’s too late.” She paused. “I entered your sculpture of Jackie in the art show.”

  “You what?!” I cried. “But it isn’t finished! It’s, maybe, half-finished.”

  “I know. I entered it as a work-in-progress. It’s wonderful, Claudia. I want people to see it…. Claudia?”

  “I’m still here. I — don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Just come to the show tonight. Bring your family. By the time the gallery opens, the prizes will have been awarded.”

  So you can see why I was nervous. I didn’t think I’d won an award. Not for a work-in-progress. But that half-finished piece was going to be on display. And I didn’t want anyone laughing at it.

  Oh, I thought now, I should never have mentioned the show to my friends. Why had I done that? (Maybe because I’d still been in shock.) Of course they’d wanted to come — Mary Anne had even brought her father — and now they’d be around to see the laughers.