I saw several other clients and their kids. None seemed to recognize me, though. By the end of my shift I was tired. The mask was hot and heavy. Plus, all that sprightly dancing, stooping, bending, and waving was exhausting.
When I noticed Angela leave the platform, I knew our shift was up. I wondered why she didn’t wait for me, but figured she was as hot and tired as I was.
“Thank goodness,” I cried, bursting into the employees’ lounge and pulling off my mask. Shaking out my sweaty hair, I looked around for Angela but didn’t spot her. “Angela?” I called softly.
There was no reply. She couldn’t have changed that quickly. “Angela, are you here?”
Strange, I thought. She could have stopped off at a number of places, though, so I didn’t worry. Eager to splash cold water on my face, I headed for the bathroom. Before I even opened the door, I heard sobs coming from inside.
I pushed open the door. Angela stood in front of the sink, mopping her red, tear-stained face with one of the rough bathroom towels. Her heavy eye makeup was all over her cheeks. “Angela?” I cried, alarmed. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “It’s really nothing.”
“Then why are you crying?” I asked.
“It’s so stupid I don’t even want to talk about it,” she insisted, turning toward the mirror and attempting to wipe the makeup from her cheeks with her knuckles.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Don’t even worry. It’s nothing.”
I wished I could believe her. But I didn’t.
The rest of the week can only be described by one word — insane. I should have slept in my sneakers because all I did was run. After school I ran to the mall, or to a BSC meeting, or to a sitting job. Then I’d zoom home and rush through my homework before I crash-landed into my bed.
Then, one day, a miracle occurred. I got a day off.
One of the “ancient gnomes” (who were actually very nice people) was looking for extra elfing hours, so Ms. Cerasi asked me if I’d mind giving up one of my shifts. “No problem,” I told her. I desperately needed a break.
“Hi, Mary Anne. ’Bye, Mary Anne,” Dawn said to me in the hall on Friday evening as I passed her on the way to my bedroom.
“Hi, how’s everything going?” I asked, leaning against the wall for support. That’s how tired I was.
“Fine, but what’s happening with you? I never see you.”
At least she’d noticed. “I’m off tomorrow,” I told her.
“What do you mean ‘off’?”
Oops. “I mean … uh … no homework, no BSC … no baby-sitting. Amazing, huh?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Good. We can do something together.”
Oops again. “I promised Logan I’d spend some time with him. Do you mind if he hangs out with us?”
Dawn frowned. “I don’t mind, but will he mind?”
I wasn’t sure. “He’ll have to understand,” I said, too weary to worry about it.
“Okay, then. If you’re sure. What should we do?”
“We should think about it tomorrow,” I replied. My brain wasn’t doing any more thinking just then.
That day I’d gone to school, filled in for Angela at the mall for an hour and a half because she was going to be late, hurried back for a BSC meeting, and then run along with Mallory to a sitting job for the Barrett-DeWitt kids afterward.
After talking to Dawn, I hit the bed and was instantly involved in the weirdest dream. The Seven Dwarfs came to my house and demanded all my Christmas purchases back because I couldn’t pay for them. They marched into the house and took them from under the tree. I chased them out into the front yard, where I met Angela dressed as Snow White. She was crying because the Wicked Queen was after her. I looked up in the sky and saw Ms. Cerasi dressed as a witch, flying overhead on a broom. Grabbing Angela’s hand, I rushed back to the house, but the door was locked. I peered through the front window and could see Dawn inside, and though I frantically rapped on the glass, she wouldn’t let me in.
In the middle of the night, I woke up, relieved to discover it was all a dream. But when I fell asleep again, I dreamed the Barrett-DeWitt kids were chasing me down Burnt Hill Road (my street), throwing tree ornaments at me. They were laughing, as though it were all in fun, but I couldn’t make them stop.
I woke up the next day exhausted from all that dreaming. When I glanced at my clock, I was in for a shock. It was almost noon! I’d promised Logan I’d phone him by ten. I pulled on my robe, dashed out of my room, and ran down the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, I heard Logan’s voice. For a moment I thought I was still dreaming. Then I realized his voice was coming from the kitchen. He was talking to Dawn. “No, don’t wake her,” he said. “I’ll come back later.”
“I’m up! I’m awake!” I cried, hurrying into the kitchen.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Dawn greeted me. “I was just about to come up and get you out of bed. Logan is nicer. He said you were exhausted and we should let you sleep.”
Logan smiled. “When you didn’t call, I figured I’d just come over and get you. Since you were sleeping, though, I thought you ought to rest. You’ve been so busy lately I know you must be tired.”
“Thanks for letting me sleep,” I said, patting down my mussed-up morning-hair. “I needed it. But I’m okay now. What do you guys want to do today?”
“We’ve already decided,” Dawn said. “Logan and I are both way behind on our Christmas shopping. We have to go to Washington Mall.”
“No!” I gasped. “Not there!”
“What’s wrong with the mall all of a sudden?” Dawn asked pointedly. “You spend every minute at the mall. I thought you were the mall’s biggest fan.”
“That’s … uh … the problem,” I stammered. “I’m sick of it. I’ve been there too much.”
“I know. You have a secret boyfriend at the mall,” Logan teased. “You don’t want me to meet him.”
“Don’t be silly,” I snapped, even though I knew he was kidding. He’d come unnervingly close to the truth. I didn’t have a secret boyfriend. But I did have a secret life.
“If you don’t have a secret boyfriend, then why can’t we go?” said Dawn. “Mary Anne, I really need to shop. Come on.”
“I’ll take you to see Santa,” Logan teased.
I froze. “I’ll go only if you promise not to take me to see Santa,” I replied.
“It’s a deal,” Logan said, rising from his chair. “Let’s go.”
All through the bus ride I felt jittery. I kept up a steady patter of the stupidest conversation you could imagine. I even resorted to knock-knock jokes. “Knock-knock.”
“Who’s there?” Logan played along, rolling his eyes. This was my sixth knock-knock.
“Venice.”
“Venice who?”
“Ven is these stupid knock-knocks ever going to end?”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been wondering,” Dawn said dryly. I smiled, but she didn’t seem to be joking. Okay, maybe knock-knocks aren’t exactly fascinating, but they’re not torture either.
“Sorry,” I said. “Are knock-knocks too immature for you, now that you’re in high school?” What can I tell you? She was getting on my nerves.
“Oh, yeah. I remember. You told me about that at Thanksgiving. You’re in high school,” Logan said, diffusing the potential argument. (He probably did it on purpose. Logan is like that.) “How’s that going?”
Dawn then gushed on about how awesome her school year had been so far. “It’s so great not being in with the little kids anymore,” she told him. Was she really turning into such a maturity snob? If I’d had my elf head, I would have hit her with it. (I’d have liked to, anyway. Though, I suppose that would have definitely been immature.)
When the bus turned into the parking lot, I saw that the mall was packed with shoppers. Total holiday madness. The moment we stepped inside, I became anxious. I don’t like crowds and somehow I knew I was goi
ng to be recognized by someone. “Look at all these people. This is crazy. Let’s go home,” I said.
“We’ll only stay a short while,” Logan said, entwining his fingers through mine. “Come on.”
So, I tagged along, nervously checking every store for someone who knew me, while Logan and Dawn shopped.
Logan is a careful shopper. He inspected every item and then put it down to think about it some more before making his purchase.
Dawn is more impulsive. She was grabbing up gifts for her friends back in California. “Thank goodness I saved up for this,” she said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have a dime to spend.” As she took out her cash to pay for her gifts, I wished I’d done the same — saved my money and spent only what I’d saved. If I had, I wouldn’t be living this weird double life now.
Dawn bought a book on modern art for her friend Amalia. She found a framed black-and-white photo of ducks on a lake at sunset for her pal Ducky. She bought a Mexican-style sun plaque for her friend Sunny, and a daisy chain belt for her friend Maggie.
I was impressed with her gifts. They seemed so … grown-up.
At about two-thirty, we took a lunch break at Friendly’s. Dawn ordered a salad, while Logan and I ate burgers and fries. She finished while we were still eating. “I’m going to pop into that accessories store a few doors down,” she said, leaving money on the table as she slid out of the booth. “I can’t stand to sit here and watch you guys eat meat. I’ll check back in ten minutes.”
“Suit yourself,” I told her coolly. She smiled, ignoring my tone of voice, and left. I turned to Logan. “Now we can eat our vile, loathsome animal product in peace.”
Logan laughed. “It is good to be a carnivore,” he replied in a caveman voice. “Meat, yum. Deep-fat-fried fries, yum.”
“I don’t know what’s with her this visit,” I complained, dipping a fry into ketchup.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like she’s changed. She thinks she’s too sophisticated to be friends with me or something.”
“I didn’t see that. She was dying to wake you up this morning.”
“Really?”
“Yeah … and remember, Mary Anne, you’ve been so busy.”
“I know,” I admitted. “We’ve hardly spent any time together. And —” I stopped midsentence.
Ms. Cerasi was walking down the aisle toward me.
What if she stopped to speak to me? I’d have to tell Logan how I knew her.
Plus, what if she noticed that Logan looked sort of young? She might grow suspicious and want to see proof of my age. I’d lose my job and have to start paying interest to Dad.
I slid down in my seat. “Mary Anne? What’s wrong?” Logan asked.
I pretended to dig frantically through my purse. “I can’t find my wallet,” I lied. “Maybe it fell on the floor.” I slid under the table.
On my hands and knees under the table, I peered out from under the table. Ms. Cerasi had taken a seat behind us. Luckily, her back was toward us.
Logan looked under the table. “Is it there?” he asked.
I looked up at him so quickly I banged my head. “Ow! No. Let’s check outside. Maybe I dropped it.”
“Shouldn’t we wait for Dawn?” Logan asked.
“We’ll find her at the store,” I whispered fiercely. “Let’s go.”
Logan continued to gaze at me under the table. “What?” I barked in a hoarse whisper.
“I’m waiting for you to get out of there,” he explained, looking puzzled.
I crawled out from under the table, grabbed my purse, and hurried to the front of Friendly’s without even waiting for him. While Logan paid, I raced out into the mall.
He joined me just as Dawn was returning. “That was fast,” she commented.
“Where do you want to look first?” Logan asked.
“For what?” I said.
He squinted at me as if I’d gone nuts. “For your wallet.”
“Oh.” I laughed nervously. “I found it. It was in my bag all along. I just didn’t see it.”
Logan frowned. He knew something was up, but he couldn’t figure out what. Dawn wanted a fruit shake at the food court, so we headed over there.
We had almost reached the concession stand when we passed Marv Howard coming from the employee area, wearing his Santa suit. He was probably finishing his lunch break. “Hi, Mary Anne,” he called with a wave of his gloved hand.
“Hi, Marv,” I called back without thinking.
I suddenly realized Dawn and Logan had stopped walking and were staring at me. “Santa knows your name?” Logan asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
I giggled nervously. “What can I say? I’ve been good this year.”
“Marv?” Dawn said.
I shrugged and smiled feebly. “I just thought it would be funny to call him Marv.”
Dawn folded her arms, peering at me suspiciously. “Mary Anne, I have to tell you this — you are developing a very odd sense of humor.”
“Forget odd, I think you’re losing your mind,” Logan added, only half joking.
What could I tell them? Maybe they were right.
On Saturday afternoon, Abby sat for Archie, Shea, and Jackie Rodowsky.
That same afternoon, Jessi had to watch Becca and Squirt because her aunt Cecelia wanted to do some shopping with Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey. (In fact, Logan, Dawn, and I ran into the three of them that day at the mall.)
Since they’d be sitting at the same time, Abby and Jessi decided to get together with their respective charges and work on Santa-Hanukkah-Kwanzaa Town.
In the week since Kristy had conceived the idea, a lot had been accomplished. We had stored tons of canned goods in Dr. Johanssen’s garage. We had also collected bags and bags of old toys.
Abby took as many of those as she could carry from Kristy’s garage, where they were stored, and dragged them to the Rodowskys’ house with her. (It wasn’t too hard because her mother drove her and helped load and unload.)
The plan was to sort through the toys and separate the good ones — which would be suitable to give away as prizes — from the more worn ones. Then they’d look through the worn-out pile and see which toys could be fixed up enough to use in such things as grab bags, fishing games, and knock-over-the-toy games. (We wouldn’t donate any of these toys. The hospital committee was planning to use the money we earned to buy new toys for the sick kids.) We also planned to ask everyone who came to Santa-Hanukkah-Kwanzaa Town to donate a brand-new unopened toy.
Abby had proposed this at yesterday’s meeting and everyone thought it was a great idea. Nothing, or very little, would be wasted. And it would involve the kids in the project.
At the same time, Kristy, Stacey, and Claudia would be at the Johanssens’ house figuring out how to best use the canned goods. Kristy was also working on getting permission to use the Stoneybrook Elementary School gym for the event. All systems were ready to go.
The moment Abby opened the first bag of toys, Archie went wild. He began bouncing up and down, his carrot-top hair flying around his freckled face. “Toys! Toys! Toys!” he shouted gleefully.
“Hold on,” Abby said, laughing. “These aren’t for you. They’re for the fund-raiser.”
“A fun-raiser?” said Jackie, who is seven and who has the same carrot-colored hair his brothers have. “That sounds really good.”
“No, fund-raiser,” Abby explained.
“Duh, Jackie,” said Shea, the oldest. “Fund, not fun.”
“We’re raising money to buy toys for kids stuck in the hospital over the holidays,” Abby continued.
“Oh,” Archie said, deeply disappointed. “Well, I’ll only take a few, then.”
“Archie, you can’t have any,” Abby told him gently. She explained the plan to him. As she did, the doorbell rang. Jessi had arrived with Becca and Squirt.
The moment he was in the door, Squirt made a beeline for the toys. “Mine! Mine! Mine!” he crowed happily.
Jessi and Abby
exchanged anxious glances. Maybe this wasn’t as good an idea as it had seemed.
Squirt is normally a very good little guy, but being torn from a bag of toys was more than he could handle. He began wailing as Jessi pried a small rubber Barney from his fingers. “That’s not yours,” she tried to explain, but he simply didn’t understand.
“Would he play with this?” Abby offered, pulling a very used Sesame Street puzzle from the bag.
“If I help him,” Jessi said.
While Jessi tried to interest Squirt in the puzzle, Becca joined Archie and Shea in sorting through the pile of toys. “Good, no good, no good, good,” they said, separating them into two piles.
By the end of an hour, they had two almost equal-sized piles. “Should we throw the no-good stuff away?” Becca asked.
“No, take it into the kitchen. We’re going to be Santa’s helpers and fix it up,” Abby replied.
As the kids carried the beat-up toys to the kitchen, Abby followed with paints, glue, sandpaper, and other equipment she’d brought from home. “Hey, I know what to do. We can sand and paint these chipped wooden blocks,” she said, surveying the hill of toys on the kitchen table. “Then we can build towers for kids to try to knock down,” she added.
“Good idea!” Shea agreed. But he was the only one who had any patience for sanding. Becca, Jackie, and Archie wanted to dive into the painting. Even when Abby and Shea sanded madly, they couldn’t do it fast enough.
“Don’t paint yet,” Abby kept telling them.
“I’m just doing a corner,” Becca would insist.
Archie and Jackie began dabbing one another with the paintbrushes. “Cool it, dudes,” Abby said. But they continued doing it under the table, where they thought she couldn’t see them.
“This sandpaper isn’t working,” Shea complained. Abby found him another piece, and when she returned to the table, Jackie was gone.
He popped up on the other side of the table with the smaller pieces from the block set stuck to his head. “Hey, look at me, I’m a blockhead.”
Archie dissolved into giggles. Becca and Shea rolled their eyes. “Did you glue those to your head?” Abby asked.
The Secret Life of Mary Anne Spier Page 5
