Ann Martin - Stacey's Emergency

I had to give her time to cool off.

I also had to eat something . . . anything. So I tiptoed across the room, gently closed the door, and then tiptoed to my desk. Feeling like Claudia, I pulled out a drawer, lifted up a pile of papers, opened an old pencil box, and removed — a large chocolate bar.

Ah, sugar, I thought.

I peeled back the top of the paper and, for

a second, just breathed in the incredible smell of chocolate.

I was tired. Sick and tired, I reminded myself. And I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. Nobody else I knew had to stick to a diet like mine. Dawn didn't touch junk food, but that was her decision. My diet was not my decision.

Oh, I had longed for the taste of chocolate again. I had not had any since the doctors first discovered that I was diabetic. Claudia's Ring-Dings had tasted out of this world. When I'd eaten them, I'd felt as if I were tasting chocolate for the first time.

So I ate the entire candy bar.

Then I felt guilty.

I just couldn't win.

Chapter 5.

The next day, after school, I sat for Charlotte again. Charlotte wasn't her usual quiet self. She wanted to do something, to create something.

"Like what?" I asked, thinking of arts and crafts and wishing I'd brought along my Kid-Kit that afternoon. "A painting?"

"No. Something more complicated."

Char and I were sitting opposite each other at the Johanssens' kitchen table. Charlotte grew thoughtful.

"More complicated? How about a paper sculpture?" I suggested.

Charlotte considered. Finally, she shook her head slowly and said, "I think I want to make fudge."

Fudge? Really? Of all things, why did Charlotte want to make fudge? I didn't think I could stand being within a mile of something choc-

olate and not eating it. Fudge making would be torture.

"Not paper sculpture?" I asked lamely.

"No, fudge. Please, Stacey? Puh-lease? We've got all the ingredients. And Becca could come over and help me. We would have so much fun. We could pretend we were chefs in a famous restaurant and that people came from miles around for our special dessert — fudge."

How could I ignore that? "Okay. Call Becca," I said, hiding my disappointment.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Charlotte cried. She was on the phone in an instant. "Hi, Becca, it's me," she said. (I smiled, thinking that only really good friends can do that.) "Stacey's here. She's baby-sitting me. She said I could make fudge. Do you want to come over and help? . . . Okay, I'll see you in a few minutes."

By the time Becca arrived, Charlotte was already assembling ingredients on the kitchen table. Sugar, chocolate . . . Ohhh.

"Hi!" said Charlotte excitedly, as Becca entered the kitchen. "I'm Chef Charlotte and you're Chef Becca. We work in the Grand Sparkle-Glitter Hotel. We are famous chefs."

"World famous?" asked Becca, tying on the apron I handed her.

"Galaxy famous," replied Charlotte.

"Known on planets everywhere."

"Boy ..." said Becca.

"Fudge is our specialty/' Charlotte went on. "Isn't it, Stacey?"

I smiled. "Yup. And it's a special specialty on Saturn."

"No, make it Mars!" cried Becca.

"Okay, on Mars. But why?" I asked.

"Because we could pretend to travel there and be Martian fudge makers. Or we could make Milky Ways."

Charlotte giggled. Then she said, "Wait! I know! Don't start the fudge yet, anybody. I'll be right back!"

Char darted off. Becca and I looked at each other. What could Charlotte possibly be doing? our eyes asked.

We found out in less than a minute. Charlotte scampered back into the kitchen, wearing a pair of waving, bobbing antennae on her head. She handed another set to Becca.

"Put them on!" said Charlotte. "Now we'U really look like Martian fudge makers. Isn't this great?"

"Yeah!" agreed Becca.

So the two Martians set to work. At first I wished I had my camera. I'd never seen anything quite like Becca and Char, wearing antennae on their heads and oversized aprons around their middles, up to their elbows in

chocolate goo. But soon my amusement faded.

It was the chocolate smell. I could barely concentrate on anything except that sweet odor. (Torture, torture.) I hoped I didn't look as upset as I felt. And soon I decided I didn't. The girls weren't paying attention to me.

"Look! We're flying by the moon," said Becca.

"Yeah. We should stop there. Did you know that moon dust is a good substitute for sugar? Let's stock up."

"Oh, no! We've gone too far!" cried Becca.

"Stop the rocket ship!" added Charlotte.

This conversation was being held while the girls stood quietly at the table, stirring the fudge in a plastic bowl with wooden spoons. Then:

"Eeeetch!" screeched Becca, imitating the sound of skidding brakes. As she did so, she flung one arm up to her head, as if to protect herself from a crash. Unfortunately, it was the arm that was stirring the fudge, so she flung the spoon up, too. The fudge mixture flew behind her and sprayed the wall over the sink.

"Uh-oh," said Becca. "I didn't mean to do that. Honest."

"I know you didn't. It's okay," I told her. I stood up wearily and headed for the sink. "You guys keep working," I went on. "I'll clean up."

"Thanks," said Becca with a sigh of relief.

While I wet a sponge and began to wipe off the wall, Charlotte and Becca continued their imaginary space game.

"The famous Martian fudge makers!" cried Charlotte.

"Have we reached Mars yet?" asked Becca.

"Not quite. Our spaceship feels . . . Oh, no! We're flying straight toward a huge meteor shower! We're going to crash!"

I turned around. My usually quiet Charlotte was becoming raucous. I almost told her to calm down but decided not to. Char hardly ever let go like this. Maybe it was good for her. So I kept my mouth shut, turned back to the wall, and continued scrubbing.

"A meteor shower!" Becca exclaimed. "What's that?"

"It's a — Wait a sec! We've hit it! ... Bam, bam, bam! Our ship is being bombarded by meteors. One is heading for our windshield. Duck!"

At that moment, I heard the thump. In their excitement, their imaginations completely runaway, the girls had dropped to the floor. And somehow their bowl of fudge had come with them.

Chocolate, chocolate everywhere.

"Oops," said Charlotte.

The girls had stood up and were looking at

me. I had turned around and was looking at them. I sighed.

"Can we start over again?" asked Charlotte in a very small voice.

"If you two clean up this mess," I replied. "And if, when you start the next batch, you promise to be earthling girls, cooking in a nice kitchen in Connecticut. Without antennae."

"We promise," said Charlotte and Becca in unison.

They removed their antennae. I handed them a roll of paper towels and the sponge I'd been using, and they set to work. When the kitchen was clean, they began their project again. Calmly.

At last the fudge was finished.

"Can we taste it?" asked Char. "I know it's too close to dinner to have a whole piece, but can we each have a little sample?"

I smiled. "Sure." I cut each of the girls a tiny square of fudge.

"Yummm," they said, their eyes closed.

Yummmm, I thought. What I wouldn't give for —

"Hey!" cried Becca. "Guess what's on TV right now?"

"What?" asked Charlotte.

"That special. The one about the boy and his horse."

"Oh, I want to see that!" exclaimed Char.

Then she added, "But we should help Stacey cut up the fudge."

She sounded completely unenthusiastic. And no wonder. Cutting up something you've just made is the boring part. So I said, "You guys go on and watch the special. I'll cut up the fudge." (I wouldn't have let them cut it up anyway, since you need a sharp knife.)

The girls ran off. I sliced the fudge into small, neat squares.