Ann Martin - New York, New York!

Enough is enough. All right already. Basta! (That's Spanish for enough, I think.) If I had to draw another building or statue or cardboard box, my head would explode. It would not be a pretty sight. (Of course, I've never seen an exploded head, but I can't imagine that it would be a pretty sight.) Wednesday was the next to last day of classes at Falny for Claudia and me. (No Friday classes, remember?) I went, but not because I particularly wanted to. I went because my parents had paid for two weeks of classes and because I liked Mac and didn't want to hurt his feelings by not showing up. Also, we were taking a field trip to this place called the Cloisters, and I was curious to see actual old buildings that had been shipped to the United States from Europe and rebuilt stone by stone.

We took a bus to the Cloisters. I sat with Mac. (Claudia sat in the back of the bus by herself, looking pouty.) "Read any good books lately?" Mac asked me as the bus lurched through the city streets. He asked me that every day.

"I started a new one last night," I replied. "It's really good. But it's very sad. It's called A Summer to Die, and it's about this girl whose older sister is dying of leukemia." "Who's the author?" asked Mac. He had reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. He wrote down the title and then waited for my reply.

"Lois Lowry," I said. "She's written tons of good books. I bet your daughter would like them. She wrote the Anastasia books and Find a Stranger, Say Good-Bye, and . . ." Mac and I talked about books all the way to the Cloisters. That was the fun part. The boring part was the rest of the day.

After I had looked around the museum and seen the ancient monasteries and stuff, I knew I had to start drawing.

I found Claudia.

I watched her for awhile as she sketched.

How does she do it? I wondered.

I asked Claudia about her work, but she was so grouchy.

I settled myself in front of the rebuilt corner of a stone building. I liked that corner. It was handsome. But I didn't feel like drawing it. How boring. I looked around. Mac was nearby. With a sigh, I began to sketch. A few minutes later, Mac was looking over my shoulder.

"Very nice," he said. He smiled and went on.

When he was out of sight, I looked for a long time at my drawing of the stone wall. It was nice. So I added some tufts of grass in front of it. Fuzzy little mounds of grass, the stalks waving in the breeze.

Then, next to a grass tuft, I drew a field mouse. It was a boy mouse, so I put a cap on his head. Then I erased the top of his body and gave him a baseball jacket. I decided he should wear glasses, like me. I added a pair of round spectacles.

Then I gave him a bat.

And a baseball.

This is Ryan Mouse, I told myself. He's a country mouse. And he's waiting for his girlfriend, who lives in a town. Her name is Kara Mouse. No, Angela Mouse. No, Meaghan Mouse. That's it. Meaghan Mouse.

I began Meaghan. I gave her a hip mouse outfit — a huge sweat shirt and leggings. But I had to erase the leggings. They were not meant for mouse legs. I gave her high-tops instead. And some jewelry.

Now, I thought, Ryan and Meaghan are going to have a picnic in the forest. Only — an evil gnome is after them.

I drew an ugly, warty creature with fangs and claws.

And then I stopped drawing. I stared at my page.

I loved it.

But Mac would not like it.

I labeled the drawing Field Mice'in Deep Trouble.

I really wanted to finish it, but I knew what I had to do. I returned to sketching the stuff in the Cloisters. I sketched for the rest of the day. I was bored to death. The highlight of the day was our lunch break.

At lunchtime, Mac and us Falny students took our food outside. I sat next to Clau-dia. What a terrific-looking lunch she had packed — a Fluffernut sandwich, Oreos, a couple of chocolate chip cookies, and some Fritos. It was not necessarily healthy, but it was tasty.

"How was your morning?" I asked Claud.

"Fine." "Your lunch looks — " "Hey, you're not my mother. There's nothing wrong with this lunch. Anyway, I packed apple juice. And there are raisins in the chocolate chip cookies," she added defensively.

"I wasn't going to ... Oh, never mind." Sometimes Claudia was not worth talking to these days. I stood up and left. I didn't see Claud again until we were boarding the bus to go back to Manhattan.

She sat with Mac! I thought she didn't like him, but they talked during the entire bus ride.

And then a horrible thought occurred to me: Claudia was in trouble. Mac was telling her that her work was no good. I thought her work was great, but I'm no expert. Uh-oh. If Mac was telling Claudia that her career had reached a dead end, she would probably never speak to me again.

While Mac and Claudia talked, I twisted my hands nervously. I played with my hair. Life with Claudia was going to be torture.

But when we reached Falny, Claudia looked happy. No, she looked radiant. She was beaming. She smiled at me. And as we got off the bus, she actually spoke to me. I mean, spoke nicely.

"Mac and I just had the best talk!" she exclaimed.

"What were you talking about?" "Oh, my art." "Yeah?" I said hesitantly. "What did Mac say?" "Just that he thinks I'm" (I prepared myself to hear the worse) "very talented. He says my work is really good, especially for someone my age." "He did? That's terrific!" "He also said I have to concentrate on discipline and stuff, but I can live with that." I nodded. I felt confused, though. Mac had been hounding Claudia since our first morning at Falny: "Do it over." "Work more slowly." And he had said that my drawings were "nice" or "good." But he had never said I was very talented or anything like that. What was going on? I needed to talk to Mac.

"Claud?" I said. "I — I forgot something in our classroom. I'll be right back." I ran to our room at Falny and found Mac gathering up some sketches and putting them into a portfolio. "Mac?" I said.

He glanced up. "Mallory. I thought you'd gone home." "Well, Claudia's waiting for me downstairs, but I have to ask you something." "Yes?" "Am I really a good artist?" Mac stopped what he was doing. "You're dedicated," he replied. "Yes, you're good." "But am I going to be a great artist one day? And have shows in galleries?" "You're only eleven, Mallory. It's a little early to tell. But if you're asking me whether you have Claudia's talent, the answer is, I don't think so. If you keep drawing, though, I'm sure you'll become a better artist." "Good enough to illustrate books?" "Maybe." I thought about my field mice, Ryan and Meaghan. I liked them a lot. I was sorry they were in Deep Trouble. Then I thought about the actual drawings of Ryan and Meaghan. I knew they were good. Good for dressed-up animals, anyway, and good for an eleven-year-old.

"Thank you, Mac," I said, turning to leave.

"Mallory, I'm sorry. I know you're disappointed." "It's okay," I said.

And it really was. As I walked outside to meet Claudia, I thought, There are lots of different kinds of art, and I don't enjoy Claudia's kind or Mac's kind. I like my own kind. And I like writing even better.

I thought of Ryan and Meaghan again, only this time I imagined them in New York City.

They went to the Museum of Natural History and scaled a brontosaurus skeleton. They snuck into Radio City Music Hall and watched all the shows for free.

By the time Claud and I were zooming back to Stacey's in a cab, I was writing a New York mouse story in my head. I was happy. I was excited. I had a terrific idea.

I planned to write a book soon.

Jessi.

Chapter 21.

On Thursday, I saw Quint again. We went to another special performance of a ballet. This time we saw a production of Coppelia, which I have actually danced in myself. When the show was over, Quint said, "Want to get a soda or something?" "Sure," I replied. (Anything to lengthen the afternoon.) Quint walked me to a nearby coffee shop.