Ann Martin - Mallory Pike, No.1 Fan

The articles I found made G.N. Rogers sound like a pretty unpleasant person. His books were described as "dark and forbidding," or as "presenting a world of hopelessness." His photo showed a frowning man with deep, worried creases on his broad forehead. There was even an article about his divorce from Ms. Hayes, which showed him shouting at her outside a courtroom.

Next, I looked up Cassandra Rogers in the periodical guide, but didn't find anything about her.

"Are you feeling all right, Mallory?" asked Mrs. Kishi, coming over to where I sat on the couch, with the periodical guide in my lap.

"You look pale. Would you like me to call your parents? I know you've been ill." "Oh, no thanks," I replied, snapping out of my shocked daze. "I'm fine, I think I just need some air or something." "Are you sure?" Mrs. Kishi asked.

"Yes, I'm okay," I said, closing the guide and getting up. "Thanks again for the file. Want me to bring it to the front desk?" "No, that's all right. You're welcome," said Mrs. Kishi, taking the file from me.

Still a bit stunned, I made my way out of the library. What would Ernest Hemingway think of Ms. Hayes? Her writing wasn't autobiographical at all. How could she write about happy, close-knit families when she'd never had one, not even as a child? And if she didn't know what she was talking about, then it was all lies.

Wasn't it?

But how could her books be filled with lies? They didn't seem that way. They seemed honest and full of true feelings. They'd made me laugh and cry.

It was so confusing. I loved Ms. Hayes's books. Yet, if a good writer had to draw on her life experiences, was Ms. Hayes really a good writer? Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she wasn't such a good writer.

A cold wind whipped brown oak leaves around me. The late-afternoon sky had turned gray. I headed home with my hands jammed in my pockets, wondering how this new information would affect my English project, and what I'd say to Henrietta Hayes the next time I went to her house.

That next Monday, Kristy volunteered to help me with my first Kids Club rehearsal of The Early Years. Ms. Simon had arranged for us to use the stage in the auditorium. I was happy about that because I wanted the kids to feel comfortable on stage right from the start.

When Kristy arrived, Charlotte Johanssen was already onstage, about to start reading the part of Mrs Spike.

"Where's Danielle?" Kristy asked, looking around.

"I don't know. She must've been sick, or had a doctor's appointment. She's really a good actress, but I was afraid this would happen," I replied.

Kristy frowned and nodded. She's a perfectionist herself and sympathized with my problem.

"All right, Charlotte," I called up to the stage. "Take it from 'Oh, Valery. I blame myself.' Charlotte stepped into the middle of the stage, holding her script. "Oh, Valery. I blame myself. I worked you too hard," she said in a timid voice. "Louder," I interrupted her from my seat beside Kristy in the front row of the auditorium.

Charlotte nodded and went back to her script. This time, as she spoke the words, her voice gradually grew lower, and lower, and lower. "Speak up, Char," I said.

"I am speaking up," Charlotte replied quietly.

Kristy couldn't resist the urge to take charge for a moment longer. "Just talk a little louder than your usual voice," she said, standing up in front of her seat. "Talk like this," she added, raising her voice but not shouting.

Char nodded again and went back to reading the play. Very quietly.

I sighed.

Haley, as Jill, came on next. She flapped her arms like an alarmed bird. "Where's the chair I'm supposed to fall over?" "Don't worry about it," I told her. "I've changed your character a little. She's not a klutz anymore. She talks in rhymes all the time instead." I'd decided Vanessa wasn't really clumsy as much as sort of spacey sometimes, especially when she had her mind on a poem.

"I practiced falling all day yesterday," Haley complained. "I had it just right, too." "Sorry," I told her. "I'll have new scripts for everybody by next week. Why don't we skip to where Ricky comes in with the bucket stuck on his head." "I don't have a bucket," said Tony, walking out on stage.

"Pretend," said Kristy.

"Yeah, pretend," I said.

Tony closed his eyes and staggered around the stage with his arms out. He crashed into Haley. "Hey, watch it," Haley complained.

"How can I watch it when I have a bucket over my head?" Tony asked.

"Just say your lines, you guys," Kristy called to them. She looked at me, her eyes wide with exasperation. She was probably thinking that if she were in charge things wouldn't be so chaotic. (And I'm sure that's true.) "Help! Help! I'm stuck!" cried Tony.

Haley mimed pulling the bucket from his head. Abruptly, she stopped and turned to me. "Do we fall over if I'm not a klutz anymore?" she asked.

"Uh . . . yeah. You can still fall over," I replied.

Charlotte and Tony fell backward onto the stage. Charlotte tumbled over with them. "You're not supposed to fall, Char," I said.

"I couldn't help it, they knocked me down," Charlotte grumbled. "Be more careful, would you?" she scolded Haley and Ricky.

"Do I come on now?" asked Wendy, sticking her head out from behind the side curtains.

"Yes!" Kristy and I called back at the same time. Kristy couldn't stand much more of this confusion. She's so orderly it was driving her crazy. I'm sure she couldn't believe I'd let things get this disorganized, but change is part of being creative. Right now the -kids were adjusting to all the changes I'd made in my play.

Wendy skipped out, twirling the Skip-It over her head. "Yabba-dabba-dooooo!" she shouted.

"It's Yippeee-iii-kay-yah!" Kristy corrected her, pointing to the line in the script.

"I know, but I thought Yabba-dabba-doooo would be funnier since this is a comedy and -" Before Wendy could say more, Kristy turned toward the back of the auditorium. Vanessa, Margo, Byron, Adam, Jordan, and Nicky marched angrily down the center aisle. "I told you! See? That nut with the Skip-It is supposed to be you, Margo!" said Vanessa.

"You're in trouble now," Kristy said as she turned back toward me.

"What are you guys doing here?" I demanded.

"We heard from a reliable source that you are deflaming our characters," Vanessa said angrily.

"That word is defaming," Kristy corrected her.

"Whatever it is, we hate it!" Margo shouted. "I don't go around twirling Skip-Its over my head." "And I'm not a klutz," added Vanessa.

"I'm changing that part," I said weakly.

"You made me look like a jerk," Nicky complained. "I never, ever got a bucket stuck on my head." "Then how do you know that's supposed to be you?" I challenged them. "How do any of you know?" "Oh, like, duh, Mallory, you went and changed my name from Byron to Myron. That really makes it hard to figure out." "How did you know about that?" I asked Byron.

Vanessa waved a copy of my play in the air. "We read this!" "Who gave it to you?" "That's not important," said Vanessa, which was a good clue that it was either Haley, Charlotte, or Becca. "The important thing is that we want you to stop this play right now.,' "I can't, Vanessa. This is the play I wrote." "I wish we had burned it," Adam said sulkily. "That's the only good scene in the whole stupid play." "If you put this play on, everyone will laugh at us," said Margo.

"Yeah, they'll think we're a bunch of real losers," said Byron.

"You're not losers," I said. "But this is the story of my life." "Oh, yeah, like you're such a perfect saint," Jordan scoffed.

By now, all the Kids Club actors had gathered at the edge of the stage to listen. Kristy pulled herself up onto the stage. "Come on, you guys. I think you're all a little stiff," she told them. "Let's do some jumping jacks." "Jumping jacks?" Char complained.