Ann Martin - Mallory Pike, No.1 Fan

The next day I handed in my proposal, ahead of time. That afternoon, Ms. Simon called to tell me that Mr. Katz was wild about the idea of my working on drama with the kids. They wanted me to come in the following Wednesday.

I felt confident that Mr. Williams would be equally wild about my proposal. "Mallory, could you see me after class, please?" he requested the following morning.

"Sure," I replied.

I spent the rest of class thinking of cool ways to react to his praise without blushing or smiling too much. I imagined Mr. Williams saying something like: "Mallory, this is the most original idea any sixth-grader has ever submitted to me. I am awestruck!" I could then nod knowingly and reply: "I appreciate your support. My first book will be dedicated to you because so few teachers encourage the talent of an original thinker." No, that might be a bit much. Maybe a simple "thank you" would be best.

When class ended I approached Mr. Williams's desk. "Mallory, I want to speak to you about your proposal," he said.

Without meaning to, I began smiling. It's hard not to smile when you know praise is headed your way.

"It just isn't right," he said.

"What?" "It's a good beginning, but it has to be developed further. As it stands now, it's not involved enough. It's not really sufficiently career-related, either." "But it's writing for kids, and I want to be a kids' writer," I objected.

"Yes, I understand that. But, I'm looking for something which will enhance your understanding of the career you've chosen. I don't think you'll learn anything new from this." When he put it that way, I couldn't think of anything new I'd learn, either. (Obviously he hadn't fallen for the part about my having a chance to observe kids.) Maybe that was what I'd liked about the project to begin with - I already knew how to do it. Even though I'd never written a play, I'd read a lot of them. I was sure I could write one. It seemed pretty easy.

"Take this back," said Mr. Williams, handing me my proposal. "Try to think of ways to make it more challenging to yourself. Come up with something you'd like to learn and then set out to learn it." "All right," I agreed glumly.

"I know you'll come up with something good. I have a lot of faith in you, Mallory." "Thank you," I said. (I had certainly been right about that being the best reply.) It was a good thing Mr. Williams had faith in me, because by Thursday afternoon I'd lost faith in myself - or at least, faith in my ability to come up with an interesting project. I hated the thought of giving up on my play. I wanted to do it, and besides, I'd already promised to work with the Kids Club on a drama project. I couldn't back out of that now. There had to be a way to make my proposal bigger and more exciting. But what was it?

The proposal was due the next morning, so I had to come up with something by that night. I sat with my back against my bed and stared down at the blank lined paper in the notebook propped against my knees. The pad accurately reflected what was in my head - nothing. (The pad was really better off. At least it had blue lines. My mind was a total blank!) What could I do to make this project more impressive?

Absently, I began doodling on the pad. (Doodling sometimes helps me think.) I drew a picture of Alice Anderson, at least the way I imagined her in Alice Anderson. There were no pictures in Henrietta Hayes's book, but the cover showed her as a pretty girl with long, wavy, corn-colored hair, running happily through a meadow of wild flowers. It was a nice picture, but I wished that inside the book the reader could see more of Alice in different situations.

"What are you doing?" asked Vanessa coming into our room.

"Trying to think of something to do for my English project," I grumbled.

Vanessa gazed down at my pad. "Who is that supposed to be?" "Alice Anderson. A character from a book I just finished." Vanessa dropped a long white envelope down on the pad. "Here. Mom sent me up to give you this. She said you'd want to see it right away. Who is it from?" Turning the letter over in my hand, I saw it had no return address on it, but it did have a name written in the upper lefthand corner. Henrietta Hayes! Henrietta Hayes had written back to me in just one week! Awesome! Unbelievable! 1 tore open the envelope.

The letter was neatly typed. It said: Dear Reader, Thanks so much for your lovely letter. I am very glad that you enjoyed my book. Hearing from you means a lot. I'll try to answer some of the questions as best I can. In the next couple of paragraphs I learned several facts about Ms. Hayes. For example, she was born in Binghamton, New York, and she graduated from Ithaca College.

What I found most interesting was that Henrietta Hayes was both an author and a playwright. She'd written five Alice Anderson books, six other books, and ten plays.

By the time I was done with the letter (which Vanessa insisted I read aloud), I knew a lot more about Henrietta Hayes. I realized, though, that the letter didn't answer any of the questions I'd asked.

This puzzled me for a moment, until I realized something. Henrietta Hayes probably sent the same letter to everyone who wrote to her. That's why it said Dear Reader, not Dear Mallory.

"She didn't write this to me," I said glumly.

"Then whose letter is it?" Vanessa asked.

"The letter is mine," I replied. "But it wasn't written to me, specifically." "It says Mallory Pike on the envelope," Vanessa pointed out.

"I mean she writes the same thing to everyone!" I cried, losing patience with Vanessa.

"Oh," said Vanessa. "I get it. I guess she has to answer a lot of letters. It was nice of her to write back, though." What Vanessa said was true. It was nice of her to answer, and so quickly, too. I wondered how the letter reached me so fast. Maybe Henrietta Hayes lived close by. I checked the postmark on the envelope, to see where it had been mailed from.

Close by were not the words! The letter was postmarked from Stamford, Connecticut! Henrietta Hayes lived in Stamford, the cbs34 est city to Stoneybrook! At any rate, she had mailed the letter from Stamford.

This new information gave me a brilliant idea. I might be able to contact Henrietta Hayes, maybe even talk to her on the phone! I could ask what it was like to be an author. Where did her ideas come from? Was it difficult to write? How did she get her first book published? How did she feel when she saw her first play performed?

Meanwhile, I'd write and direct my own play. I would experience being a playwright, just like Henrietta Hayes. Then I'd write a paper about my experiences, and how they compared to Henrietta Hayes's experiences.

It was so simple, yet so brilliant I almost couldn't believe I'd thought of it! "Vanessa, I need to be alone now," I said. "I just had a great idea for my proposal and I have to write it down." "Okay," Vanessa agreed, and she headed for the door. "What are you going to do it on?" "The life of my new favorite author, Henrietta Hayes, and how it compares and contrasts with the life of up-and-coming soon-to-be-f amous author and playwright, Mallory Pike." I began writing feverishly, full of enthusiasm. This time I not only had a proposal I knew Mr. Wffliams would love, but one that I felt incredibly excited and confident about, as well.

Chapter 4.

One week later on the following Wednesday, Claudia came with me to the Kids Club meeting. I hadn't really talked her into it. She'd volunteered during our last BSC meeting when I'd told everybody about my project, and admitted to being a little nervous about talking to the club members by myself.

When we stepped into the classroom, it was zoo city. The kids were laughing, throwing wadded paper balls, and poking one another. The noise was pretty intense. "Oh my gosh, they're wild!" Claudia gasped, looking at me with a worried expression.