Ann Martin - Mallory And The Mystery Diary

After Buddy had read two episodes in the comic book, I said, "Okay, we're going to stop now."

"Oh," groaned Buddy, "just when we were having fun."

"The next thing will be even more fun. I promise," I told him. "Do you have some notebook paper at your desk?"

Buddy nodded.

"Great. Go get it. And a couple of pencils with erasers, too, please."

Buddy did as I asked.

I took a piece of paper and, with a pencil, divided the paper into squares. Then I handed the paper back to Buddy. I put a book under it so that he could write on the paper.

"What's this for?" asked Buddy.

"Well," I began, "you've just read some comics. Now you're going to make your own. They can be Archie comics, or any comics. You could even invent new characters."

"I'm going to make a comic strip?"

"Sure," I replied. "I'll make one, too."

"I don't know, Mal/' said Buddy. "I'm not very good at drawing."

"Just give it a try."

So Buddy sat and thought while I divided my own paper into squares. By the time I'd finished, he had begun working.

My comic was about a mouse, a squirrel, and a crow that lived in some woods and had adventures together. I was dying to peek at Buddy's paper and see what he was doing, but I didn't want to make him nervous.

Buddy worked and worked. He erased a lot. Every now and then he would glance at one of the Archie comics, probably to see how to make "thought bubbles" and things like that.

"Hey, Mal! This is fun!" said Buddy at one point.

I smiled at him. "I'm glad you think so. I'm having fun, too."

"Are you sure you're acting like a tutor?" asked Buddy.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm having too much fun. Reading work isn't supposed to be fun."

"But reading is. And reading and writing go hand in hand. Believe me."

Buddy shrugged. Then he returned to his

comic. After a few more moments of laborious effort he announced, "I'm finished!"

"Terrific. May I read it? You can read my comic."

"Okay," said Buddy uncertainly. "Are we going to read aloud or to ourselves?"

I thought for a moment. "We'll read each other's silently. Then we'll read our own aloud. We know how our own should sound."

Buddy grinned. "Okay."

So I read Buddy's comic. He had misspelled a lot of words, but he certainly had gotten the hang of the project. His comic was about three children (an older brother and his two younger sisters) with familiar-sounding names — Bubba, Sally, and Marie. The kids took an unexpected rocketship ride into outer space and then had to figure out how to get home again. The comic was full of things like this:

"Hey, Buddy, this is great," I said.

"Really?"

"Honest. I mean it. Let me hear you read it. I bet that will make it even better."

Buddy read his work with lots of expression and sound effects. When he was finished, he asked, "Can I show this to Mom?"

"Right now?"

"I'll only take a minute."

"Do you want to show her a perfect comic?" I asked.

"Yes," said Buddy, sounding a little confused.

"Well, then, I'll be honest with you. You spelled some words wrong. Would you like to fix them first?"

"Oh. . . . Yes."

"I'll give you a minute of free time for every word you misspelled that you can find and fix by yourself."

"Wow!" Buddy set to work and found nine of the seventeen words. "Nine free minutes!" he exclaimed.

"And I'll give you an extra free one for working so hard."

"Gosh." Buddy was looking at me adoringly. It was kind of the way I used to look at my fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Barnes. I had

the world's biggest crush on Mr. Barnes. At the time, I thought I was in love with him. Was that how Buddy felt about me? I wasn't sure. If he did feel that way, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing. I've never worked as hard for any teacher as I did for Mr. Barnes. I got straight A's that year, something I'd never done before.

Anyway, Buddy showed his comic to his mother, but returned quickly to his room. "Now what are we going to do?" he asked.

"Now," I replied, "we are each going to choose one story in any comic book here, read half of it, and then make up our own ending to the story."

"Oh, boy!"

Buddy was in seventh heaven.

And I felt like a hero and a genius. Especially when Buddy decided to use his ten free minutes to begin his reading homework. (I think he did that because I was there to help him.) Whatever the reason, I felt as if I had made a breakthrough that day. I walked home feeling good right down to my toes.

Chapter 11.

"A seance! Are you kidding?" exclaimed Claudia.

"A seance?!" (That was Kristy.)

It was a Friday afternoon. Our BSC meeting was just about over. In the few minutes that were left, I had mentioned my idea to the other club members. As you can see, it was not going over too well. Although in all honesty, I have to admit that I thought most of my friends were afraid of holding a seance, and were covering up by acting appalled.

"Yes," I told them firmly. "A seance."

"Urn, Mal?" spoke up Jessi. "What is a seance?"

Before I could answer, Kristy said. "It's when a person wearing a turban on her head goes into a trance and the voice of George Washington comes out of her mouth. Then she collapses on the table from the effort of it all."

"Kristy!" I exclaimed.

"Huh?" said Jessi.

"A seance/' I said, "is when a group of committed people get together in the hope of contacting a spirit. They sit around a table holding hands, and one person — the chan-neler — calls for the spirit. If the spirit is around, it begins speaking through the chan-neler. Then the others can ask the spirit questions." I gave Kristy a look to let her know just what I thought of her explanation.

"Oh," said Jessi. "And you want us to try to contact Sophie so we can find out what happened with the portrait?"

"Right. Or Jared would do, I guess. We'll hold the seance at Stacey's house."

Stacey groaned.

"What if we can't contact Sophie or Jared?" asked Jessi.

I shrugged. "Then we'll be no worse off than we are right now."

"There aren't any such things as ghosts or spirits anyway," said Kristy for about the ninetieth time.

"You know what?" said Dawn, who had been sitting quietly on the bed. "A seance might be kind of interesting." (Dawn loves ghost stories as much as Claudia loves Nancy Drew mysteries.)

Mary Anne shivered. "Spooky, but interesting," she added.

"It could be funny," said Stacey, glancing at Kristy. I could tell that the two of them were trying not to laugh.

Mary Anne opened the club record book to the appointment pages. "We're all free tomorrow afternoon," she said. "Not one of us has a job, a class, or a lesson."

"Mary A-anne," said Kristy, who is almost as good a whiner as David Michael.

"Oh, come on. Maybe it'll be fun," said Stacey. "What harm can it do, anyway? We can have sort of a seance party. I'll buy some chips and stuff, the seven of us can get together, and who knows? We just might talk to Sophie or Jared."

"Sta-cey," said Kristy.

"I think it sounds like a great idea," said Claudia.

"Me, too," said Dawn, Mary Anne, Jessi, and I.

Everyone looked at Kristy.

"Oh, all right. I'll come," she said. "But only if I can be the channeler."

Kristy the channeler? This was my mystery and my idea. I wanted to be the channeler. But one problem with being eleven and having a lot of thirteen-year-old friends is that you have to give in to them pretty often, especially when someone like Kristy is putting her foot down.

"Okay," I said. "You can be the channeler."

We agreed to meet at Stacey's at four o'clock the next afternoon.

By 3:45 on Saturday, everyone except Kristy had arrived at Stacey's house. I guess my friends were a little more excited about the seance than they'd let on.