Ann Martin - Jessi's Wish

A few minutes later, the children were putting away the paints and washing their hands at the sink. Randy asked Christopher to choose a story, and he walked to a bookcase and returned with Ask Mr. Bear.

When the children were settled sleepily on the floor, Kristy tiptoed out the door. How was she going to decide where to work? So far, she liked the older kids and the three-year-olds. She had a feeling she would like the other age groups as well. And she did. She read aloud to some five-year-olds. She helped a group of ten-year-old girls make beaded jewelry. She supervised a group of boys who were playing football on the playground.

She was passing out crackers to the toddlers when Mrs. Hall stuck her head in the room. "Kristy?" she said. "I'm sorry to take you

away from this, but Ms. Preiss needs some help with the infants."

"Okay," said Kristy.

She followed Mrs. Hall into the room where the babies were being fed. She took a quick count — eight babies, two . . . teachers? (What exactly did you call the adults who worked with the infants? Kristy settled on their names, Marcia and Sandy.) Five of the babies were sitting in high chairs, two were reclining in infant seats, and the eighth was being walked around the room by Sandy. He cried loudly. Sandy sang to him and patted his back.

Meanwhile, Marcia was trying to feed the seven remaining babies. Kristy could see why another pair of hands was needed. Without being told, she found some washcloths and sponged off sticky faces and hands.

"Ah-da-da!" cried one little girl. (She was wearing overalls, and had almost no hair, but Kristy could tell she was a girl because of the ruffly pink band that had been placed around her head.) She bounced up and down in the high chair.

"I think Joy is finished," said Marcia. "How are you at changing diapers, Kristy?" Marcia looked somewhat uncomfortable. "I hate to ask, but . . ."

"That's okay," Kristy replied. She lifted Joy out of her high chair.

"Everything you need is in the other room." Marcia pointed to a doorway, through which Kristy could see cribs and two changing tables.

Kristy carried Joy into the empty room. "Here you go, Miss Joy," she said, settling the baby on one of the tables. "I'm going to clean you up and — "

"Wahh!" wailed Joy.

"Sorry," called Marcia. "Joy is never thrilled about having her diaper changed."

Kristy sang a couple of verses of "Rock Around the Clock," ignoring Joy's wailing. When the diaper had been changed, she lifted Joy and danced her around the room. Joy smiled (and drooled). Then abruptly she began to whimper.

"What's the matter?" Kristy asked her. "I wish you could talk." She walked and hummed, and slowly Joy's cries subsided. Kristy sat in a rocking chair, with Joy in her lap. Back and forth they went. Joy's eyes began to close. Kristy watched. And listened. She stopped humming. Joy's breathing became deep and regular and even.

She was sound asleep.

Now what? wondered Kristy. She looked up and saw Marcia standing in the doorway, smiling. "You must have the magic touch," she said. "Joy never falls asleep that quickly."

Kristy smiled, flattered. "I'm afraid to put

her in a crib, though," she said. "I don't want to wake her up."

So Kristy held Joy until Joy's mother arrived to take her home. Later, when Mrs. Hall asked Kristy where she wanted to work the next time she came to the center, Kristy didn't even hesitate before she answered, "With the babies."

Chapter 7.

Back to the Kids Club. My third afternoon at Stoneybrook Elementary started off nicely. "You're doing a great job, Jessi," Mr. Katz told me.

I beamed. "Well, I'm having a great time." I was sure that at the end of the next meeting, Mr. Katz would ask me to stay on until Ms. Simon returned.

The kids entered the room. Some ran. (Nicky ran, leaped up, and tried to touch the door frame over his head, then hurtled on inside.) Some walked. (Becca and Charlotte were among them). Bruce managed to dance into the room.

And then a frail little girl peered through the doorway. She was thin (I could tell that, even though she was dressed in an oversized top and oversized jeans), and a bright red scarf covered her head.

Across the front of her T-shirt were the

WOrds BALD IS BEAUTIFUL.

She had to be Danielle Roberts.

"Danielle!" exclaimed Mr. Katz. "Come on in."

"Mr. Katz!" Danielle flung herself into Mr. Katz's arms. He pretended to have been knocked off balance, and Danielle giggled.

"We are so glad you decided to come back to the club/' he said warmly.

"And I am so glad to be back in school."

"No!"

"Yes! Honest. I'm glad for homework and reports and even math."

"You hate math," said Mr. Katz.

"Not as much as the hospital."

While Danielle and Mr. Katz talked, I observed first Danielle and then the other children in the room.

I had to admit that Danielle did not look wonderful, although she had probably been quite pretty before she got sick. Her face was small and thin, and her eyes were huge and brown, shaded by long lashes. Her eyes flashed when she spoke. And she smiled a lot.

On the other hand, she was painfully thin. Under her eyes were dark circles. And on her hands and arms were several bruises. Also, even if she hadn't been wearing the T-shirt, anyone would have known she was nearly

bald. She couldn't hide that with a kerchief. And I'm sorry to say this, but she looked pretty odd. No matter how prepared you think you are, you don't expect to see an almost-bald nine-year-old girl. She looked like a little old man.

Most of the other Kids Club members had arrived by then. The third-graders, I noticed, were clustered together not far from Danielle and Mr. Katz. They didn't greet Danielle or try to talk with her. Well, that's to be expected, I thought. The eight-year-olds weren't in the Kids Club the year before. They probably didn't know Danielle. But the fourth- and fifth-graders knew her all right. So why were they clustered in another area of the room staring at Danielle but not talking to her? Then I realized. They were afraid.

Danielle was great, though. She must have noticed her friends' reaction to her. It would have been hard not to. But Danielle approached the older kids and said (flashing her smile), "Hi, you guys. It's really me."

No response, although a few of the third-graders smiled.

"You know, you don't have to worry," Danielle went on. "I'm not contagious. You can't catch cancer."

A few of the kids seemed to relax a little, although still none of them spoke.

"Um, you want to ask me anything?" said Danielle.

The older kids shuffled their feet and looked out the windows, into the hall, down at the floor — anywhere but at Danielle.

Across the room, Charlotte Johanssen raised her hand.

"Yes?" said Danielle. Then she whispered loudly, "I'm not a teacher. You only have to raise your hand for Mr. Katz."

The kids laughed.

"Well," began Charlotte, "I was wondering. Do you — do you still have cancer? I thought you were getting well in the hospital."

"I was. I mean I am better," replied Danielle. "But the doctors want to make sure the cancer is really gone. I still take a lot of medicine."

Danielle sat on a desk and propped her feet on a chair. The third-graders immediately sat on the floor around her. The older kids followed, but more slowly. Why, I wondered, were the fourth- and fifth-graders so standoffish and afraid — but not the third-graders? Becca and Charlotte were not noted for their bravery.

"Danielle?" spoke up Nicky Pike in a small voice. "What's under your scarf?" Nicky was not being fresh. He wasn't laughing. The other kids were solemn, too.

Danielle grinned. "What's under my scarf?" she repeated. "Not much!"

This got a big laugh from everybody.