Ann Martin: Claudia And The Terrible Truth

The boys and I went into the living room to put the toys and things back into my Kid-Kit. I was just dropping the last of the markers into their box when I sensed someone in the doorway. I looked, up to see Mr. Nicholls standing there, holding the jar of peanut butter. I'd forgotten about our snack. It had seemed more important to clean up the living room.

"Who left this open on the counter?" he asked in a very quiet voice.

For a second, nobody answered. "I said, who left the peanut butter open on the counter?" Now his voice was much louder.

The boys didn't answer. I saw them draw closer together. I was so surprised that I couldn't say a word.

"I'm going to ask one more time," said Mr. Nicholls. And then he began to shout. "WHO LEFT THE —" "I did," I said quickly. "It was me. I'm sorry. I was making us a snack when the doorbell rang, and — " "No problem," said Mr. Nicholls calmly.

"Please forgive me for hollering. I thought it was one of my dumb, slobby sons who did it." I was shocked. I'd never heard a parent talk that way. But Nate and Joey didn't even seem to notice.

"Now, can I offer you a ride home?" asked Mr. Nicholls. He sounded relaxed, even friendly. — "Thanks, no," I said quickly. "I can walk. It's not far." I could not fathom the idea of being alone in a car with Mr. Nicholls just then.

On my way out, I remembered something. "Hey," I said to the boys and their father. "Tomorrow there's going to be a planning meeting for the St. Patrick's Day parade. I'll take you guys, if you'd like to come, and if it's okay. They'll meet lots of kids there," I pointed out.

"I suppose it's all right," said Mr. Nicholls. I could tell he was still trying to be nice. 'As long as you promise to tell me if my boys misbehave." "Sure," I said. I knew Joey and Nate would behave just fine. They were good kids. I glanced at them on my way out, and when I saw their faces I could tell they were sorry to see me leave. I knew then that they hadn't had a bad experience with a baby-sitter.

I wasn't the one they were afraid of.

Chapter 5.

Since Mal and Jessi were going to be sitting for Mal's brothers and sisters on Friday afternoon, they offered to host the St. Patrick's Day planning session. By the end of the day the kids had finally agreed on a great idea for the parade, but the process hadn't exactly been smooth.

The Pikes' lawn may never be smooth again either.

The kids were pretty excited about St. Patrick's Day. Jessi sensed that the moment she arrived at the Pikes' with her sister, Becca (who's eight), and Becca's friend Charlotte Johanssen (also eight).

"Top o' the mornin' to you!" yelled Adam, one of the ten-year-old Pike triplets, when Becca and Charlotte entered the yard. It was one of those warm, springlike days early March can bring. The grass was just beginning to turn green, little sprouts of tulip leaves were starting to push up in the flower garden, and a lone robin patrolled near the apple tree.

"It’s not morning, silly," answered Charlotte.

"Top o' the afternoon, then," called Byron, another triplet.

The third triplet, Jordan, was hanging upside down by his knees from a branch of a nearby tree. "Bottom o' the afternoon," he shouted, cracking himself up. "Get it? Because I'm upside down?" Becca and Charlotte exchanged a Look, rolling their eyes. They may be younger than the Pike triplets, but, as Becca once pointed out to Jessi, "girls mature faster than boys." Claire and Margo, Mal's youngest sisters (Claire is five, Margo's seven), were busy playing "I Spy"—with an Irish twist. Everything they described had to be green and something else.

"I Spy with my little eye," chanted Margo, "something green and fuzzy." Claire looked around. Then her eye lit upon Jessi. "Jessi's sweater!" she yelled. "My turn." She looked around again. "I Spy with my little eye ... something green and slimy!" "Boogers!" cried Nicky, her eight-year-old brother.

"Ew," said Margo.

"Nicky!" yelled Claire, stamping her foot. "You're not even playing. And anyway, I don't see any boogers." "I do," said Nicky with a wicked grin. "They're hanging out of your nose." Laughing, he ran off before Claire could catch him.

"What did you see, anyway?" asked Margo curiously.

'A frog," said Claire, pointing. "That plastic one we lost last fall. I guess it isn't slimy, but a real frog would be." Vanessa wandered over and picked up the frog. "I wonder if this frog is Irish," she said. "Can you imagine him dancing a jig?" She paused to think. "A pig doing a jig would rhyme better," she mused. "Maybe the frog should be dancing a jog." Vanessa wants to be a poet when she's older. (She's nine now.) She spends a lot of time thinking up rhymes.

Mal and Jessi were sitting on the porch, watching all of this, when Kristy showed up with her stepsister, Karen (she's seven); her stepbrother, Andrew (four); and her brother David Michael, who's seven like Karen. The kids scattered to play with their friends, and Kristy plopped down next to Mal and Jessi.

"How's the planning going?" she asked.

Mal and Jessi looked at each other. "Oops," Mal replied.

Jessi smacked herself on the forehead. "I knew there was something we forgot!" Kristy folded her arms and frowned. She was about to say something when Mal and Jessi started laughing.

"Just kidding," said Mal. "We thought we'd let the kids hang out for a bit first." Kristy relaxed. "Good idea," she said. She stretched and yawned. "This sun feels great." The three of them sat and chatted for awhile until the sounds of arguing interrupted their peace.

"You faker,” Nicky was yelling.

"It's not real," shouted Claire. "No fair!" "You don't win the race," said Becca. "Cheater, cheater," she began to chant.

"What's going on?" Mal asked.

Adam, who was the one everyone was yelling at, answered, "We were having a contest to see who could find the first four-leaf clover because it's like a shamrock and it's Irish. Plus, it's lucky." "Uh-huh," Mal said. She knew there must be more.

'And I found one," said Adam. "See?" he held up his fist.

Mal leaned close to look. "It sure looks like one," she said.

"Make him hand it over," cried Margo.

Mal held out her hand. Reluctantly, Adam gave her the "shamrock." It fell apart in Mal's hand. "It's two clovers you were holding together," she said. "The others are right." Adam hung his head. "I was just playing." "I know," said Mal gently. "No big deal." Then she looked around. "Oh, my lord," she cried. "This is a big deal. What did you guys do to this lawn?" She could see dozens of bare patches where the kids had been pulling up clumps of grass in their hurry to win the con- test. "What a mess!" she wailed. "We have to fix this up." "How about later?" called Kristy. I'd just arrived with Nate and Joey, and Kristy had decided it was time to start planning.

Mal took one last look at the lawn, sighed, and agreed. "How about if we all sit on the grass over here?" she asked.

Kristy, Jessi, and I helped round up all the kids. As we were organizing them into a circle, I heard Nate say to Joey, "Better not sit on the grass. You might stain your pants." Joey nodded. "Okay. I'll sit on that stone," he said, pointing to a flat rock. "You can sit on your jacket because it's dark. Stains won't show." Ordinarily, I would have told my charges not to worry. Now, after I'd seen Mr. Nicholls blow up over an open jar of peanut butter, I wasn't so sure. The boys were probably right to be careful. But it made me sad.

"Okay," said Kristy, after she'd whistled for everyone's attention. "Some of you have mentioned wanting to march in the St. Patrick's Day parade that Stoneybrook is sponsoring this year. Any ideas about what we could do that would be special and fun?" Andrew, who was sitting between Joey and me, said something I couldn't quite hear.