Ann Martin - Claudia And The Terrible Truth

Nate jumped up to grab the paper towels.

Joey jumped up to find the mop.

I tried to do my best with my napkin, but the juice ran all over the place.

"Now you're really going to get it," said Joey, returning with the mop. At first I thought he must be joking, but when I looked at his face I realized he was serious.

"You're in big trouble," Nate agreed.

He was serious too. I still thought they were overreacting, but you know what? It was weird how worried I felt as I wiped at the mess until every trace of juice had disappeared. And how, for the rest of the evening, I found myself checking that my spill really was cleaned up.

After dinner we played cards for awhile (the boys let me win again) and before long it was time for bed. Now, bedtime can be a real struggle with some kids. But with Nate .and Joey it was a breeze. For one thing, they were the ones who reminded me it was bedtime. For another, they jumped into their pajamas and brushed their teeth without having to be nagged. They even folded their clothes neatly before they hopped into the twin beds in their shared room.

Nate looked adorable with the covers pulled up to his chin. Adorable, but a little lonely. "Do you have a favorite stuffed animal that you like to take to bed?" I asked, looking around the room.

"We don't have any stuffed animals," Nate replied. "We're not allowed." "Not allowed?" I repeated. How could a kid not be allowed to have stuffed animals?

"One time Mom bought us each one,” he went on dreamily. He was already half asleep. "A tiger for me and a bear for Joey. But Dad said they were babyish, and he threw them away." I drew in a quiet breath. Then I reached out to stroke Nate's soft, fine hair. He wasn't much more than a baby, really. He smiled up at me sleepily.

I smiled back, but my heart wasn't in it. Then I turned to Joey. He didn't look sleepy at all.

"Do you want me to read to you for awhile?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Bed is for sleeping," he said. It sounded like another of Mr. Nicholls's rules.

"But you don't look too sleepy," I answered.

"I'm not," he admitted. "But Claudia? If my dad asks, tell him that we both went to sleep right away, okay?" I looked down at his anxious face. "Sure, Joey," I said. I pulled the covers up around his chin. "Good night, then. I'll be right downstairs if you need me." The next couple of hours were quiet ones. I turned on the TV, just so I could forget the nervous look in Joey's eyes. Something wasn't right in the Nicholls household, but what could I do about it? I hated to see two kids so unhappy, but if Mr. Nicholls had his rules, who was I to question them? It was his house. Joey and Nate were his sons.

Mr. .and Mrs. Nicholls came back early. (When I heard the car, I ran into the kitchen to check on the grape juice spill one last time.) As he was paying me, Mr. Nicholls asked me a lot of questions about how the boys had behaved. I told him the truth, that they'd been very, very good and had gone to bed without any problems. I'm not sure he believed me, but he seemed too tired to argue.

Since it was after dark, Mrs. Nicholls insisted on driving me home. The ride is short, but the silence in the car made it seem long. I didn't know what to say to her, and she seemed to be in another world. Finally, I mentioned something about Joey and Nate being excited about the St. Patrick's Day parade plans. She didn't say much, though.

When she dropped me off, she suddenly seemed to notice me. "Thank you, Claudia," she said as I unbuckled my seat belt. 'And please tell your mother I said hello." I promised that I would. In the dim glow of the streetlight, Mrs. Nicholls looked very sad. And I couldn't think of a single thing to say to cheer her up.

Chapter 7.

When I went inside that night, I said a quick good night to my parents and headed straight to my room. I needed to talk to someone about the Nichollses, and somehow I wasn't ready to tell my mom or dad about it. I called Stacey, and we spoke for a long time. Talking it over made me feel a little better, but I still felt confused about what to do.

At Monday's BSC meeting, I talked with the rest of my friends. I explained how much I liked Joey and Nate and how upsetting it was to see the way Mr. Nicholls treated them. We agreed that there wasn't much I could or should do about the situation. After all, while I didn't like Mr. Nicholls, it wasn't as if he were doing anything illegal. And when I told them that I wouldn't want Joey and Nate to feel as if I'd abandoned them, we agreed that I should continue sitting for them as long as I didn't feel too uncomfortable around Mr. Nicholls.

That sounded good to me, especially since I knew I wouldn't see much of him for the next few days. Joey and Nate and I would be out of the house, working on the St. Patrick's Day preparations.

Or so I thought.

I had a sitting job at the Nichollses' the following afternoon. Mr. Nicholls answered the door, just the way he always does. He was dressed in a suit again, so I assumed he was going on another job interview. He greeted me as pleasantly as always.

But something felt wrong. The house was too quiet, and Mr. Nicholls's smile seemed fake.

"Um, are the boys around?" I asked. "I was planning to take them over to my friend's house, to work on the St. Patrick's D —" Mr. Nicholls cut me off. "They won't be going," he said flatly.

"But it's—" "No buts," he said, dropping the fake smile entirely. "My sons have misbehaved, and they understand what that means. No going out. No TV. No snack. They'll be doing some housework this afternoon, and I'll need you to supervise." "Uh, okay. What should they do?" "They know," he said. "Just make sure they stick with it." He glanced at his watch. "I'll be back in a couple of hours." (In a couple of hours it will be close to 6:00, too late to go.) The fake smile returned. "Have a nice afternoon, Claudia," he said. 'And just because the boys can't have a snack doesn't mean you have to go hungry. Help yourself." Right. I wouldn't go near his kitchen, even if it was stuffed to the brim with Cheetos and Cracker Jacks. I was beginning to realize that I just plain didn't like Mr. Nicholls.

But I did like his sons. I called to them as soon as their father had left. "Hey, Joey! Hey, Nate!" I said, trying to sound cheerful as J entered their room.

Both boys looked up briefly, but they didn't smile or meet my eyes. "Hi, Claudia," said Joey. Nate didn't say anything. Then they continued tidying up their room. Nate was dusting, swiping a rag over the contents of a bookcase on the far wall. Joey was rearranging a row of shoes in their shared closet. They worked quietly, as if what they were doing required all their attention.

"Hey, this room is looking terrific!" I said, still hoping for a smile.

Joey shrugged.

"Dad will find something wrong," Nate said. He balled up the rag as if he'd like to throw it away. Then he shook it out and started dusting again.

Obviously, nothing I could say was going to cheer the boys up. I might as well pitch in and help. "You know," I said, "I'm a whiz at cleaning windows." "Uh-huh," said Joey, who was now concentrating on arranging the pencils on his desk.

"I'd be glad to do yours." "Nate, run and find a bucket and some paper towels," Joey told his brother.

Nate left the room.

"It's not his fault," said Joey as soon as we were alone. 'It’s mine, but he's being punished too." "What did you do?" I asked. It was hard to imagine Joey being bad enough to deserve such punishment.

"I touched Dad's briefcase," he said.

"You mean you took something from it?" "No, I touched it," he repeated. "I was moving it out of the way of the racetrack we were building for our cars." "Did you break it?" I asked. I was still confused.

"I told you," he said. "I touched it. That's against the rules. So we're being punished." Whoa. So the boys had to stay inside all day to clean house, just because one of them had laid a finger on a briefcase. I shook my head and began to say something, but then I stopped. Maybe it was better if Joey didn't hear my opinion on the matter.