Ann Martin - Claudia And The Sad Goodbye

"You know, I actually think she's a little better," I replied. "Don't you think so, Mary Anne?"

Mary Anne nodded.

"She still doesn't say much, but I almost take it as a good sign that she seems so attached to me. At least she feels comfortable with somebody. When we first met, she hardly spoke to anyone at all."

"She barely said two words to me the couple of times I sat for her and Scan," said Dawn. "I'm glad she feels she can talk to you."

I nodded. "It was like something just clicked between us. You know how that happens sometimes? There are people you've known a long time and you know you're never really going to like. And there are people that you meet and grow to like. Then there are people

you meet and you like instantly. Click! That's pretty much the way it was with Corrie and

me."

Mary Anne nodded. "You're right. And it is good for her. I mean, to see that it's okay to get close to people, that they're not all going to treat her as casually as her mother does. I just hope she doesn't get too attached to you, Claud."

"If she does, you'll handle it," spoke up Dawn. "Remember when Buddy Barrett got so attached to me? I talked to his mother and everything worked out eventually."

"I hardly ever even see Mrs. Addison. She drops Corrie off and picks her up so fast she's just a big blur," I joked.

Dawn smiled.

And Kristy said, "Anyway, we usually do seem to solve our sitting problems. And when we don't, the kids do it themselves. Think of the times they've come through. Charlotte Johanssen was pretty attached to Stacey, but when Stacey moved, Charlotte handled it."

"Boy," said Jessi, "I've got a problem I wish I could handle. I've heard there are going to be auditions for the ballet Swan Lake at the Civic Center — "

"Are you going to try out?" squealed Mal, before Jessi could finish.

"Well, that's the thing. Even if the auditions are open to the public — "

"You're not the public," Mallory interrupted again. "You go to a fancy dance school in Stamford. Stoneybrook's Civic Center — "

" — is pretty important," said Jessi, interrupting Mal this time.

(The rest of us were turning our heads from right to left, left to right, as they spoke.)

"In fact, the productions at the Civic Center," Jessi went on, "are practically off-off-Broadway. Anyway, even if I were allowed to audition, would I really want to? And would my parents let me?"

"Why wouldn't you want to?" I asked.

"Because I'd be competing with professional dancers. Or near-professional dancers, anyway," Jessi replied.

"Don't you want to be professional one day?" Mal asked.

"Ye-es …"

"Then I think you ought to start competing," I interrupted. "Mimi always said — well, she didn't exactly say it this way, but she said something that meant, 'Give it all

you've got.' Otherwise you'll never know what you're culpable of."

"Capable of," Mary Anne corrected me.

"Whatever."

Jessi nodded solemnly, but Mal's face broke into a grin. "Mimi," she said dreamily. "Remember the time she didn't want to go to that county fair with your family, Claud, so she pretended she was sick? Just like a kid who doesn't want to go to school."

"Mm-hmm," I replied shortly. I stared down at the bedspread.

Silence. Dead silence, so to speak. I had brought the discussion to a screeching halt.

After a few moments, Mal said tentatively, "Claudia? I — "

"Be quiet," I said softly. "I don't want to talk about Mimi."

"But on the night before her funeral — " Mal persisted.

"Be quiet! I just told you I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay, okay."

"Claud,", said Kristy, "this may not be the right time to bring this up, but that never stopped me before." Kristy tried to sound light, but nobody laughed.

"Bring what up?" I said testily. "It better not have anything to do with Mimi."

"Well, it doesn't … exactly."

Even I was disappointed when the phone rang right then. My phone is a blessing and a curse. Sometimes we're saved by it, sometimes it can be so inconvenient.

A job was arranged for Kristy, the phone rang twice more, and afternoon jobs were lined up for Jessi and Mal.

Then Kristy picked up where she'd left off. "What I want to say, Claud, is more about Corrie than about Mimi. I know you're filling up a hole in Corrie's life. But I think she's doing the same for you."

After a long pause, I whispered, "Mimi's hole?"

Kristy nodded. "And you have to watch it when you let someone fill a hole. Especially when it's being filled by a kid like Corrie. I don't really believe you'd do this, but just think over what I'm going to say: Don't drop Corrie. You're going to start feeling better, Claud, and when you do, you won't need Corrie as much. So don't — don't just drop her."

I was about to protest when Kristy went on, "I don't think you'll do that, though. I think you and Corrie are good for each other and

just happen to need each other right now. I think each of you can help the other one get stronger. Be careful, that's all. Everyone says little kids don't break, but they do. Inside. I broke when my father walked out on us."

I gulped and nodded, thinking that I felt pretty broken myself. But I saw Kristy's point and told her so.

Kristy may be a loudmouth. She may be bossy sometimes. But I think she understands kids better than any of the rest of us does.

The meeting ended then, and my friends left club headquarters solemnly.

Chapter 12.

A week passed. My grades were dropping.

My grades aren't too good to begin with, but they're pretty stable. Your average C work with an occasional B or D thrown in. I've been known to fail tests.

But when I dropped to a solid D average, no one seemed surprised or even said anything. And that surprised me. Ordinarily, my parents would have hit the roof, and my teachers would have called me in for conferences. They'd have said things like, "We know you can do better. You're a smart girl. You have a high I.Q." (That's true. I do.) Or, "We know you can do better. You're Janine's sister." That was the killer. It was also the point. I'm Janine's sister, not Janine.

Anyway, except for feeling tired all the time, I wasn't sure why my grades had gone down. I did my homework more often than usual. I read all the chapters that were assigned to us. But I'll admit that it was hard to concentrate. Maybe that was because suddenly it had become hard not to think about Mimi. For awhile, I tried to shut her out of my mind. Now I couldn't. But why didn't someone say something to me? Why did they let my grades slide? Just because Mimi had died? Mimi would have wanted me to do well in school, if I could.

I was angry at my teachers and my parents.

At least Dorrie and Ashley and my other classmates were speaking to me again. Butthey wouldn't talk about Mimi, which was funny, because now I wanted to talk about her. Now if Mallory had said, "Remember the time when Mimi …"I would have been all ears.

But I did find some sympathy cards slipped into my locker at school, and in our mailbox at home, from my classmates. Mostly, they were flowery cards with printed messages inside that said things like: Ishare your sorrow and extend my sympathy. Or: What you have once cherished you will never lose. Or even poems like: Sometimes words just aren't enough, but I want you to know, da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-da da-doe. (You know what I mean.) And then