Ann Martin: Claudia And The New Girl

The worst thing about the day was that I hadn't even chosen a subject for my sculpture. Ashley had chosen the fire hydrant, but I just couldn't bring myself to sculpt a stoplight. Not even in order to become a sculpture pioneer. I had missed a meeting, wasted an afternoon, and was no closer to entering the art show than before.

Chapter 8.

Kristy's notebook entry went on for so long that I got a pretty complete idea of what happened at the second club meeting that I couldn't attend. Plus, later — when we were friends again — Stacey filled me in on every little thing I'd missed.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. What made me miss another meeting was that Ashley convinced me to take a second inspirational walk in "the field" with her, looking for something to sculpt, since I couldn't bring myself to sculpt the traffic light. We ran late again, I had to call Dawn to ask her to take over my duties, and another meeting was held in my room without me.

The meeting started out with Dawn running into my room, arriving just after Kristy had, and announcing, "Well, I'm the vice-president again today."

"You are?" Kristy said. "How come?"

"Claudia just called. She and Ashley are doing something."

"What?" demanded Kristy.

"I don't know. It has to do with that sculpture show."

Kristy, mumbling and grumbling, began pawing around my bed, lifting up my pillow

and comforter, and finally sliding off the bed headfirst and peering underneath it.

"What are you doing?" asked Dawn.

"Looking for Claudia's Bazooka bubblegum. I know she's got some stashed somewhere."

Mary Anne entered my r6om then, followed by Stacey. "What are you doing?" she asked Kristy. (Everyone seemed to want to know.)

"Looking for Claudia's bubblegum."

"It's in her hollow book," said Stacey, pointing to the bookshelf. "Where's Claudia?"

"Three guesses," replied Kristy, biting off the words angrily. She pulled the hollow book from my shelf. (It's my best, most clever hiding place ever.) Then she reached in, pulled out two pieces of gum (one for her, one for Mary Anne — Dawn and Stacey won't touch the stuff), and began chewing.

"I only need one guess," said Stacey, "and it isn't a guess. It's a 'know.' She's with Ashley again."

"Right."

"Ha." Stacey flumped onto my bed. "Ashley was wearing bell-bottoms today. Everyone was talking about her."

"She is so weird," said Mary Anne. "She doesn't talk to anyone but Claudia. I think she's stuck-up."

Ring, ring.

My friends were slower than usual in answering the phone. Stacey picked it up after three rings and arranged a job sitting for Jamie and Lucy Newton. Then Dawn's mother called needing a sitter for Jeff one evening.

"How are things going with Jeff?" Mary Anne asked Dawn after she'd finished talking with Mrs. Schafer.

Dawn shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Mom had a conference with his teacher and told her what's going on with Jeff at home. Then Ms. Besser told her what Jeff was doing in school. Like, not working, not bothering to raise his hand. All these nots. They've decided that they're just going to try being very firm with him and not letting him get away with a thing. And really praise him for the good stuff he does. That doesn't sound like much to me. I thought they were going to talk about bigger things, like whether Jeff should move back to California to be with Dad. But I guess you start with something small and hope it will do the trick."

"Sure," said Mary Anne. "It's like giving a sick person a pill instead of going ahead and doing a whole huge operation."

The girls had to laugh at Mary Anne's comparison. The idea of Jeff on an operating table

having his bad humor removed was pretty funny.

"But," Dawn went on thoughtfully a few moments later, "Mom and Dad have been talking a lot lately."

"About Jeff?" asked Stacey.

"Probably. The only reason I know is because I was in Mom's desk the other day looking for Scotch tape, and the phone bill was right on top of a pile of stuff. I didn't even have to snoop to see all the calls that have been made to Dad's number. It was a whole long list of them. All from the last few weeks, and most of them late at night. I guess they're talking at night because they don't want Jeff and me to know what they're discussing. Which means the subject must be Jeff. What else could be so important to both of them? They're sure not going to get remarried or anything."

"What do you think they're saying?" asked Mary Anne in a small voice.

Dawn shook her head. "I ... I don't know. ..."

The phone rang and Dawn leapt for it, as if she were glad for the chance to avoid Mary Anne's question. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club," she said. "Yes? . . . Yes. . . . Okay. . . . Okay. . . . Until eleven? Well, I'll check and get back to you. . . . Right. . . . 'Bye."

Mary Anne, always organized and ready, was waiting with the record book in her lap by the time Dawn hung up the phone. It was open to the appointment pages. "A night job?" she asked, her eyes shining. We all love babysitting late at night, even though sometimes we get scared.

"Yup," replied Dawn. "At the Papadak-

ises'."

"When?" asked Mary Anne.

Dawn told her.

"Well, let's see. Kristy, you're free, and so's Claudia," said Mary Anne.

"Oh, give the job to Kristy," said Dawn and Stacey together. The two of them were so busy being smug about the thought of not giving the job to me, that they didn't even bother to hook pinkies and say "jinx."

The thing is, the Papadakises live over in Kristy's neighborhood, and we usually let Kristy take jobs that are near to her because it's so much more convenient for both her and our clients if nobody has to drive anywhere. But at that meeting, it was plain that my friends didn't want me to get the job. They were punishing me for not being at the meeting.

Mary Anne wrote Kristy's job on the appointment calendar, while Dawn called Mrs. Papadakis back and told her that Kristy would

be sitting. When she hung up, Mary Anne said, sounding guilty, "Do you think we should have offered that job to Claudia, too? We could have called Mrs. Papadakis tomorrow."

"No way," said Stacey. "Why make a good client wait? Besides, Kristy usually sits for the people in her neighborhood. We do that on purpose. Right, Kristy?"

"Right," she agreed.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then Stacey said, "Claudia probably wouldn't even have time to sit. She's so busy with Ashley."

"She hasn't eaten lunch with us in days," added Dawn.

"I don't think she likes me anymore," said Stacey softly.

Mary Anne was looking sympathetically at Stacey. As Stacey's eyes filled with tears, so did Mary Anne's.

"Darn it," cried Stacey, mashing her fist into my pillow and smushing a package of cookies that was hidden underneath. "I hate crying."

"It's okay," whimpered Mary Anne, edging closer to Stacey. "We don't mind if you cry. We know Claudia's your best friend. You must feel. . . terrible. . . ." Mary Anne's tears spilled down her cheeks before Stacey's did.

"Oh, this is just fine," exclaimed Kristy.

"Claudia's not even here, and look what she's turned this meeting into. A cry-fest. Where are Claudia's Twinkies? I know they're here somewhere. I need a Twinkie. I'm having a Twinkie attack." Kristy was practically destroying my room in her search for junk food. It was so silly. Anyone with half a brain would know I keep the Twinkies in my sock drawer.

"Mary Anne, get a grip on yourself," said Stacey, who'd already stopped crying. "Think of pleasant things. Think of Tigger." (Tigger is Mary Anne's kitten.)

"Think of Shannon," said Kristy. (Shannon is the Thomas kids' new puppy.)

"Think of Logan," said Dawn. (Logan is Mary Anne's boyfriend. Believe it or not, she's the only club member who has a boyfriend.)