Ann Martin - Claudia And The New Girl

straightened up and walked over to Fiona McRae's table.

"Hey, I'm proud of you!" Ashley said to me, speaking softly so Ms. Baehr wouldn't hear.

"Really?" I replied, glowing.

"Yes. And — well, I never got to tell you the idea I had this morning. We got interrupted by your, um, friends. My idea is that if you don't want to sculpt an inanimate object, you could make a statement by sculpting a concept."

"What?" (There was that word again. Thank goodness someone had invented it.)

"You know, sculpt 'love' or 'peace' or 'brotherhood.' "

"I ..." I had absolutely no idea how to do that and no idea what to say to Ashley.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't mind if you use my idea. Really."

"Well, I ... um, I don't know what to say. Um . . . I'm speechless."

Ashley laughed. "I think you should try it. Anyone who can see power in a stoplight ought to be able to come up with a great visual representation of a concept."

I cleared my throat. "Oh, right. How — how would you sculpt love'?"

"With gentle curves and tender feelings."

Well, that was no help.

"Hmm," I said. "I'll think about it." I turned back to my hand. What I really needed to think about was how to tell Ashley that I wasn't going to sculpt a nonliving thing or an idea. I just couldn't do either one. The problem was how to tell her without looking too stupid.

"Hey, Claud?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to come over to my house sometime? I could show you some of the sculptures I'm working on at home. And also the studio my parents are having fixed up for me. It's on the top floor of our house, where the best light is. I'll be able to paint and draw and sculpt there. A whole room for my work."

"Gosh, that's great!" I exclaimed. "Sure I'll come. I'd love to see everything."

My doubts were replaced with excitement. Ashley, a great artist, liked me and valued me and trusted me. What else could you want in a friend?

Chapter 10.

Boy, does Stacey know how to bring tears to a person's eyes. Maybe if I'd read her entry sooner, things among us club members wouldn't have gotten just as bad as they did. But not only had I been missing meetings, I hadn't kept up with our club notebook.

Furthermore, I had done something terrible to Stacey. I hadn't meant to, exactly. But it had happened. At the end of school one day, Stacey asked me to go to the mall with her. I told her I couldn't because I had to catch up on some English assignments. That was true. I was really (really) planning to go to the library. But on the way there I ran into Ashley, who invited me to her house. Since I needed to discuss my sculpture subject with her, I went. I forgot all about Stacey. I forgot so completely, in fact, that when I called Dawn to tell her I'd have to miss that afternoon's meeting, I also told her why.

That was my big mistake. (Well, one of them.)

Let me tell you, I didn't feel good about missing club meetings and spending so little time with my friends. But I felt great having a mentor who liked my work so much and thought I was smart and kept telling me how

much artistic potential I had. When you're a C-student who has to go to the Resource Room, "potential" is a word you don't hear a lot, unless someone, usually a teacher or guidance counselor or one of your parents, says, "It's really a shame. I don't see why her grades aren't better. She does have potential. . . ."

But I'm getting way off the subject. I wanted to tell you about the next meeting of the Babysitters Club — the next one I missed, that is. It started, as usual, with my friends coming over to my house and being greeted by Mimi. Mimi told them to go straight to my room, even though I wasn't there. She understands how important the club is, and she really likes my friends. It might have seemed funny to Kristy, Stacey, Dawn, and Mary Anne to be in my room without me, but it was okay with Mimi.

I had called Dawn around five o'clock that day. She had seemed quite cool, but, well, you'd think she'd enjoy the chance to be a real officer instead of just sort of an officer-in-waiting . . . wouldn't you?

She didn't seem too thrilled, though, and told me later that as she biked over to my house for the meeting, a mean little rhyme kept running through her head:

Traitor, traitor. Claudia — we hate 'erl Traitor, traitor. So long, see you later I Good-bye, Claudia.

Dawn and Kristy reached my house first, and as soon as Mimi ushered them inside, they ran to my room. Stacey arrived next. She stood in the doorway of my room, looked at Dawn sprawled on my bed and Kristy reading the notebook, and said, "Okay, where is she?"

"You mean Claudia?" replied Dawn.

"Who else?"

"She's at Ashley's."

"Ashley's?!" Stacey's face turned the color of a pomegranate. "That big liar! Are you sure? She told me she couldn't go to the mall with me this afternoon because she had to study at the library."

"You're kidding," said Kristy.

"I'm dead serious," replied Stacey, who became so mad then that she couldn't even speak. That was when she took our notebook (grabbed it right out of Kristy's hands) and started writing all that stuff about friendship.

Mary Anne showed up at five-thirty on the dot. "Hi, you gu — " she started to say. Then

she narrowed her eyes. "Is she missing again?" she asked.

"Ha," said Kristy. "Very good, Sherlock Holmes."

"Hey, don't snap at me," retorted Mary Anne, sticking up for herself for once. "1 didn't skip another meeting. I'm here on time."

"Sorry," said Kristy contritely.

"You know what I feel like doing?" said Stacey, setting the diary aside. "I feel like raiding Claudia's junk food. It would serve her right if she came back and found we'd eaten everything."

"But you can't eat that stuff!" Dawn exclaimed.

"I can eat some of it," Stacey replied. "I can eat her pretzels and her crackers- — not too many, of course. And I know where they're hidden. Pretzels in that old pyjama bag, crackers in the Monopoly box."

"I wouldn't mind eating up some of her stuff," said Kristy with a slow grin. "Let's see, she's got marshmallows in that shoe box and licorice sticks under her mattress."

"I'll even help you eat that junk," said Dawn, making, for her, a supreme sacrifice.

"Well, I'll help, too," said Mary Anne. "And, hey! After we're done? We should take what-ever's left and put it back in the wrong places!"

My friends began giggling but had to calm down when the phone rang three times with job calls. When the sitters were all lined up, Stacey began raiding my junk food. She tossed the licorice sticks to Mary Anne, the marsh-mallows to Kristy, the pretzels to Dawn, and took the crackers for herself. My friends ate for awhile, then stopped to switch food. Dawn actually wolfed down three marshmallows, but then made a big deal out of having to rinse her mouth out so she wouldn't get cavities.

When they couldn't eat anymore, Stacey said, "Okay, now take what's left and put it away — where it doesn't belong."

Mary Anne stuffed the bag with the few remaining marshmallows in one of my sneakers.

Kristy stuck the licorice sticks into the back of a bureau drawer.

Dawn hid the crackers in a purse I don't use anymore.

And Stacey saw my old black fedora on the shelf in my closet and put the pretzels underneath it.

Then my friends began laughing hysterically.

(That night, it took me almost an hour to find everything. Plus, a bag of Doritos is still missing, but no one will tell me if they had anything to do with that.)

The club members had to calm down, though, when Mrs. Perkins called needing a sitter for Myriah and Gabbie, and Mrs. Delaney called needing a sitter for Amanda and Max.

But as soon as that business was taken care of, Kristy said, "Let's short-sheet her bed!" They didn't even use my name anymore. They just called me "she" or "her" and knew who they meant.