Ann Martin - Claudia And The New Girl

"Ashley, we really better get to work on our sculptures." (That was me, of course, since, what with baby-sitting and pottery and everything else I do, I'm more pressed for time than Ashley is.)

"Well, I've reached a decision," said Ashley.

"What?" I asked excitedly.

"I'm going to sculpt an inanimate object. I think maybe you should, too."

"You're going to sculpt a what?" (Why is it that when I'm with Ashley, the word that gets the most use is "what"? But Ashley never seems to mind explaining things to me.)

"An inanimate object," Ashley repeated. "Something not alive."

"You want us to sculpt dead things?" I asked

in horror. I was imagining ghouls and corpses and mummies.

"Oh, no. I just mean I want to sculpt objects that aren't living. Look at us. We're surrounded by inanimate objects — books, pencils, tables, chairs, trays. They're all inanimate."

"But," I said skeptically, "I've hardly ever seen sculptures of, um, un-alive things. Aren't most sculptures of people or animals? I mean, except for abstract sculptures. That's what Ms. Baehr says sculpting is all about — capturing the spirit of something alive in something that doesn't move, like clay or stone. ... I don't know, Ashley. Are you sure we want to go out on a limb like that? Why don't we stick to the more usual stuff?"

And that was when Ashley had said her craft was calling and I'd gotten some good mileage out of the word "what."

"Come downtown with me after school today," she said finally. "We'll go right into the field. I'm sure we'll be inspired."

"What field?" I replied.

"I mean the real world."

"Oh. Well, all right." The "real world" sounded very exciting. Going into the field was probably something only true artists did. A smile spread across my face. We were going to be pioneers, sculpting pioneers. Ashley and

I would try techniques other sculptors had never thought about. I looked across the table at Ashley's serious, eager face. "Great idea," I added. "It'll be exciting. Plus, then we can get to work right away. . . . Oh, but I have another club meeting this afternoon, so I have to be home by five-thirty."

"Sure. No problem," replied Ashley tightly.

Just as going to the watercolor exhibit with Ashley had been an eye-opening experience, so was simply walking around downtown Stoneybrook with her. Maybe because she was new to town, or maybe because she was such a talented artist, Ashley noticed all sorts of things that had never seemed particularly noticeable to me before. And she saw things in them that I never saw. Well, never saw first. After Ashley pointed them out to me, I saw them.

As soon as we reached Stoneybrook's main street, Ashley grabbed my arm.

"What, what?" I cried, getting double use of the word.

"Look at that!" said Ashley, pointing.

"What?"

"That."

"That fire hydrant?"

"Yes. Look at the way it's shaped. It's . . .

almost noble. It's little and squat, but it's sitting up straight and square, like a jockey on a prize winning steed."

"Wow," I said, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"That just might be my subject," said Ashley thoughtfully, nodding her head.

"For your sculpture?" I repeated incredulously. "But why would you sculpt it? What's so special about an old fire hydrant?"

"That it's little but noble. I'd try to bring out those qualities when I sculpt it. I think that the secret of sculpting inanimate objects is making them look animated."

The word "what" was on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back. When I thought about it, I understood what Ashley meant. I just couldn't see any way to do it.

"Come on, let's see what else there is."

Now, over the years I have scoured Stoney-brook in search of a new pair of shoes, in search of a certain kind of blue-jean jacket, in search of .school supplies, and once in search of Mary Anne's reading glasses. But this was the first time I'd scoured the town exclaiming over hubcaps and litter baskets and street lamps. I did sort of get into the spirit of things, though.

"Oh!" cried Ashley. "Look at that traffic light!" Ashley sounded more excited that afternoon than I'd ever heard her. It was amazing what art did to her.

"Yeah," I replied. And (I swear I don't know where this' came from) I added, "Think of the power it holds. It controls the traffic. It can make people late. It can prevent accidents. It's a little box doing an awfully big job."

"Yeah!" said Ashley admiringly. She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Maybe that's your subject."

"Maybe," I replied uncertainly.

We walked on.

"Look at the gum wrapper," said Ashley.

"Look at that squashed soda can," I said.

By the time we sat down in Renwick's for a snack, all I could say was, "Look at that straw!" and "Look at that dish rag!" Stuff like that. Until I checked my watch. Then I cried, "Look at the time!"

"What time is it?" asked Ashley.

"Five-ten. I'm going to be late for another meeting. I'm sorry, but I've got to leave."

"But Claudia, we haven't made any definite decisions. We have to go back and look at the fire hydrant and the stoplight again."

"I have to go to the meeting. The club is

important to me. We started that club. We made it work. It's a business. And besides, the other club members are my friends."

Ashley blinked. "But I'm your friend, too . . . am I not?" she said, sounding like my genius sister, Janine. (I have this older sister who's a genius. Not just smart, like Ashley, but a true and honest genius. How is it that I always end up hanging around people who know enough to say things like "am I not" instead of "aren't I"?)

"Yes," I replied slowly. "You're my friend."

Ashley gave me a tiny smile. I began to feel bad. Maybe I was really important to her. I wasn't sure. I was pretty sure I was her only friend, though. I had four good friends, but so far, Ashley only had me. Besides, this was art. What Ashley and I were doing was important — and it was something I could do' only with Ashley, not with any of my other friends.

"You know," I said, "that meeting isn't urgent or anything. We really should go back and look at the fire hydrant and stoplight again. Why don't you wait for our food while I call Dawn and tell her I won't be able to make the meeting. I'll be right back."

I stood in the phone booth by the front door of Renwick's and dialed Dawn's number, hop-

ing fervently that she was at home and not out baby-sitting. I breathed a sigh of relief when she answered the phone herself.

"Hi," I said. "It's me, Claudia."

"Oh, hi," replied Dawn lightly, but there was a cautious edge to her voice.

"Listen," I told her, "I'm not going to be able to make the meeting today. Ashley and I have to choose subjects for our sculptures — you know, for the show. So can you be the vice-president for me today?"

"Sure."

"And tell the others that I won't be coming."

"Sure/An embarrassing pause followed.

Finally Dawn said, "Do you want us to sign you up for any jobs? I mean, are your art classes and things on the appointment pages so we know when you're busy?"

"I think so," I said. "Well, I better go before my money runs out. I'm downtown in a pay phone."

"Okay," said Dawn shortly. " 'Bye."

She hung up before I could answer her.

With a sigh, I returned to Ashley, who greeted me with a smile.

That evening I read, for the fifth time, the note Mary Anne, as club secretary, had left for

me after the meeting which had been held in my room that afternoon: Claudia — you're sitting for Nina and Eleanor Marshall next Friday from 3:30-6:00. — M.A.S.

That was it. The entire note. No "Hi, Claud!" or "See you soon/' or anything. I guess my friends were mad at me. By the time I went to bed, I was sure of it. That was because, hidden under my pillow, I found a note from Kristy which said: Everyone at school thinks Ashley is weird. I just thought you should know. — Kristy.