Ann Martin - Claudia And The Genius On Elm St.

She was drawing.

An outline of a Mounds bar was on her paper. Her lines were delicate and very accurate. The letters of the word MOUNDS were wrinkled along with the wrinkles in the wrapper.

My jaw practically dropped open. Rosie was good!

I shouldn't have been surprised. Rosie was talented at everything else. Why shouldn't she be good at drawing?

But I'll tell you what really interested me. Her face was relaxed, concentrated, and happy. She wasn't grim and scowling, the way she looked when she played the piano or the

violin, or super smily, the way she looked when she tap-danced. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself.

"That's great, Rosie," I said. "You have a real flair for this!"

"Thanks," Rosie replied with a shy smile. "This is what I really like to do."

I couldn't believe it. Rosie looked like a modest little . . . seven-year-old girl!

Suddenly I understood why she only wanted me to baby-sit for her. She wanted to watch me draw. But why didn't she ever say so? Why did she always run up to her room and —

"Rosie," I said, "all those times you've gone up to your room to work on a project . . . have you really been practicing your drawing?"

Rosie's eyes lit up. But before she could say a word, the front door slammed.

"I'm home!" called a deep, cheerful male voice.

I rose from the table and began to answer, but Rosie waved her hand and said, "Ssshhhh!"

I turned back around. Rosie was shoving her Mounds drawing across the table, burying it under my pile. Her eyes were wide with panic.

Frantically she opened her crossword book and her dictionary. She grabbed a pencil, hunched herself over the book, and called out softly, "Hi, Daddy."

Hmmmm, I thought. Something is going on here . . .

Chapter 11.

"Bye, Mom! 'Bye, Janine!" I called over my shoulder.

" 'Bye!" I heard them answer.

The Wilders' station wagon was parked in front of my house. Rosie was waving from the backseat. It was four-thirty on a Thursday, and they were picking me up to take me to ...

Uncle Dandy's Star Machine!

Rosie was going to be on the show!

I know, I know. Uncle Dandy isn't exactly big-time. Still, I was really happy for Rosie. And I was excited to be going to a TV station.

You know what else? I was the only guest Rosie had invited, and it felt nice to be asked. As impossible as it seemed, Rosie and I were becoming friends. Since I had found out about her hidden artistic talent, she had really loosened up.

But one thing bothered me. I couldn't understand why in the world she had to keep

her talent a secret. Obviously her parents had encouraged her other abilities. Why did she have to hide the one thing she liked best?

I tried not to think about that as I got in the car. Rosie and her parents seemed excited. Mrs. Wilder had asked her sister to stay with their mother for the evening, and Mr. Wilder had left work early.

"Hartford, here we come!" Mr. Wilder said. He looked back and winked at us with his dark, dark eyes. I wondered if he had ever wanted to be a performer.

"Now Rosie, before we get to the highway, are you sure you have everything?" Mrs. Wilder asked. "Your music? Your pitch pipe? Your tap shoes?"

"Mom," Rosie said. "I'm not dancing. Just singing and playing, remember?"

"Well, you never know when you might be asked to," Mrs. Wilder said. "It's always good to be prepared."

"Ginger, you're such a stage mother," Mr. Wilder said with a smile.

Mrs. Wilder laughed. "Sorry, I'm just being swept away with excitement!" Then she turned to her husband with a mischievous grin and said, "You should talk, George!"

"Mea culpa," Mr. Wilder replied, and Rosie smiled, as if she knew what that meant.

Qanine told me later that it means I'm guilty in Latin.)

The ride was fun. We played Guess the License Plate and a bunch of other car games. But when the Wilders started singing songs (in harmony), they sounded so good I just listened.

The TV station was actually outside of Hartford. It was in a pretty dull area, with squat brick buildings and parking lots full of trucks and buses. The TV station looked like every other building, except for the huge antenna on top.

We stepped into a small waiting room with a worn linoleum floor and a water cooler. Not exactly glamorous.

A woman with a beehive hairdo and a telephone headset said, "You here for the Dandy show?"

"Yes," Mr. Wilder replied. "This is one of the talents." He gently pushed Rosie in front of him.

"Hi, sweetie," the woman said. "Just go through the door and look for Studio Four. It'll be on your right."

"Thanks," we all said together.

Inside the door was a long, wide corridor, with dozens of cables snaking along the floor. Men and women passed by, rolling enormous

video cameras. I recognized one or two local TV newscasters and boy, did they look older than they do on TV! The walls were lined with studio doors. One of them swung open and I could see the set of a game show I used to watch when I was a kid. That made me shiver.

I wished Stacey or Kristy were with me. We'd have looked in each other's eyes and known we were squealing inside.

Rosie didn't seem fazed at all. She was mouthing the words to her song and following her parents.

I couldn't resist saying, "You are so calm!" to Rosie.

She shrugged. "This is nothing compared to some of the network studios in New York."

"Here it is, girls!" Mr. Wilder called out. He opened the door marked STUDIO 4 and let us go in.

What a place. Half of the room was a madhouse. People wearing headsets were running around like crazy, muttering in low voices. At first I thought they were talking to themselves, until I realized little mikes were attached to the headsets. There were cameras standing on tripods, a camera hanging from the ceiling on a crane, cameras shoved against the wall. Along a table on the other side of the room

were two coffee urns and four plates of cold cuts and breads. Uncle Dandy waved to us from a corner, where a man and a woman were combing his hair and putting makeup on his face.

The other half of the room was completely empty. It was the set for the show. In the center was a polished wooden floor. Off to the side were curtains, pulled open, and a grand piano. Hanging above the set was a huge sign that said UNCLE DANDY'S STAR MACHINE in neon lights. A few rows of folding chairs faced the set (they were for the studio audience).

"Hi, what's your talent?" someone asked.

I looked around to see a girl smiling brightly at Rosie. Her parents stood behind her, smiling brightly at her.

"Singing and piano," Rosie answered.

"I'm dancing — " the girl said.

"Introduce yourself, dear," the girl's mother interrupted.

"I'm Crystal."

"I'm Rosie." Rosie smiled tightly, then stared straight ahead.

Crystal got the message. She nodded a little, frowned a little, then walked away with her parents.

I dared to say to Rosie, "She seemed pretty nice."

Rosie shook her head. "It's important not to make small talk on the set. That kind of thing can destroy your concentration, especially before a performance."

"That's right, dear," Mrs. Wilder said, putting her hand on Rosie's shoulder.

I thought that was a little weird, but I didn't say anything.

Soon Uncle Dandy came racing across the set with a clipboard in his hand. His'hair (or toupee) had so much spray in it, it looked like a helmet. "Where are all the kids?" he shouted.

"Some of them are in the green room, Mr. Beasley," a bearded guy replied from behind us.

"What are they doing there?" Uncle Dandy demanded. "We're at half hour. Get them in here!"

Then he turned to Rosie and Crystal and gave them a huge smile. "Howdy. 'Dya have a nice trip here?"