Ann Martin - Claudia And The Genius On Elm St.

You should have seen Rosie beam.

By the time Rosie and I reached her house, she was feeling a little better. We went inside and each ate a big helping of potato salad from the refrigerator.

I checked the note Mrs. Wilder had left,

which said she and Mr. Wilder would be back in time for Rosie's five-thirty voice lesson. It was only four forty-five, so I said to Rosie, "Well, what do you want to do? Get ready for your lesson?"

Rosie grinned slyly. "I want to draw!"

"I knew you were going to say that!" I said. I found my backpack and pulled out my drawing supplies.

Rosie ran upstairs and came down with a fistful of her own sketches and a paper shopping bag. "I drew a Life Saver and a peppermint stick," she said, "but then I tried drawing a Doritos bag, and it ended up looking like a potato sack . . ."

She showed me what she'd done. Then she pulled her subjects out of the shopping bag and set them on the table.

We started with the Life Saver. I explained what she could do to make the shading better and smooth the lines.

We worked hard, going from drawing to drawing. We erased, improved, experimented. Some of the results were good, but some were hilariously awful. At one point, when Rosie was working on the crinkled outline of a Doritos bag, she drew what looked like the outline of a dog. We cracked up. "Arf! Arf!" I barked.

"Ow-oooo!" Rosie howled.

I began to sniff like a dog, moving my head left and right.

And that's when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilder. They were standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at us as if we'd lost our minds.

Chapter 13.

"Mom, Dad," Rosie said. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were . . . barking too loudly," Mr. Wilder said. He smiled, but he obviously was not amused.

"Did Ms. Van Cott call in sick?" Mrs. Wilder asked.

"No," Rosie said, hanging her head.

"Then why aren't you practicing for your lesson?"

"And isn't tomorrow the due date for your math project?" Mr. Wilder asked.

Instead of answering, Rosie reached for her trophy. Her face brightened as she held it out to her parents. "Look, I won the Grand Crossword Competition!"

"Terrific, sweetheart!" Mr. Wilder said with a big grin. He took the trophy and admired it in the overhead light. "I'm going to put this front and center in the trophy case."

Mrs. Wilder bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you, Rosie."

"Thanks," Rosie said.

But Mrs. Wilder had caught a close-up glimpse of Rosie's drawing. "What is that, dear?" she asked, frowning at it.

"A bag of Doritos," Rosie said meekly.

"A bag of Doritos," Mrs. Wilder repeated. "Did you draw that?"

"Mm-hm," answered Rosie.

"You, uh, don't have anything better to do with your time?" asked her father.

"I finished my math project already," said Rosie quickly.

Mr. Wilder nodded. "Very good. And did you practice for your lesson, too?"

"No, but — "

"Really, Rosie, I'm surprised at you," Mrs. Wilder said. "Drawing a bag of chips when your teacher is about to arrive."

"But Claudia's teaching me how to —" Rosie protested.

"Honey," Mr. Wilder said, "we're not spending our hard-earned money on your career just so you can fritter away your time — "

"I'm not frittering!" Rosie shouted. "I don't want to practice!"

"Rosie," Mr. Wilder said, "let's not have a

replay of the night we came back from the Uncle Dandy show."

"I hate Uncle Dandy!" Rosie snapped. "He's stupid and ugly, and if he invites me back, I'm going to turn him down!"

"Fine," Mr. Wilder said with a sigh. "I realize you were in another league from the other talents, but the show served its purpose. Now it's over. But that doesn't mean we can let up. Life moves on. There's your audition, your commercial booking next week — "

Rosie slammed her hand on the table. "I don't care about some dumb musical! And I'm tired of going into New York! I hate my life! I never have any fun except when Claudia comes over! All I do is work, work, work. And I'm not going to do it anymore!"

With that, Rosie slid out of her chair, stomped upstairs, and slammed her door shut.

"Rosie!" Mr. Wilder called after her. "Mary Rose, you come down here right now!"

"No!" Rosie yelled back, her voice choked with tears.

"Leave her, George," Mrs. Wilder said. "She needs to be alone for a few minutes."

Rosie's parents looked a little shaky. I gathered Rosie didn't act like that too often. The Wilders kind of stood there, staring at the space between themselves and me.

As for me? Well, I wanted to die. I felt as if I had taken their little girl and created a monster. At least, I was sure that was the way they saw the situation.

I thought about slipping out the back door, but then realized I hadn't done anything wrong.

I took a deep, deep breath. The Wilders looked at me. For a second I thought they were going to throw me out of the house. But they didn't say a word, which just made things worse. So I decided to break the silence.

"Auungh ..."

Great beginning, Claudia.

My mouth was so dry I couldn't even say "Uh ..." I swallowed and tried again. "Mr. and Mrs. Wilder, I've done a lot of babysitting, and I've never met anyone as gifted as your daughter. She's in a class by herself."

I looked from one to the other. I hoped that flattering Rosie would soften them a little, but it didn't seem to. I was just telling them what they already knew.

I had to tell them what they didn't know.

"I know how close you are to Rosie, and what an active part you take in her interests," I said. "But, believe it or not, I think I've found another incredible talent in your daughter. And she's hiding it."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Wilder asked.

"Well, I think Rosie is a really gifted artist," I said.

Mrs. Wilder sighed. "She doodles. That's all. She's never shown any serious interest in art."

"You haven't seen the projects she works on in her room." I spread out the sketches she had brought down. "Do you think many seven-year-olds can draw like this?"

Mr. Wilder squinted and bent down. "These are good?"

"Look at this." I showed him the Life Saver drawing. "Most kids Rosie's age would draw two circles, one inside the other. But she already knows how to use shadowing and create perspective. It looks three-dimensional. Those are things you usually have to learn from teachers. I know. I've taken tons of lessons myself."

"Oh?" Mrs. Wilder said. She looked a little suspicious.

"I've studied in school and at the Stoney-brook Arts Center; I've also studied in New York City with a great teacher named Mc-Kenzie Clarke. I'm not saying that to brag, but — "

"No, that's fine," Mr. Wilder said. "I've heard of McKenzie Clarke. Go on."

"Well, I know plenty of kids, even kids my own age in the class in New York, who don't have Rosie's potential. I know this may seem

silly, but look at the proportions of the Doritos bag she drew. I mean, they're not perfect, but do you know how hard it is to get them right? And take a look at this peppermint stick ..."

The Wilders looked closely at the drawings. I could tell they were interested. But I could also see that old light bulb switching on over their heads.

"Maybe we should contact McKenzie Clarke," Mrs. Wilder said. "On our trips to New York we could pop up to his studio."

"Or maybe he holds a Saturday afternoon class," Mr. Wilder went on.

Ugh. Just what I was afraid of. Now the Wilders saw yet another career path for their daughter. They were going to squeeze Rosie's love for art out of her, just like they had done with dance and music and singing.

Suddenly everything became clear to me. That was why Rosie kept her art a secret. She knew her parents would push her too hard. Art was something she could enjoy on her own.