Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 085

Shannon, by the way, is one of our two associate members (the other is Logan). Associates aren't required to attend meetings, but Shannon's been helping out since Stacey left. Shannon goes to a private school called Stoney- brook Day. (The rest of us go to Stoneybrook Middle School.) She's in tons of extracurricular activities there, including drama club.

"Well, we started You Can't Take It With 'You," Shannon said. "Right now we're just blocking, though." "Not the football kind," Kristy remarked.

Duh.

"No. Blocking is mapping out all the movements. Entrances, exits. Stuff like that has to be precise. It's like choreography, sort of." "I remember seeing some of that in Peter Pan rehearsals. Is it hard?" I asked.

"A little. All your moves happen on specific lines of the dialogue. You mark down all the moves in your script. You memorize your cue lines. Then, after you've memorized your own lines, you've memorized the blocking, too." Right. Sure. Gee, that sounded easy.

I might as well join the math club.

"What happens if you forget your lines during a performance?" I asked.

Shannon smiled. "That's called 'going up/ The actor's nightmare. Happens to everybody." Oh, yeah? Well, not to me.

My list was a bust. Zero for six.

The rest of the meeting was pretty busy with phone calls. We didn't talk much more about my problem. Which was okay. I didn't want to make it seem like a big deal.

Ease up, Kishi, I told myself. Life wasn't so bad.

Just dull.

I said good-bye to everyone, then flopped onto my bed. In about ten minutes, I'd have to start helping with dinner. Not enough time for homework, and I didn't feel in an artistic mood.

I flicked on my clock radio. It was tuned, as always, to the local radio station, WSTO. A rock song was playing, and I listened to the end of it. My eyes started feeling heavy. I could feel myself dozing off.

"And that was U 4 Me, rockin' it for you here on WSTO!" chirped this goony-sounding deejay. "We'll have more music for you in a minute, but first let me tell you about our coooooool connnntesssssst. ..." Those last two words were full of echo or reverb or whatever they call that. It was giving me a headache. I reached out to turn the radio off.

"Say, kids, if you've been listening to me and thinking, 'Hey, I could do that,' well, here's your chance. You can be the host of your own show on WSTO. A kids' show. That's right. If you're between the ages of ten and fourteen — that's years, ha ha — you can have your own one-hour radio show, twice a week for ... a fuuullll monnnnnth!" My hand froze.

"You find the guests/' he went on. "You plan and emcee the show. It's all up to you, if you're the winner of our Host of the Month Contest! To enter, just tell us why we should hire you — on one sheet of paper, please. Make it serious, make it funny, make it you\ Don't forget to include your name, age, address, and a description of yourself and your interests. We'll announce the winner on Monday, so hurry. And now, more greaaaat muuuusid" My mind was in warp speed. ^ My very own radio show? Me, Claudia Kishi, a deejay?

Yes. I could see it.

This was it.

This was what I was looking for! Chapter 3.

No. No. No.

Everything sounded awful.

I dropped my pen, propped up my elbows on my desk, and buried my face in my hands.

Think, Claudia! What had happened to me? I used to be a pretty decent writer. Seriously. When I was doing my Personals column for the SMS Express, I had to deal with tons of horribly written personal ads. Sometimes I'd rewrite them from scratch. First I'd figure out exactly what the person was trying to say. Then I'd cut out the words that weren't necessary.

The essentials. That's what I needed.

The brilliance would come later.

I wrote out a list. Just short sentence fragments. Exactly why I wanted the job.

Then I worked on putting it all together into an essay. I tried to keep it short, sweet, and really me.

I consumed a Milky Way, a box of Peppermint Patties, two Chunkies, and half a bag of Cape Cod potato chips.

Finally I had to go to sleep. My brain was fried. (My stomach didn't feel too great either.) I worked on the essay the next morning, before I went to school. Then, during lunch, I convinced Emily Bernstein (the SMS Express's student editor) to let me use the newspaper's word processor for my final draft.

I typed my essay out carefully. Then I closed my eyes, held my breath, and prepared for the worst part.

Spellcheck.

My spelling stinks. The computer went wild. It must have stopped at a hundred misspelled words. I thought it would crash from overwork.

But when it was done, my essay looked like this: WHY I WANT TO BE WSTO HOST OF THE MONTH by Claudia Kishi Here Is my idea of a great host for a kids' show: Someone who's not shy but is also a good listener. Someone who knows what kind of music, fashion, and jokes kids like. Someone who understands the problems and concerns of kids of all ages. And most of all, someone who's reliable and hardworking.

And that someone is me, Claudia Kishi! Okay, first of all, let me say right out, I don't have any radio experience. But I'm an expert at talking. Just ask any of my friends. (On second thought, don't. Take my word for it!) As for reliable and hard-working? Well, I baby-sit a Jot. In fact, I'm vice-president of a baby-sitters club that meets three times a week. I also used to run a column in the Stoneybrook Middle School newspaper, called Claudla's Personals.

From my column and my baby-sitting", I've learned a Jot. I think I Jmow what Jcids Jike — from infants right on up to eighth graders! I once heard an old saying that went, "Having an open mind is one thing, but letting bats fly around inside it is something" eJse entirely." WeJJ, my mind is open to the experience of a radio show. But the only things flying around inside it are my ideas for programming. I can't wait to share them with you! Not bad, huh? Serious but humorous, not too stiff, well-spelled. And it's always nice to throw in a little quotation. (I'd been dying to use that one. I read it in a book once, and I think it is so cool.) "Good afternoon, this is Claudia Kishi on WSTO," I said as I pressed the print key.

Whoa, did that feel good! I started giggling.

Then I forced myself to stop. Do not NOT NOT get your hopes up, I thought. Probably dozens — hundreds — of kids would be entering. Kids who deejayed in summer camp. Whose parents were in the radio business. Who worked on school "radio stations" broadcast over P.A. systems. Who could write Pulitzer Prize-winning essays.

I had to be realistic.

One thing was sure: I did not want anyone to know about this. That way, if I won, I could surprise them all with the good news, but if I lost, I could just keep the humiliation to myself.

I took the essay out of the printer, folded it, and put it in an envelope. Before I stuck it in my shoulder bag, I gave it a little kiss.

"Tomorrow we expect a high in the low fifties, cooler by the Sound ..." It was Monday, 5:29. I was in my bedroom, along with the other members of the BSC, listening to my clock radio. Well, I was listening to the radio. Everyone else was gabbing about I don't know what.

I was a train wreck. For five days I had not stopped thinking about my essay. I rewrote it over and over in my mind. I couldn't sleep.

And now, the Big Day had arrived. Today the winner was going to be announced.

When? On which show? I had no idea. I hadn't paid attention to that part.

Which meant I had to listen to everything.

Beeeeep. "WSTO news time is five-thirty,'* said the announcer.

"Order!" barked Kristy.

I managed to zap myself back into reality.

Dawn held up the BSC's "treasury," a ma-nila envelope. "Dues day!" Everyone muttered and grunted and reached for money. (No complaining from me, though. I don't mind dues. Mainly because they help pay my phone bill.) "And now, from the sixties," the WSTO deejay was saying, "an old, moldy, good, and goldy! Here are the Beatles with — " "Claudia, could you turn that thing off?" Kristy said.