Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 085

"THAT'S okay, Buddy. Heh heh. Kids will be kids," replied Kristy in her radio voice. "And did YOU get the MARKER stains off the WALL, Taylor?" "Why are you talking so weird, Kristy?" Taylor asked.

Dawn couldn't help giggling. Ryan started giggling, too.

"Dawn?" Kristy called out.

Uh-oh.

"In here!" Dawn replied.

"Can you help us a little?" With Ryan in one arm, Dawn trudged outside.

I was at Ash's house that afternoon, for a planning meeting. When I arrived home, my answering machine was flashing. The message was from Kristy: "Claud. Guess what? I have the most fantastic idea for a regular feature. You will laugh your head off. It is so perfect. Call me soon so I can set up an audition. Otherwise, I may submit it to another station. Okay, 'bye." Another station? Please.

Auditions were going to begin on Monday. I hoped desperately that Kristy's play was good.

Chapter 7.

"A whole newwww worrrrrrld. ..." Ashley and I listened patiently as a little girl with braided hair sang meekly along with the soundtrack of Aladdin. Her mom sat a few feet behind her, grinning at us.

Ashley casually wrote something on the le- gal pad in front of her. She slid it to me and I read it.

Just as nonchalantly, I wrote Ashley looked puzzled. I realized I'd goofed, so I grabbed the sheet back and cpickly wrote an E after the R.

It was Monday afternoon, about four-thirty.

We were sitting in the WSTO conference room, listening to auditions.

Lots of auditions.

The waiting room was packed with nervous kids and parents. Some had to wait outside in the parking lot.

They were lining up—for my show! I felt like a Hollywood director.

How had we become so popular? The power of advertising. During the week, Ash and I had put up some fliers around town. Bob had announced the auditions regularly on the air, just as he'd said he would. By Friday, kids were stopping me in the school hallways to ask questions.

Bob had called me on Sunday to say that every single audition slot had been filled. That's one every six minutes, for an hour and a half on Monday and two and a half hours on Tuesday. Forty people were trying out. Plus, he had started a waiting list, which had grown to twelve names.

"You guys are the hottest thing in town!" Bob had said over the phone.

My response? Something like, "Eeeeeeeee!" Then I'd called Ashley. She'd said, "Indeed? What pleasant news." Just kidding. Her response had been more like, "Yahhh-hooooo!" Yes, Ashley was loosening up. (Finally.

Yeeeaaa!) Monday passed in a blur. Ash and 1 met after school, and her mom drove us to the station. That was when it really sank in. The parking lot was full. The waiting room was full. We had to weave through all the excited kids who were signing up. They whispered excitedly behind our backs as we passed.

We ran into the conference room and burst into giggles.

"Aaaaugh!" I screamed. "Can you believe this?" Ash started doing some kind of Irish jig.

"Okay. Okay. Let's settle down," 1 said. "Right." Ash took deep breaths. "Settle.

Down." Bob had set up a table and two chairs at the far end of the room. On it was a sheet with typed instructions: Remember: ·Be fair. Keep All Auditions to tne Allotted Six Minutes.

·Do Not Make Promises Yet. Tell Everyone You'll Call on Tuesday Night, After You've Made Your Decisions.

·Write Detailed Comments on Separate Sheets. Suggestion: Rate Each Contestant 1 (Lowest) to 10 (Highest) and Compare Scores. ·Keep Smiling! Best of Luck, Bob It was all stuff we'd discussed over the weekend. But I was glad he had typed it out. I was too nervous to remember any of it on my own.

"Ready and smiling," Ashley said, with this ridiculous, ear-to-ear grin.

I nearly cracked up. (I take back what I said about Ash's sense of humor.) Soon Bob sent in auditioner number one, a girl named Lisa who started singing — you guessed it — "A Whole New World." In some unknown key. Q, maybe. Her face turned bright red every time she went for a high note. I stopped listening to the song and started worrying about her health.

Next, a pair of sixth-grade boys performed a comedy routine called, "Frank and Tim Visit Broadway." It went something like this: Frank: Hey, want to see Tommy?

Tim: Who's Tommy?

Frank: Right.

Tim: Tommy Wright?

Frank: No, Who's Tommy! Tim: That's what I asked you! Frank: Never mind. How about Cats?

Tim: Oh, Tommy Katz! Why didn't you tell me?

And so on. You get the idea. Actually, it was pretty funny. 1 gave them a score of 8.

The third auditioner was a girl who could say anything backward instantly. She introduced herself as Nottus Haras (Sarah Sutton) and started pointing around the room, saying things like "enohporcim" and "tenibac elif." When 1 said "Wow, that's amazing," she replied, "Sknaht." 1 liked her. (1 hoped Yelhsa did too.) Number four sang "A Whole New World." Unfortunately she sang it all on one note.

Seven-year-old Rosie Wilder, a BSC charge who has about a million different talents, played the coolest tune on the violin. It started out as classical, then turned into a medley of TV show themes. It was terrific, I thought.

So far, so good.

Then we heard our third "Whole New World," by Linny Papadakis, another of our charges. This was the loudest rendition so far. In fact, he kind of barked the lyrics. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Ashley cringing.

On and on we went.

A chorus of little kids sang the theme song from "Shining Time Station." They were adorable.

We had three proposals for call-ins, all from SMS students: (1) "Bike Advice," by Pete Black and Erica Blumberg; (2) "Fashion Tips," by Sue Archer; and (3) "What's Happening This Weekend," by Cokie Mason.

And of course, the fourth "Whole New World"er, whom I mentioned before.

Near the very end, a boy with a skull mask walked in. In a husky voice, he introduced himself as Oswald McBelch and started burping on pitch (more or less) to "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." I thought Ashley was going to have a cow.

"Alan Gray, is that you?" I demanded.

It was. Giggling hysterically, Alan ran out of the room, almost colliding with two frightened-looking girls in party dresses.

See what I mean? He is such a goon.

Despite Alan, we had a fantastic day. Tuesday started out well, too. We saw a kazoo band and a pair of girls named Julie and Jennifer who sang this hilarious song called "Friendship," which I'd once seen on an I Love Lucy show. A couple of other kids proposed a movie-review segment like At the Movies, and a trio of high school kids told ghost stories, complete with spooky sound effects.

Then Kristy arrived, with the Barrett/DeWitt kids.

Dawn, fortunately, had bailed out of the play by this time.

"Hi, Claudia!" Suzi and Taylor cried out, running through the door.

"We have a play!" Madeleine said.

"Duh," Buddy remarked.

Kristy was taking off her running shoes. "Okay, actors," she called out, "take your places!" The kids wandered around, looking at the file cabinets and framed photos on the wall. Madeleine found the water cooler and was busy trying to work it.

"Here we go," Kristy went on. "Ahem. A Messy Problem, a play authored by Kristy Thomas." With one running shoe in each hand, she pounded on the table top. "These are footsteps," she explained. Then she stopped pounding and called out, "HelLO, anybody HOME?" No answer.

Knock knock knock! "Buddy," she whispered.

Buddy was reading the inscription on an autographed photo. He spun around. "Oh! Uh, yeah. Come in. Claudia, who's the guy in the basketball uniform?" "Buddyyyy, the playl" Suzi said.

Buddy rolled his eyes. "Come in, Kristy!" "OH my GOODNESS, LOOK at the muddy FOOTPRINTS on the CARPET!" "AAAGGGGGH!" Suzi's scream almost made me lose my lunch.