Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 085

BSC085 - Claudia Kishi, Live From WSTO! - Martin, Ann M.

Chapter 1.

"So the bases are loaded, okay? The score is tied, two cuts — and the batter hits a slow grounder to Jake Kuhn at first. ..." Kristy Thomas was talking.

And talking.

Me? I was working hard. Trying to keep my eyes open. If I fell asleep, my face would land in my lunch. And I did not want to go to my next class with hair full of chipped beef with cream sauce.

Baseball is not my favorite topic. It's not rock bottom, but it's pretty close. If Kristy had been talking about spelling, or techniques of room cleaning, my nose would already have been in the beef.

"So what do you think Jake does?" Kristy looked around. Her face was all a-twinkle, as if we were on the edges of our seats.

Now, if you were talking, and you saw three droopy-eyed girls staring back at you, slowly chewing their meals, would you assume they were dying of suspense?

"Give up? He fields the ball and runs home!" Chew, chew, chew. We raised our eyebrows and tried to seem fascinated.

"Maybe he had to go to the bathroom," I suggested. "Those games are long." Kristy looked at me blankly for a moment, then snapped, "Home plate, Claudia! See, he wanted to stop the run, even though all he had to do was step on first. Which would have ended the game without a run scored!" Oh.

The chipped beef was looming closer.

Kristy, as you can guess, is a sports fanatic. She's the founder, manager, and head coach of Kristy's Krushers, a softball team for little kids.

Are you sitting down? I, Claudia Kishi, Dunce of All Sports, was once the co-coach of the Krushers. Yes, it's true. When Kristy joined the Stoneybrook Middle School softball team and didn't have time to coach, my friend Stacey McGill and I took her place.

It didn't help. I still don't know how to play the game.

"Well," Kristy said grumpily, "I guess you had to be there." She took her fork and began shoveling in her lunch, as if she hadn't eaten in days.

"Ew, Kristy, please eat with your mouth closed," Dawn said. "Who wants to watch you chew up murdered mammals?" Kristy burst out laughing so hard, I thought she was going to hurl. "Murdered mammals?" "Well, that meat in your mouth was once a living, feeling cow." Dawn lifted a forkful of lettuce and pointed it at Kristy for emphasis. "Have you ever seen photos of what happens inside a. slaughterhouse? The poor, shivering beasts heading toward their death — " "Dawn, please," Mary Anne said.

I pushed my lunch aside. Suddenly I wasn't hungry.

Kristy shrugged. "Some people collect dolls. Some collect baseball cards. Dawn Schafer collects pictures of cow torture." "Can we change the subject?" I asked.

"Yes!" Mary Anne agreed. "Um . . . Logan and I are making a tape tonight. You know, a collection of our favorite songs." "I did that once," Kristy said.

"Thirty-two renditions of 'Take Me Out to the Ball Game/ " I remarked. (Sorry, it just slipped out of my mouth.) Kristy pelted me with a roll.

Don't worry. Kristy and I are friends. If she didn't like me, she would have thrown something harder.

Actually, Kristy has pelted me with a lot of things over the years. We grew up across the street from each other here in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. My mom says Kristy used to bop me with her Raggedy Ann because I didn't learn to walk as fast as she did. (Figures.) As I walked home from school that afternoon in the spring sunshine, my jacket slung over my shoulder, I wished Kristy still lived in her old house. On gorgeous afternoons like these, she had all kinds of great outdoorsy plans.

"Hi, Janine!" I called to my sister as I breezed in the front door and through the living room.

"Hello, — "I was halfway up the stairs when Janine saw me. "Claudia, what on Earth are you wearing?" Gulp.

I was wearing a backward T-shirt, overalls I'd made by sewing together two halves cut from different pairs, and mismatched socks. It was my "deconstructionist" look. You know, like the art movement? Those paintings that show you the parts of objects rearranged in interesting ways? Well, that was the idea, anyway. Cool, huh?

I am obsessed with art. Painting, sculpture, drawing, jewelry-making — I like to create in any medium. Including clothes. (This makes me Chief Oddball in my family. For my parents, tasseled loafers are daring.) Janine shook her head, chuckling. "Was that why you wore your jacket to breakfast this morning? To cover that up so we wouldn't have indigestion?" "I was cold." (Well, it was sort of true.) Janine just shook her head and walked to her room.

Later I could hear the usual furious clacking of the computer keyboard coming from Janine's room. I tried to slip quietly by her open door, to avoid another comment.

"Hm. Frankenstein's jumpsuit," I heard as I entered my bedroom.

Janine is disgustingly smart. Even if she lent me, like, one quarter of her IQ points, I'd be brilliant and she'd still have enough left over to be a genius. She is a high school sophomore, but she takes college courses. And her taste in fashion runs to white blouses and gray pleated skirts.

Needless to say, my parents think she's perfect.

I've tried to be a high achiever like her. But 1) I can't spell, 2) computers hate me (and vice versa), and 3) my eyes cross when I read anything more complicated than a Nancy Drew mystery.

Where did my artistic side come from? Prob- ably my mom's mom, Mimi. She understood me better than anyone else. Mimi's English wasn't great (she immigrated to this country from Japan), but it didn't matter. We were on the same wavelength. She lived with us my whole life and I loved her soooo much. When she died I was devastated.

Actually, one other person inherited the crazy, creative genes in my family—my aunt Peaches, Mimi's other daughter. (Her real name is Miyoshi. Her husband, my uncle Russ, gave her the nickname. Why? No one knows.) When Peaches was pregnant, she and Russ bought a house in Stoneybrook. While they waited for the occupants to move out, they lived with us for a month. It was a wild and mostly fun time, but it ended sadly. You see, Peaches had a miscarriage.

Russ and Peaches moved into their new house anyway, and they're still planning to have another baby. Now Peaches works full-time. I really miss her.

Now our house is pretty quiet. Dull, if you want to know the truth. Except during Babysitters Club meetings, which are held in my room.

But you know what? With Stacey McGill gone, even those are less fun.

No, Stacey didn't move away. She quit (or was fired, depending on who's telling the story, but more about that later).

Mimi, Peaches, Stacey. My three soulmates. Without them in my life, I was feeling a little bummed.

Not that I don't love my other BSC friends. I do. I'm lucky to have them. But you know how it is. You need that one extra-special person in your life.

Sigh.

Time for a pick-me-up. A definite Twinkie moment. I opened my desk drawer and peeked under a stack of looseleaf papers.

Only one box of Milk Duds and two Snickers bars.

I rummaged under my bed, where I discovered three bags of pretzels and some Charleston Chews. I opened a few shoe boxes in my closet, which contained M&M's and Raisinets and Yankee Doodles and Doritos.

I finally found a Twinkie among my art supplies. I ripped open the wrapper and ate.

I felt much better.

Why do I hide my junk food? Because of my parents, also known as the Nutrition Police. They disapprove of unhealthy food, which is probably why I love it so much. Besides, I'm in pretty good shape, and I eat my dinner every night without complaining, so what's the diff?

As I chewed, I changed clothes. That after- noon I had a short sitting job at the Pikes'. They have eight kids (one of whom is a BSC member, thank goodness), so there's already enough deconstruction in that house.