Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 056

I glanced at Mrs. Lowell, then down at the ground. "Hi," I said. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. Slope-eyes? That was why I couldn't look at her.

"Hello," replied Mrs. Lowell. She was gazing around the yard at the kids, who'd stopped playing and singing. Then she approached Dawn.

Caitlin, Mackie, and Celeste ran to the children.

"Are you one of the baby-sitters?" Mrs. Lowell asked Dawn. (She ignored the rest of us. You'd never have known that Mary Anne and Kristy and I had taken care of her kids.) "Yes," Dawn answered warily.

"Are you in charge here?" "Actually," said Dawn, straightening her shoulders, "Claudia is in charge. The band was her idea." "Oh." Mrs. Lowell looked at me, then back at Dawn. She cleared her throat. "There certainly is an assortment of children here." "Oh, yeah," said Dawn. "All ages. The youngest one is - " Dawn stopped speaking. She realized that wasn't what Mrs. Lowell had meant. She also realized Mrs. Lowell was right. The children were "assorted." Becca is African-American. Linny and Hannie are Greek. Nancy Dawes is Jewish, but Dawn didn't see how Mrs. Lowell could tell that just by looking at her. The Hsu boys are Asian. And did Mrs. Lowell know that the Rodowskys are Polish? Frankly, Dawn didn't care. "I guess," she said.

"What songs are the children learning?" asked Mrs. Lowell.

"They're learning music from Fiddler on the Roof. They just - " "Fiddler on the Roof?" Mrs. Lowell's jaw tightened. Her lips were pressed together so firmly they were turning white. "Caitlin? Celeste? Mackie? Come here, please. We're going home." "But Mom - " said Mackie.

"I mean it. Right this instant." "We want to play\" wailed Celeste, banging her sticks together.

"You can play at home." Mrs. Lowell meant business. Reluctantly her children made their way to her. Celeste's lower lip was trembling. As they pushed past me, Mrs. Lowell made a face. It was the sort of face you'd make if you opened up a package of meat and discovered it was moldy.

Stacey put her arm around me.

I wanted to cry, but I looked at the grinning members of All the Children. They didn't know what had happened and they were ready to play again. Shea started at the beginning of "Tradition" and worked slowly through the song while the children tried to memorize the melody.

"What was that all about?" Mary Anne whispered to me.

My friends and I stepped away and clustered together at the edge of the yard. Kristy was fuming. Her face was beet red.

"I guess they didn't like our choice of musicals," said Jessi.

"Because it's about Russian Jews?" asked Mal.

"That's a bad combination for Mrs. Lowell," I said. "Foreigners and people of a different religion." I attempted a smile. Kristy just shook her head.

"Hey, come on. You were the one who was able to laugh before," I said to her.

"I didn't have to face Mrs. Lowell then," Kristy answered. "I couldn't see how much she dislikes me because my sister is from Vietnam. It's a little different when you're actually looking at her." "What do you think we should *do now?" asked Stacey.

"What do you mean?" replied Dawn.

"About our program." "Go ahead with it." "What if other parents don't approve of the idea?" "What other parents? None of them is like Mrs. Lowell. And half of them have already taken their kids to see Fiddler on the Roof. We can't change the program because Mrs. Lowell doesn't like it." "1 guess," said Stacey. "But you know what? When you get right down to it, we're just kids. We might be good baby-sitters - " "We are good baby-sitters," interrupted Dawn.

" - but we're still just kids. And these kids, the ones in the band, are other people's children. Not ours. Their parents think they know what's best for them. So we have to go along with that." Stacey was right. Who were we to think we could change the world?

"Wait a sec, you guys!" said Dawn. "You are worrying about a problem we don't even have. As I just said, the rest of the parents are nothing like Mrs. Lowell. As far as we know, they love the band and they love the songs their children are playing. So Caitlin and Celeste and Mackie can't be part of the band anymore. That's too bad. It really is. But there are a couple of dozen other kids" - Dawn spread her arms, indicating the crowd of children in the yard - "who still want to make music. Right?" "Right," agreed Stacey. "Okay, Shea. Take it away!" Chapter 12.

My friends and I tried very hard to be cheerful after that, especially when we were around the kids. Still, I don't know about the other BSC members, but when I was alone, I brooded. Not so much about the music our band was playing. It didn't take me long to realize that not too many people would find fault with performing music from a show as long-running and as popular as Fiddler on the Roof. No, I brooded about my awful revelation. (By the way, Janine was the one who told me about revelations. She says a revelation is like a discovery, only more dramatic.) The thing is, I'd never thought of myself as different until I met Mrs. Lowell. I mean, everyone is unique. There is no other Claudia Lynn Kishi, no one who looks just like me, and loves art and junk food and is poor at school but good with kids, and so forth. I learned that when I was little enough to watch Sesame Street. What I hadn't learned is that there are people - in my very own neighborhood - who don't value me or find me worthwhile, just because my ancestors happen to have come from a particular country.

Plus, the Lowells and my revelation were so tied up with the band that for awhile the band left a bad taste in my mouth. I didn't enjoy it anymore. I didn't look forward to rehearsals.

But Karen Brewer changed that.

One Saturday afternoon I went to Kristy's house to baby-sit for her little brothers and sisters - David Michael, Emily Michelle, Andrew, and Karen. As usual, the rest of Kristy's family had scattered. Her mother and Watson had gone off for an afternoon of peace. Nannie was at a meeting. Kristy was with Mary Anne at the library, working on a school project. Sam was at the high school for a dress rehearsal of the drama club's latest play (he had helped write the play). And Charlie had gone off in his car, the Junk Bucket. I wasn't sure where, but it didn't matter. (In case of an emergency I had decided to call my own parents. They're usually pretty easy to find.) "Well," Karen said to me as soon as Charlie and the Junk Bucket had driven off. "That's the last of them." "Last of who?" I was sitting on the front steps of Kristy's house. Andrew, Emily, and David Michael were fooling around in the yard. But Karen had plopped down next to me.

"The last of the big people," replied Karen. "Now it's just us little guys and you. The fun can begin." I smiled. "What do you feel like doing today?" "Playing." "Playing what?" I was thinking I could tolerate anything except hide-and-seek, which I had played all afternoon the day before with the three Barrett kids. I was all seeked out. All hidden out, too.

"Our songs," said Karen. "Let's rehearse. Hannie and Nancy could come over. And maybe Linny." "Well . . . how about playing hide-and-seek?" I said, which just goes to show how I was feeling about the band that day.

"No!" cried Karen. "We need to rehearse. Please? I'll even let Emily play with us. I'll give her a pot and a spoon. She can pretend she's another drummer. That way she won't feel left out." How could I argue with that? Before I knew it, Nancy and Hannie and Linny had come over and the kids were performing "Miracle of Miracles." The tune came from Karen who was playing her kazoo, and Hannie, playing her harmonica. The other kids were playing cymbals, sticks, oatmeal drums, and the pot and spoon.

When the children had run through the song one time, Karen said, "Let's pretend we have a big audience. Here. Claudia, you sit on the grass and be the big audience. We will play on the steps. The steps are our stage." The kids arranged themselves on the steps. Then Karen came forward. "Welcome, ladies and - I mean, welcome lady. I'm very, very glad you could come to our show. My name is, um, Lucretia Marissa von Brewer and this is my band. I am your emcee this evening. Tonight, for your listening pleasure - " "Excuse me!" spoke up David Michael. "Excuse me, Miss von Brewer. How come you get to lead things, like always?" "Because this was my idea," Karen replied. "Now, as I was saying, tonight we will favor you with that ever-popular song 'Anatevka.' " Karen turned back to her band. "Places, everyone! . . . Emily, I said, places! That means you. Hey, are you in this band or not?" "Are you in this band or not?" Emily repeated. She was wandering around the yard, filling her pot with sticks and fallen leaves and flower petals.