Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 033

Goody, I thought sarcastically. Rain. That'll improve my mood.

I lay there and went over the events of the day. Monday had started out with Janine coming into my room about fifty times, each time in a different outfit - although her clothes are so boring that the outfits all looked the same to me.

I don't like any of Janine's clothes, so I told her each outfit looked fine, which confused her. She chose the dull awards-ceremony outfit by herself.

Then there was breakfast, during which all Mom and Dad talked about were the logistics (what are "logistics"?) of leaving work early, picking me up, and getting to the high school on time.

In math class that day we got a quiz back. What was my grade? AC - , that's what.

Janine does as well with math as she does with computers and science.

Finally, there had been the dumb ceremony, and we all know how that went.

"Claudia! . . . Claudia?" My mother was calling to me from downstairs. I was supposed to be helping with dinner. It was my turn.

"Coming!" I called back. And I limped downstairs, where I made an absolutely gorgeous salad to go with supper. I made radish roses, and arranged carrot sticks and slices of hard-boiled egg to look like the sun. It was a work of art. It was a culinary masterpiece. (I know what "culinary" means, believe it or not. It means "having to do with cooking.") Wouldn't you know? When my family had gathered for dinner and I set that salad on the table, Dad said, "Claudia, how lovely! A celebratory salad for Janine!" Celebratory salad my foot. I'd just been having fun being creative.

I tried not to act upset, though. I sat down at my place and smiled a fake smile.

Guess what. The very second we'd all been served, Dad said (with this big grin on his face), "Well, that was some ceremony this afternoon, Janine. Your mother and sister and I certainly are proud of you." Janine pretended to be embarrassed, but she couldn't fool me. I knew she was loving every bit of the attention she was getting. "Thanks," she said, ducking her head.

"Well?" Dad went on. "Do you want to surprise your sister and your mother with the other news?" Other news? There was more? This wasn't over yet?

"All right," said Janine. She put her fork down and wiped her mouth daintily. "After you left the high school today, a reporter from one of the Stamford papers came by. She wants to interview me. And the college paper does, too. They even want to follow me around and photograph me at SHS and at home. They want to portray what the writer called 'A Day in the Life of a Genius.' " Oh, please. Give me a break.

I couldn't stand it. I crammed four slices of hard-boiled egg into my mouth. I did that so that if Janine said, "What do you think, Claudia? Do you want to be in the article?" I wouldn't be able to answer her. At least, not until I'd swallowed, and that would take awhile.

But she didn't say anything. The subject changed - to Janine's check.

"What are you going to do with the money, sweetie?" asked Mom. "It's yours. You can do whatever you want with it." It was hers? Wow! If I were handed a check for $250, I'd run to Bellair's Department Store and buy this really neat Day-Glo green sweater with charms knitted into it that I'd seen on sale. Then I'd go to the art store and buy some new oil paints, a good supply of brushes, and this great silk-screening set I've had my eye on. After that, if any money was left over, I'd hit the candy store in a bad way. Mmm - Baby Ruth bars, Three Musketeers bars, M & Ms (plain and peanut), Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. . . . Oh, the possibilities were mind-boggling. Janine was so lucky.

"I think," said my sister slowly, "that I'll put the money toward college." All of it? That was the most boring thing I'd heard in years. I could almost hear her idea fall to the floor. Clunk.

Of course, Mom and Dad grinned with pride.

I felt invisible. Nobody had said anything to me since that comment about the celebratory salad. I wished desperately that Mimi were alive. If she were, she'd have been sitting right next to me. And she would have known how I was feeling. She'd have shared in Janine's triumph, but then she would have said to me, "Tell me, my Claudia, how was your club meeting today? Did you get any babysitting jobs?" Mimi always knew the right thing to say.

At last, dinner was over. As we were clearing the table, I thought, Hurray, I survived. Now I can escape and - But Mom pulled me aside and whispered, "We have a surprise for Janine. A cake! Make sure she stays in the dining room while I get it ready." So we had to eat this bakery cake that was covered with yellow roses and said CONGRAT- ULATIONS, JEANINE in blue frosting. The best part about the cake was that someone had spelled my sister's name wrong.

Finally dinner was really over. I had intended to do my homework, but I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate, not with Janine's computer clicking away in her room. Every tap on the keyboard would remind me of her award and how smart she was and how not-smart I was. So I wandered into our den for some peace and quiet.

At first I just sat in the armchair and stared around the room. After awhile, my eyes landed on our family photo albums that were lined up in the bookcase. I took the oldest ones down and began to leaf through them. The first one was mostly pictures of Mom and Dad during the first couple of years after they'd gotten married. The second one was full of Janine's baby pictures. I'd never noticed it before, but honestly, there were an awful lot of pictures of Janine. There were pictures of her being held by every relative we had; pictures of her wearing funny hats, wearing a big pair of sunglasses, looking at a magazine (she was probably reading it); pictures of her at her first, second, and third birthday parties, and even a picture of Mom and Dad holding Janine in front of the hospital the day they brought her home. Who had taken that picture? Mimi? Peaches? A nurse?

With a sigh, I closed the album, put it down, and picked up the next one. This, I thought, must be full of pictures of me.

But it wasn't. Not exactly. It was full of pictures of Janine and me. There I was in Janine's lap. I was just a baby. My head was falling back and Janine was crying. There I was in Janine's lap again as she tried to give me a bottle. There we were when I was older and Janine was helping me to walk. Then I hit a whole slew of pictures of Janine's fourth birthday party.

So where were the pictures of me? I turned to the beginning of the album to see if I'd missed anything - like a picture of Mom and Dad bringing me home from the hospital. I hadn't missed a thing.

I began looking at the pictures of Janine and me again. I looked at them carefully. We don't look a thing alike now, but maybe we'd looked alike when we were little, when our parents dressed us in matching clothes and gave us the same haircuts.

Nope. We barely looked related.

When I thought about it, not only do I not look like Janine, I don't look like my parents, either, although Janine looks exactly like Dad.

A funny feeling crept into my stomach. I replaced the photo albums on the shelves. Then I silently pushed the door to the den until it was almost closed, tiptoed to my parents' desk, and began looking through the drawers. I felt like a thief, but I was just hoping to find more photos. Mom and Dad, I decided, must have taken several rolls of pictures of me as a baby and simply not had time to put them in albums. I wanted to find those pictures badly. I especially wanted to find at least one of me coming home from the hospital.

Zilch.

I found paper clips and rubber bands, scissors and glue, enough pens and pencils for an army, an envelope containing Janine's and my report cards (I put that away quickly), a packet of letters and cards from Peaches, Russ, and other relatives, a certificate that said that Mom was certified to teach elementary school in the state of Connecticut (that was a surprise), some bankbooks, some boring-looking files, and then . . . way back in the bottom drawer . . . I found a locked strongbox. That was weird. Where was the key? I searched the desk, but the only keys I found were spare house keys.