Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 032

"Yup. She can play almost anything. Do you have a favorite song? She - she takes re- quests," I added grandly, as if Susan were performing at a party or a wedding.

The boy stepped over to the piano. "Play 'Way Down Upon the Swanee River,' " he said, clearly expecting Susan not to know the song.

Susan switched flawlessly from whatever she'd been playing to "Swanee River." She played and played.

"Doesn't she ever stop?" asked the boy.

"I don't know," I replied. I hadn't heard Susan play anything but classical music up until now (her mother said it was her favorite) and all classical music seems long to me.

"Okay," said the boy. "Okay. Hey, Susan, play 'Monster Mash.' " "Monster Mash"? That was a silly old rock-and-roll song. Susan would never kn - But she did know it. She switched from "Swanee River" to "Monster Mash" without missing a beat.

"Wow," said the boy, awed.

"Listen, what's your name?" I asked the boy. "I mean, what is it really? Are you Bob or are you Craig? If you're going to be Susan's friend I should know, so I can tell her your name, and talk to her about you." "Oh," said the boy, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Well . . . well, the truth is I'm Mel Tucker." "Mel," 1 repeated, smiling. "I'm Kristy Thomas, Susan's baby-sitter." Mel just nodded. Then a grin lit up his face as he regarded Susan at the piano again. "I know!" he exclaimed. "1 just saw The Music Man. That was a good movie. We rented it and I watched it three times before we had to return it. Hey, Susan, play that song about Marian, the librarian." Again, Susan began the new song, only this time Mel's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when Susan began to sing, too. She knew every word of the entire song. When she finished it, she began again. 1 had a funny feeling Susan knew every song from the movie.

"She has a pretty voice," said Mel, which was probably the highest compliment he could muster.

"She does, doesn't she?" I replied, and wondered why Susan couldn't use that voice to talk with people instead of just to sing songs she'd memorized and to give dates.

"I guess," Mel went on, "that Susan knows lots and lots of songs." "Just about any one you can think of," I bragged.

"And I guess she can sing to all of them?" This was a question, not a statement.

"No," I replied. "Not all. But when she does know a song, she knows the whole thing. She's even memorized some songs in other languages." "You mean she can speak Spanish and Italian and stuff?" "Not really. It's just that if she hears a song sung in a different language, then that's how she memorizes it." "She just memorizes things?" asked Mel. "How fast?" "First try, sometimes. I mean, she hears a piece, she can play it. She hears a song, she can sing it. Sometimes it does take more than one try, though," I admitted. "That's what her mother said." "Gosh, Susan is amazing. I was at a circus once and I saw a chicken that could play this little piano with its beak. I thought that was amazing. But this is even better. Susan is really amazing." I smiled. "Yeah. She's special." "She should go on one of those TV shows about incredible people," Mel continued. "Really. She should." "I don't know . . ." "Well, I have to go now," said Mel abruptly. Then he added, "How often do you baby-sit for Susan?" "Three times a week," I replied. "Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays after school." "Okay. Well, 1 better be going. See you around!" Mel let himself out the front door.

"Susan!" 1 squealed, running to the piano. I sat next to her on the bench. "You have two friends now! Do you understand? Two friends. Two people who like you. Well, make that three friends, since I like you, too. Your friends are named James, Mel, and Kristy. I'm Kristy. I'm Kristy. Me," I added, pointing exaggeratedly to my chest.

"Susan, you can stop playing that song about the librarian now," I said, changing the subject. "You've played it practically forever. Let's go outside." Susan continued playing.

The doorbell rang again.

I answered it. This time James Hobart was on the front steps.

"Hi, James!" I cried.

"Hullo. Can Susan come out and play?" he asked.

Talk about music. Those words were music to my ears. "Sure she can," I answered. "But come on inside for a few minutes first." James followed me into the Felders' house. Immediately, he said what Mel had said just a little while earlier: "You mean she plays the piano, too?" "Yup. But it's time for her to stop," I said, thinking that if I heard Susan sing, "I love you madly, madly, Madame Librarian, Marian," again 1 would scream. "Sometimes stopping her is a little difficult," I informed James.

I placed my hands over Susan's and tightened them until she couldn't play freely anymore.

"I - I don't want her to stop playing if she doesn't want to," said James.

"Don't worry. I don't think she does want to, but if s more important for her to make friends." "That's true," said James as I coaxed Susan into her sweater. "I know exactly how Susan feels." "I thought you might." I took Susan by the hand, and without being asked, James took her other hand. We led her into the backyard and sat under a tree.

"In Australia," said James, "I have lots of friends. I have two pen friends, too." "Pen friends?" I repeated.

"Oh, um, here in America you call them pen pals. Now they're the only friends I have left, and I've never even met them. One lives in England and the other lives in Canada. Oh, well. At least we can write letters." "A real friend would be better, though, right?" I said.

"Right," agreed James. "Someone I can ride bikes with and go skateboarding with. Someone who could show me around Stoneybrook. Someone who could teach me what American kids say." James looked so lonely that I put my arm around him. Then he put his arm around Susan, who didn't pull away. But something was wrong, I thought. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was wrong.

The three of us sat under the tree for nearly an hour, James and 1 talking, Susan clicking her tongue and staring at something no one else could see.

Chapter 10.

"Attention, please! Attention, please! There will be an assembly in the auditorium immediately following homeroom. Everyone is expected to attend. Thank you." I sighed. I had just gotten to school. It was early in the morning, I was tired, school assemblies are usually boring, and my locker smelled. The only funny thing was that our public-address system wasn't working too well, so the announcement sounded like this: "A-ention, ease. A-ention, ease. . . . will be an ... embly in the au-i-orium mediately fol-ing ome-oom. Every-nn is ex-ted to a-end. -nk oo." Luckily, the PA system had been working like this for quite awhile, so I understood the announcement perfectly.

"Darn," said Mary Anne, running down the hall and leaning dramatically against the locker next to mine. "What do you think this assembly will be about? The dress code? The food fight the seventh-graders had last week? Or . . . dum da dum-dum . . . student government?" "Good morning, Mary Anne," I replied.

Mary Anne grinned. "Good morning. Sorry about that. It's just that assemblies - especially ones about student government - are - " "Boring? Dull? A brain-numbing waste of valuable time?" "That's it!" cried Mary Anne. "A brain-numbing waste of valuable time." She began to laugh.

"1 agree," I said. Then, "Ew. ... 1 wonder what this used to be." I pulled a plastic baggie out of the back of my locker. Something in the bag was very mushy and very moldy.

"Oh, disgusting!" exclaimed Mary Anne, who is easy to gross out.

"So that's what smelled so bad," I said. "I thought it was my gym suit." Mary Anne looked like she might barf if I went on, but she was rescued by the first bell for homeroom, which rang then. She darted away, calling over her shoulder, "See you in the brain-numbing assembly!" "Okay," I called back.