Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 032

"One more thing," Mrs. Felder went on. "One other peculiar talent. Susan seems to have a calendar in her head. Although no one has ever explained days, weeks, months, or years to her, she can tell you the day of the week that any date fell on, as long as you don't go more than sixty years into the past or more than about twenty years into the future. She found a perpetual calendar once and seems to have memorized it." "You're kidding!" I exclaimed.

"Nope," said Mrs. Felder, looking proud again, but mystified, too. "I'll show you. Think of a date that's important to you." "Okay," I said. "Um ... the date Emily, my adopted sister, was born." "Do you know the day of the week that happened?" "Yes." "All right. Tell me just the date." I told her. Mrs. Felder called Susan over and told her.

"Monday," said Susan in a monotone voice without hesitating. Then she flapped her hands and ran back to the piano.

"That's right!" I cried. "It was a Monday!" "Susan is correct about ninety-five percent of the time." Mrs. Felder paused. "But if you ask her how she is, what she wants for dinner, if she has to use the bathroom . . . nothing. No response. She never initiates conversations, either. She just does not communicate.

She can be very trying at times, too. Stubborn. Especially if you want her to stop playing the piano. But she's never violent. . . .Do - do you still want the job?" "Oh, yes!" I said. I guess you can tell by now that I was thoroughly fascinated with Susan. I'd never met anyone like her. I'd never even heard of anyone like her. I was also feeling just the teeniest bit angry, though. Susan was very special. That was obvious. But everyone treated her like some kind of outcast. Her parents were taking her out of one away-from-home school and putting her in another. Why couldn't they keep her with them? There are schools for handicapped kids around here. Day schools like the one Matt Braddock goes to in Stamford. There are also classes for handicapped kids in the public schools. And why didn't her parents try to help Susan make friends? She couldn't talk, but neither could Matt, and he had plenty of friends. The kids in his neighborhood learned some sign language so they could play with him.

I decided that I would not only take on the job with Susan, but that I would use the month I had with her to show the Felders that she could live and learn and make friends at home. She did not have to be an outcast.

"That's wonderful," Mrs. Felder said. "I'm delighted to find someone who will watch Susan for me. It takes a dedicated, patient person. So - Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from three-thirty to five-thirty, right?" "Right," I agreed.

"That will be a perfect break for me. And don't worry. Susan won't be upset when I leave. She never is. She has no connection to me or to anyone." We'll see about that, I thought. But I just smiled and said, "Okay. That sounds easy." "Would you like to take Susan outside for awhile?" asked Mrs. Felder. "It's only five o'clock. I know your meeting doesn't start for half an hour. You can have a dry run with Susan while I'm at home." "Sure," I replied.

"Okay, Susan, come here," said Mrs. Felder, standing up. "Let's put your sweater on. . . . Susan? Susan!" Was it always difficult to attract Susan's attention? I wondered about that as I watched Mrs. Felder button Susan into a sweater. (I guessed that Susan couldn't do that herself.) When Susan was ready, I took her hand and started to lead her to the back door. She pulled away a little, but then she allowed me to take her into her yard. Mrs. Felder was right. Susan didn't so much as glance at her mother. She just followed me. Could she tell her mother and me apart?

I looked around Susan's backyard and saw a swing set, a sandbox, and a tricycle. The toys seemed a little babyish for an eight-year-old, but at least they would be something for Susan and me to play with.

"Come on, Susan. I'll give you a ride on the swing," I said, letting go of her hand.

But Susan had other ideas. As soon as she was free of me, she began to gallop back and forth across her yard (which was fenced in), clicking her tongue and wringing her hands. I let her go to it, partly because I didn't want to push her into anything right away - and partly because something was going on in the Hobarts' backyard, which I could see clearly from the Felders'. I couldn't help watching for a few minutes.

The Hobarts were the Australian family. Claudia had learned their names. And the four boys were in their yard, facing a bunch of neighborhood kids who weren't looking too friendly.

"You want fairy floss?" exclaimed one familiar-looking kid, snickering.

"Yeah! It's rad," said one of the younger Hobarts. "Totally cool." What was fairy floss? Candy?

Then a girl said, "If you guys are so cool, do some Crocodile Dundee stuff for us and prove it." I turned away. I had to watch Susan. But I felt like a fighter. I would have to battle for Susan - because I knew she needed me to battle for her. And I might have to battle for the Hobarts if the other kids didn't stop teasing them.

Nobody can say I don't stand up for what I believe in. (I think I learned that from Dawn.) Chapter 5.

For some reason, even though Tuesday afternoon was a beautiful day, the Pike kids didn't know what to do with themselves. When Jessi arrived to sit with Mal, she found the ten-year-old triplets - Adam, Byron, and Jordan - nine-year-old Vanessa, eight-year-old Nicky, seven-year-old Margo, and five-year-old Claire draped all over the furniture in the Pikes' rec room, looking bored out of their minds.

Mal was standing over them saying, "I hope you guys are going to find things to do today." "Me, too," said Mrs. Pike as she hurried out the back door. "Please behave, kids. I'll be back by six." " 'Bye, Mom," said Mal as the door closed behind her mother.

"Do, do. What can I do? I've lost my sock and I've lost my shoe," said Vanessa, the poet.

"You have not," pointed out Claire.

"I know," replied Vanessa. "I was just making a poem." "A stupid poem," said Adam.

"It was not stupid!" exclaimed Vanessa.

"Kindergarten baby, stick your head in gravy - " Nicky began.

"Enough, enough, enough!" cried Mal. "Look. The weather is lovely. Why don't you guys go outside? You could ride your bicycles - " "Nah," said Jordan.

" - or go skateboarding - " "Nah," said Nicky.

"You could stay inside," suggested Jessi. "There are plenty of things to do here, too. You could play a game - " "Nah," said Vanessa.

" - or," (Jessi couldn't believe she was about to suggest this), "you could watch TV." "There's nothing good on," said Margo.

Silence.

Finally Nicky said, "You know, a new family moved into Mary Anne's old house. The Hobarts. James Hobart is in my class at school. He's really weird. He talks funny - " "He's from Australia," said Mal. "He has an accent, that's all." "Australia?" spoke up Byron. "You mean like Crocodile Dundee?" "Well, yes," agreed Jessi.

"Crocodile Dundee can do all kinds of neat things," said Jordan. "I hope the Hobarts are like Crocodile." "They're Crocs!" cried Nicky gleefully. "That's what everyone in my class calls James and his brothers. The Crocs!" Nicky snickered.

"You guys," said Mallory warningly. "That is not very nice. Remember when the kids here used to call us the Spiders?" "The Spiders?" repeated Jessi, perplexed.

"Yeah, because there are eight of us," explained Vanessa, looking troubled. "Like the eight legs on a spider. We hated that name." "I've been called worse," said Jessi quietly. "You don't even want to know all the names people have called me - and just because of the color of my skin." "What names?" asked Margo.

"Never mind," replied Jessi, sounding tired. "Nothing as cute as Spider, believe me." The Pike kids stared at their hands, their shoes, the floor. None of them could look at Jessi.