Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 032

"And this business with the calendar," I went on. "Today I told Susan my mom's birthday and Susan immediately said 'Sunday* and she was right! Mom was born on a Sunday. How does she do that? I mean, you can just stand there and say any date, like July thirteenth, nineteen-thirty-one, and she'll say, 'Monday' or whatever, without missing a beat. Oh, also, today I tried to trick her. I said 'February twenty-ninth, nineteen eighty-five/ and Susan said very clearly, 'March first, Friday.' You know why? Because there are twenty-nine days in February only if it's a leap year, and nineteen eighty-five wasn't a leap year. Susan knew it immediately. But she still gave me the day that fell after February twenty-eighth." "Amazing," said Claudia, shaking her head.

"You know what's the worst?" I asked.

"What?" said Dawn.

"That Susan is so isolated. She's practically an outcast. Her parents send her away to school, and she doesn't have any friends, of course. I bet if her parents kept her here and put her on the school bus everyday to go to the special class at Stoneybrook Elementary, she'd fit in. She'd get to know kids in the neighborhood, maybe she'd learn how to play with them - " I was interrupted by the phone. Several calls came in, and we lined up three jobs. The last of them was for the younger Hobart boys across the street.

Mal's face turned pink. "Oh, please?" she said. "Please could I have that job? I know we're not supposed to ask, but . . . please? Just this once?" "Relax, Mal," said Mary Anne. "You can take it if it's okay with Stacey. You two are the only ones free that day." Stacey grinned. "Mal can have the job." "Oh, thank you," said Mallory rapturously.

After a few moments of silence (no ringing phones), Jessi said, "I was thinking, Kristy. You described Susan as an outcast. You know what? The Hobarts are sort of outcasts, too. Just because they have accents and say things like 'brecky' for 'breakfast' or 'jumpers' for 'sweaters,' or use slang words that we don't understand like 'rev heads,' the kids here are so mean to them. They torment them. It's as if they're prejudiced against them." "Yesterday," spoke up Mal, "Jessi and I took my sisters and brothers over to play, though, and the kids had a fine time together." "Mal and Ben had an especially fine time," added Jessi mischievously.

Mal turned the color of a tomato.

Stacey started to say something, but I interrupted her. I couldn't help it. I'd just had one of my great ideas.

"You know what?" I said slowly. "On Friday, when I baby-sit for Susan again, I'm going to take her over to the Hobarts'! Won't that be perfect? Susan needs friends, the Hobarts need friends. Susan won't tease the Hobarts, and I bet they won't tease her. Not after the teasing they've been through. So I'll introduce them. Maybe if Susan makes friends by the time this month is up, her parents won't send her away. Maybe they'll let her go to school here." "And," added Mal excitedly, "I could bring Claire and Margo to the Hobarts' on Friday. They got along really well with the two youngest boys. Then James could play with Susan - they're the same age - and I - I - " "You could what?" teased Stacey.

I liked Mallory's offer a lot. I really did. But I was beginning to be suspicious of it. Did she have some other reason for wanting to bring her sisters to the Hobarts' on Friday?

"Does Ben get teased as much as his younger brothers?" asked Claud thoughtfully. (Now that we knew Ben went to our school, we kept our eyes out for him, but the eighth-graders don't have much to do with the sixth-graders.) "I don't think so," replied Jessi. "Do you, Mal?" Mallory, her face still fiery, just shook her head.

Jessi hid a smile. "What Mal is trying to say," she translated for the rest of us, "is that Ben is tall for his age, so he looks sort of . . ." "Menacing?" supplied Dawn.

"No! Just like someone you don't want to mess with. Plus, at Stoneybrook Middle School we're so busy changing classes and stuff that most kids just haven't bothered Ben. But at home it's different. When the kids are out in their yard, they're easy targets. And James and Mathew and especially Johnny aren't very good at defending themselves." "I bet Mal could help Ben feel right at home here in the USA," Stacey pressed.

Mal couldn't speak. She stared at the floor. The rest of us grinned at each other. And Stacey couldn't let up on Mallory.

"Come on, Mal. Admit it," she said. "You've got a crush on Ben." Mal gasped. And then she was saved by the bell. My own mother called needing a sitter on an evening when I wouldn't be home. Mary Anne lined Stacey up for the job.

Then Stacey immediately said, "Mal? Come on. Out with it. You know you've got a crush on Ben." "Well . . . well, maybe I -I do," Mal spluttered.

"He is cute," said Stacey.

Mallory twisted her head back and looked up at Stacey. "He's adorable," she corrected her. "He's even got cute glasses." Everyone laughed.

Mallory got to her feet then and stood at Claudia's window. The Hobarts were outside, as usual. This time, James was on a skateboard, Mathew was riding his bike, and Ben was helping Johnny balance on another skateboard.

"Ben is an awfully good brother," said Mal. "And he's polite and funny." "Is he thrifty, honest, clean, hard-working, and considerate of old ladies?" asked Claudia with a smile.

Mal turned away from the window, looking as if she were in the middle of a wonderful dream. "Yes," she replied.

"Then I think you should, you know, go after him," said Dawn.

"Me? Go after a boy?" asked Mal.

"Sure. Why not?" "Well, okay," said Mal quickly. "I think I will." Chapter 7.

On Friday, Charlie dropped me off at Susan's as usual. I ran up her driveway and along the Felders' front walk, and rang their doorbell. I could hear piano music and knew Susan was playing away. She didn't stop, though, when the bell rang, and she was still playing when her mother opened the door. Mrs. Felder looked tired.

"Hi," I said brightly.

"Hi, Kristy," replied Mrs. Felder. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I really need a break. This has not been one of Susan's better days. She won't leave the piano without a struggle, and trying to get her to eat lunch was like - well, you'd have thought I was asking her to eat hot peppers. She never did eat anything." "Gosh, I'm sorry," I said.

"Anyway, pry her away from the piano if you can," Mrs. Felder went on, as I stepped inside. "I'd love for Susan to get some fresh air today, but if you can't do that, don't worry about it." "Okay," I replied uncertainly, thinking of the plans Mal and I had made involving the Hobart boys.

I must have sounded worried, because Mrs. Felder quickly assured me, "Really. There's nothing to be concerned about. Susan is just being stubborn today. I promise. She doesn't get violent. But she's strong, and she's great at passive resistance. If she doesn't want to eat, she simply clamps her mouth shut." "Why didn't she want her lunch today?" I asked.

Mrs. Felder shrugged. "Lots of autistic children have eating and sleeping problems," she told me. "Susan is one of them." I nodded. "All right. Well, I'll try to get Susan outdoors. And if she'll eat something, is that okay? Or would you rather she waited until dinner?" "No, a snack would be fine. Try a cookie, anything. I want some food in her." Mrs. Felder left then, as if she couldn't escape fast enough.

I watched Susan at the piano for awhile. She played intently, her head cocked to the side, staring into space. She never looked at the keys. And of course, no music was in front of her, since she memorized everything.

"Susan," I said after awhile.

No response. Not even a flicker of her eyes.

"Susan! Susan . . . SUSAN!" The music continued. I didn't know what she was playing, because it was something classical, and what I know about classical music could fit on a mosquito's nose.