Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 032

"Susan!" I called again. I walked to the piano and stood next to her. I actually waved my hand in front of her face, as if she were a sleepwalker.

Nothing.

Then ever so carefully and gently I laid my hands on Susan's. She tried to keep playing. I tightened my grip. Susan couldn't move her fingers anymore. She had to stop playing. And you know what? For a second, or maybe even just a fraction of a second, she looked at me. I mean, she looked right into my eyes with those big brown eyes of hers. Then she lost herself in her world again. Where does her mind go? I wondered.

With my hands still on Susan's, I tried to pull her away from the piano. She wouldn't budge. I pulled harder. I could see what Mrs.

Felder meant about passive resistance. But I wasn't about to give up. I've learned plenty from my younger brothers and sisters.

Since Susan was sort of small for her age, I just moved behind her, picked her up, and carried her into the kitchen. She struggled a little, but not much.

"Okay, Susan. Time for a snack. Anything you want," I said.

Still holding one of her hands, I opened the refrigerator door. "Is there anything here you'd like?" Susan was gazing out the window, flapping her free hand. Well, at this rate, I'd never get her to the Hobarts'. I closed the refrigerator, spotted a baggie full of homemade oatmeal cookies on the counter, grabbed a couple of them, and took Susan and the cookies outdoors.

On the way to the Hobarts', I handed her a cookie.

Susan must have been starving after her day of playing and not eating, because she took the cookie and ate it hungrily. She ate the other one, too, before we were even in the Hobarts' yard.

Since getting Susan away from the piano had taken so long, Mal, Claire, and Margo were already at the Hobarts'. Everyone was in the backyard. Mal and Ben were sitting on the stoop, lost in conversation, and the younger kids were playing tag.

"Hi!" I called, as Susan and I entered the yard.

"Hi," said some of the kids tentatively. None of them had met Susan before, and she did look a little odd, staring above the heads of the children, clicking her tongue, and flapping her hands.

Silence followed.

Mal looked up and saw what was going on. She and Ben joined us. "Everybody," said Mal, "this is Susan. She's eight, just like you, James. She can't talk, but I think she'd like to play with us. Oh, and Ben, James, Mathew, and Johnny, this is my friend Kristy. She's the president of the Baby-sitters Club." "Hi," I said.

"Hullo," replied the boys cheerfully.

Claire stepped over to Susan. "I'm Claire," she said. "I'm five." Flap, flap, flap. Click, click, click.

"I said," said Claire, "I'm Claire and I'm five." (Susan didn't answer, of course.) "She doesn't talk," Mal reminded Claire.

"Not at all?" "Well, a few words when she wants to," I finally answered. "But she can't have a conversation with you." "Why not?" asked Mathew.

The kids were standing in a circle around Susan, staring at her. She was oblivious to them.

I tried to explain about autism.

Then Margo said, "Maybe she can play tag with us. You don't have to talk to play tag." "Yeah!" exclaimed James. "Maybe we could teach her to play." So we tried. First, we decided that James would be It. He would chase the kids slowly around the yard, just to show Susan how the game was played.

"Run, Susan, run!" I cried.

Susan wandered under a tree. She looked up to where the sun was filtering through the branches and began waving one hand in front of her eyes. Under her breath, she hummed the music she'd been playing on the piano earlier.

Then we tried to get Susan to chase the other kids. That didn't work, either, of course.

We were still shouting, "Run, Susan!" when two of the boys who'd regularly been teasing the Hobarts sauntered into the yard. One was a good six inches taller than the other.

"Hey, Crocs," said the short one.

No one answered him.

"What? Are you all deaf?" he asked.

"Funny as a funeral," muttered James.

"What was that?" asked the taller boy. He stood imperiously over James.

At that point, Ben walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. The boy turned around. He didn't look so tall anymore. He probably didn't feel so tall anymore, either. He backed away. And then he caught sight of Susan.

"Who's that?" he asked. "And what's she doing?" (Susan was flapping and clicking and humming under the tree again.) "Her name is Susan Felder," I spoke up. "Who are you guys?" The boys looked at each other. "We're Bob and Craig," said the tall one. "Yeah, he's Bob and I'm Craig," agreed the short one, just as the other one said the same thing.

"Afraid to use your real names?" I asked.

"Funny as a funeral," said Bob-or-Craig, obviously mimicking James.

Why, I wondered, did the teasers continue to come back? They must have been fascinated by the Hobarts. Otherwise they wouldn't keep egging them on. Maybe they liked hearing new words and phrases and names for things. But the teasers were so mean. If they wanted to hear Johnny ask for "fairy floss," or Ben call someone a "rev head," or Mathew talk about "brecky," they could just ask the boys to tell them about Australia. Most teasers, I had found out, tease because they feel inferior and need to feel superior - like a bully who beats up the runt of the school because the runt is easy to beat. However, I knew this - but it didn't help the Hobarts much.

Ben and Mal and I put our heads together and had a conference. We decided to let the kids try to work things out for themselves. And so the teasers kept teasing. In the middle of the worst of it, though, I noticed something. James was eyeing Susan. When Bob-or-Craig (the short one) stood in front of her and began flapping and clicking right in her face, James ran to Susan and put his arm around her protectively.

"Leave her alone," he said. "She's - she's my mate." Susan had a friend! My heart soared. And then I got another of my ideas. Even though Mallory and Ben and I had decided to stay out of things, I joined James, Susan, and Bob-or-Craig.

"You won't believe this," I said, "but Susan is really smart." "Yeah, right," said the teaser. "Sure she is." "No, really." I explained that Susan had a calendar in her head. "Go on," I said. "Give her any date. She'll tell you the day of the week it fell on." "Okay," said Bob-or-Craig (the tall one) with a smirk. "December first, nineteen eighty-three." "Thursday," said Susan woodenly.

"That's right!" exclaimed the boy. "That's my sister's birthday. How did she know that - and so fast?" "Oh, that was probably easy for her," I said. "Go back further in time. Do you know the birthdate of one of your grandparents or something?" "I do," said the shorter boy.

Susan performed her trick again.

Everyone was aghast - the teasers, the Hobarts, the Pikes.

I felt extremely proud of Susan.

Chapter 8.

Stacey arrived at my house at a hectic time. Nannie was rushing out the door, afraid she'd be late meeting her friends. Sam and Charlie were standing in the kitchen, begging. They'd remembered that they'd promised to bring food - potato chips or something - to the party they were going to, and not only had they forgotten to pick anything up, but they were broke.

"Gee, you wouldn't be broke if you had a great job like mine," I said.

Boy. If looks could kill. Sam and Charlie gave me Dagger Eyes.

I shrugged. Then I led Stacey into the den. On our way I could hear Mom saying to my brothers, "You mean neither of you has any money?" In the den were Karen, Andrew, Emily, and David Michael. They were watching The Wizard of Oz on the VCR.

"Remember," I said, "you can only watch until Dorothy leaves Munchkinland. Then the TV goes off." "You're not in charge," replied David Michael, never taking his eyes off the set. "You don't make the rules tonight." Mom appeared in the doorway. "You can only watch until Dorothy leaves Munchkin-land," she said. "Then the TV goes off." "Darn," said David Michael.