Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 027

"Yeah," one said finally. "Sure." Claudia smiled. That boy was obviously the ringleader. She figured he was probably the infamous John.

Claudia's idea to invite the boys over was a smart one. She had a hunch that it would be good for them to see where Derek lived. They'd see that he was just a regular kid living in a regular house in Stoneybrook.

On the way to the Masterses' house, the boys walked their bikes alongside Derek. Claudia held Todd's hand and walked a little ways away. She kept her ears open, though. The boys still didn't say much of anything.

One sort of muttered, "This the way?" Another commented briefly, "Hey, I know somebody on this block." Well, at least what they did say seemed friendly enough.

When they got to Derek's house, Claudia turned into the front walk.

"This is where you live?" asked one of the boys. His mouth was hanging open like he'd just seen a blue elephant.

"Yeah," said Derek.

"I thought you lived in a Disneyland castle or something," the boy said.

Claudia had to stop herself from laughing out loud.

She let the boys inside. They were all eyes. When she described their reaction to me, it sort of reminded me of the first time I went to Derek's house. (I wonder if the boys noticed all the old newspapers and the pile of dirty dishes.) The boys looked around at this regular house in total surprise.

"Wow!" one said. "A house." Derek invited the kids up to his room to play. Claudia decided it would be best if she stayed out of the way a little while. So she and Todd settled into a chair in the living room with a couple of picture books. That would be good for Todd anyway, she figured. Derek gets so much of the attention so often, Todd could use some cozy one-to-one time.

As she turned the pages of Todd's books, she could hear laughter drifting down from Derek's room. It wasn't mean laughter, either. She could hear that boy laughing, the one she figured was John, and she could hear Derek joining right in. As she sat there, Claudia congratulated herself. She figured she'd solved the Superbrat problem once and for all.

After awhile the boys trooped down the stairs.

"Hey, Derek, that was fun," one said.

"Yeah, I never played that game before," said another.

"I got it in California," said Derek.

"Wow. Cool. See you in school tomorrow, okay?" The boys had obviously had a good time. They waved a quick good-bye to Claudia and ran outside to their bicycles. Derek stood at the doorway, waving, as his new friends coasted down the driveway and skidded out onto the sidewalk. When he closed the door, he was all smiles.

"Hey," said Claudia, "not bad, huh?" "Yeah," Derek said. He looked truly amazed. "They liked me. We had fun." "So which one was John?" Claudia asked. She could hardly wait to get the information.

"John?" Derek looked puzzled. "Oh. John. None of them," he said. "John isn't friends with them." Derek wandered back up to his room. He looked a little dazed from the events of the afternoon. Dazed, but happy.

Well, Claudia thought, she hadn't exactly solved the Superbrat problem, but she had helped some of the boys to be friends with Derek, and that was a good start.

"See you tomorrow in school," they had said.

Not bad for one afternoon of baby-sitting.

Chapter 10.

The next Saturday was the day of my second audition. I also had another job scheduled at the Masterses'. Mrs. Masters had offered to pick me up after the audition and bring me straight to their house. You can bet my parents went for that idea in a big way. They end up carting me around so much for my classes that I think they sometimes feel like a ballet chauffeur service.

I told Mrs. Masters where the theater was and what time to come, and sure enough, when I came down from the stage after my audition, I spotted her and Derek standing at the back of the theater. I waved to them and they waved back.

"Jessica Ramsey." It was the stage manager again, calling my name from the front row of seats. She was sitting next to the choreographer, who was leaning over her, writing something on her pad. For a moment, I felt pretty scared.

It was time to take myself in hand and give myself another little talk.

Come on, I said to myself. They're not going to wait all day while you stand here trying to find your legs.

"Yes?" I asked when I reached them. My voice cracked as the word came out.

"Miss Ramsey," said the stage manager. "Congratulations. You've survived another round. We'd like to see you again next Saturday for the final audition." "Really?" I squeaked. "I mean, thank you. I mean, I'll see you next week. Thank you very much." I backed away, all smiles. Then I grabbed my bag, slipped my pants on over my tights, and ran to the back of the theater, where Derek and his mother were waiting.

"You made the cut?" Derek asked. "They asked you back?" I guess he could tell by the big smile that had taken over my face.

"Yup," I said. "Just one more audition to go." Mrs. Masters gave me a hug of congratulations and Derek slapped me five. As we walked out of the theater to the car, Derek nudged me and pointed to the clique-y group of girls who were again standing at the back of the theater, huddled and whispering.

"Those girls are cutthroat, huh?" Derek said.

"We were standing next to them for awhile," Mrs. Masters added. "They didn't have a nice word to say about anyone." I shrugged.

"They're a certain type you find around ballet," I said. "But most ballerinas aren't like that." When we got tojhe car, Derek pulled a small notepad out of his pocket.

"I took a few notes on your performance," he said.

"You did?" I asked, surprised.

"I hope you don't mind. It really was super. Even I could tell that. But there were a few things that you could just clean up, and since you do have one last audition to go through, I figured I might as well give you some tips." "Sure," I said. "Shoot." Though, to tell the truth, I was wondering what kind of corrections Derek could really give me about ballet. It's a pretty exacting art, and you sort of have to know a lot about it to be able to notice what's right and what's wrong.

Derek opened his notepad.

"Well," he said. "To start, during the piqué turns, you weren't attaching your foot to the back of your knee." I stared at Derek dumbfounded. How did he know about piqué turns? How did he know where your foot was supposed to be?

"And another note," said Derek. "During the tour jetes your spot wandered." Tour jetes? Spot? Where was Derek getting this technical language? These were the kinds of things Mme Noelle was always hounding me about.

I looked at Derek. He was grinning. I grabbed the notebook out of his hands.

"Give me that," I said.

I looked over the page. It was filled with lots more notes that were just as technical. The only thing he had wrong was the spelling of the words. For instance, he had spelled "tour jete" the way it is pronounced - "toor jetay." "All right," I said. "How did you come up with these notes?" "Certain cutthroat types can be very helpful without knowing it." "You mean . . . ?" "We were standing by those girls for an awfully long time," Mrs. Masters explained. "We heard them tearing apart everyone's performance, so Derek got the idea to see what they had to say about yours. They have trained eyes and were very specific in what they saw. Derek just happened to get it all down on paper." I looked over the notes. They were actually very helpful. I recognized a lot of the mistakes they had caught. They were things I often did wrong. Well, now I had the whole week to work on them.

"Gee, I don't know who I should thank," I said. "You or the cutthroats." "You can thank me," Derek grinned. "I accept all donations of money, all presents, all major credit cards . . ." I cuffed Derek playfully on the head.