But she didn’t make one mistake. Then, after the song was over and we cheered our lungs out, she sat down again. This time she played a slow ballad from a Broadway show, and sang along. She never looked at her fingers. She’d sing facing one camera, then smoothly look at another. Somehow she always knew which one she was on.
I felt so proud of her!
After her number, the Wilders and I practically leaped to our feet. I shouted “Brava!” and whistled.
Uncle Dandy made some dumb closing remarks, and soon the overhead lights were turned on again. As we stood up, the performers began filing back into the studio.
There were hugs and kisses all over the place. I practically smothered Rosie. “You were so fantastic!” I said.
“Thanks,” she replied with a smile.
“Wonderful, darling,” Mr. Wilder said. “As always.”
“Super!” Mrs. Wilder added.
“The best!” Ms. Yu said proudly.
We chatted for awhile. Ms. Yu left to talk to Uncle Dandy, who was wiping his face with a towel.
Soon a handsome, tanned man with moussed hair approached Rosie and said, “Let me add my congratulations to everyone else’s. I’m Raymond Mendez of Mendez Teen ‘n’ Tiny Talent. Do you have an agent representing you theatrically?” He handed a card to Mrs. Wilder.
“Yes, I have —” Rosie began.
But her father cut her off. “I see you have an office in New York,” he said.
“And we’re about to open one in L.A.,” Mr. Mendez added. “We specialize in juvenile talent.”
“And you have movie contacts?” Mrs. Wilder asked.
“With all the studios,” answered Mr. Mendez.
The conversation obviously bothered Rosie. “Mom,” she said, “I have a contract with Ms. Yu!”
“Yes, of course, dear,” Mrs. Wilder said. “But it’s always good to keep your options open. Thank you, Mr. Mendez. We’ll keep your card.”
When he was out of sight, Mr. Wilder said softly, “This could be an excellent career move, Rosie. Don’t worry about Ms. Yu. Contracts are made to be broken.”
“But Dad —” Mr. and Mrs. Wilder were pulled aside by the parents of Crystal. They didn’t hear Rosie say, “I like Ms. Yu!”
Before long, we said good-bye to Uncle Dandy and headed out to the parking lot. As we drove off, Mr. and Mrs. Wilder launched a conversation about the pros and cons of the Mendez Teen ‘n’ Tiny Talent agency.
Rosie and I tuned them out in the backseat. “Rosie, you were so good I practically cried.”
“Yeah?” Rosie said. “It was no big deal. You know, you rehearse it and you do it.”
“How did you know which cameras to look at?” I asked.
“The one that’s on is the one with the red light,” she said. “It’s easy.”
She looked out the window at the passing shops. I was amazed. She didn’t seem to want to talk about the show at all. It was as if she’d just finished some semi-interesting chore and wanted to move on to the next thing.
Suddenly Rosie cried out, “Oooh! Let’s stop at that ice cream shop! Can we have a treat? I’m so-o-o-o hungry!”
Mr. Wilder smiled. “Not tonight, sweetheart. It’s getting late, and you have a rehearsal with Mr. Bryan and Ms. Van Cott in the morning for your dinner-theater audition.”
That’s when the fireworks began.
Rosie stomped her feet and screamed, “But I want ice cream! I don’t want to have a stupid rehearsal!”
“Rosi-i-i-ie,” Mrs. Wilder said. “Behave yourself. You need your sleep if you want your voice to stay in shape.”
“I don’t care about my voice! I don’t care about dancing! I don’t care about that dumb audition!”
“I know how you feel, darling,” Mr. Wilder said. “But you’re a performer, and performers have to have discipline.”
“That’s not what I am!” Rosie was shrieking now. “I’m a kid! I just want to get ice cream like a normal kid!”
The Wilders just fell silent and kept on driving. Rosie folded her arms and curled into a ball.
No one said a word during the rest of the trip. I felt so sad for Rosie. I tried to comfort her, but she shrank away from me. So I just stared out the window. I don’t remember one thing I saw.
Curious? I practically had to drag Mary Anne to the Crossword Competition that Thursday. No one else could go with me. Still, Mary Anne almost decided to go home and do her homework.
I’m glad she came to SES. Rosie needed as much help as she could get. And I don’t mean with the puzzles.
Let me start at the beginning. The Wilders couldn’t go to the contest because Mrs. Wilder’s mom needed to be taken to the hospital. So I was in charge. Now, Stacey had told me how the other kids treated Rosie at school, so I was determined to give her as much support as I could.
Mary Anne and I went straight to Stoneybrook Elementary after school. The contest was to be held in the auditorium. A bunch of our clients were there — Charlotte Johanssen, some of the Pike kids, Haley Braddock, Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold. We had to wave and shout “Hello” a lot.
On the stage were three enormous blackboards on wheels. Some teachers were drawing crossword puzzles onto them, carefully copying the puzzles from books. The blackboards were facing the back of the stage, so the audience (and the contestants) couldn’t see the puzzles in advance.
The auditorium was fairly crowded so we sat toward the back. When Rosie came in, she ran over to us. “Hi,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“We’re your cheering section,” I said. “This is my friend Mary Anne Spier.”
“Hi,” Mary Anne said. “I’ve heard all about you.”
Rosie smiled. “Thanks. Well, I’m going to hang out in the back till we start. I need to stay focused.”
As soon as she left, Mary Anne whispered to me, “Stay focused?”
I shrugged. “That’s Rosie. Seven going on twenty-five.”
Behind us, we heard a burst of giggling. A girl was saying, “Ew! The brain!”
We turned to see a group of girls walking past Rosie.
“She’s not talking to us,” another girl said. “She only talks to Uncle Dandy.”
The girls giggled again, then found seats together.
Poor Rosie. I tried to catch her eye, so I could give her a thumbs-up or something. But she was pacing gloomily behind the last row, staring at the floor.
Soon Ms. Reynolds, the SES principal, walked onto the stage and announced, “Okay, let’s take our seats. The competition’s about to begin. Competing this evening is the winner from each grade, one of whom will become the school champ. In the fifth grade, Nicole Ficaro —”
“Ya-a-a-a-ay!” came a big cheer from one section of the auditorium.
“In the fourth grade,” Ms. Reynolds continued, “Joseph Nicholas —”
Another huge cheer from another part of the auditorium.
“And in the third grade, Rosie Wilder!”
Well, Mary Anne and I cheered loudly. I think a couple of other kids did, too, but I wasn’t sure. If they did, they were drowned out by some loud “Boo’s” and giggles.
My heart sank. If I’d been Rosie and heard that, I would have been mortified.
“All right,” Ms. Reynolds said sternly. “If you have a negative opinion, you are advised to keep it to yourself.” She glared at the group of unruly kids, and boy, did they squirm. Then she said, “All right. I’ll explain the rules. There are three puzzles, one for each grade. The higher the grade, the harder the puzzle. The contestants will have twenty minutes to complete their puzzles. At the end, the one who has filled in the most correct answers wins. There is to be no — I repeat, no — helping from the audience members. Anyone who does will be expelled from the room.” She glanced around. “Okay, will the contestants please come to the stage?”
Rosie and the other two walked down the aisles. One of the girls who had taunted Rosie whispered something to her friends, and they started snickering.
I’m sure Rosie heard them, but she just kept walking.
As the three contestants stepped onstage, Ms. Reynolds gave them a warm smile and wished them good luck. Then she said, “All right, begin!”
The teachers turned the blackboards around and raced to the sides of the stage to bring out stools for the kids.
The three kids began scribbling away. Rosie, who was the shortest, had to step on and off her stool constantly.
Some people in the audience found that hilarious. “It’s a jumping bean!” someone called out. That set off the girls, who were waiting for an excuse to laugh.
One of the teachers ran to them and angrily shushed them.
Meanwhile Rosie was doing a great job. She figured out the easy clues right away. For “President Abraham —” she wrote LINCOLN, for “Opposite of high” she wrote LOW — things like that.
But there were some really tough clues, too. “What’s a ’small, furry marsupial’?” Mary Anne whispered.
“Beats me,” I said. “How about the author of ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’ — Edward Blank? Edward Allan Poe?” I guessed.
“It’s Edgar Allan Poe,” Mary Anne said. “Besides, there are only four letters.”
I heard an explosion of laughter, this time from a group of boys. Rosie had just filled in a word, which left the word for Ten Across looking like this:
The clue was “An opening,” and the answer was SLOT, of course, but you can imagine which letter the boys had pictured in the blank: an N.
“Hey, Rosie, here’s a hint for Ten Across — yourself!” one of the boys called out.
This time Ms. Reynolds herself approached the boy. She took his arm and walked him out of the auditorium. As Rosie filled in the L for SLOT, another boy yelled, “Wro-o-o-ng — EHHHH,” imitating an electronic buzzer.
Kids can be really cruel, but I think they’re worse in a group situation. You know how it is, one person starts and everyone has to copy. Mary Anne and I were so angry, but there was nothing we could do.
Anyway, Rosie just kept writing and writing, with that same grim expression she wore when she played the piano. She figured out the furry marsupial (KOALA) and the “Owl and the Pussycat” author (LEAR).
With about one and a half minutes left, she filled in her last letter, slammed down the chalk, and called out, “Finished!”
There were a few groans from the crowd, but a few cheers, too. I guess some of the third-graders were happy to see their classmate finish first.
Rosie waited by the blackboard until the buzzer went off. Both Joseph and Nicole quickly filled in all their boxes in the nick of time.
The teachers stood in front of the blackboards and checked the answers. They mumbled to themselves, then mumbled to Ms. Reynolds.
Ms. Reynolds nodded. She stepped to the front of the stage. “Let’s have a big hand for the new Stoneybrook Elementary School Crossword Champ — Rosie Wilder!”
Mary Anne and I jumped up and cheered. We didn’t care what the other kids thought. Ms. Reynolds gave Rosie a trophy and a hug, which was good for one or two cries of “Ew” from the audience.
Rosie took the trophy and slunk off the stage. We ran to her.
“Congratulations!” I said. “I knew you’d do it!“
“You were amazing!” added Mary Anne. “I didn’t know half those clues.”
All Rosie said was, “Can we go now?”
We walked outside with her and headed away from the school. Rosie was silent for awhile, staring straight ahead and clutching her trophy. Then she said, “Why do they do that?”
“You mean, those kids?” I asked gently.
Rosie nodded. “They always treat me like that. I don’t know why. I never do anything bad to them. I just try to do my best, that’s all. And they gang up on me and tease me and call me names. I mean, even the third-graders didn’t cheer for me.”
Rosie began to cry. She was clutching her trophy so hard her knuckles had turned white.
Mary Anne and I put our arms around her. “Oh, Rosie, it’s okay,” I said. “It isn’t easy being different from everybody. People have a hard time understanding you.”
“That’s right,” Mary Anne said. “Look at the problems Claudia has.”
Rosie sniffed and brushed back her tears. “C-Claudia?” She looked at me like a wounded puppy. “But you’re so popular!”
I smiled. “Well, maybe. But in my family, I’m the only one who isn’t a brain. You met my sister, right? I love her, but can you imagine growing up with her for a sister? My parents always compared me to her, but I could never do as well in school as she does. Not in a million years! I felt like a freak. No one in my family is anything like me.”
“But didn’t your parents see what a great artist you were?” Rosie asked.
“Well, now they do, sort of,” I said. “But I’m thirteen. It’s taken a long time.”
We talked all the way to Rosie’s house. When we neared Burnt Hill Road, Mary Anne said, “I have to go home this way.” She smiled warmly at Rosie. “I barely know you, Rosie, but I think you’re very special, even aside from your talents.”
You should have seen Rosie beam.
By the time Rosie and I reached her house, she was feeling a little better. We went inside and each ate a big helping of potato salad from the refrigerator.
I checked the note Mrs. Wilder had left, which said she and Mr. Wilder would be back in time for Rosie’s five-thirty voice lesson. It was only four forty-five, so I said to Rosie, “Well, what do you want to do? Get ready for your lesson?”
Rosie grinned slyly. “I want to draw!”
“I knew you were going to say that!” I said. I found my backpack and pulled out my drawing supplies.
Rosie ran upstairs and came down with a fistful of her own sketches and a paper shopping bag. “I drew a Life Saver and a peppermint stick,” she said, “but then I tried drawing a Doritos bag, and it ended up looking like a potato sack …”
She showed me what she’d done. Then she pulled her subjects out of the shopping bag and set them on the table.
We started with the Life Saver. I explained what she could do to make the shading better and smooth the lines.
We worked hard, going from drawing to drawing. We erased, improved, experimented. Some of the results were good, but some were hilariously awful. At one point, when Rosie was working on the crinkled outline of a Doritos bag, she drew what looked like the outline of a dog. We cracked up. “Arf! Arf!” I barked.
“Ow-oooo!” Rosie howled.
I began to sniff like a dog, moving my head left and right.
And that’s when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilder. They were standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at us as if we’d lost our minds.
“Mom, Dad,” Rosie said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were … barking too loudly,” Mr. Wilder said. He smiled, but he obviously was not amused.
“Did Ms. Van Cott call in sick?” Mrs. Wilder asked.
“No,” Rosie said, hanging her head.
“Then why aren’t you practicing for your lesson?”
“And isn’t tomorrow the due date for your math project?” Mr. Wilder asked.
Instead of answering, Rosie reached for her trophy. Her face brightened as she held it out to her parents. “Look, I won the Grand Crossword Competition!”
“Terrific, sweetheart!” Mr. Wilder said with a big grin. He took the trophy and admired it in the overhead light. “I’m going to put this front and center in the trophy case.”
Mrs. Wilder bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Rosie.”
“Thanks,” Rosie said.
But Mrs. Wilder had caught a close-up glimpse of Rosie’s drawing. “What is that, dear?” she asked, frowning at it.
“A bag of Doritos,” Rosie said meekly.
“A bag of Doritos,” Mrs. Wilder repeated. “Did you draw that?”
“Mm-hm,” answered Rosie.
“You
, uh, don’t have anything better to do with your time?” asked her father.
“I finished my math project already,” said Rosie quickly.
Mr. Wilder nodded. “Very good. And did you practice for your lesson, too?”
“No, but —”
“Really, Rosie, I’m surprised at you,” Mrs. Wilder said. “Drawing a bag of chips when your teacher is about to arrive.”
“But Claudia’s teaching me how to —” Rosie protested.
“Honey,” Mr. Wilder said, “we’re not spending our hard-earned money on your career just so you can fritter away your time —”
“I’m not frittering!” Rosie shouted. “I don’t want to practice!”
“Rosie,” Mr. Wilder said, “let’s not have a replay of the night we came back from the Uncle Dandy show.”
“I hate Uncle Dandy!” Rosie snapped. “He’s stupid and ugly, and if he invites me back, I’m going to turn him down!”
“Fine,” Mr. Wilder said with a sigh. “I realize you were in another league from the other talents, but the show served its purpose. Now it’s over. But that doesn’t mean we can let up. Life moves on. There’s your audition, your commercial booking next week —”
Rosie slammed her hand on the table. “I don’t care about some dumb musical! And I’m tired of going into New York! I hate my life! I never have any fun except when Claudia comes over! All I do is work, work, work. And I’m not going to do it anymore!”
With that, Rosie slid out of her chair, stomped upstairs, and slammed her door shut.
“Rosie!” Mr. Wilder called after her. “Mary Rose, you come down here right now!”
“No!” Rosie yelled back, her voice choked with tears.
“Leave her, George,” Mrs. Wilder said. “She needs to be alone for a few minutes.”
Rosie’s parents looked a little shaky. I gathered Rosie didn’t act like that too often. The Wilders kind of stood there, staring at the space between themselves and me.
As for me? Well, I wanted to die. I felt as if I had taken their little girl and created a monster. At least, I was sure that was the way they saw the situation.
Claudia and the Genius of Elm Street Page 7