Claudia and the Great Search

by Ann M. Martin

  After quite a bit of silence, Stacey said, “Claudia, believe me when I say this. I really think you may be adopted. But I do not think that Mary Ho is necessarily your birth mother. In the first place, you didn’t talk to her. For all you know, she’s only twenty-one years old. In the second place, what makes you so sure you were born in Stoneybrook?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems logical. Once I heard a news story about a woman who gave birth to a baby she couldn’t keep, so the doctor who delivered the baby adopted him. That baby would have been born in the same town where his birth mother had lived. Anyway, think about it. I’m like no one else in my family. I even look different. I think maybe I’m only half-Asian. I think —” I began to cry.

  “Claud, slow down. You’re jumping to all sorts of conclusions. Look, everyone is different, and not everyone fits into her family, or his family. I’m the only McGill with diabetes. And think how different Jessi and Becca Ramsey are. And look at Nicky Pike, for heaven’s sake. Talk about not fitting into your family. His brothers tease him and he doesn’t like to play with his sisters.”

  I sniffed. “I guess you’re right,” I said.

  “The thing is,” Stacey went on, “you’re not going to feel better until you know the truth. You don’t even know for sure that you’re adopted.”

  “But how am I going to find out? I don’t know how to search anymore.”

  “Ask your parents,” said Stacey flatly.

  “They’ll never tell me the truth.”

  “Why are you so convinced of that? They told you the truth when Mimi was sick. They’ve told you the truth about plenty of things. Ask them. You have to confront them.”

  I let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll talk to them after dinner.”

  Think it was tough waiting until after dinner?

  Well, you’re right.

  But it had to be done. Mom and Dad came home from work and they were starved, so my family ate dinner together right away. And I was not going to bring up the subject of my adoption in front of Janine. I needed a private talk with my parents. My adoptive parents, that is.

  Dinner was almost painful. Those butterflies were back, so I could hardly eat. I couldn’t concentrate, either. I kept saying, “What? What?” Mom asked me twice if I was sick. She even leaned over and felt my forehead. When Janine dropped her fork, I jumped a mile. I nearly fell out of my chair. At that point, I saw Mom and Dad exchange a glance, which of course was about me.

  All during dinner I’d wondered how to ask my parents for a private conference, but in the end, I didn’t have to ask. They asked me. First they said, “Janine, will you clean up the kitchen tonight, please?”

  “But it’s Claudia’s turn,” Janine replied.

  “You’re switching,” said Dad in his no-nonsense voice. “Claudia will make up for it later.”

  “Okay,” replied my sister, pouting.

  Then Mom said, “Let’s go into the den, Claudia. Your father and I want to talk to you.”

  They did? Were they going to say they knew what I’d been up to — my search and all — and they’d decided to tell me the truth?

  No.

  We settled ourselves in the den, Mom and Dad on the couch with me between them. A Claudia sandwich with parent bread.

  “Claudia,” said my father, “something is obviously very wrong. Your mother and I couldn’t help but notice your behavior at dinner. We hope you’ll talk to us and let us try to help you.”

  I nodded. A big lump in my throat kept me from speaking.

  “Are you having trouble at school?” asked Mom gently. She brushed a strand of hair from my face.

  I shook my head.

  “It isn’t report-card time,” said Dad, trying to make a joke.

  I couldn’t even smile.

  “Did you have a fight with Stacey?” asked Mom.

  Again I shook my head. And then (I couldn’t help it) I began to cry.

  My parents were truly alarmed.

  “Claudia?” said Dad.

  “You lied to me!” I finally said in a tight whisper.

  I didn’t see it, but I know that Mom and Dad frowned at each other over the top of my head.

  “We lied to you?” repeated Dad.

  “Yeah,” I said with a little gasp. “All these years. All the times when you said, ‘When Claudia was born …’ or, ‘When Claudia was a baby …’ or, ‘When Claudia came home from the hospital …’ And not one of those times — not one — did you say I came home from the hospital as an adopted baby.”

  “An adopted baby!” exclaimed my mother.

  “Yes. I know all about it. I found the clues. Everything makes sense. There are hardly any baby pictures of me and there are tons of Janine. Tons,” I added for emphasis.

  “But —” said Dad.

  “And I’m so different from you guys and Janine. You’re all smart and you’re sort of — what’s the word? — conventional. And I do terribly in school and I’m a wild dresser and maybe a little boy-crazy. And I don’t even look like the rest of you.”

  “But —” said Mom.

  “Plus,” I rushed on, “I found the locked box. In there,” I said, pointing to the desk. “I wasn’t snooping. Honest. I was looking for more baby pictures when I couldn’t find enough in the photo albums. I know my adoption papers are in that box.”

  “But —” said Dad.

  “And last of all, the final proof,” I continued, “is that there’s no birth announcement for me in the Stoneybrook News. I went to the library and I used the microfiche machine to check. So I know I wasn’t born here. Or if I was, my birth mother gave me a different name. So now I want you to please tell me the truth. Come on. I can take it.”

  My parents looked shocked. That’s the only way to describe their faces. I bet they didn’t think I was smart enough to figure things out.

  “Come on,” I dared them again.

  “Claudia, dear,” said Mom. “You are not adopted.”

  She said it so simply that I believed her right away.

  “I’m not?”

  “No,” she and Dad replied at the same time.

  “You mean I’m your real kid?”

  “Of course.” Dad took my hand.

  “But what about the pictures?” I asked.

  Mom looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, honey, but we have no explanation for that except that you are our second child. It’s just a sad fact that there are usually more pictures of a first baby than of a second one. Parents are awed by their first baby. They can’t believe what they’ve created. So they can’t stop taking pictures. But when the second child — or the third or fourth or fifth — comes along, they’re more used to things. And they don’t have as much time for picture-taking because the new baby isn’t their only child. They’re a lot busier.”

  I relaxed a little.

  “As for being different,” said Dad, “believe me, everybody is different. And think how boring a family would be if all the people in it were alike.”

  “Think of Peaches and me,” added Mom. “Who would ever guess we’re sisters? You know, you and Peaches are very similar.”

  “And Janine may look like me,” said Dad. “I know that’s what you’ve been thinking. It’s hard not to notice that, but you’re a pretty good cross between your mother and me. And believe it or not, you look very much the way Mimi did when she was young.”

  “I do?” I almost began to cry again.

  “Yes,” said Mom, looking teary herself. “I’ll show you some old pictures of Mimi later.”

  I relaxed even more.

  “Now,” said Dad, “would you like to know why your birth wasn’t announced in the Stoneybrook News?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Very much.”

  “Because it was announced in the Stoneybrook Gazette. So was Janine’s birth.”

  “The Stoneybrook Gazette? What’s that?”

  “A local paper that went out of business about nine years ago.”<
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  “If you went back to the library and looked at the Gazette on the microfiche machine, you’d find your announcement,” said Mom. “But you won’t have to bother with that, since I have a copy of the entire paper in the desk in my bedroom.”

  “Oh, wow!” I said. I actually laughed. Mom and Dad smiled.

  “Feel better?” asked my father.

  “I’ll feel completely normal as soon as you show me what’s in that box in the bottom drawer of the desk.”

  Dad didn’t hesitate. He stood right up, strode to the desk, removed the box, took his keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the box. He held it open in front of me.

  It was full of money.

  “Oh, my lord!” I cried. “What’s that for?”

  “Emergencies,” Mom told me. “There are five hundred dollars in that box. And nothing else. We’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone that, though. We wouldn’t want to be robbed. The money is there in case we ever need fast cash in the middle of the night.”

  I slumped onto the couch. “I don’t believe it,” I said softly. “I feel so stupid. You must think I’m stupid.”

  “Of course we don’t,” said Dad. “We think you’re bright and sensitive and creative. And different.”

  I smiled.

  “And we like you just the way you are,” added Mom. “We also know that thirteen is a difficult age. I guess you have an even tougher time than most kids, though — trying to keep up with a sister like Janine.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  “Well, we want you to know,” said Dad, “that in the future, we’ll try to pay more attention to your feelings.”

  “And I want you to know,” I said, “that I’m really, really sorry I accused you of lying to me.”

  Mom and Dad smiled. Then we hugged.

  And then, of course, I had to go to my room to call Stacey.

  * * *

  Later, Mom found the pictures of Mimi. We compared pictures of Mimi at twelve to pictures of me at twelve.

  We could have been twins.

  That night, I slept with one of the pictures of Mimi under my pillow.

  It was Friday, three days after I’d learned that I wasn’t adopted after all. I was waiting for my friends to arrive for the day’s BSC meeting. While I waited, I stared at the wall over my desk. Something new was hanging there. I’m always painting pictures or creating things to hang in my room, and I change them pretty often.

  The new thing, though, wasn’t one of my creations. Well, not really. What I had done was taken one of the pictures of twelve-year-old Mimi, and one of my seventh-grade school pictures, matted them, and framed them side by side in a single frame. I knew I would never take that down. It was something that would hang in my room until I went away to college (if I could get into any college), and then it would go with me so I could hang it over the desk in my dorm room.

  I was so intent on gazing at the photos that I didn’t hear Stacey come into my room.

  “Oh, wow,” she said softly, looking at the pictures. “That’s you and Mimi, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied, trying not to let Stacey know that she’d just taken about ten years off my life by sneaking up on me.

  “Well, I don’t think there’s any question that you’re Mimi’s granddaughter, do you?”

  “Nope. And if Mimi were alive, she probably would have found these pictures for me the very night I discovered the locked box, and then my search wouldn’t have happened at all.”

  “Probably,” agreed Stacey. “I guess we just have to learn to get along without some of the people we love, though.” (I knew she was thinking of her father and the divorce.)

  “Gee, this is a cheery conversation,” I said.

  Stacey laughed. Then she flopped onto my bed. “I am beat,” she said. “All I did this afternoon was sit for Laura Perkins, and she slept most of the time. You’d think I just ran a marathon. Dawn’s going to have to take the desk chair today, because I claim a place on the bed.”

  I looked critically at Stacey. She was always tired these days. She was too thin, and half the time she didn’t feel well. “Stacey —” I began, about to give her a lecture, but just then Kristy burst in.

  “Hi, you guys!” she cried. She settled into the director’s chair, put on her visor, and stuck a pencil over one ear.

  During the next five minutes, Jessi showed up, then Mal, and finally Mary Anne and Dawn. All the BSC members were present.

  Kristy called us to order. “Any club business?” she asked.

  “I move that we have a snack,” I said.

  “I second the motion,” added Mallory.

  Kristy tried to frown, but couldn’t. “Okay,” she said. “Claud, pass around whatever you’ve got hidden in here, and then I have some news. Some club news,” she said pointedly.

  I pulled a bag of mini-chocolate bars from under the quilt at the end of my bed, and a box of pretzels from behind my pillows. While my friends helped themselves, Kristy said, “Okay, here’s all sorts of news. First, Mr. Papadakis — I mean, Hannie and Linny and Sari’s grandfather — is leaving the nursing home tomorrow. He’s over the pneumonia, and his hip is healing just fine.”

  “That’s great!” said Dawn and Mary Anne.

  “Yeah!” agreed the rest of us.

  “I know,” said Kristy. “I have to admit I’m going to miss that regular job, though. The Papadakis kids are so nice. I really like them. You should have seen what they made their grandfather to welcome him back to his house.”

  “What?” asked Jessi.

  “A welcome-home card that’s taller than Linny.”

  “You’re kidding!” cried Stacey.

  Kristy shook her head. “Nope. They worked hard on it, too. Even Sari. Mrs. Papadakis had given them lots of materials — paper doilies, cotton balls, glitter, stars, you name it. Linny drew big letters that spell out ‘WELCOME HOME, POPPY,’ Hannie colored them in, and Sari glued stuff anywhere she felt like it. The card is actually sort of funny-looking. There are glue drippings everywhere, things falling off the edges, and every time the kids pick the card up, glitter showers off of it. But they’re really proud of their work.”

  “That’s kind of sweet,” I said.

  “Yup. Anyway, one good thing about the end of the job with the Papadakises is that now I’ll have more time to spend with Emily. Which brings me to my next piece of news,” said Kristy. “The teachers gave Mom and Watson the results of their reevaluation of Emily.”

  I glanced around my bedroom. Every single one of us had leaned forward. On the floor, Jessi in her jeans and ballet leotard, and Mal in a new sweater dress, were leaning forward. On the bed, Stacey in a funky New York sweat shirt, Mary Anne in one of Dawn’s baggy T-shirts, and I in a Day-Glo-striped top and skintight knit pants, were leaning forward. And on the desk chair, Dawn, wearing an outfit of Mary Anne’s, had cocked her head toward Kristy. (She couldn’t lean forward or the chair would have fallen over.)

  “The news,” said Kristy, “is good.”

  The six of us let out sighs of relief and relaxed a little.

  “The teachers say Emily has made a lot of progress,” Kristy began. “First of all, she’s not so afraid of everything. She trusts people more. She knows that when she’s left somewhere, or even just left alone in her room, someone will come back for her. She’s still not crazy about thunderstorms or the dark, and she still cries out in the night sometimes, but she’s better about both things.”

  “What about school?” I asked, sounding like a nervous parent.

  “The teachers are positive that Emily will be able to start preschool in the fall,” Kristy answered. “That’s fine with us. She’ll be three then, which is the age Andrew and Karen started preschool. Also —”

  Ring, ring!

  “I’ll get it,” said Dawn. She picked up the phone. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club. Dawn Schafer speaking.” (A pause.) “Oh, sure. I’ll get right back to you. ‘Bye.”

  Dawn hung up, and
we arranged for a sitter for the Delaneys, who live in Kristy’s neighborhood. We had to call on our associate members, though, since the seven of us regular sitters were all busy that afternoon. Luckily, Shannon Kilbourne could take the job.

  The phone rang a couple more times then, and we got busy with our calendar and schedules. Kristy was beaming. She just loves busy meetings.

  The meeting finally settled down, though, and Kristy finished telling us about Emily. “One thing we’ll have to do this summer is get her toilet-trained,” she said. “But I think Emily will manage that. The best part, though, is that the teachers can’t believe the progress Emily has made in terms of skills. You know, learning her colors and stuff. And that,” she went on, “is due to you, Claud.”

  I grinned. I felt so proud. I, Claudia Kishi, the not-so-hot eighth-grade student, was a teacher! A good one. I could teach kids things, and teach them so well that real teachers were impressed!

  “Remember how worried you were about Emily?” Jessi said to Kristy.

  “Yeah.” Kristy looked a little sheepish. “I guess I was more worried than I needed to be. Mom and Watson and the doctor and the teachers kept saying Emily would be fine. I was afraid something was really wrong. Thank goodness everyone else was right. They knew what they were doing. Oh, you know what else the teachers said?” Kristy was looking at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “That you should keep working with Emily. Mom wants to talk to you about that. You don’t have to turn her into Super-Baby, but your tutoring sessions are good preparation for real school.”

  “Wow! They really want me to work with her?”

  “Yup. I guess I could do it, or Nannie could. But Mom says it’s good for Emily to get close to people outside our family. Besides, you’re doing a great job.”

  “Thanks! I guess I ought to call your mom. We haven’t set up Emily’s next session. Do you think your mother’s home from work yet?”

  Kristy looked at my clock. “I don’t know. It depends. She might be. Try calling her, okay?”

  “Okay.” I reached for the phone and dialed the Thomas/Brewer number.

  After three rings, I heard a fumbling noise at the other end. There was a pause. Then a voice said cheerfully, “Heyyo!”