Baby-Sitters Club 085

by Ann M. Martin

  Maybe now she'd leave me alone.

  Chapter 13.

  "Ready, Claudia? Ashley? Guests?" Mr. Bullock asked from inside the glass booth.

  "Ready," we replied.

  "Ready, Mr. Garber?" Theodore "Ted" Garber, author of the spooky, creepy, gross, and super-popular series Night Frights, cleared his throat and said, "Ready!" I was still in shock. The week before, Ashley had been dying to get a real, live author on the show. She'd heard that Mr. Garber lived in Connecticut. On Friday she tried to invite him to the show, by calling his publishing company.

  She did not expect that he'd call back on Saturday and say yes.

  (I have to admit, I don't read Night Frights, but it felt very cool to be in the same room with a famous author.) The engineer held up his arm. The red light went on."Helllllo, it's a warm, gorgeous, fantastic Thursday, and welcome to Tor Kids Only'! This is Claudia Kishi, sitting with Ash-ley Wyeth, as always, and we have the coolest, most innnncrafible show for you today!" Not bad, huh? I was getting better and better at this stuff.

  "Today's theme," Ashley continued, "is 'What Are You Reading?' Later we'll have a call-in quiz show — a Junior Jeopardy based on kids' books. We'll also have Regina, Cathy, and David, three seventh-graders who are collecting their own strange and spooky stories." "And in the middle," I said, "for a full half hour, we'll have our surprise guest, who will read from his new book, Night Frights Number Thirteen: Don't Get Out of Bed! Yes, fans, we have for you, here in the studio, live and in the flesh ... Mr. Ted Garber!" "BOOO-AHHH-HAHHH-HAAAAHHH!" I nearly jumped through the ceiling. Ashley let out a gasp.

  Through the glass I saw the engineers snickering and looking guilty. I guess that was their idea of fun — scaring innocent people with unexpected spooky sound effects.

  So weird. I just glared at them.

  "Uh, and now, take it away, Regina, Cathy, and David!" Ashley said.

  Mr. Garber was smiling sympathetically at me. He looked as if he'd been scared, too (which I found very funny).

  Well, the storytelling trio got off to a rocky start. (I think Mr. Garber made them a little nervous.) But their final story was fantastic. It was called "Kokolimalayas, the Bone Man," a Native American tale about a boy who defeats a monster made of bones. Kokolimalayas sticks out its chest and defies the boy to shoot. But the boy knows the monster's secret: its heart is in its fingertip. So he points his arrow and zzzing! 'Bye-'bye Bone Man.

  "Bravo!" Mr. Garber called out when they were done.

  They were thrilled by his response. They crowded around to shake his hand as I said, "And now, the guest you've all been waiting for: Misterrrr Ted Garrrrrberrr!" (That was reverb. The engineers were in a wacky mood.) "I wish I could talk like that," was the first thing Mr. Garber said. "Maybe then my kids would listen to me." He performed a funny routine, and then started reading from his book. Off in the waiting room, I could see Kristy and the twins shuffling papers and fidgeting.

  After the reading, we "opened the phones," and Mr. Garber answered callers.

  At precisely 5:45, Mr. Garber finished up. I thanked him, gave Kristy a thumbs-up, and announced, "And now it's time for Junior Jeopardy with Kristy Thomas, and the tremendous twins, Carolyn and Marilyn Arnold!" Kristy confidently grabbed the mike and held it right up to her lips. "THOCKHOO CLOFFFO!" The engineers' eyes bugged out. As they fiddled with dials, I gently pulled the mike farther away from Kristy's mouth.

  "Welcome to Junior Jeopardy, the game of skill, smarts, and speed!" Kristy said with a huge grin. "Get your pencils out while I read today's topics: Books Made into Movies, Mysteries, Picture Books, Authors, and Timeless Classics. Each caller will pick a topic and we'll give you an answer to a question. If you guess the question, you get a second and third chance. Any caller who gives us three correct questions wins a cool prize! Let's take the first call." She punched the speakerphone button. "Heyyyy, you're on the air with Kristy! Tell us your name and pick your category!" (I know. What a ham.) "Um, Sarah," a small voice replied. "I'll take Picture Books, please." Marilyn looked down a sheet of legal paper and leaned into the mike. "The famous ele- phant who is married to Queen Celeste," she said.

  "Babar!" Sarah squealed.

  "Answers must be in the form of a question," Kristy said solemnly.

  "Who is Babar?" suggested Sarah.

  "Rrrrrrrrright!" Kristy barked. "You go again!" "Um — um — what were the other categories?" Kristy patiently repeated them.

  "Okay," Sarah said. "Timeless Classics." Carolyn's turn. "In this book, three children step through a wardrobe into a wintry land ruled by a witch." "What is ... The Wizard of Oz?" "Nooooo! We're sorry. The question is, What is The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe?" "But I haven't read that!" Sarah said.

  "You should," was Kristy's reply. "It's great." She flicked on the next caller. "What's your name?" "Poindexter," a nasal voice said.

  "And your category?" "I pick . . . Kristy Thomas's nose!" Kristy scowled. "Alan Gray, is that you?" We heard a burst of wild laughter, then a click.

  Typical.

  The next caller picked Books Made into Movies. Marilyn gave the answer: "She is the famous nanny who takes care of the Banks children." "Who is Mrs. Doubtfire!" the caller cried out.

  "Nope," Kristy said. "Let's give another caller a chance." She pressed line 3. "Name, please." "Mary Poppins!" the caller said. "I mean, Sandy Gray son. That's me. And . . . uh, who is Mary Poppins?" "Yyyyes! Pick another topic!" "Mysteries." Carolyn said, "Her best friend's name is Bess and she lives in the town of River — " "Who is Nancy Drew?" Sandy blurted out.

  (I barely held myself back from answering that one.) "Yyyyes!" Kristy shouted.

  "Authors," Sandy picked.

  "He wrote Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher and Jennifer Murdley's Toad" Marilyn said.

  Silence.

  Marilyn repeated the answer.

  "Who is ... Dr. Seuss?" "Nnnnoo! Next caller!" "Who is Bruce Coville?" "Yyyyyyou got it!" Kristy replied. "What's your name and your next category?" Kristy was flying. Carolyn and Marilyn looked as if they were having the time of their lives.

  The fifteen minutes went by fast. The only embarrassing moment was when a caller didn't recognize one of Mr. Garber's books.

  Mr. Garber grabbed a tissue and pretended to cry. We tried not to crack up. He's pretty cool.

  Eventually three contestants did win prizes. When we finally ended the show, Kristy hopped around the room, whooping and pumping her fists.

  "Eeeee! Eeeee! Eeeee!" Carolyn and Marilyn sounded like screaming parakeets as they hugged each other and jumped up and down.

  The show which came on after ours was using a different studio, so Ash and I could hang out with Bob for awhile after our guests left. We had already planned our sixth and seventh shows (themes: "Music" and "Hobbies"), but not our eighth.

  I think we had been avoiding it. Number eight was our last.

  The problem was, we hadn't used some of the talented kids who'd auditioned, because they hadn't fit into any of our themes.

  "I can think of themes for all of them," Ash said with a sigh. "But we'd need a few more shows. I wish we could just keep going." "Me, too," I replied. "Maybe we could call the last show 'Weird Talents' or something. Just let it be a grab bag of acts." "You want my opinion?" Bob asked.

  "Sure," I said.

  "Your call-in segment — the one you did on the spur of the moment? Kids have been calling us, asking if you'll do it again." "Great!" Ashley said. "We can do half weird acts, and half 'Ask Dr. Claudia.' " "No way," I said.

  Ashley gave me a puzzled look. "Why not?" "You mean, 'Ask Dr. Claudia and Dr. Ashley/ " I reminded her.

  Her face lit up. "Deal." Chapter 14.

  "Bye, Dad," I called as the car drove away from the station.

  "Good luck!" he replied.

  Ash and I waved and watched him leave. Then we stood in the parking lot for a moment. Neither of us moved. We just stared silently at the squat, tan building.

  Today was the Satu
rday of our last show. I didn't feel like rushing things, and I could tell Ashley didn't, either.

  Everything had happened so fast. It was hard to imagine only a month had passed since I'd first met Mr. Bullock. All my memories were so fresh. Frantically writing my essay. Sitting in Mr. Bullock's office for the first time, petrified. Seeing Ashley walk in. Feeling absolutely horrified.

  "Well, I guess this is it," Ashley said softly. "Shall we?" "Wait," I said. "I have a secret to tell you." She turned toward me. Her eyes were moist. I could tell she was feeling just as nostalgic as I was.

  "I didn't think this would work. The show, I mean. You and me trying to get along." Ashley smiled. "Neither did I. No one told me you'd been the first-place winner. When Mr. Bullock brought me into the office, I almost walked back out." "I almost quit." We both nodded and looked at the ground. "Well," I said finally, "I feel really stupid about that now. I was wrong." "Yeah. Me, too." We shared a smile. Then we put our arms around each other's shoulders and walked into the station.

  The door was unlocked, but the reception room was empty and the light was out.

  "Are we early?" I asked.

  "I don't think so," Ashley replied.

  "Hey, there they are!" Mr. Bullock's voice boomed into the room. He was standing in the hallway with a handful of cassettes and CDs.

  "Sorry about the lights," he said. "Max isn't here today. He's only working weekdays now. Come on in." As we walked past Mr. Bullock's office, I noticed three cardboard boxes stuffed with old vinyl records and cassettes. Mr. Bullock dropped his handful in a box. "We're clearing out some old stuff. Selling it to a collector." He exhaled. "Gosh, I hate to see some of this stuff go." Ash and I gave each other a Look. We knew why he was doing all this — cutting back Max's hours, selling old stuff. He needed to raise money for WSTO.

  Either that or he'd just given up. Maybe he was going to sell the rest of the station's collection, too.

  I hoped not. Bob had been running a tape of his editorial all week. His article had appeared in the Wednesday edition of the Sto-neybrook News. It was very well-written. Maybe help would soon be on the way.

  "Bob, do you think we really need that third reel-to-reel machine?" Mr. Bullock called into the conference room.

  Then again, maybe not.

  Bob bustled into the hallway. "Hey, guys, ready for your swan song?" Huh? I didn't remember any animal acts.

  "Your last show," he explained. "That's what swan song means. The song of the dying swan is supposed to be beautiful. How do you feel?" "Like a dying swan," I said. , "We're totally depressed," Ashley added.

  Bob smiled. "Uh-oh. They've been bitten by the .bug. Watch out, radio world." Together we entered the studio. The engineers, as usual, grunted hello and just kept on working. I wondered if they'd even realized how important this show was to us.

  Then I found out.

  "Claud," Ashley said, "where'd this come from?" I looked around her and saw a gorgeous bouquet of flowers on our table. "Wow." Ash found a card tucked inside. She held it out and read it aloud. "To the most wonderful radio hosts we have ever worked with, the WSTO engineers." "Should auld acquaintance be forgot ..." Suddenly the schmaltzy old New Year's song was blaring over the studio speakers. The engineers had risen to their feet and were singing along, holding up glasses full of a clear, bubbly liquid. With a big smile, Mr. Bullock walked toward us with two glasses and a bottle of ginger ale.

  I turned to Ashley. She turned to me. It was waterworks time. Tears galore.

  Mr. Bullock gave us a hug. We drank our ginger ale.

  At the end of the song, Mr. Bullock announced, "Okay, crew, we have a job to do!" It was hard to get back on track. But soon the guests began arriving, and we had to greet them, prepare a sequence, and do all the other million things we'd learned to do before a show.

  Our first guest was (finally) Sarah Sutton, the backward talker. After that, we had four kids called the Curious Quartet, who played the banjo, the tin whistle, the Jew's harp, and the washboard. Then Rob Miller, an eighth-grader from Stoneybrook Day School, told the strangest story: every time he reached a syllable that sounded like a number, he added one to it. (Wonder became fwoder, towcan became threecan, and so on.) He began the story, "Twice upon a time, there was a twoderful garden full of blossoming threelips." Ashley's favorite part was when a character said, "Elev-ennis, anytwo?" I liked the no-structure approach to this show. It was fun. I didn't have to keep thinking of a way to tie everything together.

  At five-thirty I announced, "And now, welcome to Ask Dr. Claudia . . ." "And Dr. Ashley," Ashley added.

  I could see that all the lines were already lit up. I pressed line 1. "You're on the air." "Uh, hi, Claudia?" a boy's voice said.

  "Yes?" "Um, do you have ..." I could hear giggling in the background, Vi- sions of Alan Gray danced through my head.

  "Go on/' I said.

  "Do you have . . ." More giggling. I reached for the button.

  "A boyfriend?" My hand froze.

  So did my voicebox. I could feel my face turning red. The engineers were cracking up.

  Fortunately, the boy hung up before I had a chance to answer.

  I quickly pushed line 2. "Hello?" My voice was a high-pitched squeak.

  "Hi! My friends and I are taking a vote, and it's tied. Which is better, The Lion King or Aladdin?" "Aladdin," I replied.

  "The Lion King," Ashley said.

  "Arggggggh!" I resisted laughing.

  "My name is Denise," said the next caller. "I have this little brother? And he is, like, so gross sometimes. Like yesterday, when I had three friends over? He just comes into my room and sits down and starts burping. And he doesn't leave!" "Have you tried talking to him about it?" Ashley asked.

  "Yeah. He answers in, like, burp talk. It is so disgusting." "You could all stare at him," Ashley suggested, "in total silence." "He'll just keep doing it." "Fine. Let him. And just keep staring. Silently. He'll leave, and I bet he won't come back for another try." Brilliant. Ashley was brilliant. I would have told the girl to throw him out the window.

  The next caller sounded as if he were about six years old. "Urn, your show is really cool." "Thanks," we answered.

  Then, in a teeny, meek voice, he said, "Can both of you come to my house and baby-sit me some time?" Boy, was I glad Kristy wasn't there. She'd have started grilling him for his address and his parents' names.

  Me? I was moved. I said yes and gave him the BSC phone number.

  A few calls later, a woman's voice said, "Hello, Claudia and Ashley. My name is Rhonda Hewitt." "Hello," Ash and I said. The name sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure why.

  "I know only children are supposed to call," the woman continued, "but as the mother of one of your callers, I thought this would be okay. My son, George, spoke to you a couple of weeks ago. You remember, the boy who was so upset about his parents separating?" Hewitt! Of course. I started to feel faint. This could be big trouble. If I remembered correctly, George had said some not-so-nice things about his mom.

  "I — " I had to swallow. "I remember." I looked at the clock. Five fifty-eight. Yikes! What a way to end the last show.

  "Well," Mrs. Hewitt continued, "this, as you know, has been a very difficult time for him and my daughter. But I wanted to tell you that your suggestion was wonderful. You made a huge difference in his life. I wanted to thank you personally, and on the air." Huh?

  The cloud around my head was lifting. My stomach stopped slam-dancing inside my rib-cage. "Oh," I said. "Thanks! I mean, you're welcome." "I've also been hearing and reading about the station's financial trouble, and I think that's a horrible shame. So I'd like to make a donation. I found your fax number and sent you a note on it. The check will follow in the mail." "Thank you so much, Mrs. Hewitt," I said. "And I wish you the best of luck." "My pleasure, dear. I wish there were more people like you. 'Bye, now." " 'Bye." Twenty seconds left. I felt as if I were floating. "Well, that's it for now. I want to thank Mr. Bullock, Bob, and our crazy engineers for a
ll their help — " "And all you great listeners!" Ashley said.

  "Especially you," I agreed. "I hope you've enjoyed 'For Kids Only.' It's been a lot of fun for me." "Me, too," Ashley said. "And don't forget, keep listening to WSTO!" "Good night!" "Good night!" I felt a tug when that red light went off. Ashley and I stood up and gave each other a high-five. The engineers broke into applause.

  Then the studio door opened, and Mr. Bullock rushed in, carrying a sheet of paper. On his face was a strange expression. "Everybody come look at this," he called out.

  Ashley, Bob, one of the engineers, and I peered over his shoulder. It was the fax of Mrs. Hewitt's note.

  When I saw the amount of money she pledged, my jaw nearly hit the floor.

  "Who-o-oa," Bob said under his breath. "I guess she must be pretty wealthy." "That'll help the station, won't it?" Ashley asked.

  Mr. Bullock nodded. "If this pledge is for real/7 he said, "it'll keep us afloat for six months." "YEEEEEAAAAA!" I screamed. (I couldn't help it.) "Yyyyyes!" Ashley shouted.

  "Hallelujah!" the engineer bellowed.

  Bob? He sank quietly into a chair. From the look on his face, you'd think someone had told him he could eat ice cream three times a day for the rest of his life.

  Chapter 15.

  "Claudia, phone for you," Mr. Bullock called out. "On my office line." I had been high-fiving staff members, helping Ashley clear our stuff out of the studio, and chatting happily about Mrs. Hewitt's pledge. I excused myself and walked down the hall to the station manager's office.

  "Who is it?" I asked.

  Mr. Bullock just shrugged and left the room.

  I picked up the receiver and said, "Hello?" "Hi, Claudia? It's me." She didn't have to say her name. I hadn't heard the voice in a long time (too long) but I'd recognize it anywhere.

  "Stacey?" I said. All these feelings — anger, surprise, happiness — were staging a big wrestling match inside of me. I didn't know what to say.

  "Your show was great," Stacey remarked.

  "You listened to it?" "I've been listening to every single one, Claud. I thought they were all good. Especially the one about friendship." "Oh? I ... mentioned you on that one." "Yeah. I heard." Gulp. I had said something wrong. That was why she hadn't called me until now. She'd been insulted. "I — I'm sorry, Stace." "Sorry about what?" "Well, I mean, if you thought that was, you know, too private or something." "No, no, I loved it, Claudia. Really. I was so moved, I cried." "Really?" "Well, yeah. I mean, all those things you said about friendship — they were so true. You really made me think, Claud. About all my friends and what they mean to me, who the most important people are in my life, stuff like that." "Stacey, are you trying to tell me something? You didn't break up with Robert, did you?" Stacey laughed. "No! I just, well, I just hope we can be friends again someday. You and me. That's all." "Yeah," I said quietly. "Me, too." Ashley appeared in the doorway with a stack of papers. She smiled and whispered, "When you have a chance, we need to go through these. I'll be in the studio." "Uh, Stace, I better go/' I said into the phone. "See you." "Okay. 'Bye. And congratulations." "Thanks." I walked out of the office and into the studio. The flowers were giving off the most wonderful smell. Ashley was sitting at the table, shuffling through papers with Bob. Next to her on the desk was an enormous Nestle's Crunch bar with the words For Claudia — With Love and Thanks, Ashley written on a Post-It note stuck to it.