Mallory on Strike

by Ann M. Martin

  “What are you making?” Vanessa asked, as I cut the board in half.

  “You’ll see.” I wrote carefully in big, bold black letters. Then I found my red clip-on suspenders and, attaching them to each poster board, looped them over my head. Finally I faced Vanessa, who read my sign out loud.

  “ ‘Mallory on Strike.’ ”

  “You got it!” I said triumphantly. I marched out of the bedroom and made my way downstairs. It was time to break the news to the rest of my family.

  “Look at Mallory!” Claire cried as I marched into the dining room. She pointed a sticky finger at me.

  My father lowered the newspaper he was reading just enough to peer over the top. “That’s a sandwich board,” he said.

  Byron read the sign out loud. “ ‘Mallory on Strike.’ What’s that mean?”

  I slid into my place at the table. Luckily, the poster board was flexible, so I could sit down. “It means that I’m not going to pick up any toys, settle any fights over music, or find any lost pets today.”

  “What’s going on?” my mom asked. She set a bowl of fried potatoes on the table.

  Claire licked one gooey finger and said, “Mallory’s not going to play with us today.”

  I spooned some potatoes onto my plate and said, “I’m striking.”

  “You mean, like in baseball?” Nicky asked. “Three strikes, and you’re out?”

  “Sort of. Only this is one strike, and I’m out.”

  “Out of what?” Jordan demanded.

  “Patience,” I muttered under my breath, then quickly added, “out of commission. I’m going to be in my room and I don’t want anyone to disturb me.”

  “You have to stay in your room?” Margo asked.

  “I don’t have to,” I corrected her. “I want to.”

  “You want to?” Claire’s eyes grew wide. “That’s awful.”

  It was clear that my brothers and sisters had no idea what “on strike” meant. “People go on strike when they want their working conditions to change,” I explained, “or when they want higher wages.”

  Jordan squinted one eye shut. “You mean, like a bigger allowance?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “All right!” Jordan folded his arms across his chest. “Then I’m on strike, too.”

  “Now, hold on a minute,” my father called from behind his paper. “Only one Pike kid at a time can go on strike.”

  “After breakfast I’m going to my room,” I announced, “and I don’t want anyone to talk to me, or ask me questions, or call me to the phone, or even touch my door.”

  “You want to be alone,” my father said, folding up the paper and placing it beside his plate. “I think we get the picture.”

  “Good.” I took a sip of milk and smiled at my father. He really seemed to understand.

  Margo, who had been watching me closely, suddenly shook her head. “Not fair. Mal gets to sit in her room all day and get a bigger allowance.”

  I listened to my brothers and sisters talk and wondered if it were possible for an entire family to have a screw loose. It sure sounded like it from their conversation.

  I hurried through breakfast, then excused myself from the table, saying pointedly, “I’ll see everyone tonight.”

  “Poor Mallory,” I heard Claire murmur as I left the room. “She’s striking. No cartoons, no toys, no fun.”

  Once I was in my room (and Vanessa was out), I sat down at my desk and started to write. Several times I heard footsteps and whispering outside my door, but everyone respected my wishes.

  I worked on my story for hours, fine-tuning every word. It was wonderful. Finally I felt like a real writer.

  I had no idea that my parents were going out or that they had called Mary Anne and Dawn to baby-sit. Plus, I was so busy concentrating on my story that I didn’t hear the doorbell ring.

  “Do you think something awful has happened to Mal?” Mary Anne asked Dawn, as they waited for someone to answer the door.

  “I don’t think so.” Dawn flipped a strand of her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Mrs. Pike would have said something.”

  My father opened the door then. “Hi, girls! Thanks for coming on such short notice. Mrs. Pike and I got a call from the Stoneybrook Library. They’ve scheduled an emergency board meeting.”

  “I hope nothing terrible has happened to the library,” Mary Anne said, as she stepped inside the house.

  “Oh, it hasn’t burned down or anything like that,” my father assured her, as he slipped on his coat. “We think they may be in some sort of financial trouble.”

  Mary Anne and Dawn nodded sympathetically. They didn’t know what to say. It’s hard to understand how a library operates, or where it gets its money, or any of that complicated stuff.

  “Mallory is up in her room,” my father said.

  “She’s here?” Dawn gasped. “You mean, you need three sitters?”

  My father chuckled. “No, no. Mallory’s working on her story in her room and asked that she not be disturbed, which is why Mrs. Pike suggested I call you.”

  My mother hurried out of the kitchen, tucking a packet of tissues into her purse. She thanked Dawn and Mary Anne for coming to help, then handed them a sheet of paper.

  “This is where we’ll be for the next two hours,” she explained. “There’s pizza, juice, and fruit in the fridge.” She ticked off her list of reminders on her fingers. “The boys know they can’t bring their bow and arrow set into the house. Margo has been given strict instructions not to play with my makeup. Vanessa has a slight cold and should stay quiet, if possible.”

  “How do you remember all that?” Dawn asked in amazement.

  My mother slipped a scarf over her head and sighed. “Practice.”

  Just as my parents were going out the door, my mother called, “One more thing. The kids told me to tell you two that you’re it.”

  She shut the door behind her and Dawn turned to Mary Anne. “We’re it?”

  Mary Anne nodded. “The kids must be hiding.”

  She was answered by a flurry of giggles from the living room.

  “I was wondering where everybody was,” Dawn said, tiptoeing out of the hall. Then she sang in a high, mysterious voice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  More giggles answered Dawn, who pointed toward the couch. Mary Anne nodded, then pointed to the closet. “Gee. I wonder if they all ran away from home.”

  “Maybe they were kidnapped,” Dawn said loudly.

  “I hope not,” Mary Anne replied, putting her hand on the closet door. “Then we’d be all alone and have to eat that pizza by ourselves.”

  She pulled open the closet door just as Dawn looked behind the couch. Both girls shouted, “Gotcha!”

  They were answered by shrill war whoops from the triplets, who sprang out of the closet, wearing feathered headbands. Nicky and Margo leaped from behind the couch, waving cowboy hats.

  “Aieeee!” Adam bellowed. “You’re our prisoners!”

  “No, they’re our prisoners,” Nicky said, wrapping his arms around Mary Anne’s knees.

  “But we were here first,” Byron said, grabbing Dawn’s wrist.

  “Were not,” Nicky shouted.

  “Were too!” Jordan grabbed Dawn by the other wrist.

  Mary Anne clapped her hands above her head. “You were both here at the exact same moment.”

  Margo looped an imaginary rope around Dawn and Mary Anne. “Then you’re all of our prisoners.”

  “Yeah!” the boys cried, patting their hands on their mouths and hopping around in a circle like cartoon Indians. Vanessa wandered in during their war dance and settled into an armchair with a book.

  “Let’s throw them in the dungeon!” Jordan said, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Oh, no!” Mary Anne cried, playing along with their game. “Please don’t do that. It would hurt.”

  Nicky scratched his head. “Then let’s freeze ’em.”

  “Freeze ’em?” Vane
ssa commented from her chair in the corner. “Nobody freezes prisoners.”

  “Do, too.” Nicky put his hand on his hips and glared at his sister.

  “They do not,” Vanessa answered stubbornly.

  “Wanna bet?”

  “Sure, I’ll bet you a million dollars.”

  “Hold it,” Mary Anne ordered. “I think we have a small problem.”

  The kids stopped arguing and turned their attention to Mary Anne, who asked Dawn, “How many Pikes do you count?”

  Dawn spun slowly in a circle as she counted. “Six.”

  “And how many are we supposed to be watching today?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Seven.” Dawn’s blue eyes widened. “Oh, no! We’ve lost —” She glanced quickly around the room. “Claire.”

  This was especially upsetting since Claire is the youngest of all my sisters and brothers and needs looking after the most.

  “Okay, everyone,” Mary Anne ordered. “Spread out and find Claire. The second you do, bring her back to the kitchen.”

  “Do we get a reward?” Nicky asked.

  Dawn and Mary Anne exchanged looks. Finally Dawn said, “Yes. Pizza.”

  “Oh, boy!” Byron whooped. “Let’s go.” He ran out of the room with the other triplets following him.

  “I’ll look in the bedrooms,” Margo said, racing for the stairs.

  “Fine,” Dawn said. “But keep out of your mother’s makeup, okay?”

  Margo hesitated, then puffed out her lower lip. “Okay.”

  Vanessa put down her book and got up from her chair. “I’ll check out back.”

  “I’ll look out front,” Mary Anne said, “and Dawn, you wait here in case one of the other kids finds her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Nicky said, tucking his hand in Mary Anne’s.

  Dawn kept telling herself not to get nervous. The kids had been playing a game of hide-and-seek; maybe Claire was still hiding. Then again, maybe she wasn’t. Dawn peered into the kitchen. No sign of Claire. She was just about to go upstairs when she heard a piping sound, like singing. She stopped and listened. The sound was coming from the stairs leading down to the rec room.

  “Playmates, come out and play with me, and bring your dollies three, dee dee dee dee dee dee,” a high, little voice sang, slightly off-key.

  Dawn peered around the corner. Sitting on the top step was Claire, holding two clothespins in her hand. She danced them on her leg as if they were dolls.

  “Hello, there,” Dawn said gently. “Who are your playmates?”

  Claire held up the clothespins. “This is Tilly and this is Milly.”

  “What are their last names?” Dawn asked.

  “Silly-billy-goo-goo.”

  “Would you like to invite Tilly and Milly for a snack? We’re having pizza.”

  “That’s their favorite,” Claire declared with a grin. She got up and followed Dawn into the kitchen.

  Dawn remembered that Mary Anne and the rest of the Pikes were still on their search-and-rescue mission, so she called out the front door, “It’s okay! I found her.”

  Mary Anne relayed the message to the backyard. Then, after removing four pairs of muddy shoes (the kids had all found the one mud puddle and made sure they jumped in it), she led Nicky and the triplets into the kitchen for pizza.

  Heating frozen pizza sounds like a simple task, but it isn’t. Not when you’re feeding the Pike family. Dawn had to remove the pepperoni for Jordan and the onions for Nicky, while Mary Anne trimmed the crust off for Margo and made sure Claire’s slice was cut into bite-sized pieces. Finally Mary Anne and Dawn leaned back in their chairs, exhausted, and watched the kids eat.

  “When I have children,” Dawn declared, “I’m having one boy and one girl. That’s it.”

  “Me, too,” Mary Anne agreed. “I don’t know how Mr. and Mrs. Pike do it.”

  After lunch, the kids put their plates in the dishwasher, then Dawn suggested they play Chutes & Ladders. While they formed a circle on the living room rug, Mary Anne cleaned off the counter and made sure the kitchen was sparkling clean. After she was finished, she thought she’d go upstairs to see how I was doing. Big mistake.

  The knock on the door came as such a shock that I bellowed, “Whaaat?” at the top of my lungs. It sounded like I had been interrupted all day, but this was the first time. (Even Vanessa hadn’t ventured into the bedroom, and half of it is hers.)

  Mary Anne sprang backward when she heard the sharp tone in my voice. “Mal?” she said timidly. “It’s me, Mary Anne.”

  “Mary Anne?” I pushed back my chair. “What are you doing here? Come on in.”

  Mary Anne opened the door but didn’t step into the room. She just stuck her head around the jamb and said, “Sorry to disturb you, Mal, but Dawn and I are baby-sitting downstairs and I thought I’d say hi and see how you’re doing.”

  “Baby-sitting?” That was news to me.

  Mary Anne explained about the emergency meeting. “I guess your parents didn’t want to bother you,” she said. “So they called Dawn and me.”

  “Gee.” I blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know anything about that. That was really nice of them.”

  Mary Anne stepped just inside the door, as if she thought I might snap at her again. “I’m glad you talked things out with your parents. It must have made you feel a whole lot better.”

  I looked at my “Mallory on Strike” sign leaning against the bed and suddenly felt a little ashamed. “I haven’t talked to them at all,” I admitted. “I woke up this morning and decided to go on strike. I made that sign and told my parents that I had to write and I didn’t want any interruptions.”

  Mary Anne crossed the room and sat on my bed. “You mean, as soon as your story is finished, things will go back to the way they were before?”

  She had a point. Finding the time to work on my story had become a problem mostly because of the demands my parents made of me. They automatically assumed that I would be available to help with housecleaning, food making, baby-sitting, or running errands day and night.

  Mary Anne leaned forward. “Mal, I think you need to have a good heart-to-heart with your parents as soon as they get home. They’re great people, and I’m sure they’ll understand how frustrated you’re feeling. If you like, Dawn and I will watch the kids while you do it.”

  I took Mary Anne’s advice and, boy, was I glad I did! As soon as my parents got home, I asked if I could talk to them in my room. Then, for the next fifteen minutes, I poured my heart out.

  “It’s not that I don’t love all of you,” I said, finishing my speech, “but sometimes I need time to myself.”

  Mom and Dad looked at each other for a moment.

  “Mallory, we’re so proud of the work you do in school,” my mother said, “and the way you help out at home, and how you’re such a responsible baby-sitter. I think sometimes we forget to show it.”

  “And you’re right,” my father added, giving me a big hug. “We do take advantage of you sometimes. We’re sorry and we’ll try not to do it again.” Then he smiled. “At least, not too often.”

  “You know what I think you need?” my mother said, kissing me on the forehead. “I think you need a special day, just for you.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You need a day off,” she explained. “One that’s just for you, without having to worry about taking care of the kids, or helping your father and me.”

  “Gosh.” I tried to imagine how that would feel. “I think I’d like that.”

  “Just pick the day,” my father said, pointing to the calendar thumbtacked to my bulletin board. “And it’s yours.”

  It didn’t take me long to decide on a day. I had almost finished my story and I felt really good about it, so I blurted out, “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow it is!” My father put one arm around my mother and one arm around me and said, “I hereby declare tomorrow to be Mallory Pike Day!”

  It’s hard to describe what was goi
ng on inside me then. My feelings were so topsy-turvy, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both.

  Sunday. My special day. I couldn’t wait to get started. I was so excited that I changed clothes three times before finally settling on my jean skirt and jacket, bright red tights, sneakers, and multicolored earrings that Claud had made for me.

  Mom and Dad said I could do anything I wanted for an entire day. I wanted to go to Washington Mall. And I wanted to take Jessi along. After all, a special day wouldn’t be special without my best friend to share it with.

  My parents asked Mary Anne and Dawn to baby-sit again, and luckily they were available. After a frenzied half hour getting my brothers and sisters dressed and making sure they’d eaten breakfast and put their dishes in the dishwasher, we were finally ready to go.

  Waving good-bye to my brothers and sisters and getting into the car with Mom and Dad felt sort of strange. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged with the grown-ups. For a while I had the backseat all to myself, which was also weird. (Of course, that didn’t last for very long because we made one stop before we headed for the mall.)

  “Jessi!”

  She met me on her front porch, dressed in a new purple jumpsuit with a gold turtleneck, which made her look taller and more like a dancer than ever.

  “I’m so excited!” Jessi said, as we hurried back to the car. “I raided my bank just for today and I’m planning to do some major shopping.”

  “Me, too!” I giggled. “Let’s get going.”

  Washington Mall is about a half-hour ride from Stoneybrook. It has five levels and is the biggest one in our part of Connecticut. I mean, it is huge! If I had an entire special weekend, I don’t think I’d be able to get to every store in it. But Jessi and I were going to give it our best shot.

  “You girls have a great time,” Mom said, as my parents dropped us off at the big front entrance. “We’ll meet you at noon for lunch.”

  “Where?” I asked, waiting for my mother to give me her usual instructions. But this time was different.

  “It’s your day,” she said with a smile. “You pick the place.”