Baby-Sitters Club 032

by Ann M. Martin

I was still thinking about Drew and Susan, when Mary Anne elbowed me in the side.

  "What?" I whispered. She was probably going to tell me to pay attention - which would irritate me. She is not a teacher.

  "Kristy," she said. "Look." She pointed discreetly across the aisle.

  There I saw two sixth-grade boys laughing hysterically at a third boy who had crossed his eyes and was letting his head roll around.

  I couldn't believe it. They were making fun of the girl in the wheelchair. Why didn't someone stop them?

  Then a girl next to them wadded up a little piece of notebook paper, rolled it around in her mouth, and threw the spitball across the aisle. It hit the hyperactive boy on the side of his face. It surprised him, and right then and there, he threw a tantrum. The teacher's aid had to take him out of the auditorium.

  Luckily, another teacher had seen what the sixth-graders were up to, and they were taken out of the auditorium, too - to the principal's office, I hoped.

  I felt so angry I wanted to scream at those kids. I wanted to shout, "Haven't you ever been teased? Hasn't anyone ever thrown a spitball at you? I hope someday someone finds out something you're sensitive about and blabs it to the whole school. I hope they publish it in the newspaper!" I was also upset. I had just seen a drawback to going to a handicapped class in a "regular" school. The "normal" kids could tease or laugh at the handicapped ones. That wouldn't hap-pend to Susan if her parents sent her away to school. But I still thought she should stay at home.

  When the assembly was over I gathered up my courage, told my friends I'd see them later, and stepped up to the teacher of the handicapped kids.

  "Excuse me," I said. "I know you're busy, but I was wondering a couple of things about your class." I thought the teacher might be aggravated with me for interrupting her when she had so much to do, but she looked pleased that I was interested.

  I relaxed. "That boy," I whispered, trying to point without his seeing me. "Is he autistic?" "Yes," replied the teacher, looking surprised. "How did you know?" I told her a little about Susan. Then I asked a couple of questions about how she and the aid ran their classroom.

  "Would you like to visit our room sometime?" she offered. "Maybe during a study hall? You'd be welcome." "Well . . . sure," I replied. "I would like that." At the end of school that day, during the mad rush of opening and closing lockers, Mary Anne and Dawn caught up with me just as I was closing my own locker.

  "Hey, look!" cried Dawn.

  Mary Anne and I turned in the direction Dawn was looking. There were Mallory and Ben walking through the hall together, their hands touching lightly.

  "Notice anything?" said Dawn.

  "Yeah," I replied. "1 think Mal's in love." "Not that," said Dawn. "What I mean is - no one's paying a bit of attention to Ben." "Oh," I replied. Hmm. Either the older kids didn't care that Ben was Australian - or the Hobarts were beginning to be accepted.

  Chapter 11.

  "Bye, Mrs. Felder. Have fun!" I called, as Susan's mother left through the garage door. To be perfectly honest, Mrs. Felder looked as if she were escaping. She was on her way to the beauty parlor to have her hair col - I mean, cut (that was exactly what Mrs. Felder had said!), and to get a manicure and a pedicure. She said that an afternoon at the beauty parlor was just what she needed to relax. And she did look as if she needed some relaxation. Some rest, too. She said Susan had barely slept the past three nights - and that when Susan was up, Mr. and Mrs. Felder were up as well. Susan screamed and cried and whined when she was up at night. No one knew why. She also prowled the house. Mrs. Felder said she and her husband had considered locking Susan into her room at night, but that they just couldn't bring themselves to do it.

  I was glad.

  I closed the door after Mrs. Felder and turned around to face Susan. I had planned to take her over to the Hobarts' to see James that afternoon, and I wanted to catch her before she could sit down at the piano.

  Just as I was taking her hand, the doorbell rang.

  "Hey, Susan! That was the doorbell," I said emphatically. I was hoping to help Susan pick up some vocabulary. "Let's answer it," I went on. "Maybe a friend is at the door. A friend for Susan. Maybe it will be James or Mel." Click, click, click went Susan's tongue. I don't think she'd heard me at all.

  I led Susan to the front door.

  "Okay, Susan. Open the door," I said. I helped her to turn the knob and pull the door open. She did this with one hand, flapping the other hand in front of her eyes.

  On the steps stood the tall teaser. The tall Bob-or-Craig - whose name I was now certain was neither Bob nor Craig, since the short teaser's name was Mel.

  "Hi," I said, half-heartedly. (I'd really been hoping for James.) "Before you say a word, please tell me your real name." "It's Zach," he said. "Zach Wolfson." "Okay. Thank you. I'm Kristy Thomas, Susan's baby-sitter." "I know," replied Zach. "I, um, I came to see Susan." "You did?" Susan certainly was lucky. I was amazed at the number of children who were willing to play with her.

  "Yeah," replied Zach. "I did. Do you think - do you think she could do the calendar trick for me again? That was great." "Well, sure. Come on in." 1 held the door open for Zach, and he stepped inside the Felders' house, staring at Susan.

  "Let's sit on the floor," I suggested. "That'll be the most comfortable." 1 settled Susan and Zach on the floor. No, that's not true. Zach settled himself on the floor, and I tried to settle Susan, but she kept squirming around and trying to stand up.

  That is, until Zach pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of his jeans and said, "August twenty-sixth, nineteen forty-three." Immediately, Susan settled down. "Thursday," she said to the ceiling. She focused on the task, but not on Zach.

  Zach consulted his paper. "Yup!" he said.

  "Okay, June tenth, nineteen sixty-two." "Sunday," said Susan in her monotone voice.

  Zach shook his head in amazement. "Right again. Um, October twenty-fifth, nineteen fifty-four." "Monday," said Susan.

  "Yup," replied Zach after a glance at his paper. "Well, I guess I better be going. I've, um, got a lot of homework." "Oh," I said, feeling disappointed.

  Zach stood up. I started to stand up, too, in order to see him to the door. "Hey, that's okay. I can let myself out," he told me.

  And he did. But he'd only been gone for a few seconds when the bell rang again.

  "That must be Zach," I said to Susan. "He probably forgot something. Did you ever forget anything?" Click, click, click.

  Susan and 1 answered the door for the second time. But we didn't find Zach on the stoop. Instead we found a girl. I knew she lived in the neighborhood somewhere, but I couldn't remember her name.

  "Hi," she said cheerfully. "I'm Kathie. Can I come in and see Susan?" "Well. . . sure," I replied, thinking, I should be so popular. I turned to Susan. "You've got another visitor," I told her.

  Kathie smiled at Susan.

  Susan looked like she was heading for the piano, so I sat the three of us on the floor again. Guess what. Kathie gave Susan a bunch of dates, just like Zach had done. Then she left. She said she thought she heard her mother calling.

  Why wasn't I surprised when the bell rang for a third time? I didn't even bother leading Susan to the door and talking to her about answering it or anything. I just left her in the living room and ran to the door myself. Before I'd opened it all the way, Susan was at the piano. She began playing a song from The Music Man. (I knew the whole score by then.) This time another girl was on the stoop. She was holding a record album, and she introduced herself as Gina and said she'd come to see Susan. How interesting that three kids came by all in one day. Maybe this would change the Felders' minds about school.

  Before I could say a word to Gina, she walked right inside and said, "She can play the piano! She really can!" "Susan is playing a song from The Music Man," I told her.

  "Oh," Gina replied. "Well, I was wondering if - I mean, Mel said Susan can memorize a new song if she hears it just once. Is that true?" "Usually." "Okay. I'
ve got a song here - on a real old record of my grandparents - that I bet Susan doesn't know. Can she do her memorizing trick for me?" "I guess so. Let's make sure she doesn't already know the music, though. What is it?" " 'Sheik of Araby.' It's a Roaring Twenties song." Whatever the Roaring Twenties are.

  "Susan," I said loudly. "Susan! Play 'Sheik of Araby.' " Susan continued playing "Wells Fargo Wagon" from The Music Man.

  "I don't think she knows 'Sheik of Araby,' " I told Gina.

  "Goody. Let's play it and see if she can memorize it." "All right," I replied, even though Mrs. Felder had never said whether it was okay to touch the stereo. I took the record from Gina, put it on the turntable, and practically shouted, "Listen, Susan! Here's 'Sheik of Araby.' It's a new song." As soon as the music came on, Susan stopped playing. She sat quietly at the piano, her head cocked, as if she were concentrating very hard. In the middle of the song, the old record began to skip. It skipped six times before I could rescue it. A few moments later the song ended.

  "Okay, Susan, play 'Sheik of Araby,' " said Gina bossily.

  Hesitantly, Susan began to play - and then to sing. The first part of the recording had been only music, with a lot of different instruments. Not only did Susan translate the piece to music for the piano, but she came in right on cue with the words.

  "How does she do that?" asked Gina.

  I'd asked myself the question about a million times, but I hadn't found any answers.

  Susan played on until near the end of the song when suddenly Gina and I heard her sing, "All the stars that shine above with light, will light, will light, will light, will light, will light, will light our way to love . . ." Susan had played and sung the skips as if they were part of the actual song. So she really did just memorize what she heard. The music and the words didn't have any meaning for her. I felt achingly sad all of a sudden.

  But not Gina. Gina began to laugh. "She played the skips!" she hooted. "I don't believe it. She played the skips! Boy, this was really worth it." "Worth what?" I asked suspiciously.

  Gina looked alarmed.

  "Worth what?" I repeated, as Susan began "Sheik of Araby" again.

  "Nothing." Gina scrambled for her record, then dashed to the front door.

  I followed her outside - and around the corner of the house, where we ran into Mel and a whole bunch of kids. Mel was holding a fistful of dollar bills.

  "All right. Just what is going on here?" I demanded.

  The kids grew silent.

  Except for Mel. "What happened?" he asked Gina.

  "She," said Gina angrily, pointing at me, "got mad. I want my dollar back." "Your dollar back!" I said with a gasp.

  "Yeah! Mel's charging us a buck apiece to go inside and see the incredible retard who can memorize dates and music. The amazing dumbo who can sing but not talk," said Gina.

  My jaw dropped.

  Mel Tucker had a real sideshow going. He thought he'd found an even better attraction than the stupid chicken he'd once seen playing a piano.

  "You," I said, advancing on Mel - and I can look pretty menacing, even though I'm short. (Several children ran away.) "Do you know what you're doing? You're using Susan. You're making a spectacle of her." I turned to the rest of the kids. "And I don't ever want to hear any of you use the words 'retard' or 'dumbo' again. Do you hear me?" "Yes," murmured the few children who hadn't already run off. "And as for that money, Mel, half of it - at least half of it, belongs to Susan. She did all the hard work. So fork over," I ordered him.

  But of course he didn't. Mel and the remaining kids ran down the street. When they were about half a block away, they began to laugh. How can people be so insensitive?

  And how could I have been so naive? How could I have thought those kids suddenly wanted to be Susan's friend? I should have seen through them. At least Susan couldn't see through them. I was glad she didn't know what was going on.

  1 needed to cool off.

  So I led Susan over to the Hobarts', where 1 knew Claud was baby-sitting.

  Chapter 12.

  While I was dealing with Mel Tucker and the other neighborhood kids, Claudia was sitting for the three younger Hobart boys. No wonder James hadn't come over to play with Susan. He'd been busy trying to prove that he was neither a Croc nor a wimp. . . .

  Claudia's afternoon started with Johnny's tears. As soon as Johnny realized that his mother was going to leave him with someone he barely knew, he began to cry.

  "Don't go!" he wailed.

  "Johnny," said Mrs. Hobart gently, as Claudia stood in the front hall of Mary Anne's old house, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible, "your brothers are going to be here with you. Mathew and James are here." Johnny stood on tiptoe and tugged at his mother's shirt. Mrs. Hobart bent down so Johnny could whisper to her. She listened for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "No. I promise that Claudia will not call you a Croc." "I promise, too," said Claudia. "I'll only call you Johnny." "What do I call you?" Johnny asked Claudia, holding his mother's hand.

  "You can call me Claudia or Claud - or whatever you want. Gabbie Perkins next door sometimes calls me Claudee Kishi. She likes to call people by their first and last names." Mrs. Hobart smiled at Claudia, and Claudia smiled back. She thought how similar the Hobarts looked, with their reddish-blond hair, their round faces, and the smattering of freckles across their noses. Even Mrs. Hobart had freckles. Claudia hadn't seen Mr. Hobart close up, though, so she didn't know whether he had freckles.

  "All right, Johnny, I have to leave now," said Mrs. Hobart.

  "No!" squawked Johnny.

  "Mathew! James!" called Mrs. Hobart. "Can you please come here?" The boys clattered down the stairs.

  "I'm leaving now," their mother told them. "Please give Claudia some help with Johnny. Oh, and Johnny, you can help Claudia, too. I don't think she knows where the telly is. Or maybe you'd like to offer her a lolly." "Lollies? We can have lollies?" asked Johnny.

  "Yes. If you'll let go of my hand." Johnny let go. He made a dash for the kitchen, and Claudia said good-bye to Mrs. Hobart. "Everything will be fine," she assured her. "Don't worry." Ill The Hobart boys and Claudia each helped themselves to a lolly. (No way was Claudia going to turn down an offer of junk food.) Then Mathew said, "Let's watch the telly. I like Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch." "Me, too," agreed Claudia, "but do you really want to stay inside on such a nice day?" "I do," spoke up Johnny, who was already a sticky mess.

  "He doesn't want to be called a Croc," said Mathew.

  "Do the kids still call you Crocs?" asked Claudia.

  "Yes, but not as much," admitted James.

  "Then let's go out to your backyard," said Claudia. "Johnny, you can bring your new truck out. We'll have fun. Honest." She gave Johnny's hands and face a wipe with a wet cloth.

  "We're going out," said James, speaking for himself and Mathew.

  "Then I'll come, too," Johnny said finally.

  So Claudia and the Hobarts ventured outside, Johnny clutching his truck.

  The boys played peacefully for twenty minutes. Johnny steered the truck around the yard, making sound effects as he went. James and Mathew played on a swing that their father had made for them. It was a huge tire suspended from a tree branch by a thick rope. The boys could stand on the tire and swing back and forth together.

  "Awesome!" yelled James as he and Mathew swung higher and higher.

  "Slow down!" was Claudia's horrified reply. Ever since she was little she had heard that it was possible to swing so high you went right over the top of the swing set or the tree branch, making a complete circle. She had never known if that was true, but she didn't want to find out while she was baby-sitting and have to explain to the Hobarts that their sons had done a three-sixty on the tire.

  "Yeah, slow down," echoed a voice.

  Claudia turned around.

  Johnny brought his truck to a stop.

  And James and Mathew jumped off the swing.

  Zach Wolfson had entered the Hobarts' yard. Claudia didn't know it,
but he had come straight from the Felders' house, where he had paid Mel a dollar to ask Susan the three dates. (I realized later that Zach had not been among the kids hanging around Mel when I had charged out of Susan's house after Gina.) "Pay attention to your baby-sitter . . . you babies," teased Zach.

  "We are not babies," replied James hotly.

  "Yes you are." "No we're not." "Yes you are." "Well, I'm not," said James. "I'm even in advanced maths in my new school." "Advanced maths? Maths? You can't even say the word right." "What word?" "Math. It's math, not maths. . . . James, can you say math?" James didn't miss a beat. "Zach, can you say How would you like your head bashed in?" "Sure," replied Zach. "How would you like your head bashed in?" James had fallen into his own trap.

  He turned and marched out of the backyard. When he came back, he was carrying an old wooden crate and a boxing glove. He set the box on the ground near Zach.

  "Watch this," said James. He put the glove on and smashed his fist clear through the top of the crate, almost to the ground.

  Claudia knew better than to ask James if he was okay. She knew that he and Zach had to have this out (whatever it was) between themselves and on their own terms.

  Zach's eyes widened. "Whoa," he said. "What was that? Crocodile Dundee stuff?" "No," replied James.

  "Karate?" asked Zach.

  "No. I'm just strong. Very strong. Think how you'd look if that crate had been your face." Zach winced. Then he backed away. He looked a little frightened.

  But James said, "I could teach you to do that." "You could?" "Sure. All you need are big muscles. Do you have big muscles?" "Well . . . well, maybe I would if I worked out. . . ." James nodded knowingly. Zach was a bully, but probably not a bad kid.

  "You want to go bike-riding sometime?" Zach asked James.

  "Yeah! That would be ra - that would be great. Or how about skateboarding? Do you have a skateboard?" "Of course." "We could go skateboarding now," said James. "You could borrow my brother Ben's if you don't want to go home for yours. He'd let you. He's awfully nice about things like that." It was at this point that I stormed into the Hobarts' backyard with Susan in tow. I fully expected James to run to Susan - his mate. Instead he waved, but turned back to Zach.