Baby-Sitters Club 059

by Ann M. Martin

  I was disppointed to find that although volleyball was gone, the boys were not. I didn't even want to think about them armed with bows and arrows. The very idea terrified me.

  Ten targets had been set up on the field. Ms. Walden told us to line up in groups of eight in front of each target. Each kid was supposed to shoot six arrows and then hand the bow back to the next kid in line.

  After Mr. De Young delivered a big, long lecture about safety, it was time to start. Jessi and I ran to the back of one line together. Ms. Walden gave the command to clear the field (so no one would accidently get shot), and then she gave the command to fire. Arrows flew through the air.

  "Look, Mallory," Jessi said as the shooting continued. "Everybody stinks at this. We won't be alone." She was right. Arrows were flying everywhere - and most of them were not hitting the targets. It was a little frightening to see those arrows zooming around every which way.

  When the flurry of arrows was over, and Ms. Walden had given the command to cease firing, the few arrows on the targets were mostly on the outer rims. Helen Gallway, who had been first on our line, didn't have a single arrow on the target. "It's nice not to be alone," I agreed with Jessi.

  Then Ms. Walden gave the command to retrieve the arrows. (Everything had to be done by command so that no one was still shooting while someone else was looking for his or her arrows. You can imgine how disastrous that might be!) Retrieving the arrows took forever. The arrows were all over the field. Some arrows disappeared altogether. I didn't mind. I was in no hurry for my turn.

  A good thing about being last in line is that you have a chance to see what the other kids are doing before your turn comes. Surprisingly, I discovered I was pretty interested in watching. There is something romantic and adventurous about shooting with a bow and arrow. It appealed to the writer in me. (Which is not something I can say about most things we do in gym.) When Jessi's turn finally came, she shot one arrow squarely onto the target.

  Next to her, Robbie Mara couldn't even shoot the arrow. It kept tumbling from his fingers onto the ground. "You're squeezing it too hard," Mr. De Young coached him. "Don't hold the arrow with your fingers. Just let it rest there. Use your fingers as a guide." It was hard not to smile as that arrow kept tumbling out of his hands. He couldn't get the hang of shooting. What a shame.

  From three rows away, I heard Chris Brooks yell. One of the feathers had sliced his left hand as the arrow passed, giving him a sliver of a cut. I know how much paper cuts hurt, so I could sympathize.

  "Good luck," said Jessi with a smile when she handed me the bow and the leather arm-guard which protected your arm from the bow string as it snapped back.

  The minute I was holding the bow I knew I'd need luck. It was heavy! I strapped on the guard and then loaded the arrow as Ms. Wal-den had showed us. Like Robbie's, my arrow at first kept popping off, but I loosened my grip as Mr. De Young had suggested and then it was fine.

  Standing straight, I aimed and tried to draw back the bow. The string of that bow wasn't going anywhere. It barely drew back a fraction of an inch and I was really pulling. Besides, I needed all my strength just to lift the bow.

  I was struggling with this when Ms. Walden approached me with a slim bow made of green plastic. "Try this one, Pike," she said. "It's lighter and has a little more give in the string." I tried it and the string drew back easily. What a difference! Ms. Walden gave the command to fire. I pulled back slowly, letting the arrow rest on my fingers, studying the target, trying to keep my arm steady. Zing! The arrow sailed from my bow . . . and flew right over the top of the target.

  "You're jerking the bow up at the last second," Ms. Walden remarked. "Either stop doing that, or if you can't, compensate." The next time I fired, I tried hard not to jerk. The arrow sailed over the top once again. So, the next time, I tried plan B. I compensated. I aimed below the center.

  Whap! I hit the top of the target.

  "Crook your elbow, don't lock it," said Ms. Walden.

  "All right," I replied. This wasn't like vol-leyball. It was precise and concentrated, and I was in control. And there was something about that soft thud when the arrow hit the target that made me want to hear it again.

  With my fourth arrow I aimed further down the target. This time I actually hit one of the colored lines on the top. Arrows five and six clustered by it.

  Ms. Walden gave the cease-fire command, and then the retrieve-arrow command. "Nice shooting," she said to me out on the field as I pulled my arrows from the target. "But you're still locking your elbow, and next time compensate even more." Next to me, Glen Brown pulled one arrow out of the very bottom of the target. "Wow, you got three," he commented, surprised that I had done better than he had. "How'd you do it?" "Well," I said slyly as I twisted my last arrow out. "It helps if you keep your eyes open." With that, I ran back to my line. I handed the bow and arrows to Helen Gallway. Ms. Walden advised her to use the heavier bow. "Did you see how Pike drew the bow all the way back under her chin, almost to her ear?" I heard her coach Helen as I trotted toward the back of the line. "Give it a full stretch like that/' she continued.

  All right! I thought gleefully. Helen had to watch me! What a switch that was.

  "Hey! Way to go!" said Jessi when I was standing behind her. "You're a natural at this." "Not exactly/' I said modestly. "I was just lucky. It's not like I hit a bull's-eye or anything." "Give yourself a break," Jessi scolded cheerfully. "That was the first time you ever shot. You really look confident, like you know what you're doing." "I do?" I asked, pleased.

  "Absolutely. If I didn't know, I'd think you'd done this before." When my turn came to shoot, I remembered what Ms. Walden said. Concentrating on keeping my elbow bent, I aimed below the target. The arrow hit. So did the next one and the next one. Each time I aimed lower, to compensate for the way I jerked up at the last second. Each arrow hit closer to the center. With my sixth arrow I aimed into the dirt.

  It hit the bull's-eye! I'm not kidding. Dead center! Ms. Walden gave the cease-fire. "Well done, Ms. Pike," she said in front of the whole class.

  "It seems a shame to pull it out. Too bad we don't have a camera." A small ripple of applause rose up. Everyone was looking at me. "Thanks," I said to Ms. Walden, trying not to look too goofy as I stood there smiling.

  Class ended before I got to shoot a third time. I was a little disappointed, but glad to end the period with a bull's-eye to my credit.

  "Pike," Ms. Walden called to me as we were heading back into the school.

  I didn't know what she could possibly want. I hadn't done anything wrong this class.

  "Pike, I'd like you to try out for the archery team this Tuesday," she said to me. "You have a lot of potential." Me? Try out for a team?

  "Okay," I said. "I'll try." For the rest of the day, all I could think about were the archery try cuts. On the one hand it seemed absurd. I didn't belong on a team. Mallory Pike and teams were like oil and water.

  But I kept seeing this picture in my head. It was me, standing straight and tall with the bow and arrow in my hand. It looked so right. I really, really wanted to make that team.

  Chapter 15.

  When I arrived at the Monday BSC meeting, Jessi had already filled everyone in on what had happened during gym. "It's Mal-lory, the huntress!" cried Dawn as I came into the room.

  "I don't believe you're trying out for the archery team!" Kristy cried happily. "That is so cool!" "I probably won't make it," I said. "I just got lucky today." "Think positively," said Stacey. "You can do it!" "Sure you can," added Mary Anne.

  "Not everybody can hit a bull's-eye," Clau-dia said. "I can't even hit the target. If you can hit the bull's-eye on your first day, you can definitely make the team." By the time I left the meeting, my friends had convinced me that there was no way I wouldn't make the team. That night at dinner, I told my family what had happened. Mom and Dad were just as encouraging. My sisters and even my brothers said they knew I could do it.

  The next day, though, I wasn't so su
re. I felt a familiar knot in my stomach, the one I get whenever I really want something and I don't think I'm going to get it. So I did what I often do. I told myself I didn't really want it.

  I didn't say much at breakfast. I guess everyone could tell I was nervous. They left me alone and no one bugged me about anything.

  "You'll do great," said Vanessa.

  "No, I won't," I protested. "Maybe I won't even try out." Mom heard this. "You don't lose anything by trying," she said gently. "Win or lose, we still love you." I gave her a tense smile and headed for school. Jessi was waiting for me at my locker when I got there. "Today's the big day," she said excitedly.

  "Maybe I won't bother. I mean, I have enough to do, with school and baby-sitting and all." "If I can fit in ballet class, you can fit in archery," Jessi said sternly. "You have to try out." "Why?" "Because you like it. And you're good at it. You're just feeling a little scared right now." When you have a friend who knows you as well as Jessi does, you can't get away with much. "I'll think about it," I told her.

  "Think about it while you're trying out," said Jessi.

  I felt as if my friends and family had put me in such a position that I had to try out. Either try out, or look like a wimp. I was glad. Otherwise, I might have chickened out.

  That afternoon, I did go to the tryouts. Most of the kids there - both boys and girls - were seventh- and eighth-graders. There were only seven other sixth-graders.

  The late afternoon had turned cold, and we stood around with our hair blowing and our hands jammed into our pockets. As I waited for my turn, I noticed that the rest of the kids were pretty good, unlike in gym. Most of the arrows hit the targets.

  But not one of them hit a bull's-eye.

  Unfortunately, I didn't hit one again, either. I did shoot every single arrow into the target, though.

  That was good enough. When Ms. Walden read the names of the ten kids who were on the team, my name was among them! I almost danced off the field, I was so happy. I was heading for home when I heard someone calling me. I turned and saw Ben.

  "Hi," he said, catching up to me. "I had a meeting for the school paper again. What are you doing here so late?" Before I could answer, he frowned with concern. "You didn't have detention again, did you?" "Nope," I said. "I was trying out for the archery team, and I made it!" "All right! Congratulations!" he cheered.

  "Thank you." We walked home together. I was glad he was there. It's much nicer to be happy with someone than alone. "I guess your brothers better look out now," Ben joked. "They're living with a marksman, or markswoman, I should say." "That's right!" I laughed.

  Ben walked me to my house, and then went back to his. When I opened the door, my house was - as usual - in a state of pandemonium.

  Claire was dancing to a music video. Va-nessa had spread a zillion magazines across the living room floor because she was making a collage for school. Margo sat beside her building a house of cards.

  "Mallory is here!" Margo yelled as I walked in. She jumped up, sending her cards fluttering to the ground. "Did you make the team?" she asked me.

  "I made it," I told her happily.

  Margo and Vanessa jumped to their feet and ran into the kitchen. "She made it!" I heard Margo yell.

  That announcement was followed by the sounds of chairs being pushed around, and dishes banging. I heard my brothers talking. "That's not how you spell it!" said Byron.

  "You're putting it on too thick!" cried Jordan.

  "Let me do it!" said Adam.

  "What's going on?" I asked Claire.

  "You'll see," she replied mysteriously.

  Now what? I thought. The Pike brothers in the kitchen must mean disaster. I knew I should find out what was going on.

  My brothers met me in the doorway before I reached the kitchen. They stood together, with Margo and Vanessa behind them. Jordan was holding the silliest looking chocolate layer cake you ever saw. The right side had collapsed. A lot of the icing had flowed down onto the plate. Written in wobbly letters were the words MALLORY and CONGRATULATIONS!!!! "Wow! This is great!" I cried.

  "The boys made it themselves," Vanessa said. "It was their idea." "It was?" I asked. The boys nodded. "This is really a surprise. You might even call it a shock. But a good shock. Let's go into the kitchen and have some." We got out plates and forks and sat around the table. "But what if I hadn't made the team?" I asked as I cut the first piece.

  "That's why we were waiting for you to get home/' Nicky explained. "If you didn't make the team, we figured you would need a cake to cheer you up." "Yeah/' added Jordan. "We were going to write Better luck next time." "It's a good thing you made the team/' Adam said. "Because I don't think we could have fit all that on the cake." "Well, thanks, you guys. This was really nice of you." "We know," said Nicky. "We're such great brothers." We laughed and went on eating the cake (which was pretty good, despite its appearance). It seemed I was going to have to rethink my opinion of my brothers, and boys in general. Even though I'd had a bad run of luck with them lately, maybe they weren't as horrible as I'd thought. In fact, at moments like this, they seemed almost sweet.

  With time, maybe they would become angels.

  Stranger things have happened.

  Look at how I'd changed my opinion of gym. And if that could happen - anything was possible! About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College.

  Ms. Martin lives in New York City with her cats, Mouse and Rosie. She likes ice cream and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.

  Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks include Yours Turty, Shirley; Ten Kids, No Pets; With You and Without You; Bummer Summer; and all the other books in the Baby-sitters Club series.

  Table of Contents

  BSC059 - Mallory Hates Boys (and Gym)

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