Baby-Sitters Club 056

by Ann M. Martin

  Six days later, on Thursday afternoon, not long after school had let out, the first dress rehearsal of All the Children got underway.

  Everyone was nervous.

  "Do you realize," began Stacey, edging closer to me, "that this time Saturday the concert will be over?" "I wonder if everybody will be in one piece," said Dawn, who had overheard.

  "We can only hope," I replied.

  "At least," said Kristy, "the kids remembered to bring their instruments and wear their uniforms. That's a good sign." She was right. It was a good sign. Then again, I thought I had once heard Janine say something like, "Good dress rehearsal, bad opening night." Maybe we didn't want the dress rehearsals to go too well after all. Not if that would jinx the concert.

  I watched the kids enter the yard. Some filed in alone. Most arrived in pairs or in groups of three or four. All were wearing blue jeans with sneakers and red tops.

  When everyone had arrived, Kristy tapped my shoulder. "Okay, Claud," she said. "Let's get started." I clapped my hands and the kids gathered around me. "This is a dress rehearsal," I reminded the kids. "Remember what that means? It means we play every song, and we put on the program just the way we're going to put it on when we have an audience. We don't stop for mistakes because we won't be able to do that on Saturday. We keep on going no matter what. So now - you guys pretend that Stacey and Jessi and Kristy and Mal and Mary Anne and Dawn and I are your audience. In fact, we are your audience. And it's two o'clock on Saturday afternoon. Everyone has arrived and they're sitting patiently, waiting for the concert to begin. Jackie? Are you ready?" Jackie stepped forward. Then he turned around and scrutinized the band. The children had arranged themselves as we had practiced - the kids playing "real" instruments in front, the kids playing kazoos and percussion grouped behind them, and the singers standing in a semicircle at one side. Jackie nodded to them. Then he faced his audience again.

  "Welcome, parents and friends," he said loudly. He paused thoughtfully, then added, "And brothers and sisters and grandparents." Another pause. "Oh, and stepbrothers and . . . and, well, and stepfamilies." (He was covering all bases.) "And teachers . . ." (At this point I almost whispered, "Enough, Jackie!" but he was on his own.) "And aunts and uncles and cousins. Um, welcome," he said again. "Today I am proud to present All the Children. This is our new band and this is our first concert. We are playing music from . . . from . . ." "From Fiddler on the Roof!" hissed Karen.

  "I know that" Jackie hissed back. "From that ever-popular musical, which my brothers and I have actually seen in Stamford, Fiddler on the Roof. And now for our first song, 'Anatevka.' " Jackie pointed to Shea and Marilyn. "Hit it, boys!" he called, and Marilyn flashed him an angry look. "I mean, um, hit it, kids!" Jackie ran to the kazoo players, tripped over his untied shoelaces, fell over Mathew Hobart, the violin player, and lost his kazoo.

  I closed my eyes briefly.

  When I opened them again, the children had sorted themselves out and Jackie had located his kazoo. At the keyboard, Shea and Marilyn glanced at each other. Then Shea nodded and the first chords of "Anatevka" danced across the lawn. One by one, the other kids joined in and soon everyone was singing or playing.

  When the song ended, the members of the BSC clapped loudly.

  All the Children performed two more songs.

  During the fourth number, "Tradition," Claire lost her place. In a rest (that was supposed to be silent, of course) she banged on her oatmeal drum. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  "Uh-oh!" said Suzy Barrett loudly. "You did a boo-boo." "I know it," replied Claire. Around her the music was starting up. But Claire's temper had taken over. "Quiet!" she yelled. "Quiet! . . . I said quiet! We have to go back!" "Claire did a boo-boo," Suzy said again.

  The band was confused. Some kids continued to play, others had stopped, several had lost their places.

  "What should I do?" I whispered to Kristy.

  "See if they can fix it themselves," she replied.

  "If they can't, I'll take Claire aside," added Mal. "Maybe I should be prepared to do that on Saturday, too." The band was nearly out of control when Jackie yelled, "START OVER! AND A-ONE AND A-TWO!" Claire pouted for one entire verse, then joined in again.

  "Whew," I said under my breath.

  After one more song, Jackie announced, "And now it is time for a station break. . . . I mean, for intermission." He glanced at me, then added, "By the way, the band is trying to buy cool red T-shirts for our uniforms. If you would like to help us, we'd be glad to take your money. Remember - this concert is free. You did not have to pay to get into the Newtons' yard." The kids relaxed for several moments, and I called Jackie over. Before I had opened my mouth he said, "I know we didn't rehearse that last part. It's new. I wrote it myself last night." "And you did a good job," I told him, trying to be tactful, "but I don't think you need to say that. On Saturday we'll leave out baskets for donations. Please don't remind the audience that they didn't pay to see the show. I'm not sure they'll appreciate that." "Okay, okay." Jackie walked away and I stifled a laugh. I noticed Jessi and Stacey doing the same thing. Across the lawn, Mallory was having a talk with Claire. When Mal joined us again, Jackie shouted, "Okay, everybody! That's the end of intermission. You can sit down now!" "Is that how he's going to talk to the audience on Saturday?" said Mary Anne, sounding horrified.

  "Maybe the grown-ups will think it's funny," whispered Jessi.

  "Maybe. But I have a feeling I better talk to him before tomorrow's rehearsal. I don't want anyone to be offended," I said.

  When the dress rehearsal ended I had another chat with Jackie. I tried to explain the meaning of the word tact. I'm not sure I did a very good job. "Be polite, Jackie," I said finally.

  "Polite," he repeated seriously.

  "Say things you'd like to hear if you were in the audience. Make the audience feel good. Flatter them." "Flatter them." "Just use good sense." "Claudia?" "Yeah?" "I think maybe I was born without good sense." Chapter 14.

  The time: 5:05 p.m.

  The day: Friday.

  Twenty-four hours from that moment the first public performance of All the Children would be over. I wasn't even going to be in the performance and I was nervous. I kept remembering Claire's temper tantrum and Jackie's guilt trip, which he hoped would bring in money for T-shirts.

  "Oh, my lord," I muttered.

  "What's the matter?" I whirled around. "Geez, Kristy, don't sneak up on me!" "I didn't sneak up on you," she replied indignantly. "I ran up the stairs like I always do. And I am not a quiet person." "I know." "Thanks a lot." "Well, you said it." Kristy made a face at me. "Oh, I'm sorry," I told her. "I'm nervous about the concert. I didn't mean to take it out on you." "The rehearsal went really well today," said Kristy, flopping onto my bed. "You don't have to worry." "Well, I'm worrying anyway. A little bit. I've been thinking about Claire's tantrum and Jackie's speech." "But Claire didn't have a tantrum today. And Jackie's speech was much better than yesterday's. Shorter, too." "You're right." "Come on. Leave the worrying to Mary Anne. She's a professional worrier." "I heard that!" exclaimed Mary Anne as she entered my room.

  "Now you're sneaking around!" I accused her.

  "What?" said Mary Anne. "And Kristy, I do not worry professionally." Jessi ran into the room then, grinning. "I wish you guys could hear yourselves," she said. "My mother would say you are sniping and griping." "Has anyone ever heard that saying about 'good dress rehearsal, bad opening night'?" I asked my friends.

  "I have," Jessi answered.

  "Do you believe it?" Jessi shrugged. "I don't know. It's a superstition." "Anyway, we can't do much about tomorrow now," said Kristy. "We've held millions of rehearsals. I think the kids are as good as they're going to get. We'll just hope for the best." The rest of the members of the BSC trickled in, and by five-thirty Kristy was ready to begin the meeting.

  "Any club business?" she asked after she'd called us to order.

  "Yeah," I replied. "The Lowells." Six heads turned slowly towa
rd me. "The Lowells," Jessi repeated. . "I guess we could consider them unfinished business," said Kristy. "We haven't talked about them in awhile. Claud's right. We need to." "Why?" asked Stacey, sounding whiny.

  "What are you complaining about, O Blonde-Haired, Blue-Eyed One?" I asked. "They didn't say you were funny-looking." "Exactly. How do you think I feel - being approved of by Mrs. Lowell? I don't want her approval. It's like, if she approves of me, then what's wrong with me? Something must be. See what I mean?" "I understand," said Dawn, "but how come you let Mrs. Lowell affect how you feel about yourself?" Stacey paused. "I don't know," she said. "Anyway, that isn't the point," said Kristy. "The point is - what if Mrs. Lowell calls the club again, wanting another sitter?" "Do you really think she's going to?" asked Stacey.

  Kristy shrugged. "Who knows? She might." "Or what if the kids show up at a band rehearsal one day? That could happen, too," I said.

  "Well, I think we need to teach the Lowells a lesson," Mal spoke up.

  "How?" asked Dawn.

  "I'm not sure. But I want to get back at them for the way they treated Claudia and Jessi. That was rude and mean and . . . and, well, dumb." "How are we going to teach Mrs. Lowell a lesson?" asked Kristy. "We're just a bunch of kids." "The next time she calls we should tell her we're not going to sit for her family anymore because we don't like bigots," I said hotly.

  "Claudia. You know darn well we cannot say that," Kristy replied.

  "Okay, we'll say we don't sit for blonde-haired, blue-eyed people." "Claudia! Geez!" cried Dawn. "Stace and I are blonde-haired, blue-eyed people. Besides, if we say anything like that then we're no better than the Lowells. That's bigoted, too." "Isn't there a term for that?" said Stacey. "Reverse something-or-other?" "Oh, who cares," I said.

  "You know, we really ought to teach Caitlin and Mackie and Celeste a lesson," said Mal. "But not a mean one; just that most people are nice. If we don't do that and they grow up prejudiced, it'll be our fault." "No, it won't," interrupted Jessi. "It'll be their parents' fault. It's already their parents' fault." Ring, ring.

  I dove for the phone. A split second before I picked it up, I remembered not to sound angry. I drew in a deep breath. "Hello, Babysitters Club." "Hi . . . Claudee?" "Hi, Jamie!" I said brightly. (Not too many people call me Claudee.) "Hi-hi. Um, Mommy said I could telephone you. I was worrying about something. What if it rains tomorrow?" I opened my eyes wide. Then I covered the mouthpiece of the phone and said to my friends, "Oh, my lord! What if it rains tomorrow? We never thought about that. The electric keyboard can't be on the porch if it rains. The rain always blows in. This is a disaster!" "Claud," said Kristy calmly, "it isn't a disaster yet. It isn't raining. And the weatherman is predicting sunshine for tomorrow." "Well, what does he know?" "If it rains, we'll figure something out. We'll set up the band in the garage so the kids won't get wet." "But the audience can't fit in the garage, too." Then we'll cancel," hissed Kristy. She waved wildly at the phone. "Talk to Jamie before he hangs up." "Jamie?" I said sweetly. "Don't worry about it. See you tomorrow." I hung up the phone.

  "The Lowells - " Jessi began to say.

  Ring, ring.

  "I'll get it this time," said Kristy, eyeing me. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club." Pause. "Karen? What's the matter? . . . Your kazoo? Well, did you look euerj/where in your room? . . . Okay, how about the car? . . . Are you sure you had it when you left rehearsal this afternoon? . . . What? You blasted it in Andrew's ear on the way home?" Kristy tried not to giggle. "Well, maybe Andrew has it. Maybe he doesn't want to be blasted at anymore. . . . Okay, put Andrew on. ... Hi, Andrew. Listen, you don't know where Karen's kazoo is, do you? You know, she needs it for the concert. And if she can't find hers, then I'll lend her Sam's. . . . You just remembered where it is? Okay, why don't you go find it, and give the phone back to Karen." Kristy paused again and made a face. For a moment she held the phone away from her ear. Then she said, "Karen, what on earth is going on? . . . No, let Andrew get the kazoo himself. You don't have to see his hiding place." Kristy stayed on the phone for over five minutes, straightening out the problems between Andrew and Karen. By the time she hung up, Andrew had produced the missing kazoo and Karen had apologized for nearly deafening him earlier. Kristy was laughing, but she quickly became sober. "Okay. The Lowells," she said to us. "We haven't made a decision yet." "I have an idea," said Jessi. "I think if Mrs. Lowell calls the BSC again we should just tell her that no one can take the job. If that happens a few times, she'll stop calling." "I guess," I replied with a sigh. "But then nobody has learned anything, except us. And we didn't need the lessons we learned." "Maybe teaching the Lowells a lesson isn't our job," said Dawn.

  "You know we can do one thing," said Jessi.

  "What?" (The rest of us practically pounced on her.) "We can be good examples for the kids we sit for. For all of them, whether they have prejudiced ideas or not." "Yeah!" exclaimed Stacey. Then she added more seriously. "But we don't want to impose our ideas on them." "No," agreed Jessi. "We can just show them how to be good neighbors." Everyone was silent for a few moments. Then I said, "You know what? This may be hard to believe, but I can't hate the Lowells. I feel as though I ought to hate them, but I just can't." "My parents," spoke up Mal, "say it's okay to hate some of the things people do, but it's not okay to hate the people who do them." "Like Karen hating the fact that Andrew hid her kazoo, but not hating Andrew," said Kristy.

  I frowned. "You guys? This is too much like school. Let's have a junk-food fest or something." Mary Anne looked at her watch. "Too late. It's almost six. We don't have time. Anyway, let's be good girls and not spoil our appetites for dinner." "But we're having liver," I objected.

  "Then by all means scarf up a candy bar before you go downstairs," said Mallory. "Liver. Ew. Why not just serve up monkey or something?" "Monkey!" exclaimed Kristy. "Hey - " "Oh, please don't start," wailed Mary Anne. "Mal, why did you mention disgusting food? That's Kristy's favorite subject." Kristy ignored her. "Six o'clock," she announced. "Meeting adjourned." "Wait!" I cried. "Don't leave yet. The concert starts at two. Meet here at one o'clock tomorrow. Wear jeans and red shirts like the kids. Who's bringing those baskets for donations?" "I am," said Mallory. "I found three." "And who's bringing chairs?" (We had decided to provide a few folding chairs for older people in the audience. Everyone else would have to sit on the ground, like at any outdoor concert.) "Me!" said Mary Anne, Dawn, Jessi, and Stacey.

  Kristy looked at me. "Is that it, Claud?" "I think so." "Okay. See you guys tomorrow." "And keep your fingers crossed for sunshine!" I added.

  Chapter 15.

  I had nightmares about rain and thunderstorms. In one, All the Children were performing in Jamie's yard on a sunny, perfect day. Then, without warning, a storm blew in. It blew in so quickly that the children and the audience couldn't even run for cover before a bolt of lightning sliced down through the porch roof and struck the keyboard. The keyboard lit up like a neon sign, then crumbled into a little pile of ashes. Shea and Marilyn stood over it, their hands still poised to play, their mouths forming round O's of surprise. In the dream, I screamed. (I hope I didn't really scream. That would be too, too embarrassing.) And then the storm blew away, and the concert began again, and Shea and Marilyn played air guitar instead of the keyboard. The audience thought the lightning had been a special effect, and they applauded loudly at the end of the concert and donated enough money for all the red T-shirts we needed.

  Maybe that wasn't a nightmare after all.

  At any rate, I was relieved to wake up on Saturday and see that the sun was shining. (Frankly, I was relieved just to wake up.) The sky was a deep, clear blue, without so much as a hint of a cloud. Still, I jumped out of bed, ran to my phone, and dialed W-E-A-T-H-E-R. "Good morning," said a tinny female voice. "Thank you for calling Weather. Here are today's readings and forecasts. Highs in the low seventies, lows tonight in the high fifties. The current temperature is a pleasant sixty-two degrees." "Is it going to RAIN?" I shouted.

  "Stay tuned for
the remainder of the forecast following - " I held the phone in front of me and said, "'What is this? The Telephone Company Variety Show?" I listened for another minute and the weath-erwoman assured me that the day would be "brilliantly sunny." "Thank you," I said to her, and hung up.

  That was at eight-fifteen. At one o'clock, when my friends began to arrive, the sun really was brilliant.

  "Hey! What a great day!" called Kristy as she ran across the lawn.

  I was sitting on the front stoop. "I know. We are so lucky." Mallory showed up then with three wicker baskets, and soon the others arrived (in cars) with wooden and metal folding chairs, which their parents drove over to the Newtons'.

  By one-thirty Jamie's yard looked like . . . well, it looked like a yard with a bunch of chairs in it.

  Jamie dashed outside and tested every chair. "This one's good, this one's good," he kept saying.

  Meanwhile, the members of the Baby-sitters Club ran an extension cord out of the New-tons' house and connected it to the keyboard. Someone set up three small tables and Mallory placed a basket on each one.

  I propped up a sign by the garage. I had lettered it myself (but Stacey had given me a hand with the spelling). The sign said: ALL THE CHILDREN PREMIERE PERFORMANCE . . .

  HERE . . . TODAY! EVERYONE WELCOME ADMISSION FREE (DONATIONS ACCEPTED) "We're here! We're here!" cried a small voice.

  I looked away from the sign.

  Running up Jamie's driveway, dressed in jeans and their red T-shirts, were Gabbie and Myriah Perkins.

  "Are you ready?" I asked them, smiling.

  "Very ready," said Gabbie seriously.

  The members of All the Children began to arrive quickly after that. The ones who lived nearby walked to Jamie's on their own. Others showed up accompanied by their parents, and we had to separate the moms and dads from their kids so we could organize the band.

  "Where's Jackie?" I asked at ten minutes to two. "We need our emcee. What are we going to do if he doesn't show up?" "Claud!" exclaimed Kristy, exasperated. "You sound like Mary Anne again." "And I heard that again," said Mary Anne. "Listen, you guys should be glad to have me around. I will personally do all your worrying for you. Claudia, you're not taking full advantage of me." "Hello, everybody!" called a familiar voice.