“Come on, let’s do something fun,” she said, taking Mallory’s hand.
Claudia dragged Mal to the den, where the Pike triplets were standing before an audience of six kids.
The triplets — Byron, Adam, and Jordan — are ten years old. They like to think they’re too old for baby-sitters, so we treat them as helpers (and sometimes they even earn that title). The next oldest Pike is Vanessa (she’s nine), then Nicky (eight), Margo (seven), and Claire (five).
Charlotte, by the way, is Becca’s best friend. Like Becca, she’s eight and very smart. (Unlike Becca, she’s very quiet.)
“Okay, so, like, there was once this big spaceship that landed on a planet,” Byron began.
“What planet?” Margo asked.
“I don’t know, but it had lots of sand,” Byron replied. “Anyway, these two robots were on it? Only one talked but the other didn’t? But the one that didn’t had this video inside that showed like a hologram or whatever in the air, and it was of this princess named, um, Princess Leda. And she was in trouble because her spaceship was being attacked by —”
Vanessa groaned. “That’s just the Star Wars story with different names. Can’t you think of something better?”
“I want to tell one!” Claire shouted, leaping up. “Um, this robot? He was little? He had this squeaky voice?”
“Ooh! Ooh! I know!” Adam blurted out.
“No robots,” Nicky said.
Claire’s face collapsed. “No fair!”
“Bo-ring!” Becca called out.
“I have a great one!” Adam protested. “It’s, like, a real story, by Hans Christian Andersen. Called ‘The Little Matchmaker.’ ”
“Waaaaaah!” cried Claire, running for the door.
Mallory scooped her up and hugged her. “It’s ‘The Little Match Girl,’ and you interrupted Claire.”
“She interrupted me!” Adam said.
“You’re supposed to help, dork brain!” Jordan spoke up.
“I’m rubber, you’re glue —” Adam began.
“Okay, everyone outside!” Mallory shouted. “I don’t care how cold it is. Just put on your coats and play. Now!”
Mallory never talks like that. Claire was covering her ears.
The other kids seemed kind of shocked. They left the den. Mallory set Claire down so she could join them.
“You try amusing these kids,” Adam the Seasoned Sitter murmured on his way out.
Claudia just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to say. But Mal swept by her and into the kitchen.
The kids were in the mud room, putting on their coats. Well, all except Becca, who was sitting at the table, staring out the window.
“Aren’t you going outside?” Claudia asked.
“No,” Becca said.
Mallory didn’t seem to be moving outside either, so Claudia grabbed her coat. She remembered she had a few candy bars inside her coat pocket. “Hungry?” she asked.
“Nope,” said Mallory and Becca at the same time.
“Maybe you guys can give Jessi a call,” Claudia suggested.
“She’s out,” Mallory said. “Touring New York City.”
“Besides, she doesn’t want to talk to us,” Becca added.
Claudia let out a sigh. “Well, don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”
Frustrated, she stepped outside.
All the kids were gathered around Adam now, giggling and screaming. The Pikes’ dog, Pow, was running around them, his tail wagging furiously. Adam was holding out a hand-held tape recorder, shouting, “Stop! Let me make an introduction! Um, ladies and gentlemen, this is WPIKE, bringing you a day in the life of the Pikes!”
“WOOOOOOO!” shouted Margo into the mike.
Brrrrrup, burped Nicky.
ROWF! barked Pow.
“Bad idea!” yelled Byron. “This isn’t working.”
That’s when Claudia had an idea of her own.
Becca and Mal were feeling gloomy and lonely. The kids were wild. Everyone needed a project.
“YYYYO!” Claudia shouted in her best Kristy Thomas voice. “Who wants to send a cassette telegram to Jessi?”
“MEEEEEEEE!”
Ta-da. Instant success. Everyone ran back inside.
Mallory and Becca brightened a little at the suggestion.
“Maybe we can sing a song,” Becca said.
“Good idea,” Mallory agreed. “While you do that, let’s make an order of presentation, so everyone can have a turn.”
They all gathered around Mal, who had grabbed a pen and pad of paper from the kitchen desk.
“I’ll tell about my class’s rabbit!” Claire blurted out.
“Does Jessi like Game Boy?” Nicky asked.
“I want to read her my English report,” Byron said.
“You’ll put her to sleep,” Adam said.
Mallory laughed. “One at a time, guys.”
Claudia the Miracle Worker saves the day.
The tape, I have to say, was a work of genius. I still crack up whenever I listen to it.
“I think it’s totally unfair,” said Marcus Glover.
“Who does he think we are?” Celeste Rodriguez chimed in. “Babies?”
“This could have been a perfect opportunity,” complained Michiko Nakamura.
“It’s not like we don’t deserve it,” added Randy Hamill.
The honeymoon was over.
Mr. Brailsford was no longer perfect. At least among the members of Dance New York Youth, A-Level.
This honeymoon had lasted a long time. It was already Tuesday of our third week. Only a week and a day were left in our session.
I was already starting to feel sad. Everyone I’d met was so great. I felt as if I’d been in a long, wonderful dream.
My classmates and I were having lunch at the SoHo Szechuan Chinese restaurant. Earlier, Mr. Brailsford had announced the program for our exhibition performance.
The good news was, some of his famous friends from the dance world were going to be there. So was a reviewer from a major newspaper.
The bad news was, only upper-level students were going to have solos. No one in A-Level. All we were performing was our group ballet. “You don’t need the pressure,” Mr. Brailsford had announced. “Remember, we’re here to learn and enjoy.”
I was disappointed at first, but I got over it.
Some of my friends hadn’t.
“At Juilliard, I get to do solos,” Quint groused.
I grabbed a forkful of cold sesame noodles from a lazy Susan. “Well, I think Mr. Brailsford is right.”
“If anyone should have a solo, it should be you, Jessi,” Maritza said.
“Please. If I were doing a solo, I’d be a wreck. I sure wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be at the barre — practicing, perfecting my solo, worrying. I don’t want that. I’m having a great time doing just what we’re doing.”
“But it’s good to have a goal,” Marcus insisted.
“The group number is our goal,” I said. “Look, just imagine if we were competing against each other with solos. Would we be sitting here together, all relaxed and happy?”
Quint nodded. “She has a point.”
“Maybe,” Marcus grumbled.
Michiko made a face. “Marcus Glover, Applause Lover.”
Marcus looked warily around, then threw a piece of sweet-and-sour shrimp at her.
“Food fight!” Randy said, picking up a baby corn.
“Now, this is competition,” Celeste remarked.
Don’t worry. No one else threw any food. For one thing, the head waiter was eyeing us now. For another, we were all laughing too hard.
We quickly finished up and paid our bill. It was warm for January, and a bright midday sun lit up the canyon of Broadway as we returned to the studio.
Everyone else was walking in pairs, slowly and lazily. I was alone. I closed my eyes for a moment and tilted my face toward the sun.
“Nice day, huh?”
Quint had joined me.<
br />
“Beautiful,” I said.
“So … how about this Friday? For dinner, I mean. Have you made plans yet?”
“Uh … well, I’m waiting to hear if my friend Mal is visiting.”
“Mal?” Quint’s face fell. “A guy?”
“No. Mallory Pike.”
“Oh. Right. I remember her. Cool. But what if she doesn’t come?”
“I don’t know, Quint —”
“I know what you mean. Maybe we should go out instead. Like to a movie or something. We could even go with other people. Like another couple. Or what about Thursday, or even Sunday —?”
Enough is enough, I said to myself. I could no longer ignore this.
“Quint,” I said firmly. “We have to talk.”
“We are talking,” Quint said with a smile.
I glanced up the street. My classmates were ahead of us, chattering away.
Quint and I stopped walking. We were in a little nook formed by the back of a subway entrance and the brick wall of a building.
I looked at my watch. We still had about ten minutes before we had to return.
“What do you think we are?” I asked.
Quint laughed. “Is this a quiz? Let’s see … talented. Coordinated. Funny. Black. Eleven going on twelve —”
“No, I mean, we we. You and me together. We’re, like, friends, right?”
“That’s what I thought,” Quint said with a shrug.
“Because that’s how we left things, remember? We were going to be long-distance friends, nothing more.”
Quint nodded. “Sure I remember.”
Whew.
“Great,” I said. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
“Why are you asking me this, Jessi?”
“I don’t know. I thought I was picking up these … strange vibes from you.”
“You think I’m being strange?” Now Quint looked upset.
“I didn’t mean it that way. Just like … oh, this is so embarrassing. I thought, maybe you wanted us to be … you know, a couple. That you were going back on our agreement.”
“But I never did that.”
“I know.”
“I mean, when you were in Stoneybrook, I stopped calling you all the time.”
“I know you did.”
“I didn’t beg you to visit anymore.”
“I know.”
“So we were long-distance friends,” Quint said.
“Right. Look, I’m sorry —”
“And now we’re not long-distance anymore.”
Thunk.
I hadn’t looked at it from that point of view.
“So, you think we’re … automatically the way we used to be?”
Quint looked away. “Well, not automatically. Not the way you’ve been acting to me. But I thought maybe you might … I mean, you’re here. I am the same guy.”
His voice was becoming smaller and smaller. When he said that last sentence he sounded like a little boy.
“Of course you are, Quint —”
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No. This really doesn’t have anything to do with you. It’s me. I don’t want a boyfriend in my life right now. That’s all. That’s why I want us to be friends.”
“Sorry.” Quint nodded sadly. “I guess I didn’t understand.”
“It’s my fault. I should have mentioned it earlier.”
Quint took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“I didn’t really give you reason not to, I guess.”
“Jessi?”
“What?”
“When do you think you will be ready for a boyfriend?”
I shrugged. “Maybe when I’m thirteen? Fourteen? I don’t know.”
“Two years? Cool.”
As we began walking back to the Dance New York building together, Quint was definitely different. Vibeless. I felt so relieved.
I could not wait to tell Maritza what had happened.
“Hey, will you at least let me say hi to Mallory?” Quint asked.
“Of course!” I said.
Just then I realized something strange. I hadn’t mentioned a word about Quint to Mal yet. Usually she’s the one I confide in about personal stuff.
But for nearly three weeks I’d been confiding in Maritza.
I felt as if I’d been disloyal or something.
Ridiculous, I told myself. Maritza was here, Mallory was back home.
Besides, if Mal came to visit, I’d have a chance to tell her everything.
If her parents let her visit.
If not, well, I’d tell her when I returned home.
But at the moment, I didn’t want to think about that.
“She’s not in the departures waiting room!” shouted Maritza.
“Maybe she went outside by mistake,” suggested Celeste.
“Where’s the luggage claim?” asked Randy.
Maritza rolled her eyes. “This isn’t the airport, it’s Amtrak. People don’t check luggage.”
“Should we look for the lost and found?” Michael said.
“I think the police might be a better idea,” Marian added.
What a mess.
Yes, Mallory’s parents had agreed to let her visit. And I’d dragged my cousins and my friends to Penn Station to meet the train.
We’d arrived in time. We’d been there when the train pulled in. We’d watched the passengers emerge.
But no Mallory.
The Amtrak concourse is huge. But it’s only part of Penn Station. Which means it’s connected to the Long Island Railroad and Madison Square Garden in a maze of vaulted rooms, corridors, and tracks — on three different levels.
Mallory could be anywhere.
“Okay, don’t panic,” Michael said.
I wasn’t panicking. Yet. I scanned the Amtrak concourse, trying to figure out where I’d be if I were her.
“Bagels,” I said.
“This is no time for a snack!” Quint snapped.
“No. Mal loves bagels. If she got here and didn’t see us, she may have gone into the bagel shop. I’ll check there with Maritza. Michael, you check outside. Marian, you and Celeste look in the LIRR waiting room. Randy and Quint, you go back to the track, in case she was stuck in the train for some reason. Meet back here in ten minutes.”
“Okay.”
“Gotcha.”
“Right.”
We split up. As we raced through the crowd, I spotted a flash of reddish hair to my right.
“Jessi!”
Mallory was struggling toward me, holding a huge suitcase. “I’m sorry, I —”
“Mal!” I ran to her and threw my arms around her. “I almost had a heart attack looking for you!”
“Well, I was at the back of the train. I must have come up the wrong stairway —”
“Maritza, this is Mallory. Mallory, Maritza.” I took Mal’s hand. “Come on, we have to meet the others.”
One advantage of being a dancer: You can hop through crowds really fast. Well, except when you’re pulling along a nondancer friend.
Randy, Quint, Marian, and Celeste soon arrived at our meeting place.
“She appears!” Randy exclaimed.
“Ta-da!” Celeste sang.
“Heyyyy, Mal!” Quint exclaimed, hugging her enthusiastically.
Mallory nearly fell over. “Uh, hi.”
“Down, Rover,” cracked Randy.
“You’ll get used to them, Mal,” Tanisha said. “They’re dancers. They can’t help being loud and physical.”
Now Michael was walking toward us with a policeman.
“We found her!” I yelled.
As Michael shrugged at the policeman, Mallory turned beet red. “I’m sorry. I just came up the wrong —”
Everyone began talking at once — introducing themselves, asking questions, and just jabbering away.
Michael let out a loud whistle. “I think we can find a better place to talk. Dinner at our apartment?”
“Y
AAAAAAAAY!”
Honestly, the people in Penn Station must have thought we were off the wall.
We surrounded Mallory, talking nonstop. Laughing like hyenas. Telling our funniest classroom stories.
I don’t think she got a word in edgewise all the way to Michael and Marian’s apartment.
As soon as we stepped inside, Michael took our dinner orders. Everyone wanted something different — pizza, burgers, chicken, spaghetti.
“He’s going to make all that?” Mallory asked.
We cracked up. “In New York, restaurants deliver,” I explained. “Not just pizza. Anything you want.”
Taking Mal’s suitcase, I led her upstairs to my room.
Of course, the rest of my friends followed. As I set the suitcase down, they sat on the floor and the beds.
“Feels like a BSC meeting,” Mallory said with a smile.
“A what?” Celeste asked.
“It’s this club Mal and I belong to,” I said.
Mallory looked surprised. “You haven’t told them?”
I hadn’t. The BSC, frankly, had been pretty far from my mind lately.
“I guess I meant to,” I replied. “But —”
“Ooh!” Quint blurted out. “You will never, ever believe who I saw walking down Broadway after lunch! Mark Morris.”
“No!” Maritza said. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Quint replied. “I nodded hello and nearly ran into a fire hydrant. And he gives me this look, like, ‘Yeah, right, who is this chump?’ ”
“That is almost as cool as the time I talked to Robert LaFosse in front of Lincoln Center,” Maritza said.
I love these kinds of conversations. People have them all the time in New York. I call them Close Encounters of the Dance World.
Mallory wasn’t saying much. At one point she leaned over to me and whispered, “Who are Mark Morris and Robert LaFosse?”
I couldn’t believe it. To a ballet dancer, that’s like asking who Steven Spielberg and Tom Cruise are. “A famous choreographer and dancer,” I explained.
Mal nodded and listened patiently as we gossiped on.
Finally, Quint said to her, “We have such big mouths. Tell us about you, Mal. Are you a ballet dancer? What level are you?”
Mal shook her head. “I don’t dance.”
“What do you like to do?” Maritza asked.
“Write stories,” Mal replied. “Horse stories, especially. I love horses. And also I draw. Pictures.”
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