Claudia, Queen of the Seventh Grade

by Ann M. Martin

  “Josh, that’s ridiculous,” I replied. “I can use the rest rooms like everyone else.”

  Josh looked at me blankly.

  Joanna stifled a laugh. “Scepter, not septic. You know, one of those big staffs with a ball at the top and tassels hanging on it?”

  Duh.

  “Oh, right, that scepter,” I said, trying not to sound like a total nincompoop. “What are those things for, anyway?”

  “Hitting peasants over the head, I think,” Shira replied.

  “That could be useful at the prom,” Jeannie suggested.

  “Don’t pick your nose over the punch bowl — whack!” Josh said. “Stop hogging all the cheeseburgers — whack!”

  We turned the corner. Kids swarmed around us on their way to the front lobby, gabbing and shouting.

  School had just ended. It was Monday, and I was on my way to Mrs. Hochberger’s classroom, for my first official prom meeting.

  My mind was spinning. All weekend I’d been thinking about my little plan, and it had grown. Queen Claudia’s prom was going to be the greatest event in SMS history. Not only would it be organized and run by students, but it would be a charity fund-raiser.

  I know, now you really think I’m morphing into Kristy. Wrong. I admit I’d brought some of my ideas up at Friday’s BSC meeting. Kristy had said it sounded “fine,” but she hadn’t wanted to talk about it much, because it wasn’t “club business.” So, you see, it was all my brilliant idea.

  I tried to bring it up with my seventh-grade friends, too. But they had some ideas of their own. I was hearing every one of them.

  “A royal steed,” Jeannie suggested. “That’s what you need.”

  “Hey, you’re a poet, and you don’t know it!” Shira piped up.

  “But your feet show it,” Josh said. “They’re Longfellows. Get it?”

  Jeannie lunged after him. “Bring me my scepter!”

  As they ran down the hall, giggling, Joanna said, “Have you ever been to a Renaissance festival? People dress up in clothes from the Middle Ages and talk in old-fashioned English accents — ‘Canst thou guidest me to thy nearest privy?’ and stuff like that — and you can do crafts and shoot crossbows and watch jousts. We should have something like that in school.”

  “Crossbows? Uh, let’s not and say we did,” I suggested.

  “Well, maybe not that, or the jousting,” Joanna conceded. “But we can do the rest.”

  Shira was cracking up. “Right, Joanna. And wear togas while we work on ye old mainframe computers.”

  “They didn’t wear togas then,” Joanna protested.

  “I have a better idea,” Shira said. “Call my parents, Claudia. You arrange for our school to join the food drive, and then I won’t have to hear about my obnoxious cousins again.”

  “I already thought of that,” I replied.

  “You did?” Shira exclaimed. “Oh, bless you, my leech.”

  “I think it’s liege,” Joanna said.

  We were now approaching Mrs. Hochberger’s room. Jeannie and Josh were returning to us, out of breath and laughing.

  “Fare thee well,” I said, holding out my arm. “Thou may kiss the royal knuckles.”

  Shira grimaced. Joanna and Jeannie rolled their eyes. Josh, however, planted a big wet one.

  “Ewwww, Josh!” I cried.

  “You asked for it,” he said.

  Wiping my hand on my pants, I ducked into Mrs. Hochberger’s room as my friends shouted good-byes.

  Mrs. Hochberger was busily marking papers. She looked up in surprise. “Oh! Our meeting! Oh, dear, I’d forgotten!”

  “I can come back another time,” I volunteered.

  “No, sit down, my fault.” Mrs. Hochberger pulled up her papers and looked toward the hallway. “Where’s Mark?”

  “I don’t know, but while we’re waiting, I wanted to tell you about an idea I had.”

  I cleared my throat and collected my thoughts. I had to make this sound fabulous.

  “Okay,” I began. “I was thinking to myself, ‘Claudia, what’s the point of having a Queen and King? Just some old-fashioned custom? Can it be something more? Something that would make the prom more interesting and fun?’ ”

  “Well, Claudia, to be honest, the titles are sort of honorifics,” Mrs. Hochberger said.

  “Yes, and I feel very honorific to have been chosen. But I figured out a great answer. Step one? Get rid of attendants —”

  “Whoa, hold it right there,” Mrs. Hochberger interrupted. “You need people to help you.”

  “Right. But picking attendants is unfair. I mean, Mark and I will just pick people we know. It’ll be like a clique. What about the other kids who would really love to work on the prom? It would be much more fair to have sign-up sheets. I bet lots of people will want to be involved.”

  Mrs. Hochberger smiled patiently. “I just don’t know if there’s that much to do. The school takes care of most of the preparation. You just need to make a few decorations.”

  “So we’ll form a decoration committee. But it’ll be just one of a whole bunch of committees. I mean, why should the school do everything? Take the catering. That must be so expensive. We can have a food committee that decides on a menu and prepares the food. Mark’s dad works in the restaurant business, and he can help. Now, we have to make sure everyone attends, right? So we have a publicity committee that designs fliers and makes regular announcements over the PA. Then we have a music committee that puts together a great tape and picks a DJ. An award committee thinks of funny prizes — you know, weirdest haircut, most likely to be confused with an Elvis sighting, stuff like that. It’ll be so much fun!”

  Mrs. Hochberger was chuckling. “Claudia, you’re being very … ambitious.”

  Clunk, went my heart. “You hate the idea.”

  “No, I didn’t say that. Actually, I think it’s wonderful. But I have to warn you, you’re taking on a lot. Other Queens have come to me with similar ideas in the past, and they’ve never quite worked out.”

  “Those Queens weren’t me!” I replied. “Besides, Mark and I are in total agreement.”

  “Well, in that case,” Mrs. Hochberger said, “I suppose we can try it.”

  “Ohhhhh, thanks, Mrs. Hochberger!” I wanted to throw my arms around her and jump up and down. But I didn’t. I kept my Queenly dignity.

  At that moment, King Mark the Tardy shuffled through the doorway, with his hands in his pockets. “Yo, am I late?”

  “I was talking about the plan we made,” I said excitedly. “Sit down. There’s a part I haven’t told you about.”

  “Wait. What’s the part you did tell me about?” Mark asked, slumping into a chair.

  Ugh.

  I went through the whole thing again. He looked as if he’d never heard a word of it. When I reached the part about the sign-up sheet, he said, “Whoa. Whoa. I’m the King, right? So I should have an equal say. And I say, forget about the sign-up sheets and stuff —”

  “But you agreed, remember?” I persisted. “On the way out of the auditorium? You were the one who suggested the food committee.”

  “Yeah, but it was more like, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if,’ not ‘Let’s do it,’ ” Mark said. “You know, hypocritical.”

  “Hypothetical,” Mrs. Hochberger gently corrected him. (Personally, I thought Mark had it right.)

  “Whatever,” Mark snapped. “Besides, what am I going to tell my attendants? ‘You’re fired’?”

  “You already picked attendants?” I asked.

  Mark shrugged. “Duke, wizard, earl, wenches —”

  “Wenches?” I said.

  “That was what we were supposed to do, right?” Mark asked.

  “Pick wenches? You are so sexist, Mark Jaffe!”

  “No, pick attendants! Besides, it’s a joke, Claudia. That’s what this whole thing is. It’s for fun, not some serious Girl Scout project!”

  “There you go again!” I said.

  “Okay, Boy Scout, too. You know what I mean.
” Mark sighed. “I thought I was doing the right thing, Claudia. If you had this big plan, why didn’t you call me?”

  “Okay, okay, maybe I should have,” I admitted. “I should have assumed you’d have amnesia.”

  “Please,” Mrs. Hochberger said. “The King and Queen must not fight.”

  Mark grinned. “Yeah, or we’ll be in the tablets.”

  “-loids,” I said.

  “Who’s Lloyd?”

  “Tabloids! Can I mention the other part of my plan?”

  I was practically shouting now. Honestly, I wanted to throw him out the window.

  “Go ahead,” Mrs. Hochberger said.

  “Well, my friend Shira was telling me about this food and clothing drive in her cousins’ school. I thought we could have one, too. As part of the prom. A special committee could set up a drop-off corner in the gym.”

  Mark let out a big groan.

  “What’s wrong with that idea?” I shot back. “Did you promise all your old clothes to one of your attendants?”

  “Very funny,” Mark said. “Claudia, your idea’s cool, but it’s so much work.”

  “No, it isn’t!” I insisted. “The committees do the work. We just do the planning.”

  “Like what?” Mark asked.

  “Figuring out what the committee should do, giving them deadlines —”

  “But … but I can’t —”

  “Checking up on them from time to time, troubleshooting — you know, planning.”

  “I have trouble planning my lunch!”

  That I did not doubt.

  Stalling. That’s what he was doing. Trying as hard as he could to ruin my plan.

  Well, I wasn’t going to let him.

  “I want to try this, Mark,” I said firmly. “But I can’t do it if you don’t help. Say no, and we’ll have the same old-fashioned stupid prom they’ve always had. We can walk around with crowns and look dorky and pose for pictures and be really embarrassed. Say yes, and we’ll create a prom we can be proud of. Involve everybody. Raise money for charity.”

  “But my attendants —” Mark protested.

  “They can be the first to sign up for committees. You can still call them dukes and wizards if you want.” I leaned back in my chair and exhaled. “It’s all up to you.”

  “Ahem,” Mrs. Hochberger said. “Has everyone forgotten about me, the lowly faculty advisor?”

  Yikes. “You agree, right?” I asked.

  Mrs. Hochberger nodded. “But I feel it’s only fair for you to let Mark think about it.”

  Mark let out a sigh like Hurricane Bob. “Okay, okay, let’s go for it.”

  “You mean it?” I asked.

  Mark shrugged. “It’s what you want.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Will you help me?”

  “Hey, a King is a King. I can’t let down my subjects.” He picked up his backpack and headed for the door, grumbling, “As long as you do most of the work.”

  I had a feeling I was in for an uphill battle.

  “Is that — could that be — oh, wow, may I have your autograph, Your Majesty?”

  Josh’s voice took me by surprise as I left school. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Josh shrugged. “I was looking at the school wall. I thought I saw some fossils in the stone. Can I walk you home?”

  “You are so weird.”

  “Just because I want to walk you home? Claudia, we must have a talk about your self-esteem.”

  I was in no mood to joke. I was so angry at Mark Jaffe, I could barely see straight.

  I headed away from the school, hands in my pockets.

  “Thanks, Josh, I’d love to have your company,” Josh said, falling into step beside me.

  “He is such a jerk,” I muttered.

  “Total jerk,” Josh agreed.

  “Conceited and stupid,” I continued.

  “If he had twice as many brains, he’d be a half-wit.”

  “A big blowhard.”

  “Ugly, too.”

  I glowered at the pavement. Our footsteps echoed dully in the cold March air.

  “Claudia?” Josh asked.

  “What?”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “Mark Jaffe!”

  “Oh, why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t have been so nice!”

  That did it. I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Aha! A smile!” Josh said. “Don’t try to hide it!”

  “Okay, okay. You win. You stopped me from feeling totally miserable. Are you happy?”

  “I’ll take what I can get. So, what happened with Queen Claudia’s Royal Service Plan?”

  “Well, let me put it this way. You were right about the scepter. I should have one, to bash Jaffe over the head.”

  “I’d buy tickets to see that. So would a lot of people. You could make a fortune.”

  I described everything in detail — the meeting, my idea, Mark’s reaction. Josh hung onto every word. By the time I finished, he was angry, too.

  “I’m on your side,” Josh assured me. “And so are Shira and Jeannie and Joanna. If Mark is a total zero, we’ll make up for him.”

  As we crossed Burnt Hill Road, I glanced at Josh. Under his green woolen watch cap, his ears stuck out at an odd angle. He looked like an earnest little chipmunk.

  I smiled. “You know, you’re a great friend, Josh,” I said. “I’m really glad I know you.”

  “Really?” Josh’s voice was practically a squeak.

  “I mean, I used to feel so awful about being in seventh grade. But not anymore. Because if I hadn’t been sent back, I wouldn’t have met you guys.”

  Honnnk! Honnnnk!

  With a wheeze and a pop, Charlie Thomas’s car barreled around the corner. (Actually, car is a kind word for it. It’s more like scrap metal on wheels.) Abby and Kristy were waving to us out the open windows.

  “Want a lift?” Kristy asked.

  “Nahh, it’s so close,” I replied.

  “Let us out here, Jeeves,” Abby said to Charlie.

  The car pulled up to the curb. As Abby and Kristy climbed out, Stacey’s voice called to us from up the block. “Hiiii!”

  “Hi!” we all called back.

  “You’re welcome!” Charlie yelled sarcastically as he drove off.

  “Uh, well, I guess I’ll be going home,” Josh said.

  Abby gave him a puzzled look. “Is this —? Did we meet —?”

  “This is Josh,” I said. “He’s one of my friends.”

  At that point, Stacey was running toward us, her hair blowing in the wintry breeze. I could see Josh’s mouth practically drop open in awe. “Hi,” he said. “Well, uh, I guess I better be heading back now.”

  “Thanks for walking with me, Josh,” I said.

  “Any time,” Josh replied, heading back toward the school.

  “Where does he live?” Abby asked me.

  “Centennial Avenue,” I answered.

  “That’s at the other end of town,” Kristy observed.

  Abby raised her eyebrows. “Hmmmm, walking you home, huh?”

  “Cute little guy,” Stacey remarked.

  “Watch it, Stace,” Kristy warned. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

  “Ssshhh, you’ll break Claudia’s heart,” Abby said.

  That made everyone crack up.

  Except me. For some reason, it didn’t seem funny. Not at all.

  The jokes about Josh stopped by the time we reached my bedroom. As we settled ourselves, Jessi and Mallory ran in.

  “Claudia, how did your meeting go?” Jessi asked.

  “Well,” I began, “the good news is —”

  “Listen up, everybody!” Kristy said, her finger poised over my answering machine.

  The light was blinking with the number four. Kristy pressed the message button.

  “Hi, it’s me, Jeannie,” the first message began.

  “And me!” shouted Shira’s voice in the background.

  “Call us ca
ll us call us!” Jeannie continued. “We are dying to know what happened.”

  “Urrrrrggllllghh!” Shira shouted.

  “That’s Shira, dying. Call us right back!”

  Giggle, giggle, giggle, click.

  Message number two was Joanna: “Claudia? Claudia? Are you there? Wow, you’re still with Mrs. Hochberger? Or maybe you’re out k-i-s-s-i-n-g with King Mark! Just kidding!”

  “Puh-leeze,” muttered Stacey.

  “Hello, this is Mrs. Addison,” the tape continued. “Sorry to call so early, but as you know, five-thirty to six is always busy around our house. Please call me back as soon as possible. I’d like to speak to you about a special assignment. It’s K-L-five-three-four-oh-two. Thank you.”

  “Uh-oh,” Stacey said.

  “Eeeeeeee!” began the last message. “We’re still dying! Call us!”

  Mary Anne walked in, looking dismayed. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  I laughed. “Shira. The girl is crazed.”

  “Immature is the word,” Stacey remarked.

  “They are totally obsessed with you,” Abby added.

  “They’re my friends,” I said.

  “Well, would you ask your friends not to clog up the club phone around meeting time?” Kristy asked. “What if other clients were trying to reach us?”

  “Kristy, it does happen to be my phone,” I retorted. “And they’re not immature, Stacey. They’re just excited —”

  “I hereby call this meeting to order!” Kristy announced.

  “Anyway,” I went on, “Mrs. Hochberger thought the idea was —”

  “Okay, first order of business,” Kristy interrupted, “is the Addisons!”

  As she picked up the phone and began tapping out the Addisons’ number, I tried again: “The problem is my King, this guy named Mark. He’s like, the jerk of the century —”

  “Sshhh!” said Kristy. “Hello, Mrs. Addison, it’s BSC president Thomas … mm-hm … all right … I understand. Good-bye.”

  When she hung up, Abby burst out laughing. “President Thomas?”

  “It sounds more prestigious,” Kristy explained. “Anyway, Mrs. Addison says she made a deal with Sean. For this Thursday, when it’s Abby’s turn, Sean will be called a co-sitter.”

  Abby was turning three shades of green. “Uh-oh …”

  “All it means is that we’ll be sitting for Corrie but supervising Sean,” Kristy continued.