Claudia, Queen of the Seventh Grade

by Ann M. Martin

  “Which means sitting for both of them but making Sean feel important,” was Jessi’s analysis.

  “All right,” Abby said. “But I demand a police escort.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kristy reassured her. “He’s not that bad.”

  “Okay,” I barged on, “so Mark is giving Mrs. Hochberger a hard time about my new plan —”

  “Who’s Mark?” asked Kristy.

  “My King!” I replied. “Mark Jaffe.”

  “I know who that is,” Stacey said. “He’s cute.”

  “Wait. This is the little dude we saw outside?” Abby asked.

  “That’s Josh. Anyway, Mark’s lazy. I just know he’s not going to do any work on the Royal Service Plan — that’s what Josh calls it —”

  “Just bop him over the head,” Abby suggested. “Mark, not Josh. I mean, he’s only in seventh grade —”

  “Hrrrmph,” Mallory said. “Watch it.”

  “Resign,” Kristy suggested. “I mean, why do all the work? It’s not even your grade, really.”

  “It is so!” I protested.

  “Oops, I forgot,” Kristy said with a grin.

  “Don’t forget the time commitment,” Mary Anne added. “Between homework and sitting —”

  “I can do it,” I insisted. “Homework doesn’t take me as long as it used to. I just need to figure out what to do about Mark —”

  “You’ll figure out something, I’m sure,” Abby said.

  “He’s probably acting that way because he likes you,” Stacey suggested.

  That made me laugh. “Right. And the moon is made of cheese.”

  “It is?” asked Abby.

  Kristy rolled her eyes. “Okay, any other business?”

  I sighed. Out of the corner of my eye, a Chips Ahoy box winked at me from behind my bedstand.

  I reached down to get it.

  Nothing like chocolate chip cookies when you’re feeling ignored.

  “Remember, call him a co-sitter,” Mrs. Addison said.

  “Right,” Abby agreed.

  “We’re hoping he’ll take some responsibility for his sister,” Mr. Addison added.

  “Of course,” Abby said.

  “After he finishes his homework, he can do whatever he wants,” Mrs. Addison went on. “He may leave the yard to go to a friend’s, but only if he checks with you and promises to be home by dinnertime. That’s when we’ll be back.”

  Abby nodded. “You bet.”

  “Let us know how this works,” Mrs. Addison said.

  Mr. Addison chuckled. “Who knows? Someday soon you may be taking him into your club.”

  “Fat chance.” (Don’t worry, Abby didn’t really say that. She caught the words just before they flew out of her mouth.)

  After the Addisons left, Abby bounded into the kitchen. There, Corrie was eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Breakfast food?” Abby asked.

  “I wook oo,” said Corrie with a full mouth.

  Sean stormed into the kitchen from the direction of the den. “Who said you could eat that?”

  Corrie swallowed. “Me.”

  Sean grabbed the box away.

  “Hey!” Corrie screamed, clutching her bowl.

  “You know Mom and Dad don’t like us to have sugary snacks,” Sean scolded her.

  “Can I, Abby?” Corrie asked.

  “Well, uh, what do you think, Sean?” spoke Abby the Peacemaker. “I guess we can let her finish, but no more food until dinner, huh?”

  “All right,” Sean replied, walking back to the den. “Keep an eye on her, and let me know if she sneaks anything.”

  “You’re not my sitter, Sean!” Corrie protested.

  “Oh, yes, I am!” Sean snapped back. “Co-sitter.”

  Corrie gave Abby a desperate look. “Is he?”

  Abby shrugged. “It’s true.”

  “But that doesn’t make sense!” Corrie said. “Why do I need two sitters?”

  “It’s kind of an audition,” Abby said.

  “Does that mean he might be my only sitter someday? I’d rather die!”

  “We can arrange that!” Sean called out.

  “Sean, you disgusting —”

  “Uhh, do you have a lot of homework today?” Abby quickly asked.

  “English,” Corrie grumbled. “Can you test me on vocabulary words?”

  “Sure!”

  Corrie wolfed down her cereal and headed for the stairs.

  On her way after Corrie, Abby peeked into the den. Sean was lying on the couch, reading a book. A spiral notebook lay flat on his chest.

  “Is she giving you any trouble?” he asked.

  Abby winked. “Everything is under control.”

  “Good work.”

  Walking upstairs, Abby couldn’t help smiling. This wasn’t exactly easy, but she had a feeling it was going to work out.

  She sat on Corrie’s carpet, keeping the door open to listen for Sean.

  “I am the best speller in my grade,” Corrie announced, handing Abby a vocabulary sheet. “Read these and ask me to spell them and give a definition.”

  Abby picked a word from the list. “Paraphernalia.”

  Corrie’s face went blank. “Wait. Can I see that one more time?”

  Well, Corrie’s spelling was not all it was cracked up to be. (I don’t blame her. My mind short-circuits when a word has more than four letters.) Abby had to work pretty hard with her.

  Afterward, as Corrie was opening her math book, Abby said, “Your brother’s awfully quiet.”

  “He’s probably asleep,” Corrie replied. “He shouldn’t be doing his homework on the sofa. You should pour some ice water on him.”

  Abby stood up. “Be right back.”

  She tiptoed downstairs and looked into the den. Sean’s books were lying on the coffee table, but he wasn’t there.

  “Sean?” she called out.

  Abby walked through the kitchen and into the living room. No Sean. She checked the basement, then went out the back door. It was growing dark outside, and Abby had to hug herself against the cold. “Sean?” she shouted as she walked around to the front of the house.

  Next door, a stern-faced older man pushed open the front door. “Sean walked that way,” he said, pointing up the street.

  “Did he say where he was going?” Abby asked.

  The man shrugged. “Just saw him through the window. Thought it was strange that he would be going off by himself so late.”

  “Oh my lord,” Abby said under her breath.

  The man was glaring at her. “In my day, you could do that. Not anymore. These days it’s dangerous.”

  Abby darted back into the house. “Corrie, put your coat on! We’re leaving!”

  Corrie came running downstairs. “What happened?”

  Abby grabbed her coat from the back of a kitchen chair. “We have to find your brother. Hurry up!”

  Corrie ran into the coat vestibule as Abby headed for the front door.

  Suddenly Abby remembered the book Sean had been reading. My Side of the Mountain. About a boy who ran away from home to live in the woods.

  Her heart sank. That’s why Sean didn’t want a sitter. He wanted to be free to run away. This was his new way of dealing with his anger. Right this minute he was picking berries. Making fishhooks out of twigs. Hiding in the hollow of a tree.

  Abby could see the headlines: BABY-SITTER NEGLECTS TEN-YEAR-OLD BOY. THREE-STATE HUNT UNDER WAY. “I WAS ONLY TRYING TO GIVE HIM FREEDOM,” INCOMPETENT SITTER CLAIMS.

  “Where are we going?” Corrie said, running out the front door after Abby.

  Abby stopped. “He went off to the right. Are there woods over there?”

  “Woods?”

  Rrrring!

  At the sound of the phone, Corrie shouted, “It’s him!”

  Abby lunged for the door. “Auggh! It’s locked!”

  “Did you lock the back?” Corrie asked.

  Abby was already running.

  Rrrring!

  �
�Don’t hang up!” Abby yelled.

  The back door was open. Abby ran in, dived across the kitchen, and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Hello,” a voice replied, “this is Connecticut Cable, with a special, limited-time-only installation offer —”

  “Sorry! Can’t! ’Bye!” Abby stammered.

  “I’m sure if you heard the details,” the voice persisted, “you’d —” Boooop!

  Call-waiting!

  Abby almost shrieked. She clicked the receiver hook and said, “Call back later! This is an emergency —”

  “Abby?”

  The voice was unmistakable.

  “Sean? Are you all right?”

  “Um, do you have nine dollars and fourteen cents?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the supermarket — you know, the one at the little mall? I was going to buy some steak for dinner, but I forgot to bring enough money.”

  Abby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Don’t move. We’re on our way.” She slammed the receiver down.

  “Where is he?” Corrie demanded.

  “Aisle four,” Abby replied, barging out the back door.

  The strip mall is an old-fashioned, open-air cluster of stores near the Addisons’ house. Abby and Corrie sprinted all the way there.

  They found Sean sitting on the curb in front of the supermarket.

  “Sean, you know you aren’t allowed to leave the house without telling me first!” Abby scolded.

  “Sorry,” Sean said sheepishly. “I was just trying to help.”

  Abby sighed and sat next to him. “You know I’ll have to tell your parents about this. And I’ll probably get into trouble, too —”

  Sean’s eyes were focused on a red minivan that was pulling into the lot. “Go! Go away!” he said suddenly.

  “Don’t you tell me to —” Abby began.

  But Sean bolted up and ran.

  “Sean, where are you going?” Abby cried out.

  Abby and Corrie ran after him. They found him hunched behind a hedge, peering over toward the parking lot.

  “You are so weird, Sean,” Corrie said. “What about the meat?”

  “I wasn’t going to go in there with her,” Sean said, gesturing to Abby.

  Abby was looking at the minivan. A tough-looking blond kid about Sean’s age stepped out with his dad.

  “Is that one of the kids who teases you about having a baby-sitter?” Abby asked.

  Sean just glowered at her. “I don’t have baby-sitters anymore, remember?” With that, he turned and walked toward home. “And don’t walk next to me, okay? Just stay, like, a half block away.”

  Oh, brother.

  Abby and Corrie exchanged a look. They followed precisely a half block behind.

  Abby was good and angry. But she saved the fireworks until they arrived home.

  Sean was going to have to explain a lot to his parents.

  “He’s seven minutes late,” Mrs. Hochberger said, looking at the clock on her classroom wall.

  It was Monday, after school. The buses had already left, and the building was practically empty.

  We were supposed to be meeting to discuss how to organize our committees. Volunteer sheets had been posted on the school bulletin board since Tuesday, almost a week before. Today was the deadline for sign-ups.

  I had reminded Mark twice about the meeting. But was he there? Noooo.

  “Maybe he forgot,” I suggested.

  Mrs. Hochberger sighed. “Well, I suppose I should take down the sheets now. I’ll make copies of them in the office. If he’s not here when I’m back, we can start without him.”

  She stood up and trudged into the hallway.

  I took out some homework to pass the time. I vowed to finish my math by the time Mrs. Hochberger returned.

  “AAAAAAARRRGHHHH!”

  I was nearly done when a scream made me jump out of my seat.

  Mark was standing in the doorway, stretching. The scream? A big, phony yawn.

  “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “Do I mind what?” Mark said.

  “If you’re going to show up late, the least you can do is not scare me to death.”

  That familiar dumb, conceited smirk crept across his face like a fungus. “When I’m tired, I yawn,” Mark said with a shrug. “Don’t you?”

  Mrs. Hochberger bustled in with a handful of papers. “Nice of you to come, Your Majesty!” she said cheerfully. “Looks like your idea worked.”

  She gave both of us copies of the six sign-up sheets, labeled DECORATION, FOOD, PUBLICITY, MUSIC, CHARITY DRIVE, and AWARDS. Each one was covered with names.

  “Great!” I exclaimed.

  “Six?” Mark said. “We have to make six committees?”

  “Mark, we’ve been talking about this,” I reminded him. “And the sheets have been up there for days!”

  “Okay, okay. I guess I just didn’t count,” Mark replied.

  Mrs. Hochberger smiled patiently and said, “I suggest you call a grand meeting of all committees. Appoint a head for each one, who will report to you regularly. This way, you’ll be busy, but you won’t be stuck doing all the work.”

  I nodded. “You can oversee the food committee, Mark, and I’ll —”

  “Food? Me?” Mark said.

  “You did talk to your dad about this, right?” I asked.

  “Uh … yes. I mean, we didn’t actually talk, but I mentioned it. I think.”

  Oh, brother.

  I glanced at him. He brushed a lock of hair away from his eyes and shrugged.

  What did girls see in this guy, anyway?

  “I definitely want to oversee the decorations committee,” I went on. “We can split the others.”

  “I’m already doing food,” Mark said. “How many others am I supposed to do?”

  I shrugged. “How about half?”

  “How can I do half a committee?”

  “She means split the work evenly,” Mrs. Hochberger said.

  “I can do, say, the awards and music,” I explained. “You do the publicity and charity.”

  Mark was shaking his head. “I’ll be music. You’re charity.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “I’ll make an announcement tomorrow about the first big committee meeting,” Mrs. Hochberger said. “Just name a date. The prom’s a week from Saturday, so the sooner the better.”

  “How about Wednesday, after school?” I said.

  “Do I have to be there?” Mark asked.

  “Of course you do!” I snapped. “You’re the King, in case you forgot!”

  “Hey, chill out, Claudia,” Mark said. “I thought maybe we could, you know, split the meetings, too.”

  Oh! I felt like screaming at him. Taking his head off. As I glared his way, I could barely unclench my teeth.

  His dark eyebrows were upraised. He was meeting my stare without the tiniest flinch. And he was smiling. A let’s-keep-our-sense-of-humor smile.

  Sigh. I did know what girls saw in him. How could you yell at a face like that?

  Arghhh.

  “No one says ‘chill out’ anymore,” I grumbled, looking away.

  Mrs. Hochberger was smiling at us. When I caught her glance, she dropped her eyes toward a clipboard on her desk. “Okay, you’ll want the committees to start working by the weekend at the latest. I can probably arrange access to the gym on Saturday, if you need it.”

  Mark looked as if he’d just been sentenced to jail. “Whoa, wait a minute. Not Saturday!”

  “Sunday, then?” Mrs. Hochberger asked.

  “School is for school days,” proclaimed King Mark. “Weekends are for relaxing.”

  I wanted to throttle him again. “Mark, why don’t you just drop out? Give someone else a chance to be King. Someone who really cares about the prom.”

  “Uh, we could do Wednesday instead,” Mrs. Hochberger quickly suggested.

  “You won’t be spoiling your weekends forever, Mark,” I barrele
d ahead. “This is short-term. If you can’t be a little flexible, we might as well both give it up and go back to the old tradition.”

  “Okay, okay,” Mark said with a laugh.

  I have seen lots of smiles in my life. But honestly, I’ve never met anyone who had so many different kinds. Mark — lazy, inconsiderate, major pain Mark — was giving me a new one.

  What was going on?

  “You’re right, Claudia,” he said. “Saturday’s fine.”

  “So’s Wednesday, I guess,” I grumbled.

  Mrs. Hochberger smiled wearily. “You know, guys, the old way was a lot easier.”

  * * *

  Yes, I gave in. The session would be on Wednesday.

  I felt so frustrated and confused after the meeting. As I left school, I passed Jennifer and Loretta waiting on the steps.

  Just who I wanted to see. The King’s groupies.

  “Where’s Mark?” Loretta asked.

  “Inside,” I snapped, walking past them.

  I was dying to know exactly who had signed up, so I took out my copies of the lists. I almost ran into a tree as I read them.

  Josh had signed up for every committee. Jeannie was on the music list, Shira chose the charity committee, and Joanna wanted to do publicity. (I also spotted “Santa Claus” under awards, “E. Presley” under music, and “Ronald McDonald” under food, but they were all in Josh’s handwriting.)

  I smiled. Maybe this would be fun, despite the King of Creeps.

  I thought about decorations. A March prom was unusual. We needed to do something different. Maybe a lion-and-lamb motif.

  That was it. Half the gym would be gentle, green, springlike. The other half would be wintry.

  On the lamb half, I pictured large, floating clouds of cotton batting. Spring flowers on every table. Vines crawling up the basketball backboards. On the lion half, snow people on the tables. Maybe an ice sculpture.

  Sketches. That’s what I needed.

  I raced home and darted up to my room.

  My answering machine was blinking with a four. I grabbed a sketch pad, flopped down onto my bed, and hit the message button.

  Message one was a whiny, unfamiliar voice: “Oh, excuse me, wrong number. I was trying to reach the mayor of Stoneybrook.”

  Message two was someone with a weird foreign accent: “ ’Allo? Zee may-ore is not zair? I weel try latair!”

  How strange. Had my phone line been crossed with the town hall?