Claudia, Queen of the Seventh Grade

by Ann M. Martin

In fact, she was kind of proud of him. He might prove to be baby-sitter material yet.

  “SHAMALAMALAMA, SHOOP-BOP SHA-BING-BONG!”

  I don’t know about you, but I am not a big fan of fifties music.

  Especially loud fifties music, blaring out of speakers while I’m supposed to be helping the decoration and music committees set up the gym.

  That’s where I was on the Friday before the seventh-grade prom. I was standing on a ladder, stringing a plastic vine through a basketball net. The speakers were against the wall, about ten feet away. “Will someone lower that?” I shouted.

  Good old Spud was at the amplifier. “Sorry!” he said, turning down the volume knob.

  “Are we going to hear anything good?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Jeannie called from across the room. “We made him mix in some real music.”

  “Thank you!”

  Boy, was my temper short. I felt totally fried.

  All week long, my Royal Service Plan had been on the verge of collapse.

  Black Tuesday almost destroyed us. First the King and Queen capes came back from the dry cleaners, ripped to shreds. Mrs. Hochberger told us the school budget had no money for new ones.

  That same day, Spud threw a tantrum when Jeannie asked him to include non-fifties music. And Joanna realized all the publicity notices she’d posted around town had contained the wrong date.

  As for Mark? Well, he announced that he’d quit. I think he was embarrassed about the scene at the Argo.

  When that happened, I wanted to throw in the towel myself.

  I might have, too, if Josh hadn’t given me a “Testimony of Loyalty to the Queen,” signed by a bunch of kids and rolled up to look like a scroll.

  Then, on Wednesday, Mark bounced into school saying he and his dad had patched things up. Mr. Jaffe would be happy to provide the food and the kitchen — for a fraction of what it would cost to cater the prom. With the extra money, Mrs. Hochberger was able to buy brand-new capes. And Joanna managed to replace all the fliers with corrected ones. She’d thought of a great name, too — “Lion to Lamb Seventh-Grade Jam.”

  Mark really started to shape up after his father’s decision. At least he seemed to. I saw him talking to food committee members in the hallways a lot, and I even saw him deep in conversation with Mrs. Hochberger once or twice.

  I didn’t have a chance to talk to him, though. I was busy myself. I have to admit, even though I was only supposed to be supervisor to the decorations committee, I kind of went overboard. I helped decide on the materials, went shopping for them after school, and designed a wraparound mural that depicted winter turning to spring. I also helped make the frames for a huge papier-mâché lion and lamb, which the committee was finishing in shop class.

  Now, the day before the prom (yikes!), my great dream was taking shape.

  Sort of. King Mark was walking around with a clipboard, looking lost.

  “Uh, Claudia?” he called, “Mr. Halprin says he can only give us seven long tables.”

  Turning toward him, I caught my finger in one of the metal hooks on the basketball hoop. “Yeeeouch! Uh, Mark? I’m kind of busy right now.”

  “Well, seven won’t be enough for the food and the clothing drive. I guess I could find some big cardboard boxes —”

  “Right, Mark, those’ll look just great with our decorations.”

  “How about if we drape the clothing over the basketball hoops?”

  Ooooh. He was annoying me now. Back to his old tricks. I gave him a fierce Look. “Ha ha.”

  “Hey, just kidding,” he said with a grin.

  I climbed down the ladder. “Is everything a joke with you?”

  “Not everything. You’re not.”

  “What do you mean by that? Do you like to make me angry?”

  Mark shrugged and looked away. “At least you talk to me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It doesn’t mean nothing!”

  “Exactly.”

  “I mean, it means not nothing. Something. You know what I mean.”

  “I do?”

  “Now you’re making fun of me!”

  That smile. That self-satisfied, I’m-smarter-than-you smile was driving me crazy.

  I raised my arms. I don’t exactly know what I was going to do. Pound him on the shoulders? Smack him in the face? Pull my own hair?

  I couldn’t decide. So I just stood there.

  “I hope you’re not ticklish,” Mark said. “Because you’re in a vulnerable position.”

  We locked eyes. Then I lost it.

  A laugh blew out of me. So did a teeny spray of saliva. Mark backed away.

  I was out of control. Hysterical. Cracking up. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the pressure of the week. Maybe it was Mark’s expression. Maybe it was the word vulnerable, which sounded so strange coming from him. Maybe it was the ridiculous idea of his tickling me.

  Whatever it was, he seemed pretty stunned. His smile wasn’t so cocky anymore. It was halfway between amused and confused.

  “Claudia? Are you all right?”

  He looked so earnest. Like a little boy. That made me crack up even more.

  Mrs. Hochberger walked by, smiling and shaking her head. “Uh-oh,” she said, “she’s losing it.”

  Mark was trying to laugh with me, but I could tell he wasn’t sure why. “Claudia, can I ask you what’s so funny?”

  “You,” I said.

  Whoosh. All the tension left his face. “Really? I made you laugh?”

  “Pleased with yourself, huh?” I couldn’t believe that I, polite Claudia, was talking like this.

  “No! I mean, yes. I mean, it’s good to make people laugh. I mean, I wasn’t trying or anything. But I’m glad. I like it when you laugh.”

  Mark’s face was turning red, even though he looked pretty proud of himself.

  Off went the warning bells in my head. The last thing I needed was to boost Mark Jaffe’s ego.

  “Well, it wasn’t really anything you said, just something in my own head,” I said, turning toward the ladder. “Anyway, back to work.”

  When I looked over my shoulder, Mark was off with the music committee. I watched him for a while. He went straight to the sound system and adjusted levels. He greeted Mr. Halprin and started setting up tables. He even picked up a broom and swept away some streamers that had fallen.

  As I climbed the ladder, I noticed Loretta glaring at me.

  “Uh-oh,” Jeannie muttered from below. “She’s jealous.”

  I gave her a Look. “Oh, puh-leeze! Don’t make me laugh.”

  Jeannie shrugged. “You just were laughing, Claudia. A lot. With Markie-poo.”

  “At him,” I snapped. “Not with him.”

  “Oh?” Jeannie raised and lowered her eyebrows suggestively.

  I had to look away. I would not even dignify that. I was disgusted. Totally disgusted.

  I strung the vines carefully, and the hoop now looked totally cool, like a strange tree (with a huge square of glass behind it).

  As I descended the ladder, I looked around for a reaction. But everyone seemed too busy to notice.

  Except Mark. He was smiling at me. When I caught his glance, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

  I smiled back, but only because I didn’t want to be rude. Quickly, too, because I had to deal with the most important part of the prom.

  The lion and lamb were being wheeled in on a dolly.

  I hadn’t seen them since the committee began layering the papier-mâché. And now, as Mr. Halprin swung open a set of double doors, I saw the finished, painted products for the first time. “Ta-da!” shouted my committee head, Bonnie Lasher.

  Everyone applauded.

  Me? I nearly had a heart attack.

  The lion looked like a hyena. He had this stupid smile, with human-movie-star teeth. His mane had been made from scraggly brown yarn that hung limply from his neck. His skin was a mottled yellow, as if he’
d fallen asleep in a bed of daffodils.

  The lamb was even worse. It had been painted totally white, no detail whatsoever. As if it were wearing a straitjacket. Its eyes were crossed and angry looking, its tail was curly like a pig’s, and obviously someone had goofed up on the mouth, because it was a big black blotch.

  “Looks good,” Jeannie said, patting me on the back.

  I somehow managed to unclench my teeth. “Good?” I whispered. “You call that good? It looks like a kindergarten art project. They’re hideous, Jeannie. They’re going to ruin everybody’s appetite.”

  Jeannie chuckled. “You’re just being an artist, Claudia.”

  I wanted to rip the sculptures apart. I wanted to send the committee back — no, fire them and do it all myself.

  Calm down, I told myself. They had worked hard. And they were volunteering their time. I could not be ungrateful.

  Bonnie raced to me, all excited. “What do you think?”

  I forced up the corners of my lips into a smile. It felt like lifting a house. “Stunning.”

  “Yaaaaaay!” she shouted in triumph.

  The rest of the session? What I remember most was trying to avoid looking at the animals. Every time I caught a glimpse, I wanted to cry.

  I was baffled. Didn’t anyone else realize how awful they were? Were they all so ignorant about art? Or was I being too harsh?

  I tried to stay positive. I helped Bonnie set up tables. I talked with her about the flower arrangements (her parents were picking them up from a florist two hours before the prom).

  I was stringing fake icicles across the winter side of the room when I realized everyone was gone.

  Well, everyone except Mark. He was fiddling with the tape player. A soft rock ballad was playing, one that I really liked.

  I glanced at my watch.

  5:19. Yikes!

  I ran toward the gym door. “See you tomorrow, Mark! I have to —”

  What came next happened so fast I can barely remember it. I know my foot slipped on a pile of crepe paper. I know I fell. And I know Mark helped me up.

  Then we were standing toe to toe. I meant to thank him and race out the door. But I didn’t. I was looking in his eyes. And I was noticing the tiny, luminous flecks of light brown in them, almost orange in their dark surroundings.

  I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t. This was Mark Jaffe, after all.

  Mark smiled gently. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nuck.” My voice caught in my throat, and I swallowed. “No.”

  I was lying. Something was wrong. With my legs, for one thing. They were not moving. With my lungs, too. They weren’t sending me enough air.

  Not to mention my brain. It felt like a big Etch-a-Sketch. On it was a big jagged drawing of my bedroom, with six angry BSC faces. But it was slowly shaking, to the rhythm of the song. And a big color image was replacing the old one. An image of deep brown eyes and a smile that reached inside me to my toes.

  What was happening?

  I couldn’t answer that question. I didn’t want to.

  I didn’t think much at all as Mark moved closer. As he softly pressed his lips to mine.

  All I did was close my eyes.

  And press back.

  “I call this meeting of the Baby-sitters Club to order!” exclaimed Kristy.

  What had I done?

  “Any new business?”

  Out of my mind. I’d been out of my mind. Mark Jaffe?

  “I have a Sean update.”

  Okay. Pay attention. Stacey. That was Stacey.

  I was trying to keep track of the meeting. But it wasn’t easy. I felt as if I were in a bubble, floating outside my room. Upside down.

  My life had turned completely upside down.

  From head to toe, I was charged. As if I’d put my finger into an electrical socket and hadn’t quite recovered. Something must have been wrong with my mouth nerves. First my lips would feel as if they were asleep, then they’d feel all tingly and swollen. I kept needing to touch them, I don’t know why.

  “He was all smiles when I saw him yesterday. Seems he saw Mel and Tootsie Roll to blabberjabber ragweed …”

  Well, something like that. I couldn’t really tell. Everything around me — the words, the faces — all of it was fading in and out. I had no idea what was going on.

  Had it really happened? Could I really have kissed Mark Jaffe?

  Impossible.

  Totally absurd.

  It had to be a nightmare.

  But I didn’t feel scared. I didn’t feel disgusted. I was thinking of Mark’s face, and all I could do was smile!

  “Claudia?”

  The pressure was making me crack. That had to be it.

  “Earth to Claudia!”

  “Huh?”

  Plop. I fell out of my bubble. Six perplexed faces were staring at me.

  “Have you been listening?” Kristy asked.

  “Sure, sure,” I replied.

  “Then, what did Stacey just say?”

  “Um, about Sean,” I tried. “He’s better.”

  Stacey gave an exasperated sigh. “When Mel started teasing him, Sean calmly mentioned that he knew about Mel’s baby-sitter. That shut Mel right up. Then Sean took him aside and said, ‘Tease me again, Melvin, and everybody finds out. Leave me alone, and it’s a secret between me and you.’ ”

  A secret between me and you. That was how it had to be. I had to call Mark. Had to tell him it was all a big mistake. No one — absolutely no one — could find out. “Uh-huh,” I muttered.

  “Claudia, are you okay?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Fine,” I shot back.

  “She’s tired,” Jessi said. “She’s been working hard all week.”

  “I knew this would happen,” Kristy grumbled.

  “How was the setup today?” Mallory asked.

  Kristy harrumphed. “Can we finish important business first?”

  “This is important,” Jessi insisted.

  “Well,” I said, “we steamed the strungers … uh, sprung the screamers …”

  He was telling his friends. I just knew it. He was on the phone, bragging. I kissed the Queen, he was saying. I kissed Claudia Kishi.

  I could not let him do that.

  “Uh, would you guys mind waiting downstairs while I make a private phone call?” I asked.

  Total silence. I looked around. My friends’ faces formed a group Duh.

  “This is some kind of a joke, right?” Abby asked.

  “Look, it’s … well, kind of an emergency,” I stammered. “A personal one.”

  “This is club time, Claudia,” Kristy reprimanded me. “Not personal time. You know the rules.”

  “Kristyyy,” Jessi said.

  “It’s important,” I insisted.

  “How important can it be?” Kristy demanded. “I mean, if it’s just some piddly seventh-grade prom stuff —”

  “It’s not piddly!” I shot back. “What is with you, Kristy? You think seventh grade is so far beneath you? You think I’m hanging around with kids in diapers?”

  “Here we go again.” Kristy groaned.

  “For your information,” I said, “one of those cute little kids just kissed me in the gym. When was the last time that happened to you, Kristy Thomas?”

  Swallow it, Claudia!

  Too late.

  “You mean, the little guy?” Abby asked. “Jason?”

  “Josh,” I corrected her. “And it wasn’t him.”

  “Who was it?” almost all of them asked in unison.

  “Marrhaaffi,” I mumbled, turning around to reach for a box of Milk Duds behind my bed.

  “Who?” the chorus repeated.

  I popped in a few Duds. “Markaafffee.”

  Stacey laughed. “Swallow, please. It sounded like you said Mark Jaffe.”

  I nodded. “I did.”

  Their jaws dropped open. If I’d had popcorn, I could have taken some target practice.

  “The guy you hate?” Mary Anne aske
d.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to. He kissed me. And I — well, I was just kissing back.”

  “Why didn’t you push him away?” Jessi asked.

  “I didn’t want to,” I said. “He was being gentle and nice —”

  “Did anyone see?” Mallory asked with a grin.

  “I hope not,” I said.

  “Me, too,” Kristy replied. “I mean, Claudia, please. He’s in seventh grade!”

  The Milk Duds flew out of my hands. Kristy had to duck. “Hey!”

  “I have had enough!” I said. “Do you think I understand what happened today? No way! I have hated this guy. I’m a wreck.”

  “Claudia, she’s just concerned,” Stacey explained. “You know, about his maturity.”

  “Look, I’m not going to sit here and defend Mark Jaffe,” I said. “But for your information, he was left back once, so he is our age.”

  “We didn’t know that!” Abby exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “What’s the difference?” I said. “I can’t believe the way you guys are treating me. I’m not Gulliver in the land of the Lilipulitzers —”

  “— putions,” Mallory said.

  “Gesundheit. When you make fun of seventh-graders, do you ever stop to think how it makes me feel? Not to mention Jessi and Mal? Well, I have news for you. Some of my seventh-grade friends are twice as mature as you. And Mark Jaffe happens to be just as cool as any eighth-grader I know.”

  There. I’d said it.

  But what had I said? I was defending Mark Jaffe. Did I really mean to?

  What was happening to me?

  I caught Kristy’s glance. I thought she was going to scream at me. Kick me out of the club. Toss the phone at my head.

  At this point, I didn’t really care. I was ready to be treated as an equal, or not treated at all.

  Kristy stood up. She turned her back to me and picked up the box of Milk Duds. “Your aim isn’t as good as it used to be, Claudia,” she said. “Next time, you need to use more wrist action.”

  Abby burst out laughing.

  “Kristy, did you hear what I said?” I demanded.

  Kristy’s face was red. “Okay, I’m a jerk. I’ll admit it.”

  “Me, too, Claud,” Stacey said softly. “I didn’t mean to be snobby. It’s been hard to see you with a new bunch of friends, that’s all.”

  “So you have to make fun of them?” I asked.