“Yes,” agreed Archie.
That broke the sentimental air that was settling over us all. We waved good-bye as the kids piled into the Braddocks’ wagon.
“Thank you!” we called.
“See you soon,” called Jackie, hanging out of the window. Our last sight of our secret admirers was of a hand yanking Jackie back in, before he could tumble out of the car.
I was in a funny mood when I got home from our secret admirer surprise party. I was feeling really good about the party. But I was feeling really awful about Stacey and my secret journal.
I took Shea’s note out of my pocket and looked at it again, smiling as I saw where he’d written freind, then crossed it out and written friend. “ ‘I’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c,’ ” I said aloud.
Then I opened my jewelry box and put the note in it with the other secret admirer notes — all the evidence. Evidence that we were good baby-sitters. Evidence that I was a good tutor, too. And evidence that I could be a friend.
And a friend was a friend no matter how you spelled it.
Closing the jewelry box, I flopped down in the director’s chair with the telephone. “This meeting of people who formerly had best friends will now come to order,” I said.
I thought of digging out some kind of junk food to make it official, but I was suddenly too depressed. What was I going to do? Stacey hadn’t said anything about the journal at the cafe but then, Stacey hadn’t said anything to me at all. Officially, we still weren’t speaking.
Maybe I could write her a note.
Or could I? What if I spelled something wrong?
On the other hand, I could just call her.
The phone in my lap rang then and I jumped about fifty feet. I picked up the receiver. “Hello,” I yelped.
Stacey didn’t even say hello. “We have to talk.”
“Oh! Yes. Ah …”
“Can you come over?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll be right there.” Then I remembered what I was wearing and added, “In a few minutes.”
“Good,” said Stacey.
I changed into something more suitable — a giant blue-and-white striped shirt and socks with blue spots, over blue bike shorts that matched the stripes and spots. I pulled on red high tops, and hung a dangly red earring made of a string of hearts in one ear and another earring that was a dangly row of silver arrows. I pulled my hair back with a red ribbon, and headed for Stacey’s.
She’d changed, too, into black jeans and black Doc Marten’s, and a big golden yellow shirt with round black buttons.
She looked super. But stern.
My heart sank.
Stop it, Claudia, I scolded myself. It’s not your fault she read your journal.
But I was tired of worrying about fault. I wanted my best friend to be my best friend again. Not the Alien Wicked Tutor. And not mad at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Stacey said at the same time.
We both stopped, then started again.
“No, I …”
“But I …”
“Stace, listen …”
“Oh, Claud, did I really …”
And then we were both talking at once. It was funny. Each of us understood what the other was saying even though anyone listening to the — cacophony — probably wouldn’t have been able to make any sense of it at all.
We stopped talking at the same time. We began to smile, a little.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry about what I wrote. I guess you figured out by now that I was keeping two journals.”
Stacey nodded. “Did I ever!”
“Well, I was pretty mad. And I meant what I wrote, even though I knew you were just trying to help. I guess in a way, I hated to admit I needed help. Because for me, admitting I need help feels like I’m admitting I’m dumb. I guess.”
“Oh, Claud. You’re not dumb! You’re the most creative person I know. And smart.”
“Not so smart about being a good best friend.”
“Me, neither. What you wrote hurt, but it also had a lot of truth in it. I was treating you like some little kid. It was like I expected you to act irresponsibly and misbehave. Then when you did complain, I did turn into the Weird Evil Alien Tutor.” Stacey paused. “I’m sorry I was so tough on you that you had to keep a secret journal like that. But,” she added slyly, “your spelling has improved!”
We both smiled. Then I said, “Your hard work paid off.”
“It was your hard work, too,” said Stacey.
“I know,” I said. “I also know I’d like you to keep helping me. If you will.”
“Okay,” agreed Stacey.
We both paused. Then Stacey said, “Want to do some work now?”
I groaned.
Stacey didn’t say anything.
“Yes,” I said. “Reluctantly. And don’t ask me to spell it!”
“I bet you could,” replied Stacey, leading the way to her room.
* * *
By Tuesday, I couldn’t study anymore, even if the test hadn’t been scheduled for that day. In fact, Stacey hadn’t even let me study the night before. “Go over the words once,” she ordered. “Then do something you enjoy.”
So I did. I made a collage out of junk food wrappers. I’m going to put it with my series of junk food paintings and drawings.
As Mrs. Hall handed out the tests the next day, I took deep breaths.
“You may begin,” said Mrs. Hall.
I pulled the sleeve of my shirt down over my watch. I wasn’t going to think about the time. I wasn’t going to panic.
Closing my eyes, I told myself, You know this stuff. You are not dumb.
And even if you don’t know all the answers, you’re still not dumb.
I opened my eyes and looked down at the first question — and I knew the answer.
I read the question over twice, just to make sure I understood it. Then slowly, carefully, unpanickedly, I began to take the test.
When I was finished, I still didn’t look at my watch or the clock. The time wasn’t important. Instead, I went back over my test, checking the questions and then the answers.
I was one of the last people finished. But I had finished on time. As I handed my paper to Mrs. Hall, I couldn’t help but smile. I didn’t want to be cocky, but I felt I had done really well.
Mrs. Hall gave me a small, serious smile back.
It goes without saying that I was a pretty distracted student after that. I had trouble keeping my mind on my art lesson after school, and on the Wednesday BSC meeting. Thursday at school wasn’t any better. I was actually counting the minutes until English class (and dreading it, too).
Thursday was when Mrs. Hall had said she’d return the tests.
At last it was time. I clenched my hands in my lap as Mrs. Hall passed the corrected tests back to us.
I took my test, unfolded it, and looked at the top of the paper.
B minus! I’d passed. And I would pass English, too.
I looked down the paper and gave a little gasp. On the spelling part of the test, I’d earned a 97! It was one of the highest grades I’d ever gotten in spelling.
I looked up and met Mrs. Hall’s eye. She nodded and smiled. Not a small, serious smile this time, but a great big “congratulations” one.
Congratulations to me. And to Stacey, and to Shea, too.
With my grade in English nailed down (at least for the time being) and spring in the air (more or less) I felt like dancing. So when Austin Bentley asked me to the Spring Dance at the Community Center, I said yes, yes, yes.
As it turned out, my friends and I all had dates to the dance — Dawn asked Pete Black, and Shannon Kilbourne was coming with a boy from her school.
I must say, that when Austin and I arrived at the Community Center, and I checked out the other members of the BSC, we looked a lot better than we had outside the Rosebud Cafe waiting for our secret admirers.
Everyone else in Stoneybrook seemed
to have caught a little spring dance fever, too. The crowd was huge. And since the first part of the dance was supposed to be a spring party, that meant that families and kids were there, too, including lots of our clients.
“Oh, look!” I exclaimed.
Austin looked, and did a, well, double-take: Carolyn and Marilyn were dancing — with two of the Pike triplets. Vanessa Pike was standing nearby, staring at the twin girls dancing with two of the triplets. I could tell by Vanessa’s expression that she was thinking of some poetic tribute to the sight.
“Want to dance?” I asked Austin, and we hurried onto the dance floor as Jackie Rodowsky and Hannie Papadakis hopped by in their socks.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“The sock hop,” said Hannie seriously.
My eyes met Austin’s and I thought we would both burst out laughing, but we controlled ourselves until Jackie and Hannie had hopped out of hearing.
We danced over to the refreshment table. Bart and Kristy were there, and they began to talk with Austin about baseball and spring training.
“Have you seen Jenny Prezzioso?” asked Stacey, joining me while Sam scouted the refreshment table.
“No,” I said shaking my head.
“A vision in lavender,” said Stacey. “It’s pretty cute, actually. She’s even wearing a little corsage made of violets.”
“It does sound cute,” I agreed. Jenny Prezzioso has more clothes than anyone — even any adult — I know. Her mother is very fussy about how Jenny dresses, and so is Jenny.
I smiled. How would Stacey and I dress our children, I wondered. Would we go for cute? Or something trendier? Maybe rompers in basic East Village New York baby black for Stacey. And something a little more colorful for me …
Across the room, I caught a glimpse of Mary Anne, sitting next to Mrs. Newton. Mary Anne was holding Lucy, Jamie Newton’s baby sister, in her arms. I was too far away to see what Lucy was wearing, besides a blanket and a cap. But as we watched, Jamie approached his mother and executed a formal bow. Mrs. Newton said something to Mary Anne, who nodded. Then Jamie and his mother stepped onto the dance floor.
“Cool,” said Stacey.
Watching Mrs. Newton and Jamie gave me an idea. “Would you guys excuse me for a moment?” I asked. I walked around the edge of the room until I spotted Shea Rodowsky.
“Shea!” I said.
He turned and grinned. “Hi!”
“You want to dance?” I asked.
Shea looked a little surprised. “Really? Okay!”
We began to fox trot, sort of like Jamie and Mrs. Newton were doing.
“This isn’t bad,” said Shea, after a minute.
“Thanks,” I said.
“You’re welcome.” Shea wriggled his eyebrows and I wriggled mine at him like Groucho Marx. Then he said, “School isn’t so bad now, either. I mean, you know, for school and all.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I told him. “That’s sort of the way I feel, too. And guess what? I passed my test.”
“That’s great!” said Shea.
“I did best on the spelling part,” I said. “I wanted to thank you for helping me with my spelling. The things you told me helped a lot.”
“They did?” Shea looked really pleased. “We’re not so dumb, then, huh?”
“Nah,” I said. “The dumb ones are the people who think we’re dumb.”
“They better watch out,” said Shea. He added, “My report card was better, too.”
“Super. Extra super.”
“Yeah. They told me I was ‘challenged.’ Now that I’m getting better at all the school stuff, I don’t mind the teachers and the tutors helping me so much.”
I thought for a minute, then said, “Well, I liked making a good grade on my test, so if I ever need help again, I’m going to get it.”
Shea looked up at me and his eyes gleamed. “Even in the resource room?”
“Well … let’s just call it the challenged room,” I answered.
Shea made a face at me and I made a face back and the music ended.
“Thank you,” I said to Shea. “Thank you for being a special friend.”
“Aw,” said Shea. He ducked his head, slid off the dance floor, and was absorbed by a group of his friends standing nearby.
A few minutes later, the crowd began to thin out and change as the younger kids were gathered together to be taken home. I had a chance to look around again, and admire the decorations in all the spring colors. I felt as if I were inside an Easter egg looking out.
The music changed and the lights became softer.
I saw Jessi and Curtis Shaller and waved. Kristy and Bart were still standing by the refreshments, only now Pete Black and Dawn were talking to them. Logan pulled Mary Anne to her feet and headed for the dance floor, while Mallory and Ben Hobart crashed down in a chair nearby, laughing. Stacey drifted by with Sam, her head on his shoulder. She gave me a dreamy smile and I knew we’d be on the phone talking about Sam and the dance and the evening before the night was over. I was glad to have my best friend back.
All was right with the world, and I wasn’t about to argue with it.
“Feel like dancing?” asked Austin, reaching for my hand.
“Do I?” I answered. “Definitely!”
* * *
Dear Reader,
In Claudia’s Freind Friend, Shea Rodowsky is diagnosed as having dyslexia. I wanted to write a book about learning disabilities because my sister has dyslexia. However, this is not the first book I’ve written about the subject. I’ve also written a non-Baby-sitters Club book called Yours Turly, Shirley, about a nine-year old girl named Shirley Basini and her difficult year in fourth grade. The idea for the title, Yours Turly, Shirley, came from one of my students the year I taught fourth and fifth graders in Connecticut. The boy, who had dyslexia, made me an elaborate Christmas card. With a ballpoint pen, on a folded sheet of notebook paper, he drew Santa Claus standing next to a Christmas tree surrounded by gifts. Inside the card he wrote, “Dear Miss Martin, a very very very very very merry Christmas, and a happy New Year!!!!!!! Yours turly, Jimmy.” I treasured the card and saved it for years, and when it came time to title the book about Shirley, I thought of Jimmy. I thought of him again, and of other kids I’ve known, when I wrote about Shea. I decided Claudia would be especially understanding of Shea because she has problems in school herself.
Happy reading,
* * *
The author gratefully acknowledges
Nola Thacker
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.)In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1993 by Ann M. Martin.
Cover art by Hodges Soileau
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, April 1993
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express writt
en permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-76795-8
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