The Summer Before

by Ann M. Martin

  I started talking then. I told Frankie about my art classes. I showed him the pieces in my portfolio. Frankie studied each one seriously and then murmured things like "You're so talented" or "That horse's hoof looks completely real."

  I stood up and removed a sketch from my bulletin board. "Would you like to have this?" I asked. I handed him a drawing of a sparrow that sometimes sat on a tree limb outside my window.

  "Really? I can have this?"

  "Sure," I said. I imagined Frankie going home and pressing it between the pages of... well, I wasn't sure what Frankie liked to read, but I imagined him pressing it between the pages of something and keeping it for the rest of his life.

  "Thanks!"

  I sensed my mother hovering in the hall then and said to Frankie, "Want to go outside and watch for meteors?"

  "Okay." We'd been sitting side by side on the front stoop, watching for ten minutes (and not seeing a single meteor), when Frankie suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, no! I rode my bike over here and now it's dark. It's too late for me to ride home." He had to phone his parents then and ask one of them to come pick up him, which kind of put a damper on the evening, but that was okay. I knew I would lie in bed for a long time that night, remembering the warmth of his arm and the sound of his voice praising my drawings.

  Mr. Evans was just loading Frankie's bicycle into the back of their station wagon when Janine's ride dropped her off. She stepped onto the sidewalk, arms loaded with books, and tumed toward Frankie. He waved cheerfully to her, then climbed into the car.

  I noticed that Janine did not retum his wave, but I said, trying to sound as cheerful as Frankie had looked, "Want to watch for shooting stars?"

  My sister stepped wordlessly onto the porch and disappeared through the front door.

  There had been times in my life when I would have given anything for my annoyingly verbose (that means long-winded and wordy) sister to remain silent. But simple silence is way different, and far more pleasant, than the silent treatment. I wanted to yell something after Janine, but I knew she wouldn't have answered, which was why the silent treatment was the perfect form of torture.

  The summer ground on. I began to feel like a character in a fairy tale - one of those fantasies in which the heroine disappears into another world where wonderful things happen and then returns to her own world to find out that no time has passed and nothing has changed. The hours I spent with Frankie were like the hours in the other world, all sweet and delicious and brand-new. And then Frankie would leave and I'd be stuck with Silent Janine and my disapproving parents and grandmother.

  One aftemoon l was standing before the easel in my bedroom, waiting for Frankie to call, and I remembered a day the previous summer when Kristy and Mary Anne and I had escaped a ferocious heat wave by going to the movies with Mimi. The four of us had sat in the back row of the theatre and laughed and laughed at the completely lame story of a dog and a cat who fought criminals (rats) in the New York City subway system. It was one of the stupidest movies I'd ever seen, but my friends and I couldn't stop laughing.

  I put down my paintbrush now and thought, What do I care if Mary Anne plays with dolls? And does it really matter that Kristy would rather play Marco Polo than talk to boys?

  I missed my friends. I should call them, I thought. I should ask them to go to the movies. Just the three of us, if Mary Anne's father would allow her to go into town without an adult.

  I reached for my phone, and as I did so, it rang.

  "Hello?" I said. (I almost said, "Hi, Frankie.")

  "Hi, it's me. Mary Anne."

  I swallowed my disappointment and managed to say, "That's so weird! I was just thinking about calling you."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. But you go first."

  "Okay. Well... I was wondering if you could come with me when I baby-sit for Jamie Newton next week. On Tuesday aftemoon."

  "Come with you?"

  "Yeah. My dad has this rule." (Poor Mary Anne. Another rule.) "He lets me baby-sit now but not alone. Only with another sitter."

  "Even in broad daylight?" I couldn't help asking.

  I heard the pause at her end of the phone. "I know it's silly but that's the rule."

  "I'm sorry, Mary Anne. I didn't mean to be rude. But are we really talking about sitting just for Jamie for a couple of hours in the aftemoon?"

  "Yes. It will be a really easy job.... I'll give you most of the money."

  "It's not that."

  "Can't you come?"

  I paused. "I can come. Tell Mrs. Newton we'll both be there."

  "Okay."

  The conversation felt unfinished.

  "So, what were you going to call me about?" Mary Anne finally asked.

  Oops. "What was I calling you about?" I thought frantically, the movie idea now seeming not so appealing. "I... was just calling to say hi."

  Another long pause.

  "Oh. Well, thank you for saying you'll come with me to the Newtons'."

  "You're welcome." This was absolutely the worst phone conversation ever.

  "Hey, Claud?"

  "Yeah?"

  "What's it like to have a boyfriend?"

  I actually held the phone away from my face and stared at it. It wasn't that she had asked the question, it was the way she had asked it. If Dori had asked me the same thing she would have sounded all excited, as if she couldn't wait to have a boyfriend of her own and was gleefully gathering information for when that day came. But Mary Anne sounded all sort of plaintive and sorry for herself, like she was both worried she'd never have a boyfriend and afraid of what to do if she ever got one.

  "Claudia?" said Mary Anne, and I realized I was still staring at the phone.

  "Sorry."

  "Was that a nosy question?"

  I exhaled. "Not really. It's okay. I guess it's just a hard question to answer. I mean, because it's different for everyone."

  "So you're saying Frankie really is your boyfriend?"

  Now I heard something else in Mary Anne's tone, and I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd begun chanting "Claudia and Frankie, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

  "You know what, Mary Anne? I'm not sure I can talk about this."

  "Is it too painful?"

  "Too painful?"

  "You know, the pain of growing up."

  This sounded like Mr. Spier talking, not Mary Anne. "What do you really want to know?" I finally asked. "Do you really want to know about Frankie and me, or is there something else?"

  "I don't know."

  "So..." I said.

  "Um, okay. Well then, I'll see you next Tuesday at Jamie's. Two-thirty."

  "Great. See you then."

  I clicked off the phone and fell onto my bed.

  In between then and two-thirty on Tuesday afternoon I had many talks with myself about being nice and patient with Mary Anne when we were at the Newtons house. I reminded myself that Mary Anne had grown up without a mother and that there was nothing she could do about her father's strict rules. I tried to put the image of the mermaid bathing suit out of my head.

  When Tuesday aftemoon rolled around, I called good-bye to Mimi and walked to Jamie's house. I met Mary Anne as she was crossing the street.

  "I know this is silly," she said. "I know it's silly to have two sitters for one kid, but..." She spread her hands as if to say, "What can I do about it?"

  "That's okay. Anyway, Jamie's one of my favorite sitting charges."

  Jamie Newton lived in our neighborhood, liked baby-sitters, and was cheerful, energetic, easy-going, and affectionate. Although lately his sunny attitude had clouded a bit. This was because he'd recently leamed that in a few months he would become a big brother. His mother was going to have a baby in November. Jamie was trying to be grown-up about this, but it was plain to everyone that he preferred not to give up his status as the only child in the family.

  I rang the doorbell and Mrs. Newton answered it with her finger to her lips. "Jamie went down for a nap a little while ago," she said
quietly. "He'll probably sleep for about an hour."

  I glanced at Mary Anne and saw that she was already blushing. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that two of us have to be here, but..." Again she spread her hands.

  "Not to worry. Jamie's thrilled that you'll both be here." Mrs. Newton reached for her purse. "All right. I won't be gone long. I'm just off to the doctor for a quick checkup. Here"s my number," she went on, indicating a piece of paper on the kitchen table. "And Mr. Newton's number. Jamie can have a snack when he wakes up - there are chicken fingers in the fridge - and since it's a nice day, he'll probably want to play outside afterward, okay?"

  Mary Anne and I nodded. Five minutes later, Mrs. Newton was gone and Mary Anne and I were sitting in the Newtons' living room, wondering what to do.

  We didn't have to wonder for long.

  "Hi-hi!" called a voice from the stairs.

  "Jamie!" I said, grinning. "What are you doing up?"

  "I couldn't sleep. Mommy said two sitters were going to be here, and that hasn't happened before, so I wanted to see."

  Mary Anne and I smiled at each other.

  "Here we are!" said Mary Anne brightly.

  Jamie studied her intently. Finally, he said seriously, "I know you. You live across the street. Right?"

  "That's right. My name is Mary Anne."

  "Do I have to go back to bed or can I get up now?"

  I glanced at Mary Anne. This was really her sitting job. I expected her to tell poor Jamie that he would have to stick to his mother's schedule, but to my surprise, she said, "I don't see any reason why you should lie around awake in your bed. Let's get a snack and then play outside."

  "Goody!" cried Jamie. He made a dash for the kitchen, climbed on a stool, rummaged in a cupboard, and pulled out a box of chocolate-frosted cookies. "These are my favorites," he announced.

  Mary Anne caught him as he slid off the stool, the box cradled in his arm. "Nice try," she said, gently slipping the box away from him and retuming it to the cupboard. "l think these are a dessert item. Your mom said you could have chicken fingers." She peered into the refrigerator. "I'll bet you could also have an apple or a cheese stick."

  "How about a doughnut?"

  "How about an apple or a cheese stick?" said Mary Anne again, and I had to laugh.

  Jamie finally accepted the cheese stick. He ate it slowly, and then the three of us went into the Newtons' backyard, which was equipped with a slide, a swing set, and a jungle gym. I carried the cordless phone outside with me in case Mrs. Newton called.

  Jamie slid. He swung. He climbed. Mary Anne stood nearby and kept a careful eye on him. At last, Jamie said he was tired. "Do you want to go back inside?" Mary Anne asked.

  Jamie nodded sleepily.

  "I think maybe you should finish your nap," said Mary Anne, and she carried Jamie upstairs.

  I sat on the Newtons' couch and wondered what to do with myself. When I heard Mary Anne singing to Jamie and realized it might be a while before she came back downstairs, I picked up the phone and dialed Frankie's number. I knew I shouldn't tie up a client's phone, but I was bored.

  "Hi," I said when I heard Frankie on the other end of the line. Maybe it was my imagination, but his voice sounded as sweet and rich as a Hershey bar. "What are you doing?"

  "Practicing. We're going to have a band rehearsal tonight. What are you doing?"

  "Baby-sitting with Mary Anne. Remember the job I told you about? Mary Anne's upstairs putting Jamie down for a nap."

  "Want to come to our rehearsal tonight? We'll be playing at Ryan's house."

  "Sure! I just have to check with my parents."

  "Cool," said Frankie. "So what else have you been doing today?"

  I began to tell him about art class, and before I knew it, I heard Mary Anne's step on the stairs. I looked at my watch. Twenty minutes had passed. Twenty minutes that had felt like about twenty seconds, as opposed to the sadly endless conversation Mary Anne and I had had the week before. Why was it so easy to talk to Frankie and so... ? I left the question unasked.

  Mary Anne had finished tiptoeing down the stairs by then. She was standing uncertainly at the bottom, looking into the living room, when she heard me say, "Hey, Frankie, I keep meaning to tell you..." Before I'd finished the sentence, she had slipped into the kitchen and closed the door silently between us.

  Moving day was a day of lasts and firsts, all the last things coming at the beginning of the day, and the first things coming later.

  Early that moming, I woke up in my room in our apartment for one last time. I was lying in bed, looking around at my blank walls and my nude windows, when my father knocked on the door and called, "Stace? The movers will be here in an hour."

  I got dressed in a hurry. Not because I was afraid the movers would see me in my nightshirt, but because I couldn't wait to get out of New York City and on with my life. I rushed in and out of the bathroom and then down the hall to the kitchen, which had been packed up completely. There was not a speck of food in it. The drawers were empty, the cupboards were empty, the counters were bare. We had eaten dinner at Sal's the night before.

  "Ready for one last meal at the Half Moon?" asked my mother. The Half Moon was a diner at the end of our block.

  "Definitely!" I exclaimed.

  As we sat in a booth and waited for our eggs and toast and oatmeal, I said, "Do you think there are diners in Stoneybrook?"

  "I'm not sure," said Dad, "but I imagine there's a diner, at least."

  "There are restaurants, aren't there?" I asked, suddenly apprehensive.

  "Of course," replied Mom. "We're moving to Connecticut, Stacey, not the prairie."

  "Just checking."

  We paid our last bill at the Half Moon, walked through its doors for the last time, and retumed to our building.

  "The movers are here," Tomas informed us as we approached the desk. "They got here about ten minutes ago. I let them upstairs."

  "Thanks," said my parents.

  We rode the elevator to our floor, where we found that the team of movers had already begun herding our fumiture into the hall and lining it up by the entrance to the service elevator.

  "I think it's time for us to get going," said Dad. "We"ll just be in the way here."

  So we gathered our purses and wallets and the few things we'd need on the drive to Connecticut in our new car. Mom and Dad spoke to the movers, and then we walked out of our apartment for the last time.

  Last, last, last.

  When we retumed to the lobby, we were surprised to see a small crowd of people gathered around Tomas's desk. There were Twila and Jeremy and their parents, the Goldsmiths, and the Barkans. Twila ran to me, clasped my hands in hers, and wailed, "Don't go, Stacey! Don't go!"

  Her mother gently unfastened our hands. "Twila, what did we just talk about?"

  Twila scowled. "What I meant was, good luck and have fun."

  I smiled. "Thanks."

  With that, everyone began hugging.

  "Come back and visit," said Mr. Barkan.

  "You can stay in our apartment!" exclaimed Twila.

  "Come visit us in Connecticut," said Mom, extending the invitation to the entire crowd.

  "Anytime," added Dad.

  A few minutes later we were settled in our car and Mom was steering it along the West Side Highway.

  "Say good-bye to New York," Dad said to me over his shoulder.

  Gladly. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

  Bad rubbish = Laine.

  "Bye, New York!" I said, and didn't even attempt to sound wistful.

  We tumed off the West Side Highway for one last time and crossed the George Washington Bridge for one last time. The city was behind me. Soon I could see nothing but trees and the interstate.

  I fell asleep.

  I dreamed I was at a slumber party at Laine's apartment, eating cupcakes and drinking lovely, sugary soda. It wasn't a very clever dream, and it made me feel sad, so that when I woke up, I was crabby.

  "Where are we?"
I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

  "About half an hour from Stoneybrook," replied Mom.

  Dad was now driving and Mom was sitting next to him, squinting at the directions from Manhattan to our new house.

  "Another half an hour?" I whined. "This is endless."