The Secret Life of Mary Anne Spier

by Ann M. Martin

  “Yeah,” Jackie replied happily. He danced around the kitchen with the blocks bobbing on his head. “Mr. Blockhead. I’m Mr. Blockhead,” he sang. Even Becca and Shea had to laugh.

  All Abby could think of was how she was going to get the glue out of Jackie’s hair. (My friends and I privately refer to Jackie as “the Walking Disaster.” Although he’s very lovable, he’s always into some kind of mess.)

  Jackie tossed his head back and a block flew from his hair and hit Becca on the cheek. “Ow!” she shouted as her paint-stained hand flew to her face. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” She began to cry, spreading blue paint across her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Jessi asked, hurrying into the kitchen with Squirt toddling behind her. Then, “Oh!” she cried as she tripped over another of Jackie’s blocks and banged into the table. She moaned as she rubbed her elbow. Squirt began to cry.

  Jessi recovered enough to clean Becca up and put a cold cloth on her cheek. Then she soothed Squirt.

  Abby brought Jackie to the sink and began pulling the blocks from his hair. “Ouch, that hurts,” he complained.

  “Well, who told you to put glue in your hair?” she replied. She stuck his head under the tap and poured dishwashing soap on it to scrub his hair clean. As she towel-dried it with a spattered dishcloth, she surveyed the kitchen. There was so much paint spattered around, she told me later it reminded her of a piece of modern art she’d seen in a museum once.

  Art or not, she was sure Mrs. Rodowsky wouldn’t appreciate it. “We better clean up this place,” she said to Jessi.

  By the time Mrs. Rodowsky returned, the kitchen was clean and the kids were watching TV. But Jessi and Abby decided that toy repair was something that the BSC members should do on their own.

  On Sunday morning, I once again made my way to the mall to report as an elf. It’s funny how fast something becomes routine. In just one week, I’d discovered the fastest way to get to the employees’ lounge. (Cut through Lear’s men’s department and use the elevator hidden behind the overcoat section, then take the fire-escape hall to a door leading behind the food court, then out again to the lounge.)

  This Sunday I was already in my elf costume when Angela arrived. She looked pale and her hair was disheveled, almost as though she hadn’t slept. “Hi, are you okay?” I asked.

  She shook her red curls self-consciously. “Why? Do I look terrible?”

  “No, just tired or something.”

  Angela nodded as she opened the bag containing her elf costume. “I hardly slept at all last night.”

  “How come?” I asked.

  She turned away from me while she pulled off her stack-heeled boots. “Someone was making a lot of noise outside.”

  I wrinkled my forehead, not understanding. “Who was making noise?”

  Shrugging, she looked up at me. “Who knows, who cares?” She shot me a forced smile. “Can you believe this is our last week?”

  “No, it’s going fast,” I admitted. “Are you doing anything special for Christmas or whatever you celebrate?”

  “Christmas,” she said. “My family always celebrated Christmas so I guess that’s my holiday. What am I doing? Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You mean nothing unusual, right?”

  She laughed bitterly. “No, I mean nothing.”

  “Your family doesn’t do anything for Christmas?”

  She pulled up her striped tights before she spoke. “I don’t know what they’ll be doing,” she finally replied with a sob. “I don’t live with them anymore.”

  “Where do you live?” I asked, suddenly very concerned about her.

  “The women’s shelter in Stoneybrook.”

  I stood there with my mouth slightly open. My brain wouldn’t form a thought. All I could do was absorb this unexpected information.

  Angela smiled at me but her eyes were pools of tears. “What’s it like?” She asked the question for me. “No fun. It’s not like anyone is especially happy to be there. We don’t have group sing-alongs or anything like that.”

  I smiled grimly. “I didn’t think so. Why are you there?”

  “It’s only temporary,” she replied. “My parents kicked me out.”

  I was shocked all over again. “What for?”

  “Just for being me,” she answered with a bitter laugh. “They don’t like my clothes, or my makeup, or the way I choose to live my life. I think they figured that if they threw me out, I’d come back and do things their way. I can’t, though.”

  “What’s their way?” I asked.

  “The respected ancient practice,” she said, speaking as though she were some kind of guru. “All you have to do is be friends with only white middle-class kids, shop at only the right snooty stores, and think country club activities are the height of human civilization, and you too can live the Way of the Snob. That’s what my parents believe, but it’s not what I believe, and I can’t live that way.”

  “I don’t think I could either,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, well, I was constantly embarrassing Mom and Dad just by my existence. There’s not much room for individuality in their world.”

  “That’s horrible. How can you stand being at the shelter, though?”

  “Well … it isn’t where I want to be. That’s why I’m working so many hours here. So I can earn enough money to leave the shelter. I have friends in California who all rent a big house together on the beach. They said I can come live with them, but I need the dough to go. I almost have it.”

  “That’s terrific,” I said. “What about Christmas, though?”

  “What about it?”

  “How will you spend it?”

  “I’ll take a walk or something,” she said with a shrug.

  The lounge door swung open and Ms. Cerasi stepped in. “Why aren’t you girls dressed?” she cried. “Your shift starts in two minutes.”

  “Sorry.” I pulled off my sneakers hurriedly. “I didn’t realize. We were talking.”

  Ms. Cerasi clapped her hands sharply. “Let’s go,” she said, then left.

  “I could really get to dislike her a lot,” Angela said, pulling on her pointed elf slippers.

  “It’s only another week,” I reminded her as I struggled into my costume.

  Angela was about to pull on her head mask, but she stopped and propped it on the table. “In a way, I hate for this to end. At least now I wake up each day and know what I’ll be doing. After this job ends, anything could happen.”

  “Good things will happen,” I said, hoping I sounded confident. “You’ll see.”

  Angela patted my arm. “You’re a good friend. Thanks.”

  I nodded. “Okay, now let’s get happy. It’s elf time!”

  We stuck our heads into our masks. Then we turned toward the door at the same moment, bumped into each other, and bounced back. That cracked us both up and broke our gloomy mood.

  We headed out into the mall, weaving through the crowd and waving to the kids who shouted at us. And, although I danced around, played with kids, and gave out candy canes for the rest of the day, I couldn’t get Angela’s story out of my mind.

  She wasn’t much older than my friends and me. I couldn’t imagine any of us trying to live on our own in just four years. Sure, maybe we’d go away to college, but that was five years from now. Most of us would be eighteen then. Besides, living at college isn’t the same as being completely on your own.

  I thought of her walking around by herself on Christmas. It made me want to cry. In fact, once while I watched her comfort a sobbing toddler, I did shed a few quiet tears for her behind my mask.

  Sometimes life seems to be no fair at all. And it should be fair, at least on Christmas Day.

  It wasn’t until the last bell rang at school on Tuesday that I realized what a big scheduling conflict I was facing. All during our BSC meeting the day before, I had been looking at it in the record book, but I didn’t make the connection. Maybe that’s what being continually exhausted does to your brain.

&nbs
p; I don’t know why it popped into my head just as I was pulling my costume bag from my locker, but thank goodness it did.

  Last month, Mrs. Bruno, Logan’s mother, had hired me to baby-sit for Logan’s five-year-old brother, Hunter, and his nine-year-old sister, Kerry. Normally, Logan would have helped her out, but he’s on the volleyball team and he already knew he’d have a big pregame practice that day.

  Suddenly, as I stood in front of my locker, I could recall Mrs. Bruno’s every word. “I’m booking you early, Mary Anne, because I know how busy the holidays are for the BSC. Every year I take one day off from work and do all my holiday shopping in one sweep. That’s what I’ll be doing.”

  The problem was, I was supposed to work after school. I couldn’t let her down, though. I ran to the lobby and phoned home. Luckily, Dawn answered. “It’s me,” I said breathlessly. “You have to do me a big favor. I’m supposed to sit for the Brunos today at four, but I can’t make it. Could you cover for me?”

  “Why can’t you go?” she asked.

  “Uh … uh … the fund-raiser. I promised to go to the mall to hand out flyers advertising it.”

  “Couldn’t you do that another time?”

  “If you can’t cover for me, just say so,” I snapped.

  “No, I can do it,” she replied, sounding offended. “I was just wrapping gifts but it can wait.”

  I thanked her and hung up. Racing out the door and down the school steps, I ran to the bus stop. I arrived in time to see a bus pull away. The phone call had put me behind schedule and I’d have to wait a full fifteen minutes for the next bus to come.

  While I stood there, anxious about being late, I realized the temperature had dropped since earlier that afternoon. The sky was blanketed with heavy white clouds. It was what Dad calls a snow sky.

  With a shiver, I thought of Angela. Was it warm enough at the shelter? Did she have heavy enough clothing with her? What were the blankets like there? I just couldn’t imagine.

  The bus finally arrived. It seemed to crawl, stopping at every single traffic light along the way. Amazingly, though, it arrived at the mall with a full two minutes for me to jump into my costume and get to Winter World.

  I flew through the mall and up to the lounge, pulling open my bag as I burst through the door. Angela was there in her costume, except for her mask. She was on the pay phone by the door. “They won’t accept the charges?” I heard her murmur, sounding crushed.

  For a moment, I stopped my frantic dressing and looked at her as she hung up. Again, she answered my question before I asked it. “I thought I’d be mature and propose meeting my parents on Christmas so we could spend the day together and maybe talk,” she explained. “But they won’t accept my collect call.”

  “I have change,” I offered, turning toward my bag for it.

  “Forget it,” Angela said. “They can afford the call, believe me. They don’t want to talk to me, that’s all.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, seeing the hurt on her face.

  “Thanks. You better finish dressing or Ms. Cerasi will put you in elf prison or something equally terrible.”

  That afternoon, Winter World was hopping. The line of kids waiting to see Santa snaked around the platform. Marv was a terrific Santa, so cheerful and patient with the kids. One of them tried to pull his beard to prove to his little brother that Santa was a fake. The kid almost fell over when Marv’s beard refused to budge. And you should have seen the little brother. His face lit up with joy.

  The kids waiting in line were either fidgety or nervous, so I danced up and down the line giving out helium balloons and candy canes, trying to keep everyone happy. The kids cheered up whenever I came by.

  And then, suddenly, my dancing screeched to a halt. Standing in line, only a few feet away, were Logan, Dawn, Mrs. Bruno, Hunter, and Kerry.

  Inside my mask I gaped in horror. What were they doing here?

  They were close enough so that I could hear their conversation. “I’ll leave you all to visit Santa while I shop,” Mrs. Bruno said, stepping away from the group. “We’ll meet in front of the theater three hours from now, after you’ve seen your movie.” With a wave, she hurried off.

  Obviously they’d decided to see Santa and a movie while Mrs. Bruno shopped. But what was Logan doing there?

  “It was a lucky break they canceled practice,” he said to Dawn. “I didn’t know when I’d be able to shop for Mary Anne. I know exactly what I’m getting her, though.”

  I felt so exposed standing there right in front of them. I had to force myself to remember I was hidden behind my mask.

  “Oh, elf! Elf!” Dawn began calling and waving to me. “Over here, please. Could you come here?”

  I froze. Had she recognized me? Did she know it was me?

  “Elf! Elf!” Hunter called. I had no choice but to go to them.

  “Could we have a balloon and a candy cane, please?” Dawn spoke for Hunter. Usually, I talked to the kids in a little squeaky voice, but I didn’t dare open my mouth now. I simply handed each of them a candy cane and gave balloons to Hunter and Kerry. (Kerry made a self-conscious face as if she felt babyish, but she took the balloon anyway.)

  Then there was a horrible moment when I stood waiting for Logan or Dawn to say something to me. At such close range, they had to know it was me.

  Didn’t they?

  I waited.

  “Thanks, Mr. Elf,” Dawn said with a smile, seeming to sense I was waiting for something.

  I forced a wave and danced away. Of course, I was relieved. But I also felt oddly let down.

  One night around Thanksgiving break, I stayed up late and watched an old black-and-white movie called Our Town. At the end of it, a ghost comes back and sees all the people she loves, but they can’t see her. It gives her a painful, heartbreaking, lonely feeling.

  Strangely, that was how I felt. After all, Logan and Dawn are two of the people who are most important to me. I can’t think of anyone who knows me better than they do, except maybe Kristy. And they didn’t know I was standing right next to them. I hated the feeling.

  Kids called to me and I acted cheerful, handing them candy and balloons, dancing and waving. Inside, though, I felt uneasy and sad. From time to time, I glanced over at Angela. She was doing the same, acting funny and cheerful. Inside, though, I knew her heart was breaking.

  The line inched forward and in about ten minutes Dawn, Logan, Kerry, and Hunter were the next in line. Kerry took Hunter to Santa. I don’t think she still believes in Santa, but she pretended to for Hunter, which I thought was nice.

  From behind me, I felt a tug on my tunic. I turned and looked down at Hunter. In an instant, I realized he’d run back to me while Dawn, Logan, and Kerry waited.

  “ ’Bye, Mary Anne,” he said.

  I drew in a short, startled breath. Then I knelt down to face him. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged. “I could just tell.”

  “Did you have a good talk with Santa?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You’re lucky to be an elf.”

  “I know, it’s fun,” I told him. “Listen, Hunter, could this be our secret? I’d feel a little silly if everyone knew I was an elf.”

  He stared at for me a moment, as if what I’d just said made no sense to him. Then he nodded. “Okay, if you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You’d better get back to Dawn and Logan and Kerry. Have fun at the movies.”

  “Thanks. ’Bye, Mary Anne.”

  I waved as he ran off.

  Funny, but I felt so grateful to him for recognizing me that tears welled in my eyes. I had no choice but to let them fall down my cheeks, because you can’t wipe your eyes when you’re wearing an elf head.

  One thing I’m very proud of is that I’ve never — not ever! — made a mistake in the club record book. I haven’t double-booked a sitting job or overlooked someone’s conflicting appointments. Or if I have, I’ve caught the mistake before it was too late.
r />   But I had nearly goofed with my sitting job for Kerry and Hunter, and at the meeting that Wednesday I nearly goofed again.

  “Stacey, you can sit for the Newtons this weekend,” I told her after Mrs. Newton called wanting a sitter for Jamie and Lucy.

  “Okay,” she agreed as she picked up the phone to return Mrs. Newton’s call.

  Feeling zonked from my crazy schedule, I stared vacantly at the record book on my lap. The words on the page seemed to waver in front of my weary eyes. I blinked hard, attempting to pull them back into focus.

  “Hello, Mrs. Newton?” As I focused on the words before me, I was vaguely aware of Stacey’s voice. “I’m going to sit for —”

  “Wait!” I shouted. At the last moment, I’d concentrated enough to spot something I’d overlooked. “Stacey,” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to see the Christmas Show at Radio City Music Hall with your father that day?”

  “Oh my lord!” Stacey gasped. “You’re right. I forgot.” She excused herself, apologizing, and told Mrs. Newton she’d have to call back again. “Mary Anne!” she cried as she hung up.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Sorry.”

  My friends were staring at me with surprised expressions. “So I made a mistake!” I said.

  “At least it proves you’re human,” Jessi offered.

  “Of course I’m human.”

  Everyone grinned and relaxed, except for Dawn, who had decided to sit in on the meeting. She held me in a scrutinizing gaze. What was she thinking?

  Had Hunter broken his word and told her he’d recognized me as an elf? But Dawn said nothing.

  We were very busy for the rest of the meeting. (And I double-checked every job I scheduled, determined not to goof again.) In between calls, we discussed the final plans for Santa-Hanukkah-Kwanzaa Town.

  Abby and Jessi had finished refurbishing most of the not-so-good toys. As Abby had planned, the infamous blocks would be used to set up towers for a knock-down ball game booth. The cloth dolls and animals had been washed and stitched. They’d be used to toss through a donated hula hoop we planned to hang. Working plastic toys had been cleaned up and would be dumped into a kiddie plastic pool, and kids would get to fish for them with specially made fishing poles fitted with clothes-hanger hooks.