I had to laugh. “That’s my sister, Janine. She talks like that sometimes. I used to think it was just because she was a genius and couldn’t help it, but now I think she likes it because it throws other people off balance.”
“A genius, huh?” Alan looked around. “You’d have to be pretty smart to work here too.”
Now that made me feel good. It isn’t often a girl like me, who is what teachers call an “under-achiever,” gets called smart, except in sentences that begin, “Claudia seems smart, but she just doesn’t want to try.” That’s how my teachers see me. And how smart can you appear when you live in a family with a genuine genius? It isn’t easy.
I gave Alan a big smile.
He smiled back, a polite, nongoofy smile. He didn’t look like Alan when he did it. It was almost weird. He said, “So, can I help with anything?”
“Everything’s under control,” I replied. I glanced toward the cubicle where Ms. Feld was sorting a huge stack of papers into smaller stacks around her desk.
I’d finished the pasting. I’d give the books a few minutes to dry and then stamp them with the library stamp. I began to gather the materials together to return them to the supply cabinet.
“Here, let me help,” said Alan.
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
“No, I don’t mind. Really.” He smiled that smile again. It just wasn’t natural. It looked, well, fake. Non-Alan.
After the things had been put away, I looked for Erica. Alan went with me.
Erica gave him a curious look but only said, “Hi, Alan.”
“Hello, Erica. How are you? Are you having a good day?”
“Uh, sure,” Erica answered.
“I thought I’d help you shelve books. Then we can finish processing the new books,” I said.
Erica nodded. I took some books from the cart and walked to the next aisle and began to slot them into their correct places on the shelves. Alan went right along with me. We were in the juvenile fiction section, where the shelves are normal height. The picture-book shelves are only two shelves high, just the right size for very young readers.
“Fell,” Alan read aloud from a book he’d taken from the shelf. “By M. E. Kerr. It’s a mystery. Is it any good?”
“Mmm,” I said. “She’s a great writer.” I hadn’t read any of her books, but I remembered my friend Mallory, who reads everything, raving about her. “My favorite mysteries are Nancy Drews.”
There. I’d said it aloud. In a library.
Nothing terrible happened to me.
“Nancy Drew? You would like her, being an artist,” Alan said. I looked puzzled. He said, “Nancy Drew, get it?”
“Oh.” I smiled. That was a little more like the Alan I knew. “Not bad, Alan.”
“Thank you.” His smile was a little more Alan-like now. But it faded to a serious look as he said, “Here, let me help you put those away.” He reached for the books. And somehow the whole stack slipped from my grasp and slid to the floor with a crash.
Erica’s voice came from the next aisle. “You guys okay?”
“Fine,” I said quickly. “Just dropped some books.”
We both bent to retrieve the books. Our heads — believe it or not — actually cracked together.
I rocked back on my heels with a yelp. I think Alan did the same.
Rubbing my forehead and blushing, I said, “Alan. I’m almost through for today. You don’t have to help me finish up.”
The old Alan would probably have pretended he needed brain surgery or something, maybe rolled around on the floor. The new Alan took the hint. “I’ll wait and walk you home, then,” he said. “See you outside.” He hesitated. “I’m really sorry, Claudia. I didn’t mean to be so clumsy. Are you hurt?”
Alan was apologizing. Hmm.
“I’m fine. No big deal. See you in a little while,” I said quickly.
“Great.” He headed for the door. I thought I saw him rubbing his forehead on the way through it.
I finished shelving books. Then it was quitting time.
“See you tomorrow, Ms. Feld,” I said, stopping in the door of her office. She looked up and smiled.
“You girls are doing a wonderful job,” she said.
“It’s pretty wonderful being here,” I replied truthfully. I paused and added, “Ms. Feld, I was noticing that the mural on the wall outside the children’s room is looking a little faded and out-of-date.”
“It is, isn’t it?” She grimaced.
“Yes,” I went on, “and I was wondering if you’d like someone to touch it up a little, maybe modernize it a bit.”
“Did you have anyone in mind?”
“Me,” I said.
“Claudia’s an outstanding artist,” Erica put in. “She’s won awards. She’s amazingly talented.”
I blushed and gave Erica a grateful glance. “I could bring in some examples of my work,” I said.
“That would be lovely,” said Ms. Feld. “Redoing the mural is a fantastic idea, Claudia.”
“I’ll bring in some of my artwork tomorrow,” I said. “If you like it, I can draw a new design, and we can talk about it.” I was trying hard to sound professional and not show how excited I was. My fingers fairly itched to get to work on the mural.
“Lovely,” Ms. Feld said, and went back to work on her papers. “Don’t forget to put the ‘Please ring bell for librarian’ sign at the checkout desk.”
“Got it,” Erica said.
We headed out of the library. But before we reached the front door, Erica veered off. “I’m going to see if I can find any books by people who’ve looked for their birth parents,” she said.
“I know one,” I said. “But it’s fiction.”
“What is it?”
“Find a Stranger, Say Good-bye. It’s by Lois Lowry.”
Erica whipped a notebook out of her backpack and wrote it down. “Thanks,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good luck,” I answered.
Then I went outside to walk home with Alan. I was glad to see him. But I didn’t want to see anybody I knew. That would require some explanations I wasn’t ready to make quite yet.
Oh, well. I could just say I’d run into him accidentally. That was more or less true. I had the bump on the head to prove it.
My mother was silent all the way to the library the next morning. I didn’t notice. I was immersed in mental art — trying out ideas in my head for the new mural for the library.
She pulled into the spot marked KISHI in the employee section of the parking lot and stopped. “Claudia,” she said.
“Hmmm?” My hand was on the door.
“I wish you hadn’t gone behind my back to talk to Ms. Feld about redoing the mural.”
“What?” I was truly surprised.
“Dolores stopped by my office yesterday afternoon on her way home. She was very enthusiastic about your suggestion. And delighted that you’d volunteered to do it. I appreciate your initiative, Claudia, but that’s not why you were hired. And you should have spoken to me first.”
“Sorry,” I said, sounding snappish. Why was my mother going off on this big power trip? Why did she have to be so negative about my art? I went on, “It won’t happen again. I just let my enthusiasm for a terrific idea get the best of me.”
There was a definite edge to my voice. My mother glanced at me. “It is a good idea,” she said evenly. “But …”
“Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you. I’m a good artist, even if I’m not some genius.”
It was an unfair thing to say and I knew it. But I hated that she had ruined my excitement. I jumped out of the car before my mom could answer. “I have to get to work,” I said, and raced up the library steps to join Ms. Feld, who was just unlocking the front door.
I avoided my mother for the rest of the day, which was easy to do since she stays pretty busy in the main part of the library. Avoiding Alan, even if I’d wanted to (and about that I had mixed feelings), wasn’t as easy. He stopped by a
gain that day, right after story hour. And he had a fantastic time in the puppet theater with some of the kids. Unfortunately, when he got the idea of sticking crayons in his mouth to make monster teeth, all the little kids wanted to do it too. We had to remove quite a few crayons from quite a few mouths (and settle a few rebellious tantrums).
“Sorry,” Alan said as I persuaded the last little girl that she would much rather take the Raggedy Ann doll on a walk to look for a picture book than play with crayons for the moment.
“No problem,” I said. “Piece of cake for an experienced baby-sitter like me.”
I grinned at him and he grinned back, more of the old Alan grin this time than the formal smile he’d been using lately.
“I guess I better go,” he said. “Before I cause any more trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it. You were great with the kids.”
“Probably because I think like one.”
What could I say to that? I settled on, “Well, thanks for stopping by.”
“Anytime.”
At my lunch break, I stayed in the children’s room rather than going to the staff break room. Not only did I not want to see my mother just yet, but I had work to do. I got out my sketch pad and worked on the mural design. The next afternoon, when my mom would be in the Friday staff meeting, I’d go outside and draw a copy of the mural to work with. I’d already put a folder with samples of my art in Ms. Feld’s inbox, but I knew she’d been too busy to look at it yet. When she did, I wanted to be ready with some of my ideas for the mural.
And I wanted those ideas to be brilliant. I’d show my mother.
Erica had slipped into the nonfiction room. I could see part of her back through the door. She was tapping away at the computer, scrolling down what looked like a list. I knew she was deep into research on her birth parents. Something about the way she was hammering at the keys told me she wasn’t having much success yet.
I stared down at the blank paper in front of me. Books, I thought. Libraries. Reading.
As I have mentioned, these are not subjects that appeal to me all that much outside of Nancy Drew. I remembered posters I’d seen, designed to encourage kids to read — awesome art by artists like Maurice Sendak.
Relax, I told myself. You don’t have to be Sendak. You just have to be Kishi.
But by Friday, I still hadn’t come up with an idea I liked. Nor did Erica seem any happier with her research. And my mother and I were keeping a pretty chilly distance between us. I was glad my first week of work was almost over. I was going to need the entire weekend to recover.
Then Alan dropped by just before quitting time.
I was gathering up puzzle pieces from on, beneath, and all around the table in the puzzle corner. This wasn’t easy, because two jigsaw puzzles had been mixed together. Fortunately, one was a brightly colored dinosaur picture and the other used a more pastel palette that involved Cinderella.
I saw Alan’s feet first. “Hey,” he said.
I backed out from beneath the table. “Hi, Alan. Hold on a sec.” I ducked back under the table and retrieved the last few pieces. I backed out again.
This time, Alan and Kristy were standing there.
Uh-oh.
“You could go outside and watch the grass grow,” Kristy suggested to Alan.
“Oh, really?” Alan’s eyebrows went up. “Is that how you spend your time?”
“Hi, guys,” I said. “Can I recommend any books for you? You’ll have to make your selection quickly, though. The library closes in fifteen minutes.”
Kristy, who looked more than a little steamed that Alan had zinged her, said, “The picture books are over there, Alan.”
Alan said to me, “I read Fell.”
“Fell,” I repeated blankly.
“The book you recommended. By M. E. Kerr.”
“I did?” I said.
“You said she was an excellent writer. She is. And there are more books about the same character. His name is Fell and he …”
“Claudia’s a little busy right now for a book report, Alan,” said Kristy.
I’d been looking at Alan, feeling deeply flattered that he’d read the book, even though I hadn’t exactly recommended it. (Mallory had, really.) Kristy’s words jerked me back to the unpleasant situation developing between Alan and Kristy — with me in the middle.
He smiled. Hugely. “When you learn to read, Kristy,” he said, “I recommend it.”
Kristy began to sputter. I said quickly, “You guys, stop it. If you’re going to fight, go outside.”
“We’re not fighting,” said Kristy. “I do not engage in battles of wit with the unarmed.”
“Stop it,” I said, my voice sounding very stern and librarian-ish. “This is a library and this is my job. So behave. Both of you.”
“Sorry,” said Alan.
“Sorry,” Kristy mumbled.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I have work to do.” I walked away. It was a coward’s thing to do, but so what? Sometimes it’s better to walk away.
Kristy said in a loud voice, “I’ll wait outside, Claudia. We can walk to the BSC meeting together.”
“Right,” I said, pretending that going through the reserved-book cards was the most important thing I had to do in the world. When I looked up again, Kristy and Alan were both gone. And to my relief, only Kristy was waiting for me on the steps outside.
“Sorry,” she said again. “But Alan is a world-class jerk.”
“He’s not so bad,” I said. “You two just rub each other the wrong way.”
“That’s the understatement of the year!” Kristy snorted.
What could I say?
I said, “We’d better hurry. We’re going to be late.”
That got Kristy’s attention.
She didn’t mention Alan again all the way to my house. She was too busy looking at her watch, reporting the time and telling me to walk faster.
But I might have known she wouldn’t let the matter drop.
She called the meeting to order and said, “You know, Claudia, it could ruin your reputation.”
“What could ruin Claud’s reputation?” asked Dawn, intrigued.
“Being seen with the wrong people. Wait, being seen with the wrong species,” Kristy said.
“What are you talking about, Kristy?” asked Mary Anne.
“Kristy ran into Alan at the library today, and they exchanged the usual compliments,” I intervened. “You know, she told him he should be looking for something to read in the picture book section and he implied that she didn’t know how to read at all. Very mature.”
Stacey’s eyebrows went up. Dawn let out a soundless whistle. Mary Anne said, “Oh, Kristy.”
“He is such a jerk.”
“He hasn’t worn underwear on his head in school since second grade,” I said, torn between laughter and despair.
That surprised a snicker of laughter from Kristy (and Dawn and Stacey). Mary Anne continued to look distressed.
“You know,” Kristy said, “it’s one thing to go to a dance with him because of a mix-up. I’ll even admit he more or less behaved himself. But if you keep being seen with him, people are going to think you’re really interested in him, and you don’t want that to happen.”
Stacey looked at me, then at Kristy, then down at her feet.
The phone rang. Everyone seemed to let out a little sigh of relief as Kristy fielded the call. But as soon as she hung up, Kristy returned, like a terrier to a bone, to the same subject. “And don’t try to defend him, Claudia. It’ll make me suspicious that you’re actually thinking of going out with Alan.”
I couldn’t take it any longer. “I am,” I said. “I mean, I have.”
“Good for you,” Stacey said softly.
Kristy’s face turned bright red. “WHAT?”
Dawn said neutrally, “You’re shouting, Kristy.”
“I AM NOT.”
We all looked at her. Although it didn’t seem possible, her face grew redd
er. She took a deep breath. Was it possible? Was Kristy Thomas about to explode, actually explode, in Technicolor, here in my bedroom?
She let out her breath. Her face turned a less alarming shade of red. “Claudia,” she said in the voice of a baby-sitter reasoning with the ax murderer she’s just discovered in the linen closet, “Alan Gray is not possible. You must see that.”
“I see him as … possible,” I said brightly. Inside I was raging. But, in a perverse way, I was also enjoying goading Kristy.
“Claudia,” said Kristy, her voice even more level. (At any moment I expected her to say, “Drop the ax. We can work this out.”) “I would be totally supportive of your going out with anybody, anybody … except Alan Gray. When Stacey went out with Sam — did I say a word?”
“Well, actually — ” Stacey began, and I knew she was recalling Kristy’s reaction when one of her friends went out with her big brother.
Kristy held up her hand majestically. “When you and Stacey were fighting over a boy, did I say a word?”
“In that particular case, you — ” Stacey tried again.
“But now … now, I can’t in good conscience keep quiet. Claudia, think about what you’re doing. You’re going to get hurt. Ridiculed. Frustrated. You think he’s changed, but boys like Alan don’t change.”
“He hasn’t changed,” I said. “He’s just more himself with me.”
“It happens, Kristy,” Mary Anne said. “Why don’t you give Alan a chance?”
“Or at least give Claudia a chance to give Alan a chance?” Dawn put in.
“Right,” Stacey said. “Kristy, you — ”
“Listen to me, people. This is serious. Alan Gray is not date material. He’s not even human material.”
Stacey finally got a full sentence in, and it was a punch. “Kristy,” she said, “according to my information, you yourself went out with Alan Gray once.”
That stopped Madame President.
“To a dance,” I added.
“It’s true,” Mary Anne said as Dawn gave a yelp of laughter.
Kristy’s face went beet-red again. But she didn’t admit defeat, she just said, “The point is, I learned my lesson. I never went to a dance with him again. Benefit from my experience, Claudia. Don’t do this to yourself.”
Claudia and the Disaster Date Page 3