Baby-sitters Club - Mallory On Strike Part 9

When the show was over, Mr. Dougherty stepped up to the podium once more. He unfolded a piece of paper and adjusted his gla.s.ses, while a couple of the teachers set a small table beside him. Some rolled-up papers tied with ribbons were piled on the table. Jessi took hold of my hand and squeezed it hard. "This is it, Mal."

I could only nod and stare straight ahead. Mr. Dougherty started by announcing the winners from selected catagories, like Best Poem, Best Ill.u.s.tration, Best Science Fiction Story, and Best Short Play. Each winner ran down the aisle right beside me and climbed the stairs to the stage. The girl who won Best Mystery tripped going up and almost fell on her face. Some people laughed, and I was seized with a new fear. What if I won and then embarra.s.sed myself by doing the same thing?

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Dougherty announced the category of Best Overall Fiction for the Sixth Grade. He smiled at the a.s.sembled students. "It was particularly difficult to pick a winner for this category," he said. "The judges said they received quite a few excellent stories/'

"Uh-oh," I mumbled, sliding down in my seat again. Jessi was still clutching my hand, but I could no longer bear to watch Mr. Dougherty. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to listen to the rest of his speech.

"All of us agreed that the stories were very original and quite well written," Mr. Dough-135 erty continued. "But one story seemed to stand above the others - "

My heart was pounding so hard it sounded like a freight train in my ears. My stomach did flip-flops as I thought about Rebecca Mason, one of the girls in my creative writing cla.s.s. She had turned in her story early, and then sat around all week looking smug while the rest of us frantically tried to get ours finished in time. Her cover looked as though it had been done by a professional ill.u.s.trator. I had been the last student in my cla.s.s to turn in a story. And my cover looked really homemade next to hers.

Suddenly it came to me like a flash. Of course! Rebecca was going to win. How could I even think I had a chance?

Mr. Dougherty was, still talking, but his words sounded like a tape being played too slowly and I could barely understand him.

"That story was written by - "

I heard thunderous applause and I tried to put on a congratulatory face for Rebecca Mason. I turned in my seat, with a forced smile on my face, and watched for her to come down the aisle.

But no one was there. And suddenly Jessi threw her arms around my neck.

"You did it!" she squealed. "You did it!"

"I did?" I blinked uncomprehendingly at my friend. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

I didn't know what to say. I just sat in my seat, unable to move. It was really strange. For four weeks all I could think about was winning the award for Best Overall Fiction for the Sixth Grade, and now that I had won it, I was numb with shock.

"Hurry up," Jessi urged me. "Go get your award."

She practically had to push me out of my seat and point me toward the stage.

I stumbled up the steps, unaware of what my feet were doing. Then Mr, Taylor shook my hand, and Pamme Reed handed me the certificate herself. Mr. Dougherty was smiling from ear to ear. He leaned down and whispered, "I knew you could do it, Mallory! You're a real writer now."

I think hearing that was as great as winning the prize.

"Thank you." I turned to look at the crowd in the auditorium. Little flashes of light were popping like fireworks as people snapped pictures. My family was standing near the back with all my friends, cheering and waving. Even Benny Ott and several of his pals were clapping their hands above their heads and whistling. (Maybe Benny's not so bad after all.) I was grinning so hard that my face hurt. I felt the way those women look when they win the Miss America pageant. You know, when they're smiling, and their faces are s.h.i.+ning, but tears are streaming down their cheeks? I think I'll remember that moment for as long as I live.

Jessi met me on the other side of the stage, and the two of us raced up the aisle to show my family the award. Dad took about a hundred pictures of me with my certificate.

Then it was time for the workshops, which were really interesting. The first was called, "A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words." It was offered by an ill.u.s.trator who showed us how words and drawings can make a story progress.

The second workshop was about what happens to a book when it is published. I never dreamed how many steps a book had to go through before it got to me. The woman giving the workshop, who's an editor at a big publis.h.i.+ng company in New York City, told us it usually takes a year from the time an author sells the book to a publisher until it ends up in bookstores.

While we were in the workshops, the school had opened the cafeteria, where the work of every student who partic.i.p.ated in Young Authors Day was on display. The stories ranged in length from just a few pages to a short novel. All of them had brightly colored covers. The judges had given many of the booklets blue stickers for honorable mention. There were red stickers for third-place winners, silver stickers for second-place, and beautiful s.h.i.+ny gold stickers for the first-place winners.

My family found my book displayed on a far table by the window. "Look," my sister Vanessa cried, when I joined them later. "I think thousands of people have already read your story."

"Vanessa, there aren't a thousand people here," I said. But I was glowing inside because the book really did look like a lot of people had read it.

The day ended perfectly. First, Pamme Reed autographed my copy of her new book and then wrote a note of congratulation on my story. She wished me luck in my career as a writer. We talked about how difficult it is to find just the right words to fit your thoughts and feelings. She treated me like I was a real author!

When the day was over, and my family was back home, I gathered my brothers and sisters in the living room and said, "It's time for me to tell you about my surprise."

"Oh, goody!" cried Claire.

"I've had my special day," I said, "and it was wonderful, but next weekend, Jessi and I are going to take you out for your very own special day!"

"Our own day?" Margo repeated.

"Yes. And it's going to be packed with fun things to do. I want each of you to dress in clothes you might wear if you were an explorer."

"You mean, like jeans and stuff?" Jordan asked.

"Right. You never know what kind of terrain we'll be covering. Wear a jacket and comfortable shoes. Also I want you each to carry a knapsack."

"What should we put in our snapsack?" Claire asked.

"A newspaper, a paper bag, and something you can make music with."

"Like what?" Margo asked.

I smiled mysteriously. "Use your imagination."

Chapter 15.

Exploring we will go! Exploring we will go! Hi, ho, the derry-oh, exploring we will go!"

Jessi and I led my seven brothers and sisters down the sidewalk in front of our house, singing at the top of our lungs. In fact, we were so loud that some of the neighbors peered out their front doors to see what the racket was. But as soon as they recognized us, marching in single file down the street like a band of explorers, they smiled and ducked back inside their homes.

I guess it was my fault that we were making so much noise, but I couldn't help it. I felt wonderful. I had just spent one of the best weeks of my life. For five whole days, teachers and kids, some of whom I'd never met before, stopped me in the halls at school to congratulate me on my award. Mr. Dougherty even asked the writing cla.s.s to give me a special round of applause when I entered the cla.s.sroom. But, best of all, I was back in the BSC.

"We sure missed you, Mal," Kristy said, when I arrived for the Monday meeting at Claud's house.

"I missed you guys, too." I sat down in my old spot on the floor next to Jessi. "And I want to apologize to everyone for being such a grouch. I guess I was a little touchy there for awhile."

"Don't ever let it happen again," Kristy teased, shaking her finger at me sternly, "or we'll make you stand on your head and eat live worms - "

"Or roasted eels," Dawn said, looking at Claud. "From Maurice's."

"Ew, ew, ew, ew!" Claudia cried, squinch-ing up her nose.

We all began describing the most disgusting things we could think of to eat. Within minutes we were laughing so hard, tears were streaming down our cheeks. Then the phone rang and we fell back into our comfortable routine. I leaned against the bed and smiled at my friends, just happy to be back in the club.

Things may have been the same with the BSC, but they had sure changed at home. After my talk with Mom and Dad, they got together and decided that from now on, if I needed private time for my homework or my writing, I could use the desk in their bedroom. Can you believe it? On top of that, they said I could put a Do Not Disturb sign on the doork.n.o.b while I'm working, and that everyone has to honor it. Dad made the official announcement to the family at dinner on Monday. "Whenever that sign is out, no one is to bother Mallory."

Then my mom said that, of course, she and Dad will still expect me to help out with my brothers and sisters and do ch.o.r.es around the house, but they'll only ask for big favors if I'm free. That means that if I have another writing project and really need some private time, I can have it. Isn't that great?

Not being forced to take care of my brothers and sisters made me appreciate them a whole lot more. That's why I was looking forward so much to our special day together.

Jessi and I spent the week thinking up fun activities. I'll admit, we were as excited as the kids were.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, Jessi met me at our door at seven o'clock. She was armed with a sack full of art supplies, including a pack of Magic Markers, and some special treats of her own. We hurried to the park to prepare it for our outing and then rushed back to the house. We had been gone a little over an hour and when we got back, all seven of my brothers and sisters met us at the door. They were dressed in jeans, sweat s.h.i.+rts, and jackets, as I'd instructed.

"I'm glad you two came back," my mom called from the kitchen. "They've been standing like this for fifteen minutes, waiting for you to return."

I had found an old police whistle on a leather cord in the garage, and had hung it around my neck. I was also wearing a visor like Kristy's. I thought that would make me seem more like a leader. I blew on the whistle, then announced, "Good morning, Explorers. Are you ready for the big day?"

"Yes!" The triplets shouted so loudly that Mar go and Claire covered their ears. But they were grinning.

"All right, then." I pointed toward the stairs. "Our first stop is the rec room, where you will make your uniforms."

The kids ran for the stairs so fast that for a second I was afraid we might start off the day with a sprained ankle or a b.u.mp on the head.

Jessi took charge once we were all downstairs. She held up her newspaper. "All right, Explorers," she cried. "It's time to make your official Explorer Hats!"

"Oh, boy, oh, boy!" Nicky shouted gleefully. (The kids were so excited that everything they said seemed to come out at full volume.) As I helped them fold their hats, I said, "And for today, you each get to choose a special name for yourself, because today is all about make-believe."

Nicky chose Frodo, after our pet hamster. The triplets named themselves Robin Hood, Little John, and Friar Tuck. Vanessa decided to be Emily d.i.c.kinson. (She loved the book I'd bought her at the mall!) Margo decided to be Queen Margo.

Finally Claire, who had been quietly wrestling with her hat, held it up to me. "Write my name, please."

"What do you want to be called?" I asked.

"Mallory." She gave me a big grin.

I was surprised. "Not 'Mean, Old Mallory'?"

She giggled and shook her head so hard her hair bounced. "Nope. Just Mallory."

My vision grew blurry and I knelt beside my little sister and squeezed her so hard she cried, "Ow!"

"Everybody ready?" Jessi asked.

"Yes!" came the resounding chorus.

Jessi and I led our explorers out the door and down the street.

First stop was the circus that a bunch of kids were putting on in the Braddocks' backyard. I pulled out my coin purse and handed each of my brothers and sisters the admission - one nickel.

"Oh, goody," Claire cried. "A circus."

The circus was a short event. It featured Buddy Barrett as Jocko the Lion Tamer and Pow, his dog, as the Lion. Matt Braddock played Thor the Strong Man, who lifted a broomstick with balloons tied to either end. That act was short-lived because Byron sat on one end of the pretend barbells and popped the balloons. The finale of the show was performed by Suzi Barrett, who demonstrated the latest moves she'd learned in tumbling cla.s.s.

Even though it was a pretty small circus, my brothers and sisters applauded as loudly as if they were watching the greatest show on earth. When it was over, Jessi, who had made prior arrangements with Mrs. Braddock, stood up and told the performers, "Now it's time for us to entertain you."

"Us?" Vanessa asked. "Which us?"

"Us us," I replied. "I want each of you to get out your paper bags." As Jessi pa.s.sed out the Magic Markers, I told my brothers and sisters to draw a picture of their favorite animal on the bottom of the bag.

"But what are we going to do?" Adam asked.

I had already drawn the face of a cow on my bag. I slipped my hand in the bag and made the mouth move. "A puppet show!"

"Can we play, too?" the other kids asked.

"Of course." I had remembered to bring spare bags, and I pa.s.sed them around.

The children stretched out on the lawn and laboriously worked on their drawings. When they had finished, Jessi said, "We need a stage. The toolshed would be perfect!"

"Great," I agreed. "And let's do a song, like Old Macdonald, so we can introduce each animal. Now we need an orchestra. Everybody, grab your instrument out of your knapsack."

Jessi and I put together the craziest orchestra ever. Nicky and Margo had packed matching kazoos, Vanessa had brought a plastic harmonica, and Claire had found a little toy trumpet. Jordan had a slide whistle, while Adam crashed together a pair of cymbals made out of two aluminum pie plates. But Byron's instrument was the cleverest of all - a tuba made from a piece of garden hose and a funnel.

The puppet show worked out better than we could ever have imagined. Nicky started it off, crouching behind the toolshed, his lizard puppet held in the air, while the band blasted out Old Macdonald. He sang the first verse of the old rhyme, then was joined by several turtles, a lion, a giraffe, two bears, and a brontosaurus. The kids tried to crouch behind the little toolshed but they got so crowded that they finally stood in a row in front of it.

"It's better like this/' Jessi murmured to me, as the kids worked the mouths of their animals while singing the song or playing their instruments. "Now they can see each other's puppets and perform at the same time."

When all the animals had been introduced, and had had their chance to dance back and forth, the song came to an end.

"That was great," Suzi Barrett said. "What should we do next?"

"We'd love to stay," I said, "but the Explorers have a lot more things to do today."

"There's more?" Margo asked. "I can't believe it."

"Why not?" Jessi asked, kneeling in front of her to retie her tennis shoe.

"This was so much fun, I thought our day was over."

"No way!" I laughed. "We've only just begun." I blew shrilly on my whistle and shouted, "Follow me, Explorers!"

Jessi and I led the parade out of the yard. Each of the kids now carried a puppet on his or her hand and wore an Explorer hat.

Next stop was the playground or, as Jessi and I had renamed it for the day, the Secret Garden.

"Why secret?" Margo asked, pus.h.i.+ng her newspaper hat back on her head.

"Because there are secret clues hidden all over this playground - I mean, garden/' I explained.

"And you have to find them," Jessi added.