Baby-Sitters Club 027 Read online

  After the kids finished eating, we let them hang out for awhile before we started the relay race. (We didn't want breakfast to come back up all over the lawn.) When it was time for the race, Karen had still not changed out of her "star" outfit, and she was hanging around Derek like a fly around honey. The funny thing was, after all her scheming, she was too afraid to open her mouth and actually say anything to him. Finally, Kristy took Karen's hand.

  "Derek, did you meet my sister?" Kristy asked. "This is Karen. She's really been wanting to meet you." Derek had a funny look on his face, like he didn't quite know what to make of Karen's outfit, Karen pulled up her gloves and steadied her hat.

  "Hi," she said.

  Suddenly, Becca was right behind her.

  "Derek!" Becca broke in. "Since you're going back to L.P., do you think you could get me Lamont's autograph?" Well, okay. So, even as he was leaving, Derek still had to deal with two stage-struck little girls. But two kids out of a whole yardful didn't seem so bad.

  "Hey, Derek!" cried one of his classmates. "Come on! Join our team!" By this time Claudia had organized all the kids into groups for the relay. They were lined up and ready to run.

  "On your mark . . . get set ... wake up!" she cried as the alarm clock sounded.

  It was funny to watch the kids struggle with the pants and cheer each other on. All in all, it was a great party. Though Derek would be leaving in a week, we were sending him off with a very nice good-bye.

  "Jessi." I spun around. Mama had arrived to pick me up and take me to the audition.

  "Is it already time?" I asked.

  "Now or never," she said with a smile.

  Becca and I called good-bye and followed Mom to the car.

  "Break a leg, Jess!" Derek yelled after me. That's show biz talk. What he really meant was "good luck." So. One event down and one to go.

  The final audition. I took a deep breath.

  Well, I thought to myself, this is it.

  Chapter 14.

  When we reached the theater, I changed into my dance clothes, found myself a quiet corner, and began the extensive warm-up I had planned. The warm-up really helped to calm me down. My head was still full of partying and relay races. I had to shift to ballet.

  As I was stretching, I looked around me. Actually the place didn't seem quite so scary anymore. The stage manager and choreographer were talking in the front seats, and the piano accompanist was also warming up, playing scales and snatches of Swan Lake themes. I didn't see any of the clique-y "gossip girls" - I guess they'd all been cut - but all around me other ballerinas were going up to their toes, testing their balance. Those of us who were left had all staked out little bits of territory for ourselves. In a funny way, the place was almost beginning to feel like home.

  Suddenly, I could really imagine coming here and performing. It'd be like this every night, I thought, and that'd be great. There is something magical about all the backstage goings-on in a theater - all the performers getting ready and then going out, transformed, before an audience. For a moment I let a picture of myself onstage slip into my thoughts. I was one of the swan maidens and I was costumed in a beautiful white, feathery tutu. It made me so happy just to think of myself up there.

  Well, I thought quickly, I'll know when I leave today whether or not I got into the production. And if I don't make it, I'll just pursue modeling. That would keep me busy. It'd be something new and different. And it couldn't possibly be as difficult - or as nerve-racking - as ballet.

  The stage manager clapped her hands to call together all us ballerinas.

  "We look like a flock of migrating birds," I heard one joke.

  "Swans," another one answered. "We want to be swans." I closed my eyes for a moment. Suddenly, Mme Noelle's words ran through my head. "You're a gifted dancer," she'd said. Well, we would see. I took a deep breath.

  The choreographer taught us a long, difficult dance variation, but this time, it was pretty easy to pick up. It was really not much different from the ones we'd learned before. Then he divided us into groups. Oh, no. I was in the first one. That meant I wouldn't even get to watch another group and have time to run the variation through my head. Oh, well, I thought. It'll just be like plunging into a pool.

  Actually, I think I danced very well. The choreographer had stuck me front row center onstage, which usually makes me nervous. But this time the music was really in my body. When I lifted my arms up, I could feel my whole torso stretch with them. When I extended a leg, I let it suspend there for a moment before I snapped it down. This is exactly what I love about ballet. Once you've got the technique, you can really express yourself.

  In the last couple of steps, I did make a small goof. I rushed a step and then had to slow down to get back on count. I didn't know if the choreographer caught it, or if he did, how much it would count against me. Well, I'm human, I thought. What could I do?

  After my group had finished, I found a seat in the audience to watch the others. No doubt about it, the competition was stiff. There were some ballerinas I liked better than others, but, the truth was, we were all good. I couldn't imagine how they would choose among us.

  Finally, the last group finished and the girls trickled offstage. I wandered up to stand by the stage manager and wait for the news. The stage manager and choreographer had their heads together, bent over their notes. The stage manager glanced up quickly.

  "Okay, everybody," she called. "Thank you very much. We'll talk to you in a few days." A few days? What did she mean? All the other ballerinas had picked up their things and were drifting out the door.

  "Excuse me," I said. "Did you say a few days?" "That's right," she smiled. "You can call the office on Wednesday." "You mean we're not going to find out today? I have to wait until Wednesday?" "Yes. That information was on the audition notice," she told me.

  Now, how had I missed that?

  "Don't worry," she said. I guess I looked pretty upset. "Wednesday will be here before you know it." "Well, thanks," I managed to reply as I started walking toward the door.

  "By the way," the stage manager called after me. "Nice audition." "Thanks," I called back, this time a little brighter.

  But till Wednesday? I had to wait until Wednesday?

  Right after I got home that day, the phone rang. It was Mallory, wanting to know if I'd made it or not.

  "I don't know," I wailed. "I have to wait four more days!" "That doesn't seem fair," Mallory said.

  "Mallory," I said patiently, "nothing's fair in love or ballet." On Monday, Mallory came home from school with me to keep me company. Poor Mallory. I think I was pretty jittery. I'd told her a little bit about my modeling plans, and I asked her if she minded if I made a few phone calls. Mallory nodded half-heartedly. She stretched out on our couch and began her homework. I got out the index cards I had started. On the top of each card I had written an agent's name and phone number. When I called and got through, I wrote the information he or she gave me onto the card. Information like, "Head shot necessary" or "Print work only." That afternoon I was on the phone for at least fifteen minutes with one agent. I could see Mallory peek up from her books every now and again to watch me. While I was still on that call, Daddy got home from work. He was early. It wasn't even time to leave for our club meeting. He dropped his briefcase on a chair, listened in on my conversation, and smiled at Mallory. Mallory had started to look a little nervous. Probably because I sounded so businesslike, and that's not the usual me.

  "Hi, you two," Daddy said when I hung up. Then, "How's the research going?" he asked me.

  "Okay." I sighed. "But for work that's supposed to be so arty, there's an awful lot of business involved." "Do you think you're gonna move to L.A.?" Mallory asked abruptly.

  I could see that Daddy was going to listen closely to my answer, too.

  "Oh, I don't think so," I said. "I think I'll just get as much work in Stamford as I can." "What happens if you become really famous?" asked Mallory.

  "Well," I said, "you never k
now. I mean, there's a chance I could land a TV series - " "Any word from the Swan Lake folks yet?" Daddy cut in.

  "Da-a-ad-dy," I whined. "You know that's not till Wednesday." "Tough wait?" he asked.

  "I hate waiting!" I practically spit that out. I was surprised at how vehement I sounded.

  "I hear you." Daddy smiled. He picked up his briefcase and gave Mallory a reassuring smile.

  Then I got on the phone to dial another agent's number. Mallory followed Daddy into the kitchen.

  "Do you think she's really going to get on a TV series?" I heard Mallory ask. "I mean, Jessi's my best friend. I'll just die if she moves away." "I think what she really wants," Daddy said carefully, "is to dance in Swan Lake." "I do not," I called after them as I dialed the last digits. "I mean, I don't care one way or the other. Anyway, I'm probably not going to get in. So it doesn't matter." Mallory wandered back into the room and settled back into her place on the couch. I started in on another phone call. Mallory watched me anxiously as I pulled out another index card and started to scribble notes.

  Chapter 15.

  Well, finally, Wednesday arrived. I hurried home from school, called the theater, asked the question I was dying to ask, and sucked in my breath as I waited for the answer.

  The woman on the other end of the phone took about an hour to find the list of people who had made it into the audition and another hour to search for my name on the list. Okay, it might not have been an hour each. Maybe it was more like five minutes. But those five minutes were long. To me, each one could've been a century.

  "Ramsey, Ramsey," the woman muttered, as she looked down the list. "What did you say your first name was?" "Jessi," I said. "Well, I'm probably listed as Jessica." "Yes, here you are," said the woman. "Jessica Ramsey." "But what does that mean?" I asked anxiously. "Is my name on the list of cuts or did I get into the show?" "You're in," she said simply. "Congratulations." "All right!" 1 yelled. I knew that that was not the most delicate thing to do, but I couldn't help it. "Thank you very much," 1 babbled. "Thank you very, very much." I hung up the phone and stood there beaming.

  Mama had heard my screech and came into the room.

  "You made it?" she asked.

  I couldn't even answer. I just nodded.

  "Oh, honey, congratulations!" Mama gave me a warm hug.

  "So what part did you get?" she asked me. "Are you one of the swan maidens?" "Oh, my gosh!" I laughed. "I forgot to ask. I guess I'll have to call the theater back. Now that woman'll really think I'm nuts." Mama stayed by my side while I dialed again and asked the question.

  "I wondered if you were going to call back." The woman chuckled. "Yes, you're in the corps. You're one of the swan maidens." "Ask for the rehearsal schedule," Mama prompted.

  "Oh, right." At that moment I would've had trouble remembering my own name. "And when do rehearsals start?" The woman gave me all the necessary information. I repeated it and Mama wrote it down.

  Of course, as soon as I hung up, I called Mallory right away.

  "I'm a swan!" I cried into the phone.

  "I knew it all along," she said. I could practically hear her grinning into the receiver.

  Shortly after I got off the phone with Mallory, Daddy came home from work, early again.

  "I hear we've got a ballerina in the house," he said, smiling.

  I ran to his arms and he caught me up.

  "I'm so happy, Daddy," I said. "I wanted this so badly." "You think I didn't know that?" He smiled. "All that modeling and agent business didn't fool me for a moment. You were going so far in the other direction, I knew Swan Lake must've meant a lot. " So much that you couldn't even admit it to yourself." "Oh, yeah. The modeling stuff," I mused. As soon as I'd heard that I'd gotten into the show, I'd forgotten about those calls to the agents in Stamford. That whole world had just fled my mind.

  Daddy went on. "I think sometimes if we want something too badly, we have to play tricks on ourselves so that we won't think it matters so much," he said.

  "Is that what I was doing?" I asked. How did parents know these things?

  "Well, thaf s what it looked like to me," Daddy said.

  Hmm. All those index cards. Suddenly, I didn't have any use for them at all. I was right back where I started from - ballet. And suddenly I knew it was exactly where I belonged, sort of like my true home. I did a couple of quick little jumps and ran down to work at my barre until the club meeting.

  It wasn't until later that week that I got to tell Derek that I had made Swan Lake after all. I decided not to call him up, that it would be better if I went over and told him in person. That way I'd also get to say my goodbyes.

  One afternoon after school, I stopped by the Masterses' house. It was kind of sad to go there and see that they were really moving out again. Of course, since they were going to keep the house, they were leaving all their furniture and everything, but there were lots of boxes and suitcases scattered around, and Mrs. Masters had put sheets over the chairs in the living room. The place looked kind of ghostlike.

  "Derek will be so glad to see you," Mrs. Masters said as she let me in. "Derek!" she called upstairs. "You've got a visitor!" Derek came bounding down the steps.

  "Jessi!" he cried. "I was hoping you'd come over." Derek grabbed me by the hand and dragged me up to his room, which looked every bit as strange as the living room had. Derek's clothes were all over the bed, and beside them was an open suitcase.

  "I'm packing," he said.

  "I can see. When are you leaving?" "Tomorrow morning," said Derek.

  "Gee, it seems like you just got here." "Well, maybe you'll be coming out to L.A. soon yourself," Derek said hopefully.

  "I wouldn't count on that," I said. I tried to sound as gentle as I could.

  "Who knows, though?" Derek went on. "The agents in Stamford sent me to L.A." How was I going to tell him?

  "I don't think I'll be working with those agents," I started to explain.

  "What?" Derek said. "But you told me you'd made a million phone calls." "That's true. I did," I said with a sigh. "But then something happened. I made Swan Lake." "You did!" Derek cried. "Great, Jessi! I knew you'd make it! Ever since I heard those other ballerinas tearing you apart." "It is great." I smiled. "But once I got in, 1 realized that ballet is the thing I really love. I want to be a ballerina, not a model or an actress. I've already put so much time and work into dance." Derek's face fell.

  "So now you won't ever come to L.A.," he said. He looked so forlorn, that I laughed all of a sudden.

  "Never say never," I said. "And besides, you'll be coming back to Stoneybrook sometimes. And now when you come you've got friends, and you know the kids in school. . . ." "Yeah," Derek agreed. "Thanks to the Babysitters Club." He was starting to cheer up. "Thanks again for the party, Jessi. It was great. No one ever threw me a surprise party before." I thought back to that morning and how nice it had been to watch Derek with his friends. That reminded me.

  "Oh, yeah, Derek," I said. "Listen, I've been meaning to ask you. I thought you said that John Superbrat was in your class. But there was no John on your class list. What ever hap- pened with that kid? Did he stop bullying you?" "John?" Derek said quickly. His eyes shifted away from mine.

  "Yeah. John. Is he in another grade?" "No, he's the same grade," Derek said slowly.

  "A different class then?" Derek gulped and started fiddling with a string hanging from his bedspread.

  "No, he's even in the same class," he answered.

  "Well, why wasn't he on the list?" I persisted. "You mean, we gave all the kids invitations except him?" "Sort of," Derek said vaguely. "But he was at the .party anyway." "He was at the party?" I cried. "John? The Superbrat? He was there?" "Jessi, let's go downstairs," Derek said quickly. "Maybe Todd wants to say goodbye." "Wait a minute, Derek," I said. "Why are you trying to change the subject? Did something awful happen with John? You have to tell me now." Derek sat there a long time before he opened his mouth again.

  "It was kind of awful," he said.
"John's an awful kind of kid." "What did he do?" I pressed. "And how could he have been at the party?" "Jessi," Derek said. He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "I hate to tell you this. It's really embarrassing. I was John. And all those things I said John did? Well, I did them." "What?" What in the world was Derek talking about? I didn't get it at all.

  Derek went on.

  "See, what happened," he said, "was that the kids were bothering me so much that I had to get back at them. So whenever they did something mean to me, I started doing mean things back to them." "Well, why'd you say it was John?" I asked.

  "I don't know." Derek shook his head. "When I told you, it was like I had to tell somebody what I'd been doing, but I didn't really know how to tell. And then once the boys started actually being friends with me, I didn't have to do those things anymore. So John just kind of disappeared." "You tied a kid's shoes together in gym?" I was still incredulous. "You dumped someone's books all over the playground?" Derek nodded sheepishly. "Only because I wanted to make friends so badly," he said.

  Suddenly I started to giggle. The idea of trying to make friends by dumping over someone's book bag was just too silly. Before I knew it, I was laughing pretty hard. It was contagious. Derek started laughing, too.

  "Hey," I teased, "I'll be your best friend if you tie my shoes together." Derek doubled over. After awhile, when we both quieted down, Derek's face grew thoughtful.

  "It was horrible," he admitted. "I didn't want to do those things. I guess you make more friends by being nice to people, don't you?" "That's usually how it's done," I said, and smiled.

  "Well, now I know," said Derek. "I guess I'll only be that mean again if somebody writes it into a script for me." "Good idea," I said, laughing.

  It looked like it was time to go. I was dreading our good-byes.

  "So, Derek," I said. "Good luck out there. Break a leg and everything. Send me a postcard if you get a chance." "Oh, I almost forgot!" Derek jumped up. He opened his dresser drawer and pulled out a large envelope. He handed it to me.