Claudia Kishi, Middle School Drop-Out Read online

  Now, the BSC breakup didn’t really have that much to do with Jackie Rodowsky, but somehow he came to believe that it was all his fault. He worried and worried about it, and finally he decided to ride his bike over to Kristy’s (which is quite a trip) and apologize.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t tell his parents where he was going. Even worse, he didn’t wear a helmet. And when his bike swerved and hit a tree, Jackie was badly hurt. He was knocked out, and when he came to, he was in the hospital with a lot of concerned doctors looking him over.

  Luckily, Jackie’s going to be fine. I guess he’s a tough little kid. But a head injury like that could have been very serious. As it is, he’s been in the hospital for quite a while, since the wound still needs attention and the doctors want to be absolutely sure that he’s okay.

  “I know Jackie will be thrilled to see you,” Dr. Johanssen told Kristy, as they walked down the corridor together. “He keeps saying how bored he is. It’s not easy for an active kid like him to be forced to stay in bed.”

  Dr. Johanssen knows a lot about kids. For one thing, she’s a pediatrician. For another, she’s a mom. Her daughter, Charlotte, who’s nine, is one of the BSC’s favorite sitting charges.

  “Will he be able to go home soon?” Kristy asked hopefully.

  “Very soon,” said Dr. Johanssen. “I’m not handling his case, but from what I hear he should be back to normal in the near future.”

  “That’s great,” said Kristy.

  “Have fun with Jackie,” Dr. Johanssen told Kristy, as they parted near the nurses’ desk in the pediatrics wing. “Tell him to stay out of trouble,” she added.

  Kristy laughed. Telling Jackie to stay out of trouble is like telling a dog not to chase cats. She walked down the hall, grinning. Now that she knew Jackie was really going to be okay, Kristy felt a lot better.

  “Knock, knock!” she called, as she peered into Jackie’s room.

  “Kristy!” Jackie shouted. “All right!” He sat up so quickly that he upset the checkerboard that sat on his bed. A blond boy of about eight was sitting in a chair next to Jackie’s bed. They’d been in the middle of a game. The blond boy didn’t look ill, and neither did Jackie — except for the big white bandage wound like a turban around his head.

  “Shh, shh,” said Kristy, a little alarmed. “Take it easy.” She gestured around. “This is a hospital. There are sick kids in here, you know.”

  “I know, I know,” said Jackie, rolling his eyes. “They’re all friends of mine now. This is John Andru, by the way.”

  “Hi, John,” said Kristy. “How are you?”

  “Bored!” exclaimed John. “This dumb old hospital is the boringest place I have ever been in. I can’t wait to go home.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Kristy didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t blame John for being bored. Any kid would be. She wondered why John was in the hospital.

  “I had appendicitis,” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “It happened in the middle of the night. I got this wicked bad stomachache — ooh, it hurt so much!” He held his stomach, remembering. “I had to wake up my mom and dad, and when they brought me here the doctors said I had to have an operation right away, or else I might die!”

  “Cool, huh?” Jackie asked Kristy. “Want to see his scar? It’s awesome.”

  John was already starting to pull up his shirt. “Uh, no, that’s okay,” said Kristy, who — surprisingly — has sort of a weak stomach when it comes to huge scars and blood and stuff like that. “Tell me about your other new friends, Jackie,” she suggested.

  “We can go see them, if you want,” said Jackie. “I have to go in my wheelchair, but you can push me.”

  “Gladly,” said Kristy. “But don’t you want to finish your checkers game first?”

  “That’s about the five-hundredth game we’ve played today,” said Jackie, rolling his eyes. “I think we’ve had enough checkers for a while.”

  “Definitely,” John agreed.

  “Okay, then, let’s go,” said Kristy, coming around to the side of Jackie’s bed with the wheelchair. “Need some help climbing into this thing?”

  “I’m fine,” Jackie insisted. “I don’t know why they don’t just let me walk everywhere. My legs work perfectly.”

  “I guess they’re being extra careful,” said Kristy, watching anxiously as Jackie moved out of bed and into the wheelchair. Then they took off, Kristy pushing the wheelchair and John (who said he no longer had to ride in one) walking alongside.

  “Turn in here,” Jackie commanded, as Kristy was about to pass the room next to Jackie’s. “Hey, Jessica, wake up!” he called.

  A round-faced girl of about nine sat up in her bed. “I wasn’t sleeping,” she said. “I was just lying here thinking about potato chips, and pretzels, and tacos….”

  “All the stuff you can’t eat,” said Jackie, sympathetically. “Poor you. All you can have is ice cream and Jell-O and pudding.” He grinned. “You don’t know how lucky you have it! I’d switch with you in a minute.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you could feel how sore my throat is,” said Jessica. “It’s no fun having your tonsils out.”

  Jackie introduced Kristy, who offered to come back and read to Jessica for a while after she’d visited with Jackie. “I know it’s not the same as tacos,” she said, “but maybe it’ll take your mind off your throat.” She had a feeling that Jessica’s food cravings were caused more by boredom and loneliness than by hunger.

  Next, Kristy and Jackie and John visited Ashley, who was seven and had just been diagnosed with diabetes. Kristy knew just how complicated Ashley’s life was going to be from then on. But she was also able to tell her about Stacey and how diabetes doesn’t have to mean the end of a normal life. Ashley looked small and scared in her hospital bed, and Kristy did her best to cheer her up.

  After that, Jackie and John brought Kristy to Ian’s room. Kristy told me later that Ian seemed like an older version of Jackie. He was a spunky, spirited ten-year-old who had had more than his share of accidents. “I’ve already broken my right arm, my left big toe, and my collarbone!” he told Kristy, proudly. This time he was in the hospital with a broken leg.

  “Just like you,” Kristy told me later, reminding me (as if I needed help remembering) of the time I’d been stuck in Stoneybrook Hospital for a whole week. I’d broken my leg badly, and not only did I have to have a cast, but I had to be in traction, as well. That’s when they rig up this pulley thing to your leg and hoist it up in the air. It’s not comfortable, I can tell you.

  While I was in the hospital I had plenty of time to think. And worry. I began to wonder if baby-sitting was such a smart thing for me to do. After all, what if I’d broken my arm instead of my leg, and ended up unable to draw or paint or sculpt? As it turned out, I decided that baby-sitting was worth it, but I never want to have to spend a week in the hospital again.

  Anyway, Kristy spent the afternoon hanging out with Jackie and his new friends, and by the end of her day at Stoneybrook Hospital she had come up with a really good idea.

  It was simple. The kids in the hospital were bored and lonely. They needed distractions, and they needed to feel as if somebody cared about them. Meanwhile, Kristy and the rest of us in the BSC know lots of kids the same age as those in the hospital, kids who share the same interests in sports and movies and pets and games. Kids who would love to know they were helping to make a sick kid’s day a little happier. Why not pair them up? The kids we sit for could write letters, create cards, and in general make sure that the kids in the hospital knew someone was thinking of them.

  That’s how Hospital Buddies was born. Kristy even came up with the name that afternoon, and that wasn’t all. She asked for — and received — permission to start the program right away. It looked as if Kristy was back on track with her great ideas.

  “This is me! I mean — this is her. I mean, I’m her. Um, Claudia Kishi here!” I can never remember what it is you’re supposed to sa
y when you answer the phone and somebody asks for you. My mother has told me more than once, but I always forget. Then I sound like a jerk when I answer the phone and somebody says, “Claudia Kishi, please.”

  I was so busy trying to remember what to say that I barely listened to the woman when she said who was calling.

  “This is Sandra Katz. I’m with the art department at Stoneybrook Community College.”

  “This is she!” I blurted out, having finally remembered the correct phrase. “I mean — what? You’re calling from the college?”

  “That’s right,” said the woman on the other end, and I swear I could hear a smile in her voice. “I have some good news for you, Claudia.”

  I sucked in a breath. Could it be?

  “You’ve been accepted into Serena McKay’s master class. She was extremely impressed with the level of your work.”

  “No way!” I burst out. “I mean — you’re kidding! I mean — really? Really?”

  “It’s true,” replied Sandra Katz with a little laugh.

  I couldn’t believe it. I’d sent in the abstract self-portrait I’d been working on, but not for one second did I believe I’d actually be accepted into the class. I’d really only applied because Mr. Wong said I should. “Wow,” I said. “Cool. I mean — that’s great! That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

  “Classes will be on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at six,” said Sandra Katz. “Be sure to be on time. Ms. McKay wants to make every minute count.”

  Thursday. This was Monday, so that was only a few days away. I felt a flutter in my stomach; butterflies. Then, suddenly, the butterflies turned to lead. I realized that I hadn’t told my parents a thing about this class. I hadn’t mentioned applying for it. And I hadn’t asked for permission to take it. I thought about all the trouble I’d been having in school. My parents knew I was having a hard time keeping up. There was no way they were going to let me take Serena McKay’s class.

  “I —” I started to tell Sandra Katz I wouldn’t be able to take the class. But the thought of turning down a once-in-a-lifetime chance was too awful. “I’m not exactly sure if I’ll be able to take the class,” I said, instead. “I’ll have to let you know.”

  “Oh!” she said, sounding surprised. “Is there a problem with scheduling?” She seemed genuinely concerned.

  “No, it’s just that I have to check with my parents,” I explained. “I haven’t cleared it with them. Yet.” I didn’t want to tell her I hadn’t even told them about it.

  “Well, I certainly hope you’ll be able to attend,” said Sandra Katz. “Ms. McKay did seem eager to have you in the class.”

  I felt that fluttering again. Serena McKay wanted me! “I’ll let you know,” I promised. I hung up and paced around the kitchen. How was I going to convince my parents to let me take this class? I wanted to study with Serena McKay more than I’d wanted anything in a long, long time. In fact, the last time I remembered wanting something so badly was when I was almost six and had my heart set on owning Singing Susie, this doll that had a tiny tape recorder hidden in her belly. I’d seen her on TV, and for some reason I felt that I just had to have her. Unfortunately, my parents had a rule against buying “junk” that was sold on TV. Still, I had to have Singing Susie. I begged and pleaded and pleaded and begged. I promised to clean my room, to do all my chores, to be good forever.

  Finally, my parents knuckled under and gave me Singing Susie for my birthday. I think I played with her for about a day, and then I went back to my crayons and watercolors. And, to be honest, I didn’t keep my promise. My room is a mess, my mom still has to nag me about my chores, and I wasn’t good forever. Maybe for five minutes, maybe for a whole day, but definitely not forever.

  Oh, well.

  I was just a little kid then. Now I’m a mature teenager. Maybe I could make a promise I could follow through on. I thought about it, and came up with a terrific idea. I had a math quiz the next day, and Mr. Schubert had said it was an important one. In fact, he’d had one of those little after-class talks with me, during which he told me that failing this quiz would have “major consequences” for me. I wasn’t sure what he’d meant by that, but it hadn’t sounded good.

  I’d been meaning to study for the test, but now I had even more motivation. Suppose I studied really, really hard and did really, really well on the quiz? I could bring it home to show my parents as evidence of my intentions to work harder in school.

  Would it work? It had to. No way was I going to miss out on taking Serena McKay’s course.

  I decided not to waste any time, so I grabbed a glass of milk and headed upstairs. Then I sat at my desk and went through an entire bag of Milky Way miniatures as I studied for the quiz. I studied nonstop until the BSC meeting, and then studied some more after my friends had left. (I didn’t say a thing to anyone about the quiz or about Serena McKay’s class. I didn’t want to jinx myself.)

  Not everything I read made complete sense to me. And even though I worked through all the problems at the end of the chapter, I wasn’t sure I’d done every one of them right. Still, by the time I closed my math book — late that night, long after a break for dinner — I felt pretty sure that I could ace that silly little quiz. In fact, I could hardly wait for math class the next day.

  * * *

  Well, math class came soon enough, and so did the quiz. I did my best on it, but I had a sinking feeling that all that studying hadn’t done much good. Fifteen minutes before class was over, Mr. Schubert told us to finish up. I scratched out one last wild guess of an answer to the final question.

  “Okay, people, pass your paper to the person on your right,” said Mr. Schubert. He strolled up and down the aisles, taking papers from kids who didn’t have anybody on their right and delivering them to kids on the other side of the room.

  I passed my paper to Rick Chow, giving him a pleading look as I did. Mia Pappas passed her paper to me. Then Mr. Schubert started going over the quiz, discussing each question and giving its correct answer. I checked Mia’s paper carefully, and noticed that almost all of her answers were correct. But every time I snuck a peek over at Rick, I saw him making big red X’s on my paper. When we finished, Mr. Schubert told us to count the wrong answers and put a grade on the top of the paper. I gave Mia a ninety-two. I craned my neck, but I couldn’t see what Rick had given me.

  I found out, though. Mr. Schubert gave me that gesture again as class was ending, and when I stopped at his desk he held up my paper. It had a big red forty-five on it. I stood stock still and stared at it. I felt like crying.

  I think Mr. Schubert knew it, too. He spoke very nicely to me. “Claudia, did you study for this test?”

  I nodded, but I couldn’t speak.

  “I see,” he said. “Well then, what that tells me is that you really don’t understand the material. I’m going to recommend — no, I’m going to require — that you find a tutor and do some catching up.”

  I nodded again. I was already thinking that my plan to impress my parents was ruined. How would I ever convince them now? No way could I even mention the math quiz.

  “I’m going to send this quiz home with you, along with a note. I want your parents to sign the quiz so I can be sure they understand what’s happening here. All right?” He peered up at me.

  That did it. A couple of tears squeezed out, before I could stop them.

  “It’s okay, Claudia,” Mr. Schubert said gently. “I’m sure you’ll do fine as soon as you have a little extra help.” He had no idea that my life had just been ruined.

  I nodded one last time, took the quiz and the note, and ran out the door.

  That night, after dinner, I showed my parents the quiz and the note and we had a long family conference about my problems in math. I also broke down and told them about the trouble I was having keeping up in my other subjects. I thought they’d be mad, but I think they saw how upset I was. So instead of being mad, they were just sad — which was even worse, in a way.

  “O
h, honey,” said my mother, patting my hand. “I had no idea you were having such a hard time in school.”

  “We’ll find you a good tutor,” said my dad, patting my other hand. (I was sitting between them on the couch.)

  Janine reached over and patted my foot (she was sitting on the rug). “There’s a girl in my physics class who’s looking for tutoring jobs,” she offered. “Her name’s Rosa. I think you might like her, and she’d be a very competent tutor.”

  “I know you can catch up if you put your mind to it,” added my mom supportively.

  I hoped she was right. I was beginning to wonder. Meanwhile, I still wanted to take that art class. “Listen, there’s something I need to ask you,” I began, crossing my fingers.

  They listened carefully to everything I told them. And I think they both felt proud when I told them about Serena McKay’s opinion of my work. But neither of them seemed to think it was a good idea for me to take the class.

  I felt like I was six years old again, begging for Singing Susie. “This class means so much to me,” I pleaded. “And I won’t have another chance like this anytime soon. Please?”

  Dad and Mom exchanged a look. I could see that they wanted to say yes. “It just seems that the last thing you need right now is anything that will distract you from your schoolwork,” said Mom.

  I had a sudden flash — a great idea. “How about if we see it as a motivation instead of as a distraction?” I asked. “I want to take this class more than anything. How about this? I’ll make a promise to you. If you let me take Serena McKay’s class, I’ll do anything it takes to bring my grades up. Anything!” I meant every word I was saying, and I think my parents knew it. They exchanged another look, and after a few endless seconds I saw my mother give my father a tiny nod.

  I knew, even before she spoke, that the answer was yes.

  “Milky Way?” I asked. “Or do you prefer Snickers?” I rummaged around in the bottom of my desk drawer.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” said Rosa. “Really. I had an apple before I came over.”