Mallory Pike No.1 Fan Read online

  "I mean she writes the same thing to everyone!" I cried, losing patience with Vanessa.

  "Oh," said Vanessa. "I get it. I guess she has to answer a lot of letters. It was nice of her to write back, though." What Vanessa said was true. It was nice of her to answer, and so quickly, too. I wondered how the letter reached me so fast. Maybe Henrietta Hayes lived close by. I checked the postmark on the envelope, to see where it had been mailed from.

  Close by were not the words! The letter was postmarked from Stamford, Connecticut! Henrietta Hayes lived in Stamford, the cbs34 est city to Stoneybrook! At any rate, she had mailed the letter from Stamford.

  This new information gave me a brilliant idea. I might be able to contact Henrietta Hayes, maybe even talk to her on the phone! I could ask what it was like to be an author. Where did her ideas come from? Was it difficult to write? How did she get her first book published? How did she feel when she saw her first play performed?

  Meanwhile, I'd write and direct my own play. I would experience being a playwright, just like Henrietta Hayes. Then I'd write a paper about my experiences, and how they compared to Henrietta Hayes's experiences.

  It was so simple, yet so brilliant I almost couldn't believe I'd thought of it! "Vanessa, I need to be alone now," I said. "I just had a great idea for my proposal and I have to write it down." "Okay," Vanessa agreed, and she headed for the door. "What are you going to do it on?" "The life of my new favorite author, Henrietta Hayes, and how it compares and contrasts with the life of up-and-coming soon-to-be-f amous author and playwright, Mallory Pike." I began writing feverishly, full of enthusiasm. This time I not only had a proposal I knew Mr. Wffliams would love, but one that I felt incredibly excited and confident about, as well.

  Chapter 4.

  One week later on the following Wednesday, Claudia came with me to the Kids Club meeting. I hadn't really talked her into it. She'd volunteered during our last BSC meeting when I'd told everybody about my project, and admitted to being a little nervous about talking to the club members by myself.

  When we stepped into the classroom, it was zoo city. The kids were laughing, throwing wadded paper balls, and poking one another. The noise was pretty intense. "Oh my gosh, they're wild!" Claudia gasped, looking at me with a worried expression.

  "Jessi warned me about this," I told her. "She said it's no problem." Once, when Ms. Simon had to be away for a few weeks, Jessi had filled in for her, helping Mr. Katz with the club. Mr. Katz had told her that the kids need to blow off some steam after being cooped up at their desks all day. He lets them run wild for about five minutes before starting the meetings.

  "Hi, girls," Mr. Katz greeted us.

  "Hi," I replied. "This is my friend, Claudia Kishi. She's going to help me work with the kids, if that's okay." "Terrific," said Mr. Katz.

  Ms. Simon approached from the back of the classroom. She already knew Claudia because she'd once had her as a student. "Hi, Mallory. Nice to see you again, Claudia. The kids are very excited about this," she told us. "And so are Mr. Katz and I. Would you like to get started?" "Sure," I replied, suddenly feeling scared. Claudia squeezed my arm gently and smiled. "You'll be great." I smiled back at her, not so sure.

  Mr. Katz clapped his hands and the kids instantly came to order, seating themselves toward the front of the room. Ms. Simon introduced Claudia and me. "Mallory is here to talk to you about acting and playwriting," Mr. Katz told the kids. "You'll have the chance to try out for a play she is writing. And then Mallory will help us put together a holiday play to perform in hospitals and nursing homes." The club members applauded, which was very sweet.

  From my school pack, I took out index cards I'd prepared the night before. I'd written notes about what I wanted to say. On one card I'd tried to lay out the difference between a play and other forms of writing, namely that a play has to be told through dialogue with very little narration.

  I talked about how acting something out was different from just reading lines, about how you had to be expressive and try to pretend you were the character. I had also made an index card with notes on what kinds of plays people who were shut in might like to see. (In my opinion they should be happy plays, not sad ones.) Claudia later told me that while she listened to my talk, she was gazing around the room at the kids. She said they were super interested.

  Of course, she knew some of the kids because she'd baby-sat for them. Naturally, she knew Charlotte Johanssen very well, since the Johanssens are regular BSC clients. Char sat crammed into one seat with Becca. And Haley scooted her desk in beside them. The three of them are pretty close friends.

  Near Haley, Claudia spotted a girl she didn't know well, but whom she'd heard of from Jessi. It was Danielle Roberts, who was listening to me talk, bright-eyed with interest. When Jessi had been working with the club, she told us how Danielle had been diagnosed with leukemia the summer after third grade. She returned to the club in fourth grade, after spending a lot of time in the hospital and undergoing chemotherapy.

  Chemotherapy is a way of fighting cancer (leukemia is cancer of the blood) with powerful drugs. The drugs are so powerful that they can make some people nauseated, and even make their hair fall out. Both of those things had happened to Danielle.

  When Danielle returned to school she was thin from being sick and wore a scarf to hide her bald head. She had dark circles under her eyes, and looked generally run-down.

  Claudia was able to identify Danielle because not long ago, Jessi told us Danielle's leukemia had come back and she was again undergoing chemotherapy. Claudia could tell, just by looking, that she wasn't well. Still, Claudia admired the way Danielle didn't spend time feeling sorry for herself. Despite her own serious problem, she was there at the KCDAC meeting, thinking about how she could help others.

  Once I started my speech, I found that it was easier than I'd expected. I got so excited about the subject that I forgot my nervousness. The words just flowed out of me. "I'd love for you to help me with my play," I concluded. "And thanks for listening." The club members applauded again, which made me feel good. "Now you kids have a decision to make," Ms. Simon told them. "You can either work with Mallory and Claudia on a play, or with Mr. Katz and me on making holiday decorations. We've decided that when we take our play to hospitals and nursing homes, we'll also take a holiday party, and leave behind some decorations to brighten the places." "What a great idea!" Claudia spoke up impulsively. Later that afternoon, Claudia told me that the notion of working on holiday crafts projects had appealed to her immediately. But, at the time, I didn't realize I was in danger of losing my assistant to the crafts half of the room.

  "Who wants to work on decorations?" Ms. Simon asked. About half of the club members did. "Then the rest of these guys are yours, Mallory," said Ms. Simon. "Why don't you meet with them in the back of the class." Claudia and I moved to the back. "Pull your chairs into a circle," Claudia instructed them. As they did, I surveyed my cast. I had Haley, Becca, Char, and Danielle. Sara Hill, another of our baby-sitting charges was there. So was Buddy Barrett, whom we sit for pretty often. Three boys and a girl I didn't know at all had also joined the group. That made ten kids, which seemed like a good, manageable number for a first-time playwright (and now director) like myself.

  "I haven't written my play yet," I told them. "But I want to get a sense of how you read." I took a small stack of yellow paperback playscripts from my pack. The middle school library keeps a number of copies of certain plays, in case a class or club wants to put on a production.

  The scripts were for a play called Ain't Life Grand, written by - Henrietta Hayes! It was the second play she'd published. I'd read it through in one night. Like Alice Anderson, it was very funny, and left you with a warm, happy feeling when it was done.

  Claudia passed the books out and I assigned each kid a role. Slowly, we went through the script, with each kid reading his or her part.

  Sara Hill was good, and so were Becca and Char, especially considering how shy they are. Buddy Barret w
as good, too. Claudia reminded me that he'd been great when the BSC was involved in a school production of "Peter Pan." Haley and the rest of the kids were somewhere in the middle. But Danielle really shone. She read well, with lots of expression.

  The time flew by. Before we were done with the first act, the meeting was over. "I may not have my play written by next week," I told the kids. "If I don't, we'll do some acting exercises." Along with the plays, I'd found a book on acting in the library. It was full of fun ways to practice acting, such as improvising skits, pretending to be someone's image in a mirror, and stuff like that.

  Claudia collected the scripts and said good43 bye to the kids. Ms. Simon and Mr. Katz thanked us as we left the room. "What did you think?" I asked Claudia when we were in the hall.

  "Your speech was great. And the kids should be good. What will your play be about, though?" "Good question," I replied. "I think writers usually write about things they know, about their lives." "You mean, you think most writing is autobiographical?" asked Claudia.

  "I do," I said, warming to my subject. "I really do. Take Henrietta Hayes for example. I have now read almost half of her books. I'm nearly positive that she must be either Alice Anderson or Alice Anderson's mother. Her characters are so real they have to be from her life." "At the meeting last Monday, when you were telling about how you changed your project, you said you'd written to Henrietta Hayes. Has she written back to you yet?" Claudia asked.

  "Yes, but she hasn't answered my second letter." After my brainstorm, I'd written to her in care of her publishing company again. This time I'd explained that I lived close to her and needed her help with a school project. I said I'd be willing to go to her house and interview her if that was possible. Considering how quickly she'd returned my letter the last time, I expected to hear from her soon.

  "From the way you described it, it sounds like a great project," said Claudia as we walked out of school.

  "Well, Mr. Williams liked it this time. This morning he gave me the go-ahead to work on it. He said this proposal was a big improvement over the first one, and he really seemed to like the part about Henrietta Hayes." "But what will you do if she doesn't contact you?" Claudia asked.

  "Oh, she wifi. I'm pretty sure," I said confidently. I had a very strong feeling that my letter would capture her interest this time. From her books, Henrietta Hayes didn't seem like the kind of woman who would leave a kid stuck when it came to a school project.

  Claudia walked home with me. I invited her in for some hot cocoa and brownies Mom had made. (Of course, Ms. Sweettooth Claudia agreed to that!) We would have just enough time to eat before heading over to her house for our BSC meeting.

  When I opened my front door, things looked pretty calm, at least for our house. Margo and Claire were playing Chutes and Ladders on the living room floor. Vanessa was brushing Pow, who sat contentedly on the rug beside her.

  "You're not supposed to do that in the living room," I reminded Vanessa as Claudia and I went past.

  "He's hardly shedding," Vanessa replied. (I had a strong feeling that her idea of "hardly shedding" and Mom's wouldn't be the same.) "Mal, there's another letter for you from that Harriet lady who didn't really write to you the last time," Vanessa added. "Mom put it on the kitchen table." "Henrietta Hayes!" I cried, dashing into the kitchen. The letter was on the table. In a flash, I tore it open.

  "What does it say?" Claudia asked excitedly. "Dear Reader," I began glumly. "Thanks so much for your lovely letter." It was the exact same form letter I'd received the last time. Now what was I supposed to do?

  That night I lay under my covers with a flashlight beaming down on the pages of Alice Anderson's Big Break, the fourth Alice Anderson book. In this book, Alice's oldest brother, Lars, drives her all the way to Hollywood in his hot-rod car because Alice has been offered a job as the nanny to the kids of a famous Hollywood director.

  Once she's there, Alice does everything possible to show the director she's really a talented actress. (For instance, she tries to work Shakespearian quotations into her conversations with him. He'd ask, "Who just called, Alice?" and she'd answer, from Romeo and Juliet, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.") The director is not impressed. In fact, he gets annoyed and finally fires Alice. On her way out the door, she makes one last effort: "Parting is such sweet sorrow." I didn't want to wake Vanessa, but it was hard not to laugh out loud. I kept reading, biting down on my laughter, until I came to a scene so funny I just couldn't hold it back any more. Lars boosts Alice through a window onto a movie set. She falls into a barrel of paste in the costume room. Then, she stumbles onto a pile of feather boas. At that point, Alice smells smoke, and realizes the costume room is on fire. With feathers stuck all over her, she races onto the movie set, and right into the arms of this superstar named Harrison Lloyd. He says, "Nobody told me there was an ostrich in this scene." The way Henrietta Hayes told the story made it so funny that I couldn't help laughing out loud. Luckily, Vanessa didn't wake up.

  I read until midnight, all the way to the last scene, where Alice and Lars sit up laughing about the adventure as Alice plucks feathers from herself. She hugs Lars and thanks him for being the best big brother in the world. Lars replies, "You're worth the trouble, Alice." Somehow I just couldn't picture the triplets and Nicky gazing fondly at me and saying, "You're worth the trouble, Mallory!" That picture simply wouldn't form in my head.

  I wished the Pike family were more like the Anderson family. My family is always interrupting, making noise, and disturbing me when I'm trying to write. My brothers and sisters only worry about their own problems, not mine. The Andersons were so warm and caring. They never insulted or teased one another. They always helped each other. My family is all right, I suppose. I mean, I love them and all. But we sure aren't the Andersons.

  As I shut the book my mind raced. If Alice Anderson had to find an author, and couldn't, what would she do? When Alice couldn't get through a door, she went in a window. She never let anything stop her. Alice Anderson would find Henrietta Hayes somehow.

  And so would I! I thought hard. The publishing company was located in New York City, but the postmark on both of Ms. Hayes's letters was Stamford. What did that tell me? It told me the form letter didn't come from the publishing company. It must have come from Henrietta Hayes, herself. The company must send the letters on to her.

  Tossing off my blanket, I tiptoed out of my dark room. The flashlight beam guided me down to the living room, where I opened a cabinet door and pulled out the fat yellow area phone book. If Ms. Hayes lived around Stamford, her name and address might be in this book. The book covered the towns near Stamford.

  The first thing I learned is that Hayes is an extremely popular last name. There was almost an entire page of them.

  But there was only one Henrietta! And she was right there in the phone book.

  I stared at her name happily. How unbelievably great! My eyes traveled over to her address, and I nearly fell to the floor. Henrietta Hayes lived on Morgan Road, in Stoneybrook! Morgan Road is off Burnt Hill Road. Dawn's and Mary Anne's house is on Burnt Hill Road. Logan lives on Burnt Hifi, too.

  All this time Logan, Dawn, and Mary Anne had been Henrietta Hayes's neighbors and they didn't even know it! The important thing was that I'd found her. With the phone book in my arms, I went back upstairs to my room. By flashlight, I wrote Henrietta Hayes a third letter.

  I went on to tell her about the project. I told her every detail, about how Mr. Williams hadn't liked it until I added the part about comparing and contrasting my experience as an author with her own. (I wanted her to know she was a big part of this.) I mentioned that we were neighbors and that I had friends who lived close to her on Burnt Hill Road. (I thought that might appeal to her sense of neighborliness.) By the time the letter was finished, it was three pages long. For a finishing touch, I wrote out an envelope with my name and address on it. P.S. I added to the bottom of my letter. This self-addressed stamped en
velope is enclosed for your convenience. I hope you can write back soon since time is running out.

  I stuck the letter in an envelope and added my return reply envelope. In the morning, I'd find two stamps.

  When I was done, I felt suddenly exhausted. I crawled into bed and had an odd dream. I dreamed I was Alice Anderson, walking up Morgan Road looking for Henrietta Hayes. I found her house, which in my dream was a huge castle with a moat. As I crossed the drawbridge, it started to go up. I tried to jump off, but my sweater got stuck to the end of the drawbridge. As I dangled helplessly from the end of the drawbridge I called, "Help! Henrietta Hayes? Help me!" I don't remember what happened after that, but in the morning I awoke full of energy. "What are you so hyper about this morning?" asked Vanessa, as I dashed around the room getting dressed.

  "I have lots to do," I replied. "I have to mail a letter and start working on my play today. It's just a busy day, that's all." "Wow, you're turbo-charged," said Vanessa, rolling over in bed.

  I did feel turbo-charged (whatever that means, exactly). I got two stamps from my mother and wrote super important on the outside of the envelope in red. On the way to school with Jessi, I mailed my letter to Henrietta Hayes's home address.

  "I don't think she could miss that letter," Jessi laughed as she saw me put the letter in the box.

  "I hope not," I said. "Can you believe she lives right here in Stoneybrook?" "That's pretty cool," Jessi agreed.

  During English, I asked for a pass to go to the library. I returned Alice Anderson's Big Break, and took out Alice Anderson's Greatest Challenge. I also found two more plays by Henrietta Hayes, "The Happiest Day," and "Frog Pond Vacation." In the same section I found a book entitled, The Basics of Playwriting. I grabbed it from the shelf and took it over to a table along with my other books.

  I opened The Basics of Playwriting, interested in what the author had to say. The writer Ernest Hemingway was not a playwright, read the opening lines of the introduction. But his idea that authors should write about what they know is valuable for playwrights as well as novelists. Sticking to familiar material enables a writer to imbue his or her work with a realistic quality which might otherwise be missing. Many successful modern writers have taken Hemingway's advice. The beginning writer, too, would do well to heed this suggestion.