Mary Anne and the Great Romance Page 3

  They were two different seven-year-olds when Mallory first met them — only no one knew it. Not, that is, until Mallory started talking to the twins and finally came to understand them. Then she found the nerve to help them have a discussion with their mother and even convince Mrs. Arnold to let them spend their birthday money (they turned eight recently) on new clothes. New nonidentical clothes. Later, Carolyn got her hair cut short — very stylishly, with longer curls down the back of her neck — and now Marilyn’s hair has grown out an inch or two.

  So when a girl with longish hair, wearing a simple gray skirt, a white blouse, white knee-socks, and red shoes opened the door, I knew right away that it was Marilyn.

  “Hi!” I said.

  “Hi!” she replied. She was trying to sound happy, but I could tell that something was bothering her.

  I stepped into the Arnolds’ front hall. “Where’s Carolyn?” I asked.

  “Out.”

  “Out? Out where?”

  “With her friends.”

  Obviously, this was a touchy subject, so I didn’t pursue it. Anyway, Mrs. Arnold came bustling in from the living room then. Somehow when she’s around, the calmest situation can turn into a flurry of excitement.

  “Hello, Mary Anne,” she greeted me. “Oh, you brought your Kid-Kit. Great. Now, Marilyn’s the only one here. Carolyn’s off with her friends. She’s over at Haley Braddock’s. There was a chance she and Haley are going to visit Vanessa Pike, so if you need Carolyn, try one of those places.” (I noticed Marilyn scowling then, but Mrs. Arnold didn’t see it.) “I’ll be at Stoneybrook Elementary,” Mrs. Arnold went on. “The number for the school office is posted by the phone. Mr. Arnold’s office number is there, too, along with the emergency numbers. I should be back in about two hours. Maybe two and a half. Marilyn, you have fun with Mary Anne. And if Carolyn comes home, be nice to her,” she added ominously.

  “Okay,” said Marilyn sulkily.

  Mrs. Arnold left then, and I said brightly to Marilyn, “You know, you can go play with Carolyn, if you want. I won’t mind.”

  Marilyn looked sad. “You don’t want to play with me, either?” she said.

  Oops. What did Marilyn mean? “Of course I want to play with you,” I assured her. “I brought the Kid-Kit with me, didn’t I?”

  Marilyn nodded.

  “I just thought you might want to play with your sister and your friends,” I added. “I’d come with you.”

  “Nah,” said Marilyn. “They’re not my friends. I don’t have any. I mean, I have a — a different friend.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s nice. What’s her name?”

  “Her name is … Gozzie Kunka.”

  “Gozzie Kunka!” I exclaimed. “What kind of name is that?”

  “Foreign. She comes from a faraway place,” replied Marilyn. “She’s new at school,” she went on. “She’s not in my grade, but I met her on the playground. She didn’t have anyone to play with or talk to, so I sat down next to her on the swings.”

  “Does she speak English?” I asked.

  Marilyn and I had moved into the living room and were opening the Kid-Kit.

  “Oh, yes. Very well. She just has a sort of — what do you call it?”

  “An accent?” I suggested.

  “Yeah, an accent. But I can understand her.”

  Marilyn took a puzzle out of the Kid-Kit, but she didn’t dump it out. Instead she said, “You know what Gozzie told me? She told me that she can ride a horse bareback. And that once when she and her family were in Paris, they ate snails and frogs’ legs.”

  “Ew,” I said.

  “I know. That’s what I said, too. But Gozzie said the frogs’ legs were good — kind of like chicken. She didn’t like the snails, though. They were rubbery and covered with garlic…. You know what else Gozzie has eaten?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Sushi, elk meat, and rice paper. She has traveled everywhere.”

  “She sounds fascinating.”

  “Oh, she is.” I thought Marilyn would dump the puzzle out then, but instead she said, “Once Gozzie and her family were on a plane, and a man said he was going to hijack it. It turned out he was only fooling, but he got arrested anyway. The plane made an emergency landing in Brazil and a whole bunch of police officers trooped onto the plane and arrested him. They had to carry him out because he made a fuss and wouldn’t walk.”

  “Gosh,” I said, “that must have been awfully scary.”

  “It was. Gozzie’s family was too upset even to eat the meals on the plane trip.” Marilyn finally spread the puzzle pieces on the floor and began fitting them together, but while she did, she kept talking.

  “Carolyn has gotten to be an awful pain. She spends all her time with Haley and Vanessa and some other girls around here. Haley and Vanessa aren’t even in our grade. They’re a whole year older.”

  “Sometimes that doesn’t matter,” I told her. “I’m friends with Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey and I’m two years older than they are.”

  Marilyn shrugged. She worked on the puzzle for awhile. Then she read to me from Pippi Longstocking. We were in the middle of a chapter about a very funny tea party when Carolyn came home.

  “Hi, Mary Anne!” she cried.

  “Hi, yourself,” I said. “You look terrific.”

  Carolyn, with her snazzy haircut and in her equally snazzy clothes, grinned broadly.

  Marilyn scowled.

  Then Carolyn said, “Me and Haley and Vanessa and maybe Charlotte Johanssen are thinking of forming a club. A club for girls. We will only let certain people be in it.”

  “Certain snobs,” I heard Marilyn mutter.

  Carolyn heard her, too. “You take that back!” she cried. “My friends are not snobs. They’re very nice. They’re just … cool,” she added tauntingly.

  “They’re jerks,” Marilyn said, and stomped up to her room.

  I let her stay there for ten minutes. Then I went upstairs to make sure she was okay. I found her lying on her bed in her half of the identical room. She was just staring at the ceiling.

  “Why don’t you come back down?” I asked her. “I’ve got new crayons in the Kid-Kit. And a new pad of paper. You and Carolyn could make some pictures for your mom and dad.”

  Reluctantly, Marilyn followed me. Then she and Carolyn sat at the kitchen table and colored. But not in a friendly way. They never spoke, except to say things like, “Daddy says I’m the best artist.” Or, “Who cares if Daddy will like your old picture better?”

  Hmm. What had gone wrong? I wondered. I’d thought the twins would be happier once they were allowed to be individuals. But these were two very angry little girls.

  I left the Arnolds’ that night feeling disturbed. I was sorry to see the twins so unhappy. But as I walked home, my head cleared. I felt better by the time I reached my house.

  The very first thing I did when I unlocked our front door and let myself inside was kiss Tigger.

  “Hi, you little Munchkin,” I said softly. (Tigger only has about a thousand nicknames.)

  Tigger turned on his purr right away. I just love it when he does that. He squinches his eyes closed and looks like the happiest kitten in the universe.

  “I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?” I said. “Well, so am I. I better start both our dinners.”

  Starting dinner is my job. Dad usually gets home between six o’clock and six-thirty, and I’m usually home around six. So I get things going. That morning, we had decided to heat up this lasagna that we’d made a few weeks ago and frozen, and to toss a salad to go with it. So, as soon as I’d fed Tigger, I set the oven and then got out the makings for a really super salad: lettuce, carrots, mushrooms, red and green peppers, cucumbers, olives, celery, hard-boiled eggs, and these salty things my father likes called sun-dried tomatoes.

  The lasagna was just beginning to make the kitchen smell nice, and a lot of the ingredients for the salad had been chopped up, when Dad came home. He kissed both Tigger and me on the tops o
f our heads.

  “Mmm, I’m starved,” he announced.

  “Me, too,” I replied. I was going to tell him about the Arnold twins when Dad sat down at the kitchen table with this particular look on his face which means he has something to say. So I kept my mouth shut.

  “Guess what,” Dad began.

  “What?” I replied.

  “Mrs. Schafer has to work late tonight.”

  This was news? It was like saying, “Guess what. Tonight it will get dark.” Mrs. Schafer works late lots of evenings. She knows she has to work hard if she’s going to get anywhere in the company that hired her.

  “Um … oh,” I said.

  “Well, I was wondering,” Dad went on, “if you’d like to invite Dawn over for dinner. We’ve got plenty of lasagna, there’s no meat in it, and I’ll help you make some extra salad.”

  “Sure!” I replied. I love having Dawn over.

  “Great,” said Dad. “Go ahead and give her a call.”

  So I did. And of course Dawn was thrilled with the invitation. Who wants to eat alone? Dad even gave us permission to do our homework together.

  By seven o’clock, Dad had picked Dawn up (she could have ridden her bike over, but then she’d have had to ride it home in the dark later), and the three of us were sitting down to dinner.

  For some reason, Dad had insisted that we eat in the dining room instead of the kitchen, which is where we almost always eat, even when Dawn or my other friends are over. Dad had even lit candles and used our good china.

  I was beginning to think that my father had something on his mind.

  I was right.

  After he’d politely asked us how school had been that day, he put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Ahem, ahem.”

  Dawn and I glanced at each other, and Dawn raised her eyebrows.

  “As you know,” my father continued, “Dawn’s mother’s birthday is coming up.” (I didn’t know that, but Dawn did, of course.) “And I was thinking that it might be nice to surprise her.”

  My father was suggesting a surprise party? He’d die if anyone ever gave him one. What had gotten into him?

  Dawn smiled but said tactfully, “That’s a really nice idea, Mr. Spier, but I don’t know how Mom would feel about being surprised.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean anything big,” Dad assured us. “I’m not talking about a crowd of people jumping out from behind couches. I was just thinking that the three of us could surprise her with dinner at a restaurant.”

  “I think she’d like that,” said Dawn slowly. “I really do. But how would we surprise her?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Dad replied. “Maybe I could ask a client of hers to suggest a business dinner —”

  “On the night before her birthday,” I interrupted.

  Dad frowned at me. He can’t stand being interrupted.

  “Sorry,” I said softly.

  “I could ask a client,” Dad repeated, “to suggest a business dinner. If she agrees, then I’ll call and make the reservation. We’ll show up a few minutes early, so when your mother arrives, Dawn, we’ll already be there.”

  “That’s a good plan,” said Dawn. “She wouldn’t mind a surprise like that.”

  “We could make the dinner really special, too,” I added. “We could bring along her presents and order a cake.”

  “But no waiters or waitresses singing ‘Happy Birthday,’” said Dawn.

  “Dad? Could you order a bottle of champagne?” I asked. “I mean, just for you and Mrs. Schafer — Dawn and I wouldn’t ask for any. And the waiter could leave it in one of those silver buckets by the table.”

  “And we could bring her a red rose,” said Dawn. “Well, you could, Mr. Spier. She would love it.”

  Dad was smiling. “I’m certainly glad I consulted you two,” he said. (I knew he’d forgiven me for interrupting him.) “You could hire yourselves out as party-planners.”

  “Hey, good idea!” I said, before I remembered that Dad is not in love with the word “hey.”

  But all he said was, “Don’t even think about it. I was just kidding. You’ve got enough to do between school and baby-sitting.”

  I knew he was right.

  We talked about Mrs. Schafer’s surprise for most of the rest of the meal. One thing seemed odd to me: This birthday wasn’t going to be a big one for Mrs. Schafer. I know because I said, “So how old is your mom going to be, Dawn?” (I didn’t even look at Dad. I was sure he would have disapproved of the question. Dad is so old-fashioned. He still thinks it’s rude to ask “a lady” her age.)

  “Forty-three,” Dawn replied, without blinking an eye.

  Hmm. Why was Dad making such a big fuss over a forty-third birthday. Why not wait until her forty-fifth? Oh, well. Maybe he just wanted to do something nice. After all, it would be the first birthday Dawn’s mom had celebrated since she and Dad started going out together.

  When dinner was over, Dad volunteered to do the dishes so Dawn and I could start our homework. We didn’t tell him that we had only a little homework that night. We wanted a chance to talk. So we did our math and science problems in a flash and just hoped we’d gotten the right answers.

  As soon as we were finished, I said, “What are you going to give your mom for her birthday?”

  Without hesitating, Dawn replied, “A day-planner. You know, one of those fancy books that help you organize your whole life. She really needs one. And she said she wants one.”

  “Oh. I’m not sure what to get her. Maybe I could get a pen to go with the day-planner. I mean, a nice pen. Not just a Bic or something.”

  “Nah. She’d lose it.”

  “Oh. Then how about a book?”

  “I don’t know. She’s pretty picky about what she reads.”

  I felt sort of hurt. Why couldn’t Dawn be helpful? Then I got a terrific idea. Mrs. Schafer loves jewelry. “I know! A nice piece of jewelry!” I cried.

  “Great!” exclaimed Dawn.

  “Maybe a pin shaped like a cat. I saw a really pretty one in —”

  “Forget it. Mom doesn’t like cats.”

  Finally I lost my temper (sort of). “Well, could you give me some help here? You’re just shooting down all my ideas.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that I know my mother better than you do, and your ideas aren’t — aren’t —”

  “Aren’t what?” I demanded.

  Dawn shrugged. “Mom and I are so close, that’s all. I guess it’s hard for me to be understanding when someone has the wrong idea about her.”

  I jumped off the bed and faced Dawn with my fists clenched. “I don’t have any wrong ideas about her. You make it sound like I think she’s some sleazy old … I don’t know …”

  “Sorry,” said Dawn, not sounding sorry at all.

  I sat down on the bed again, and Tigger crawled into my lap for comfort. He hates fights and commotion. Usually he leaves the room.

  Dawn and I were silent for a few moments. At last Dawn asked how my baby-sitting job had gone that afternoon. I told her about the twins and their new friends.

  “Gozzie Kunka?” Dawn repeated in amazement when I told her about Marilyn’s friend.

  “That’s what she said her name is.”

  “I’ve never heard of a name like that.”

  “Neither have I. But you never know.”

  Dawn smiled. “For the longest time,” she said, “I thought Logan Bruno was a pretty weird name.”

  I threw a pillow at Dawn and she threw one back at me. We started giggling and couldn’t stop.

  Our fight was over.

  In case you don’t know, Matt and Haley Braddock are two of our regular sitting charges. Matt is seven and Haley is nine. They’re great kids. The unusual thing about their family, though, is that since Matt is profoundly deaf and doesn’t speak, he and Haley and their parents communicate using sign language. All us sitters, especially Jessi, and even some of the kids in the neighborhood, have learned a little about signing. If we couldn’t sign, we
couldn’t “talk” to Matt. (He doesn’t read lips. Reading lips is very difficult. Try watching TV sometime and blocking your ears. Then see how much you understand. I’ll bet it’s hardly anything. The “p” and “b” sounds look exactly the same. So do the “d” and “t” sounds. Plus, try lip-reading someone who’s got a mustache. Forget it. You can barely see a thing.)

  Anyway, Matt talks with his hands just like most people talk with their mouths. There are signs for tons of words (like “owl,” which Jessi learned today). If you don’t know the sign for a word, you can spell it, since there are also signs for the letters of the alphabet. When you spell out a word, it’s called finger spelling. Matt is the best signer of all of us, since he signs all day long at his special school, but Haley and their parents are almost as good as Matt is, and when we’re having trouble communicating with Matt, Haley is our interpreter.

  * * *

  Jessi arrived at the Braddocks’ right after school let out. Not long after Mrs. Braddock had left, the doorbell rang. (A light flashed in every room of the house at the same time, so Matt knew the bell had rung, too.) Matt and Haley raced for the door.

  “It’s Carolyn!” Haley cried, signing at the same time. “I just know it.”

  “Check before you open the door,” Jessi warned Haley.

  She checked. It was Carolyn.

  Carolyn bounced in, wearing an oversized shirt, tight blue leggings, and flat blue shoes.

  “Hi!” she cried.

  You’d think she and Haley hadn’t just seen each other in school. (Well, they are in different grades.)

  Jessi gave the kids a snack, and then signed and said, “What do you want to do today? It’s really nice outside.”

  “Ride my bike,” Matt signed back.

  But Haley and Carolyn looked at each other and just shrugged.

  “We could start our club,” suggested Carolyn, who only knows two signs — the ones for “flower” and “I’m sorry” — so Haley signed Carolyn’s suggestion to Matt so that he would know what was going on.