Claudia Gets Her Guy Page 3

  One was a boy of about six. He was adorable. His straight black hair was cut short with bangs across his forehead. He gave me a solemn look.

  “This — Yoshi-chan,” said Mrs. Yashimoto.

  I remembered that Mimi used to refer to me as Claudia-chan. “Chan” is sometimes added to a child’s name in Japan. “Hello, Yoshi,” I said, smiling. “I’m Claudia.”

  He ducked his head and hid behind his mother.

  I smiled at Mrs. Yashimoto. I could see that Yoshi was shy, and I wanted his mom to know I understood that.

  She smiled back. Then she nodded toward her little girl, who looked about eight. “Maiko-chan,” she said.

  Maiko was, if possible, even cuter than Yoshi. Her black hair was fixed in pigtails with pink ribbons, and she wore a pink dress with smocking across the front. She stared at me. “Are you Japanese?” she asked.

  I was surprised. She had a strong accent, but her English was excellent. Then I remembered Ms. Beckwith telling us that sometimes younger children pick up languages faster than adults. Also, I remembered that most Japanese children study English in school. Mr. and Mrs. Yashimoto had grown up in a rural area, according to what Mary had said, and had only studied English for a few years, long ago. But their children had been born in Tokyo, and both of them had already been in school for at least a year or two.

  “Yes — I mean, I’m Japanese-American,” I answered. Maiko certainly wasn’t as shy as her brother. “I was born here in the United States. But my grandparents were born in Japan.”

  Maiko turned to her mother and translated. I recognized the words oba san and oji san and remembered that they mean “grandmother” and “grandfather.” Mrs. Yashimoto nodded and smiled.

  “Well,” said Mary. “Now that we’ve all met, I think Mr. Yashimoto and I will begin our lesson over there.” She waved toward an unoccupied table in the back of the room. “The children can play with the toys I brought, over there,” she said, gesturing toward a nearby corner, “and, Claudia, you and Mrs. Yashimoto can work together right here.”

  I gulped.

  Mary had explained, before the Yashimotos arrived, that Mr. Yashimoto was looking for a job and needed lots of help with skills such as filling out applications and answering interview questions. Mrs. Yashimoto, who was going to stay at home with the children for a while, needed help with skills such as answering the telephone, shopping for food, and talking to teachers. Mary thought I would be able to help her while she worked with Mr. Yashimoto. We had gone over some of the techniques I’d learned in training, but I was still nervous about being someone’s teacher — especially when that someone was older than me.

  Mrs. Yashimoto didn’t seem to notice my hesitation. She settled the children in with the toys and crayons Mary had brought, then joined me at our table. She looked at me expectantly.

  I cleared my throat and paused.

  That’s when she told me how pretty my blouse was. I knew it took a lot for her to do that. According to Mary, Japanese people don’t give gushing compliments the way we do. “Arigato,” I said again. Then I looked down at the materials I’d brought with me, things Ms. Beckwith had loaned me for use when I was tutoring. My eye fell on a box of homemade flash cards. I opened it and leafed through them quickly. One of them caught my eye — a card that said nickel.

  “Money!” I said.

  Mrs. Yashimoto gave me a curious look.

  I rummaged around in my backpack and pulled out my wallet. “Yes!” I said, opening it to see that there were some bills inside. I took out a ten, a five, and a one. Then I opened the change compartment and shook out some pennies, a nickel, a dime, and a quarter.

  “Money,” I said again. “Let’s learn about money.”

  Mrs. Yashimoto nodded eagerly and watched to see what I would do next.

  I pushed the nickel toward her on the table. “Nickel,” I said. “Five cents.” I showed her the flash card. And I counted five on my fingers. Then I pointed to her.

  “Nickel?” she asked. “Five?”

  “Good,” I told her. Next, I showed her the dime. “Dime,” I said. “Ten cents.”

  About fifteen minutes later, when we’d finished with the change and moved on to the bills, Maiko interrupted us.

  “I’m hungry!” she announced to me. “And Yoshi has to — go.”

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said. “We can take a break. And I think I might have something yummy in my backpack, if it’s okay with your mom.”

  Her eyes lit up. “What do you have?” she asked.

  “Let’s take Yoshi to the bathroom first,” I said. “Can you explain to your mother?” I didn’t want Mrs. Yashimoto to wonder where I was going with her little boy.

  Maiko translated quickly.

  Mrs. Yashimoto looked grateful.

  When we returned, I dug out a bag of mini Chips Ahoy cookies from my backpack and showed them to Mrs. Yashimoto. “Okay?” I asked, gesturing toward Maiko and Yoshi. She nodded, smiling. I turned the cookies over to Maiko. “Share them with your brother,” I told her.

  “I will,” she promised. “Will you look at my picture?”

  I glanced at Mrs. Yashimoto, who was looking through the flash cards we’d just used, murmuring to herself as she checked each one. “Sure,” I said. Maiko grabbed my hand and dragged me to the corner where she’d been playing.

  People are people, and kids are kids. It was easy to get along with Maiko, and even Yoshi warmed up to me in a little while. After I’d admired their pictures and given them some ideas about what to draw next, I went back to Mrs. Yashimoto.

  “You like children,” she said, smiling.

  “Yes,” I answered, smiling back.

  By the end of our lesson, I’d become a lot more confident about being able to teach English. And Mrs. Yashimoto was eager for her next shopping trip. Teaching ESL was going to be a blast.

  When I talked to Erica afterward, she agreed. The family she was working with was Bosnian, and she had invited them to her family’s house for dinner. I thought that was a great idea and decided to do the same with the Yashimotos. I had a feeling they’d get along beautifully with my parents and Janine.

  Of course, the not-thinking-about-Jeremy thing didn’t last. By Tuesday morning, he was on my mind again.

  Big time.

  Why? Because of the posters plastered all over school. They must have gone up on Monday night or early Tuesday. Either way, they appeared like mushrooms after the rain, all over the place. They came in every shade of pink and red. They were covered with hearts and flowers and lace. And every one of them was a big, shouting reminder to me that I’d better figure out the Jeremy situation — and soon.

  The posters were advertising an upcoming dance being thrown by the seventh-graders.

  The Cupid’s Arrow Dance.

  Eek.

  Not that I have anything against dances. I don’t. Under the right circumstances, I love going to a dance. I’ve gone to them with friends. I’ve gone to them alone. And I’ve gone to them with dates. I like dressing for dances, I like decorating the gym for dances, I like helping to choose the music for dances. And I love to dance!

  I might have skipped the dance if Jeremy and Stacey had been going to it together. But now that they had broken up, I had nothing to worry about, right?

  Wrong.

  I had plenty to worry about. Like: Was Jeremy going to ask me to the dance? If he did, would we be going as friends — or as more than friends? If he didn’t ask me, should I ask him? What if he — ugh! — asked someone else?

  I didn’t know what to do. It seemed as if those posters were everywhere. I couldn’t forget about the dance for a second. And as the week went by, more posters appeared. There was one by my locker and one in the hall near my homeroom. They were plastered all over the cafeteria. By Thursday, there was even one in the girls’ room!

  Meanwhile, Jeremy seemed to be avoiding me. I used to see him every morning. He’d stop to chat as he passed my locker. But now he must have
been taking a different route to his homeroom — or maybe it was just that I wasn’t hanging out at my locker as much. I guess I was avoiding him a little too. I didn’t know how to act around him.

  Jeremy is in my English class, which used to make me happy. Now it just made me nervous. I would bury my nose in a book until I was sure he had come in and taken his seat. And I would bolt out of the room the second the bell rang.

  School was becoming a very stressful place.

  I would have loved to talk to Stacey (who, I’d heard, was thinking about asking Ethan to the dance), but how could I? For one thing, we were hardly on close speaking terms yet. And for another, I definitely wasn’t ready to talk to her about my feelings for Jeremy.

  Erica would have been glad to listen, but I didn’t want to strain our new friendship by babbling on too much about my problems. I knew she had plenty on her mind anyway. She’d told me she thought I should just invite Jeremy. I hemmed and hawed.

  Finally, by Thursday, I was driving myself crazy with all my indecision. I realized it was time to take action.

  I decided to ask Jeremy to the dance after all.

  Just ask him. What was the worst that could happen? He could say no. And I would deal with that.

  Eek.

  But how and when should I ask him? Should I just approach him casually? I’d have to catch him when he was alone, which wasn’t easy during school. No way did I want Alan Gray to overhear and start teasing me.

  Maybe I could call him at home. That could work. Unless his mother answered the phone. If he wasn’t there, she’d expect me to leave a message. What would I say? “Uh — tell him Claudia wants to know if he wants to go to the dance with …”

  Um, no thanks.

  Finally, I came up with the perfect solution.

  I would write him a note.

  I raced home after school on Thursday, eager to put my thoughts down on paper. I’d discovered the perfect way to find out what was going to happen between Jeremy and me.

  After a quick snack of Combos and a mini Snickers bar, I sat down at my desk and pulled out a sheet of my best stationery. Across the top is a painting by Monet, of beautiful water lilies floating on a pond.

  I wrote. Something looked not quite right about Jeremy’s name, but I didn’t stop to think about it. The important thing was to write from my heart.

  I stopped and thought for a second. Then I crumpled up the paper and threw it in my wastebasket. Why should I tell him he could say no? First of all, he knew that. Second of all, why put ideas in his head? I should think positive. I started over.

  Ugh! This was harder than I’d thought it would be. I crumpled up that try too. Then I started again, but this time I was smart about it. I used a piece of paper from my science notebook instead of wasting my good stationery. I could always copy it over onto the Monet paper later, once I’d figured out what to say.

  Another piece of paper bit the dust. My waste-basket was filling up quickly. I sat and thought for a couple of minutes, tapping my pencil against my teeth. Then I pulled out another sheet of paper and started again. Maybe I should try to be funny.

  Or maybe not. Being funny wasn’t so easy for me, especially about something that was so important. Maybe Abby could write a funny note to a boy she had a crush on, but not me. It was probably better just to come out and say what I was thinking.

  I stopped writing and stared at the words I’d put down so far. They seemed a little bold — but I also liked how straightforward the note sounded. If Jeremy read this, he would know exactly how I was feeling. (Well, not exactly. I would much rather go to the dance as more-than-friends, but I didn’t have to spell that out.)

  I liked how this note was turning out. But I had a nagging feeling that some of the words weren’t spelled quite right. And was the grammar correct? Was I really saying what I meant to say?

  That’s when I had my brainstorm.

  I could type my note into the computer and have the computer spellcheck and grammarcheck the whole thing. Then I could copy it back onto paper, using my good stationery. The note would look perfect, and I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by any mistakes.

  I finished writing down my thoughts. Then I turned on my computer and typed the whole thing out (that took me awhile). Finally, I activated my spellchecker.

  Yikes!

  I know I don’t spell well, but sometimes it’s still a surprise to see just how badly I mangle some words. It took the computer a long, long time to fix up what I’d written. There were some words it couldn’t even figure out, like Jeremy’s name! I realized I might not be spelling it right and decided to start the note with “To a good friend,” instead.

  Grammarcheck didn’t take as long, but I was glad I’d thought of doing it. There were some run-on sentences, and the computer had no idea what I meant by “more-than-friends.”

  But I left that in. I had a feeling Jeremy would know.

  Once the computer was sure that everything in the note was perfect, I printed out a copy. Then I pulled out the last sheet of my Monet stationery and carefully, letter by letter, copied the whole thing out in my own handwriting.

  I signed my name at the bottom and folded the note into thirds. Then I taped it shut and put it into my backpack, ready for an early morning delivery. I figured I could slip the note into Jeremy’s locker first thing, so he’d have it before homeroom. And by the end of the day on Friday, I’d have my answer. I had made my feelings clear, and soon I would know how Jeremy truly felt.

  Another big day. Another clothing crisis.

  I woke up on Friday with a weird feeling in my stomach, the feeling you have when you know something big is about to happen. For a second I couldn’t remember what it was. Then it came to me.

  The Note.

  As soon as I remembered, I realized that, once again, I had to figure out the perfect outfit for the occasion.

  What do you wear when you’re sending a note to a guy you really like, asking him to a dance? I wanted to look just right when Jeremy gave me his answer. I wanted to look like someone he’d want to say yes to.

  I started my routine again, pulling out all my clothes and trying on different combinations.

  I experimented with an artistic, New York-y, all-black look.

  Too dark.

  Then I went in another direction and tried on a frilly pink dress one of my aunts had given me.

  Too frou-frou.

  The dress paired with black leggings and combat boots?

  Uh, no.

  The combat boots and leggings with a green miniskirt and purple sweater?

  Better.

  I traded in the boots for a pair of platform sneakers, switched my sweater color to yellow, and added some star-shaped earrings I’d made out of Sculpey.

  “Ta-daaa!” I said finally, checking myself one last time in the mirror. I felt good about my outfit.

  My mom liked it too. What she didn’t like was that I was going to be late unless she drove me to school again. But she was nice about it and even waited while I gulped down a yogurt and double-checked my backpack to make sure I’d remembered The Note.

  “It won’t happen again!” I promised as I said good-bye to her at SMS.

  Tons of kids were still milling around outside, waiting for the first bell. Thanks to the ride Mom had given me, I had plenty of time to go to Jeremy’s locker.

  I walked quickly through the halls. Jeremy’s locker is near my science classroom. My heart was beating fast as I approached the spot. Was I really going to do this? What if he thought I was crazy? What if he wanted nothing to do with me? What if he’d already asked someone else to the dance?

  I stopped near the girls’ room and took a few deep breaths. Relax, I told myself. It’s not such a big deal. He’s only a boy. It’s only a dance.

  The deep breathing worked. I managed to calm myself down enough to continue toward Jeremy’s locker. As I walked, I kept glancing around nervously, looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody caught me. Then I
realized that was silly. After all, I had a right to walk down any hall in SMS.

  Still. I didn’t want Jeremy to pop up unexpectedly before I’d had a chance to stick The Note into his locker.

  Finally, I arrived at the right spot. I wasn’t sure of his locker number, but I thought it was three down from the door to my science classroom.

  I took one more glance around. A few people were in the hall: kids, teachers, one of the janitors. But nobody was paying any attention to me.

  I slung my backpack around, unzipped it, and pulled out The Note. Then I tried to stick it through one of the vents at the top of the locker.

  It wouldn’t go in.

  Panic!

  Glancing around some more, I took the note, folded it in half, and tried again.

  It was still too big.

  I folded it some more and then it was too thick to fit through the vent. More kids were walking through the halls now. The first bell was going to ring in a few minutes. My heart was thudding away again.

  Finally, I managed to shove the thing through the vent. Then I grabbed my backpack and fled to a spot just down the hall, near the water fountain.

  I wanted to see Jeremy find The Note.

  I wanted to see what happened when he unfolded it and started to read. Would he smile? Would he frown?

  Now the hall was full of kids. I wasn’t going to have time to go to my own locker before homeroom, but that was okay.

  Where was Jeremy?

  Suddenly, I had an awful thought. What if he were home sick? I didn’t think I could stand to wait through the whole weekend. The suspense would just about do me in.

  “Hey, Claud, what are you doing here?”

  I whirled around. “Kristy!” I said. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  “A little jumpy this morning?” she asked. “What’s up?”

  “I —” I started to answer, but just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeremy appear at the very end of the hall. At the same moment, Erica approached Kristy and me.