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  Which was why I almost jumped out of my sneakers when the phone rang. I leaped to answer it, not wanting Ms. Hayes to be disturbed.

  "Hello, is Henrietta there?" a man on the other end asked.

  "No . . . urn . . . this is . . . um. . . her assistant . . . her new assistant, Mallory. Can I take a message? Ms. Hayes doesn't wish to be disturbed right now." "Oh, right, I forgot," said the man. "I usually get her answering machine at this time. Well, tell Henrietta that George Delmore called, and I love her idea for an Anderson Family reunion book. Tell her I want to talk to her about it as soon as possible." "Oh, my gosh! You're doing an Anderson family reunion!" I cried happily. "That is so great!" "Yes, we thought it was a good idea," George Delmore said.

  "It is, it's a great idea," I agreed. "I'll tell Ms. Hayes you called." "Yes, please do. Tell her we're all very excited about it and we're going to want this fast." "I'll tell her. 'Bye." When I hung up, I was so excited I completely forgot what Ms. Hayes had said about not wanting to be disturbed. I ran out of the room, up the steps, and down the hall. "Ms. Hayes," I said excitedly, bursting into her office.

  Ms. Hayes sat there with a framed picture in her hands. My eyes darted to the picture. It showed a pretty teenaged girl with long brown hair and large brown eyes. Ms. Hayes put the picture down quickly on her lap. "Yes, Mallory?" "Oh, I'm so sorry to bother you. I forgot "That's all right. What is it?" I told her what George Delmore had said. Ms. Hayes smiled. "That was the inspiration you gave me yesterday. I knew George would like it. It's a good idea. Now, Mallory, we'll have to come up with some thoughts about what happened to Alice for the rest of her life. Did she marry? Become a movie star? And what about Lars and the rest? If you have any ideas let me know. George wants everything fast." "Yes, he said that," I recalled.

  "He always does," Ms. Hayes laughed. "So, I'm serious about being open to any suggestions you'd care to offer. I don't want to steal your ideas, of course, so only give them if you don't mind my using them." "Mind?" I cried. "It would be an honor. That's all I'll be thinking about. Alice Anderson is so real to me I feel as if I'd be influencing the life of a real person." "It does feel that way sometimes," Ms. Hayes agreed with a smile. "Characters have a peculiar way of taking on lives of their own. It's a strange, almost magical process. After awhile, an author becomes as fond of her characters as if they were real friends." "But the characters really are real, so they do have a life of their own," I said.

  "In a way," replied Ms. Hayes.

  "Well, I'd better get back to work," I said, backing out of the study. Ms. Hayes had been right. It took me about two hours to finish the filing. She appeared in the doorway just as I slipped a letter to her editor into the correct file.

  "It's starting to get dark so early," she said. "I insist you take a cab home." "I have my bike," I reminded her.

  "The driver can put it in the trunk. Would you care to join me for supper? I've made my special beef stew tonight." "I'd love to," I said. "Can I call home?" "Of course." Mom said it was all right for me to stay since I'd be driven home. Ms. Hayes had made a delicious stew. I wondered where her husband was. I figure I'd asked enough nosy questions for one day, though. As we ate, we discussed things that might have happened to Alice. I hadn't quite finished Alice Anderson's Greatest Challenge yet. I was up to the part where Alice gets a great role in a movie, but on the same day she receives a letter from Lars saying that their mother is sick. "Does Alice stay in Hollywood or go home?" I asked Ms. Hayes.

  Ms. Hayes broke off a piece of bread and laughed. "I'm not going to spoil the end of the book for you. We'll talk more after you finish it." That evening, I felt very special as I was driven down Slate Street in a cab. As I climbed out, I looked around quickly, hoping people were watching me and wondering what Mallory Pike was doing arriving in a cab. I'd only worked for Henrietta Hayes one day, and already I felt like a different person - a more important, more talented, and intelligent person.

  In the house, Dad and Jordan were at the kitchen table going over Jordan's math homework. From the sound of it (a sound sort of like a buffalo stampede) everyone else was downstairs in the rec room. "How did it go?" Dad asked as I came in.

  "Words can not describe the greatness of being Henrietta Hayes's assistant," I said se74 riously. "I've already given her a book idea." "Good for you," said Dad. "This might turn out to be an importantjob for you." "Maybe," I agreed, although that wasn't the most important thing to me right then. It was wonderful enough just to know Ms. Hayes and have the chance to talk to her.

  I was so inspired that I went right upstairs to work on my own play. I'd entitled it, "The Early Years." It was the story of a young author in the early years of her life. Of course, the young author was me, but I'd fictionalized the story a little so no one would be offended.

  Lying on my bed, I read over what I'd already written, which wasn't much more than the opening. Here's what it said.

  When I finished reading it, I felt pleased. It had comedy (the bucket stuff and all), and tragedy (the poor writer burdened with an insensitive, needy family), and it was taken from my true life experiences.

  Filled with quiet excitement, I clicked my ballpoint pen and began writing the further adventures of the maniac Spike family.

  Chapter 7.

  S tacey helped me pass out the copies of my completed play to the kids in the KCDAC. I figured they were ready to work on it. Last week I'd assigned them to do improvisations. That's when you describe a situation and ask the kids to act it out using their own words. (I'd read about improvising in The Basics of Play Writing. The kids did well with it, so now they were ready to start my play.) "All right, everybody," I said. "Take a few minutes to read this over, and then we'll read some scenes. Stacey and I will decide who we think should act out which part. Okay?" The kids nodded and began reading. Haley giggled from time to time, but Becca frowned deeply. "Is Ranessa supposed to be Vanessa?" she asked finally.

  "Umm . . . I just changed that character's name," I said, avoiding the question. "From now on she's named. . . Jill." Ranessa was a little too close to Vanessa.

  "It's Vanessa," Haley said knowingly to Becca.

  "Is this play about your family?" Stacey asked me.

  "Well, yes," I admitted. "All great literature is basically autobiographical." Stacey wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "Are you sure? What about, say, Peter Pan?" "J.M. Barrie isn't considered one of the world's great writers," I replied.

  "What about, oh, Stuart Little or Charlotte's Web?" Stacey continued.

  "Okay, they're fantasies," I said. "It's hard to tell what parts of E.B. White's life are in those. But I bet if I knew more about his life I could find things that were the same. After all, Stuart Little lives in an apartment in Manhattan." "I know," Stacey said, a~ fond look coming into her blue eyes. "That's one of the things I always loved best about that book. Plus, after I read Stuart Little I never thought about mice the same way again. Whenever anyone caught a mouse in a trap, I felt sad, like it might be Stuart Little." "Exactly," I said, although her remark didn't prove my point at all. Maybe little kids' books aren't autobiographical, but books for older kids are. "Take Little Women," I said. "Louisa May Alcott really did have sisters, and she did live in the North during the Civil War." We didn't have time to discuss it further because the kids started to look restless. "Well, what do you think of the play?" I asked them.

  "It's pretty funny," said the girl I didn't know. Her name was Wendy.

  "Is it a comedy?" Stacey asked me in a low voice.

  "Parts of it are," I said "All right, let's start reading. Becca, you read Valery's part. Haley, you be Ranessa, I mean Jill. Tony, you read Ricky's part. And Danielle, you be Margarita." "Where should we start?" asked Becca. "Try the final scene, where Valery is sick in bed." I'd written this scene thinking about the time I'd been sick with mononucleosis. I'd missed tons of school, and wasn't even allowed to baby-sit for awhile.

  "Should we stand or sit?" asked Haley. "I think they should stand,"
Stacey suggested to me.

  "Yes, stand," I agreed. "You guys will have to get used to talking on your feet. Take it from Valery's line, 'I'm all right. I want to know how I can help you.'" The kids stood in the center of the circle of chairs. Becca read Valery's first line.

  "Oh, you're so unselfish, Valery," said Danielle, as Margarita.

  "I care about my family," read Becca. "But you're so sick, Valery," said Danielle. "It's true, my play is unfinished, but you all need me so much," Becca read. "I'm not too sick to help my family." Stacey volunteered to read the mother's part. (After the meeting she told me that she enjoyed it. It reminded her of when she played Mrs. Darling in Peter Pan.) - "Oh, Valery," Stacey read. "I blame myself. I worked you too hard.

  "No, Mother, don't blame yourself," Becca said. "It's my fault. I stayed up late trying to do my writing. I exhausted myself." "Valery, when you're better, we'll make sure you have time for your writing," said Haley.

  "Forget it," said Tony, as Ricky. "Valery gets all the attention. That's not fair." "Okay, thanks," I stopped them. I'd seen enough. They were all pretty bad - all except Danielle. She read her lines with some expression, not like a robot. "I realize this is the first time you guys have seen the script," I said. "But try to put a little more feeling into it." For the next reading, Stacey suggested having Danielle read Valery's part. I agreed. We read another section of the play, one with the Jordan, Byron, and Adam characters in it. Of course, I'd changed their names. Bruce read Myron, Buddy Barrett read Atlas, and a boy named Peter Tiegreen read Gordon. I asked Charlotte to read the part of Delaware, who was based on Claire.

  "But this is a baby's part," Charlotte objected.

  "A great actress can play anything," I insisted.

  "I don't want this part," Charlotte said firmly. "I'm not playing a five-year-old. And I'm certainly not a great actress. I want to work on the costumes." I ignored the last part of Charlotte's comment. "All right. I just changed Delaware to a six-year-old." "But she still sounds like a baby." "Well, I'll rewrite that character, I suppose," I grumbled. "Turn to the next page and read the Jill part." In this scene, Valery finally finishes her great play, only to have Myron, Gordon, and Atlas use it to build a fire. (This never happened to me, but it was the kind of thing the triplets might easily do.) "My play! Oh, no! What have you done with my play?" Danielle read dramatically.

  "What play?" asked Peter.

  "That's my play you just threw in the fire!" cried Danielle.

  "That big bunch of papers?" read Buddy. "We thought it was garbage." "No! No!" Danielle sobbed. "That was my play, the one I've been trying to write all year." "You've burned Valery's play!" said Charlotte in a mechanical voice I had to strain to hear.

  "Relax, would you?" Bruce read. "She can always write another one." "Not bad," I told them. "Danielle, you were terrific." "Thanks," she said with a sweet smile.

  We asked the kids to run through a few more scenes. By the time we were done, it was clear that Danielle was the best actress in the group. Stacey and I told the kids to take a break while we discussed who should play which role.

  "We know Danielle will play you . . . I mean, Valery," said Stacey.

  "I'm worried about her being sick, though," I said quietly. "Becca told Jessi she's started missing a lot of school because of her doctor appointments. What if she misses rehearsals, or even misses the play itself?" "Who else could handle that part?" Stacey asked.

  No one could. "We'll just have to take a chance with Danielle, I suppose," I agreed. "We can make someone her understudy." "Good idea," Stacey agreed.

  In the end we cast Danielle as Valery, Bruce as Myron, Peter as Atlas, Buddy as Gordon, Wendy as Margarita, Haley as Jill, Sara as the now six-year-old Delaware as well as Danielle's understudy, and Tony as Ricky. l3ecca would play Valery's best friend Sissy. Char would play the mother. The mother didn't say much, so Char would be easy to replace, in case her stage fright kicked up.

  "Memorize your lines," I told the kids just before the meeting ended. "I'd like to start working without scripts as soon as we can." On the way home, Stacey was quiet. "What are you thinking?" I asked.

  "I'm wondering what your family will think when they see that play," she said. "Don't you think they'll be insulted? It is a little exaggerated." "If I didn't exaggerate a little, it wouldn't be interesting," I said. "It's called dramatization." "Won't they be mad when they finally read it?" "I won't show it to them." Stacey laughed. "Haley has already figured out that it's about you and your family. Don't you think she might tell Vanessa?" "I guess," I admitted. "But what am I supposed to do? If I can't use my life and the people in it, how can I write anything?" "Write about other people," Stacey suggested.

  I threw my arms up. "Then it wouldn't be honest writing. It would be a big lie." "I don't know about that," said Stacey. "But it's up to you, anyway. Just be prepared for trouble." I pressed my lips together thoughtfully. This was a real dilemma. Maybe Ms. Hayes could advise me. Then again, maybe she couldn't. After all, if she'd drawn on her family life in order to write her books - and I was sure she had - she wouldn't have a problem like this. I mean, if your family is funny, kindhearted, and happy, and you write about them, who's going to complain? But a writer has to draw from the raw material he or she has been given, and, like it or not, I was stuck with the Spike family.

  his sounds terrific so far, Mallory. What have you learned about Ms. Hayes from your other sources?" Mr. Williams asked me that Friday in class. He had allotted five minutes with each student, to see how' our projects were coming along.

  "What do you mean?" I asked. "What other sources?" "Aren't you consulting other sources about the life of Henrietta Hayes?" "Why?" I asked. "I have the main source herself right in front of me. What could be better than that?" I'd seen Ms. Hayes just the day before and interviewed her again. We talked about her days at Ithaca College. Back then she'd enrolled in the theater department, wanting to be an actress (just like Alice Anderson), but when she discovered she could never find roles she wanted to play, she began writing her own. Soon she found she liked writing better than acting.

  "I'd like to see some biographical data from other sources," Mr. Williams said. "Magazines, biographies, newspaper clippings. You might learn a lot more about Ms. Hayes than you'd expect. People don't always tell you everything about themselves. A good researcher does her background homework, too." "All right," I agreed.

  At first, it seemed like a big waste of time to me. But when I thought about it some more, maybe Mr. Williams had a point. There were some questions that seemed too personal to ask Ms. Hayes. Anytime I tried a family question, Ms. Hayes started talking about something else. I couldn't tell if she wanted to avoid the subject, or if she'd truly become distracted. I noticed that her mind did sometimes jump around from subject to subject, in what seemed like a haphazard way.

  After school that afternoon, I set out for the Stoneybrook Public Library. As soon as I walked in, I spotted Mrs. Kishi, Claudia's mom. She's the head librarian.

  Waving to her, I headed over to the Guide to Periodica1 Literature section. The guides are a bunch of books which list all the recent magazine and newspaper articles which have been written on different people and subjects. I pulled out the most recent one and thumbed through to the H section, looking for Henrietta Hayes.

  "Hello, Mallory," said Mrs. Kishi, as she returned two thick reference books to the shelf. "What are you working on?" "I have to write a report on Henrietta Hayes," I explained.

  "Oh, the author. Her work is wonderful. She lives right here in Stoneybrook, you know," said Mrs. Kishi.

  "I know that," I replied excitedly. "But how did you know?" "Librarians have ways of finding these things out," Mrs. Kishi said with a smile. "I have files on all our local authors." "You mean there are others?" I cried.

  "A few. I think Henrietta Hayes is the only juvenile author, although there are a few picture book illustrators in town." "Wow!" I said. I had no idea! "Would you like to see the file on Henrietta Ha
yes?" Mrs. Kishi offered.

  "That would be great," I said, closing the guide. I followed Mrs. Kishi into the office behind the main checkout desk. Black metal file cabinets stood side by side against the back wall. She pulled open the top drawer of one of them. "Hayes . . . Hayes .

  Hayes. . ." she repeated softly as she searched for the correct folder. "Here we are. Hayes, Henrietta." Mrs. Kishi handed me the well-stuffed manila folder. "This should give you plenty to look at. I can't let you check this out, but you know where the copier is, don't you?" "Over to the right," I said. "That's a good idea. I'll copy whatever I can't read today. Thanks, Mrs. Kishi." Feeling as if I'd just discovered buried treasure, I hurried over to a couch in the corner of the library. Mrs. Kishi had just saved me hours of work.

  The first three articles I read through didn't tell me anything I didn't already know about Ms. Hayes. Then I came across a real find -a five page article clipped from People magazine. The date on it was from last year. The article was entitled: "Henrietta Hayes: The Happiest Writer," which, I suppose, was a takeoff on her play, "The Happiest Day." On the first page I learned that an Alice Anderson TV movie was being planned. I must have missed it. I'd have to ask Ms. Hayes about it. Maybe it would be out on video soon.

  The article had lots to say about Ms. Hayes's early career. I began scribbling down notes like crazy - all sorts of exact dates, names, and places that I'd been careless about taking down when I interviewed Ms. Hayes. Mr. Williams would want that kind of information, I was sure.

  Toward the middle of the article, I stopped writing. I put my pen down and stared at the paper in my hands. I couldn't quite believe what the article had to say.

  Henrietta Hayes's personal history stands in stark contrast to the sunny optimism of her books. A foster child from the age of three, when her parents and younger brother died tragically in a fire, Ms. Hayes never knew the tight family bonds that figure so prominently in virtually all of her fiction. The first time she lived in one place for more than a year was when she attended Ithaca College on a theater department scholarship. Even as an adult, her marriage to author G . N. Rogers ended in bitter divorce resulting in a fierce and prolonged custody battle over their only child, Cassandra. Ms. Hayes finally won full custody of Cassandra, whom she called Cassie. Sadly, Cassie was to die a mere three years later, at the age of eighteen, the victim of a hit-andrun driver. Despite her history of personal tragedy, Ms. Hayes presents to her readers a world in which things turn out for the best and . .