Mary Anne and Miss Priss Read online

“Becca Ramsey and I have to be on the same team,” Haley Braddock declared.

  “I want to be with Haley and Becca!” Margo shouted.

  Adam waved his hands in the air. “Quiet! Quiet, everybody! We’ll pick the teams and you have to do what we say.”

  “Why?” Buddy asked.

  “Because this is our team,” Jordan replied. “And what we say goes, or else.”

  Jordan’s answer caused some grumbling in the group. Suzi Barrett nudged her brother. “He can’t act that way. Can he?”

  Buddy shrugged and muttered, “I don’t think so.”

  Shannon, who was sitting on the grass with Marnie, turned to Mallory and Stacey. “It looks like those guys are heading for a big argument. Should we say something?”

  “No!” Stacey and Mallory replied together.

  “The triplets have made it very clear to all of us that this is their team,” Stacey explained, “and that they don’t need any help or advice from anyone.” She rolled her eyes and added, “Especially not the BSC.”

  “Okay,” Shannon said. “But this is not the best way to start a game. They haven’t even picked teams yet.”

  Adam blew the whistle hanging around his neck. “Okay. The girls against the boys.”

  “No!” Byron folded his arms across his chest. “That’s no good. It’s an uneven number.”

  “Well, then you choose the teams,” Adam snapped. “But hurry up.”

  Byron took a deep breath. “Count off. All the even numbers will be on one team and the odds on the other.”

  The kids counted off and then split into two groups.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Shannon said with a sigh. “Now let’s see how they do in the game.”

  The game was a disaster. First, Haley insisted on being the pitcher. The problem was, Adam and Jordan were on her team, and they wanted to pitch, too. But Haley stood firm.

  “If I don’t pitch, I’m quitting,” she said. “And the rest of the girls will probably quit, too.”

  Finally Adam gave up. “Oh, go ahead and pitch,” he said, kicking the grass in frustration. “But next inning, it’s one of us.”

  Haley rolled the first ball to Matt Braddock, who kicked it so hard it shot like a bullet across the field and out into the street. Instantly Shannon and the other sitters leapt to their feet.

  “Stop at the curb and look both ways,” Shannon cautioned Suzi Barrett, who was running after the ball. “There are cars coming.”

  Suzi looked left and then right. And left and then right again. In the meantime, Matt Braddock had rounded second base and was heading for third.

  “Get the ball!” Jordan screamed. “Suzi! Go get the ball.”

  “Okay, Suzi,” Shannon called after a car had driven past. “It’s all clear.”

  Suzi raced across the street just as Matt crossed home plate. Buddy jumped in the air and gave him a high-five. “Score one for us!” Buddy shouted.

  “That’s not fair!” Margo, who was playing second base, pouted. “There was a car coming and Suzi couldn’t get the ball.”

  “Yeah,” Jordan agreed. “That probably should have been called a foul ball. Or we should have stopped the game.”

  “You’re just saying that because we scored a run,” Buddy replied.

  “You guys sound like a bunch of babies,” Nicky added as he waited in line behind Buddy. “If you didn’t have such a bad pitcher, that wouldn’t have happened.”

  Haley glared at Nicky. Then she rolled the ball as hard as she could, and it bounced up and hit him square in the chest.

  “Ow!” Nicky yelped.

  “Uh-oh,” Stacey said. “Now they’re getting mean. Maybe we should say something.”

  Mal grabbed Stacey’s arm. “The triplets said they could handle it. Let’s see what they do.”

  They did nothing. Adam, Byron, and Jordan stood by helplessly while Nicky raced to retrieve the ball, then heaved it back at Haley. Haley ducked and the ball bounced off Margo, who kicked it back at Nicky as hard as she could. The ball sailed over the big rock at the edge of Brenner Field and disappeared.

  “That’s great,” Nicky yelled. “Now you’ve lost our ball.”

  “I didn’t lose it,” Margo replied. “I returned it to you.”

  “Go get it,” Nicky ordered.

  “No! You get it.”

  Luckily for them, Norman Hill stuck his head around the side of the rock. “Are you guys looking for this?”

  “Throw it to me, Norman!” Haley ordered. “I’m the pitcher.”

  Norman held onto the ball. “Can I play?”

  “Sure,” said Becca Ramsey. “You can be on our team.”

  “No, he can’t,” Jordan protested. “That would give you one more guy than us. Besides, the game’s already started.”

  “It’s hardly started at all,” Byron shot back. “I say he can play.”

  “Oh, great!” Mallory rolled her eyes. “Now the captains are fighting.”

  “If you ask me,” Claud remarked as she passed around a bag of chocolate stars, “I don’t think this kickball team has much hope of making it to the end of the game.”

  “I don’t think they’ll make it to the next out,” Stacey said as they watched Byron and Jordan scream at each other.

  “I really think we should help them,” Shannon said. “This kickball team is a wonderful idea.”

  “Shannon’s right,” Jessi agreed. “It’s a great activity for the neighborhood. Ever since the team was formed, Becca has hardly talked about anything else.”

  Mallory chewed anxiously on the edge of one nail. “I know the team is important, but I promised the triplets I wouldn’t interfere.”

  “Just pitch the ball!” Buddy hollered. He was standing at the plate, anxious to kick a home run.

  “Not if Norman is going to be on your team,” Haley replied. “You have too many players.”

  “One more kid won’t matter,” Margo said.

  “Let’s just play, okay?” Suzi pleaded.

  “Haley, pitch the ball!” the other players on her team shouted.

  “No!” Haley stuck out her tongue at them.

  “I’ll pitch the ball,” Adam said, stepping up to the pitchers’ mound. “Here, let me have it.”

  “No!” Haley clutched the ball to her stomach and fell to her knees. “I’m the pitcher.”

  “Well, a pitcher pitches,” Adam said, trying to pry her fingers off the ball.

  “Ow!” Haley cried out. “You’re breaking my knuckles.

  “Then let go!”

  “Leave her alone!” Margo dove between Adam and Haley.

  Jordan stood in centerfield and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Will someone please pitch the ball?”

  Matt signed to Nicky and Nicky said, “Matt says he’s got another ball. He’ll go home to get it.”

  Claud leapt to her feet. “Uh-oh. Haley’s not going to be happy when she sees Matt with a different ball.”

  Mallory raised one eyebrow. “Claud …”

  “I know, I know.” Claudia flopped onto the grass again. “Let the triplets handle it. It’s their team.”

  Stacey leaned back on her elbows in the grass. “This should be really interesting. Two balls in one game.”

  Matt bolted for home and returned a little while later, holding a brown ball over his head in triumph. Adam saw the ball and let go of Haley.

  “Okay, Matt,” Adam said, waving his hands in the air. “I’m the pitcher now. Throw it to me.”

  Matt tossed the ball and Adam stepped in front of Haley, who was still curled up in the dirt clutching the other ball.

  Buddy waited at the plate. But before Adam could throw the ball, Margo shouted, “You throw that ball, Adam Pike, and I quit!”

  Jordan looked as if he were about to cry. His team was falling apart. Best friends were shouting at each other, brothers and sisters were fighting. Nothing was going the way he’d planned. But he didn’t ask for help from anyone. Instead he said, “This gam
e is canceled. Due to rain.”

  Then Adam, Jordan, and Byron stalked off the field. The remaining kids looked stunned. They stood silently for a long time, hoping the triplets would return.

  Finally Mal stood up. “You heard the team captains,” she announced to the group. “The game has been canceled.”

  “But I still want to play,” Suzi said, crossing to Shannon. “Why can’t we play?”

  Shannon shrugged. “Because everyone was fighting too much. We need to be getting back, anyway. Your mother should be home from her meeting any time now.”

  “Boy,” Buddy grumbled as Shannon walked Suzi and Buddy home. “That was the stupidest game I’ve ever played.”

  “I don’t think the game’s the problem,” Shannon said carefully. “The team just needs to make some rules and stick with them.”

  “Well, if the next game is as awful as this,” Buddy declared, “I don’t want to play.”

  Shannon didn’t say anything. All the way back to the Barrett house, she wondered whether she and the other BSC members had done the right thing by not interfering. As things stood now the future of the kickball team looked pretty grim.

  Ding-dong.

  I rang the bell at the Prezziosos’ house on Wednesday afternoon, and waited for Jenny’s usual round of questions. But she didn’t even say, “Who is it?” Instead the door just flew open.

  “Come on in,” Jenny called over her shoulder as she marched back into the living room. “Mom and the star are getting their coats.”

  The star? Jenny had never called Andrea that before.

  “Does Andrea have a callback today?” I asked.

  “No, she has a job,” Jenny said, flopping on the couch in the living room. “I didn’t even get an audition. Nobody wants to see me.”

  I have to admit, I was paying a little more attention to what Jenny was doing than what she was saying. Or what she wasn’t doing. She wasn’t sitting stiffly on a wooden chair, making sure she didn’t wrinkle her dress or tights. She was slumped down on the couch, her dress bunched up behind her and a big smudge on the knee of her tights. What was going on?

  Mrs. Prezzioso stuck her head into the room. “Hello, Mary Anne. I’m sorry we can’t chat, but Andrea has to meet with the wardrobe people in twenty minutes.”

  “Good for Andrea,” Jenny muttered.

  Mrs. Prezzioso didn’t seem to hear her. She just smiled pleasantly and said, “The studio number is on the refrigerator. Take care. Good-bye, my angel.”

  Jenny didn’t even look at her mother. She waited until she heard the front door close and then said, “I’m thirsty. Let’s have juice.”

  “Okay.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Do you want me to pour?”

  “No, I can do it.” Jenny got a pitcher of cranapple juice from the refrigerator while I found two glasses and some napkins. She started pouring the instant I’d set the glass down. In fact, she poured the first one so full it overflowed onto the kitchen counter. It also splattered down the front of her white pinafore but Jenny didn’t seem to notice. Amazing!

  “Here, Jenny,” I said, grabbing a sponge and dabbing at her dress and the counter. “Why don’t you let me pour the next glass?”

  “I can do it!” Jenny jerked the pitcher out of my reach, splashing more juice on her dress. Some landed on her tights this time, too. Again, she didn’t seem to care.

  I held my glass as she poured, and stopped her before she could overfill it.

  Jenny held up her glass. “First one finished, wins.” Then she tilted her head back and drank the entire glass straight down. She slammed the glass on the counter. “Ahhh!”

  Now Jenny not only had juice on her tights, on her sleeve, and down the front of her pinafore, she had a big red juice moustache on her upper lip, too. I handed her a napkin, expecting to see her dab at her mouth politely, but she just gave her face a swipe, bunched the napkin into a wad, and tossed it on the table. “Let’s go outside and play.”

  Jenny was moving so fast I could hardly keep up with her. “Don’t you want to change into your playclothes?” I asked, picking up the napkin and throwing it in the trash.

  “No. These clothes are fine.” Jenny bolted out the back door and headed for the sandbox. Actually, that afternoon it was more of a mud-puddle pit. It had rained the night before and the wooden box was filled with murky brown water.

  Last week’s Miss Priss wouldn’t have gone within twenty feet of it. But Jenny-the-Slob splashed right in. Specks of brown dotted her face. Her shiny black patent leather shoes disappeared beneath the pool of water and her tights were stained a yucky brown color up to her knees.

  “I’m going to make a mud pie,” Jenny said, grinning at me from behind her mud speckles and red moustache. “For Andrea.”

  “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you,” I replied. At least she was smiling. And she hadn’t been near the sink yet. Whatever was going on, she certainly seemed to be over her cleanliness obsession.

  Jenny scooped up big handfuls of drippy sand and leaves and patted it all together. “I’ll put in some sticks and rocks, and maybe even a few worms,” she declared. “Then she can eat them for dinner.”

  “Worms?” I wrinkled my nose. “Nobody likes to eat worms.”

  “Andrea will eat anything,” Jenny said in a sing-song voice. “Andrea will do anything. She’s the perfect baby.”

  I knelt beside the sandbox. (I’d managed to find a dry patch.) “Jenny, Andrea’s not perfect,” I said. “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “She is, too!” Jenny stuck out her lower lip. “Everybody loves Andrea. She gets all the jobs.”

  Now the picture was becoming clearer. Jenny’s career as a model and child actress wasn’t going well. Andrea’s was. Jenny was doubly jealous.

  “Of course Andrea gets more jobs than you. There are more jobs for baby models.”

  Jenny paused with her sand shovel in the air. “There are?”

  I don’t know much about the acting business, but I did remember the things Mrs. Prezzioso had told me. “Sure. Think of all the extra things babies use. Diapers, talcum powder, diaper rash ointment, baby wipes, baby food, baby clothes, baby walkers, baby strollers, baby car seats, baby cribs.”

  Jenny narrowed her eyes at me, checking to see if I was telling the truth. So I went on. “But the biggest reason Andrea is getting more work is that babies don’t have to act. Andrea just has to be a baby. You have to be a model and an actress.”

  Jenny tapped her cheek with the shovel and thought out loud. “Andrea just has to smile. I have to walk and say stuff. And cry.”

  “That’s right. You really have to act.”

  “But I haven’t gotten a job.” Jenny scooped her shovel back into the water and flung mud at the pie. “That must mean I’m a bad actress.”

  Oh, brother. I thought I was making things better. I’d only made them worse.

  Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of jack-in-the-box music. I hummed along with the familiar tune before I remembered the words. “Pop goes the weasel. Someone is playing that song,” I said.

  Jenny perked up. “It’s the ice cream man!”

  “Would you like an ice cream?” I asked her.

  “Okay.” Jenny dropped her shovel and stepped out of the sandbox. She looked like Pig-Pen from the Peanuts comic strip. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I hesitated for only a second. If she didn’t mind her appearance, I guessed I didn’t, either. We followed the music and caught up with the ice cream truck on Slate Street.

  The driver, an older gentleman with a gray moustache and round glasses, took one look at Jenny and said, “Young lady! What happened? Did you have an accident?”

  Jenny glanced down at her mud-soaked tights and red-and-brown splotched dress. “No,” she replied. “I was just playing.”

  She chose a pink and orange swirlsicle and it got good and drippy before she was finished. The parts of her face and dress that weren’t already decorated with mud or cran-apple juice were
now streaked with sticky pink and orange Popsicle juice. She was a mess.

  “My!” The ice cream man chuckled. “You’ve certainly given that pretty dress a new look. How do you think your mother will like it?”

  Jenny shrugged. “She’ll probably be mad.”

  But Jenny didn’t seem the least bit upset. As I thought about that, a light clicked on in my brain. Now I understood why Miss Priss had become Miss Mess. She wanted her mom to notice her. If she couldn’t get her mother’s attention by being the perfect child, she was sure to get it by being the perfect slob.

  I realized something else, too. “Your mother won’t be mad at you,” I said, taking Jenny by one of her sticky hands and leading her across the street. “She’ll be mad at me for letting you get this way.”

  “Where are we going?” Jenny asked.

  “Home,” I replied. “We have just enough time to get you out of that dress and into a bath.”

  “No.” Jenny locked her knees and wouldn’t budge. “I don’t want a bath.”

  I envisioned Mrs. Prezzioso coming home and finding Jenny sitting in the living room, looking as if she’d spent the afternoon playing at the garbage dump. I had no idea what Mrs. P. would do or say but I knew she wouldn’t be happy.

  “Look, Jenny, I am responsible for you and your clothes,” I said firmly. “You need a bath, and that dress needs to soak in soapy water, too — before your mom comes home.”

  Jenny gave in and I managed to clean her up before Mrs. Prezzioso and Andrea returned. But I was worried about Jenny again. So worried that I called Dawn that evening to see if she could offer any advice.

  It was three hours earlier in California, of course. Dawn had just gotten home from school. “Schafer residence. This is Dawn.”

  She sounded as if she were just down the street and I remembered what it used to be like, before she left for California, before our parents got married, and before we moved into the same house and became stepsisters, when we were just best friends.

  “Hi, it’s me,” I said.

  I held the phone away from my ear as Dawn shrieked, “I was just thinking about you! I swear. On the way home from school, I saw this gray-striped kitten that looked just like Tigger, and I thought about when you first got Tigger, and when he moved into our house on Burnt Hill Road. Remember? He mewed all the time and nearly drove Mom and me crazy!”