Baby-Sitters' Winter Vacation Page 7

  I sighed deeply. My team just had to win the war. Suddenly energized, I announced, “Don’t forget ski practice, everybody. Take a lesson or just hit the slopes. You’ve only got until Friday to get yourselves in top form.”

  Then I joined Claud. “Going skiing now?” I asked her.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m sort of tired.”

  “I suppose you think you’re so good you don’t need to practice.”

  “That is not true!” exclaimed Claud. “I may be good, but I’m not stuck-up.”

  “Are you calling me stuck-up?”

  “NO.”

  “Well, I’m going to take some runs. Maybe even a lesson.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Claudia and I skied the advanced trails under the watchful eyes of instructors. I hated to admit that Claud was better than I — but she was. Everyone knew that she was the best skier in our whole school, and I was second best.

  Even so, I couldn’t help yelling out to her as we shushed down a slope, “Our team is going to cream your team on Friday, Kishi!”

  I would just love to see what Kristy wrote about the contest. I bet it’s pretty different from what I wrote. I know she thinks I chose the Cheshire Cat because it won another contest for the Red Team, but that’s just not true. I honestly thought it was the best sculpture, and Mr. Cheney, the co-judge, agreed with me.

  I decided to ignore Kristy and Ashley and their angry, flashing eyes and take a free ski lesson. Kristy practically dared me to, anyway. I could have practiced on my own, but I thought, Hey, here I am at a ski resort with good instructors. I should take advantage of them. Maybe I can refine my technique.

  So I went to the ski rental office and asked about lessons for advanced skiers. The woman there told me that a class was starting in just ten minutes.

  “Great!” I exclaimed. “Thanks!”

  I rode the ski lift to the top of the expert slope and there I found three kids from my team plus a few other people — and the most amazing-looking instructor in the history of skiing. His face was ruddy from being outdoors all day. His hair was blond and curly, his eyes were pale blue, and — best of all — he spoke with an accent.

  “Hello,” he greeted us. All us students were awestruck, especially the girls. “My name eez Guy.” (He pronounced his name so that it rhymed with “ski.”) “I am your eenstroctor. I trost zat you are very goode skiers.”

  “Oh, very,” I couldn’t help replying.

  Guy smiled, showing a row of perfectly straight, sparkly white teeth. “Excellent. Zen let us get on wiss sings.”

  Sings? Oh, things.

  “First, I woode like to see each of you take a ron down zee trail.”

  Where was Guy from? France? Switzerland? I couldn’t think about anything except his gorgeous face and his intriguing accent. If only he were a little younger. He looked about twenty-five. Well, maybe that didn’t matter. I could fall in love with an older man … couldn’t I? It happens all the time. I mean, to other people.

  The members of my ski class were lining up to go down the expert trail. Guy spoke quietly to the first student and then she took off down the mountain. He watched her carefully. Then the next student went down, and then it was my turn.

  “Zose are nice boots. Nice skis, too,” said Guy approvingly, looking my equipment over. “Zose are not from zee lodge, are zey?”

  “Oh, no,” I replied. “They’re mine. I go skiing all the time.” (That wasn’t quite true.) “I’m more comfortable with my own skis and stuff.”

  Guy nodded and smiled. “I onderstand. Now. Let me see whot you can do.”

  I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wanted to do my best for Guy.

  So down I went. I concentrated very hard. I tried to remember everything I’d been taught. When I reached the bottom, I knew I’d performed well. I returned to Guy, feeling pretty pleased. But when I saw the expression on his face, my pleasure turned to joy.

  “Marvelous!” he exclaimed. “Claudia, zat wozz wonderful!”

  Claudia. He called me Claudia! I was pretty sure he’d been calling everyone else Miss or Mrs. or Mr.

  “Thanks — thanks, Guy,” I said breathlessly.

  Guy smiled. And then … he put his hand on my arm. “Let me jost geeve you a few pointers. You can improve your speed by …”

  I was listening to Guy. I really was. But I couldn’t help noticing that not far from our group, another class was starting up. A young woman stood before a group of intent students. And one of those students was Kristy. She saw me at the same time I saw her.

  Can you believe it? She actually stuck her tongue out at me. Right there in front of Guy and her instructor and all the students. Boy, what a sorehead. Just because the Blue Team had lost in ice-skating and snow sculpture. Of course, it did mean that if the Blue Team were going to win the Winter War, they had to win the remaining three events. And that was pretty unlikely. (By the way, in case you’re wondering, if the Red Team won the next event — which meant we’d won the war — the skiing competitions would be held on Friday anyway. They were too much fun to miss.)

  “Claudia?” Guy was saying. He touched my arm again.

  “Oh. Yes?” How could I concentrate if he was going to keep touching my arm?

  “You need to change your pozeetion slightly. Like zees.” Now Guy practically had his arms around me. I looked over at Kristy to see if she was watching us.

  She was.

  I wished I could have stuck my tongue out at her, but I am much too mature to do a thing like that when a handsome older man has his arms around me.

  “Okay,” I said to Guy. “I see what I’m supposed to do now.”

  “Goode. Now take anozzer ron down zee trail.”

  Anoz — ? Oh, another run down the trail.

  “All right,” I said.

  I let myself fly. There is nothing in the world so wonderful as that feeling of motion and speed as you sail along over snow. Unfortunately, I noticed that at the same time I let loose, so did Kristy. She wasn’t far away. And, darn her, she edged toward me so that soon we were skiing side by side down the mountain. I really hate having someone so close to me when I’m on skis.

  I thought that over and changed my mind when I realized that Guy could have been skiing two inches from me and I would have been delighted. But Kristy was several feet away and that was too close.

  “Move over!” I shouted at her. The wind was in my face but she heard me anyway.

  “Making you nervous?” she yelled back.

  “No! You’re in my way!”

  “I am not. And anyway, our team is going to cream your team on Friday, Kishi.”

  “No, you’re not. Besides, it won’t matter if you do because we’re going to win the snowball fight tomorrow and then the war will be over.”

  Kristy shouted some sort of reply, but I put on a burst of speed and shot ahead, so I couldn’t hear what she said. And I managed to stay ahead of her and even beat her back up the mountain again. Back to Guy….

  “Claudia! Again zat wozz magneefeecent. You are a chompion!”

  A chompion? Me?

  Guy took my hands in his (well, my fat mittens in his fat mittens) and said solemnly, “Next time, I want complete concentration. Onderstand? Do not let yourself be deestracted on zee trail. You weel be surprised at how moch better you can do.”

  “Okay,” I said. At least, I think I said it. I was looking into Guy’s eyes, which were sparkly and bright. Then I looked at his lips and couldn’t help imagining myself kissing them. I’m not sure whether any sound came from my own lips.

  Something must have, though, because Guy said, “Very goode. Now go — and concentrate.” He patted my shoulder.

  Well, of course I went soaring down that mountain. Kristy tried to psych me out again by skiing practically on my heels, but all I could think of was pleasing Guy. I was able to ignore Kristy completely and beat her
back up the mountain again, where Guy put his arms across my shoulders and called me his star pupil.

  I grinned from ear to ear. And then, unfortunately, I realized that after one more run down the mountain I would have to go back to the lodge. It was almost dinnertime, and I should probably help with the Conway Cove kids.

  So I said a sad good-bye to Guy and got ready for one last run.

  “I weel see you tomorrow, no?” said Guy. “Anozzer lesson for my star pupeel?”

  No? Yes! Yes, of course he would see me. I would do anything Guy wanted. I would go over a ski jump and turn a somersault in the air if he thought I could do it.

  I tried to appear suave and sophisticated, though, so all I said was, “Of course. Tomorrow.” I wished I could speak whatever Guy’s native language was.

  I was about halfway down the mountain when a thought struck me, a guilty thought. Will Yamakawa. He was this guy I’d met at Camp Mohawk and we had really hit it off. He didn’t go to my school, though. He didn’t even live in my town, so we hadn’t seen each other since camp ended. But we had written lots of letters and cards, and every now and then we spoke on the phone. Once, we had talked for an entire hour.

  Was Will my boyfriend? I had thought I was in love with him when we were at camp. And I had to admit that I felt a funny thrill in my stomach every time I saw his return address on a letter. But that feeling was nothing compared to what I felt for Guy.

  When I returned to the lodge, I couldn’t help it: I raced up to our dorm, found Stacey, pulled her into a corner, and said (not very quietly), “My ski instructor has a crush on me. His name is Guy, he’s adorable, and he talks with an accent!”

  “Oh, wow!” cried Stacey.

  “Oh, wow!” cried Dawn. Then she added, “Sorry. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “That’s okay,” I replied.

  By dinnertime, all the BSC members, plus a few other friends, knew about Guy and me.

  I didn’t mind. I was proud of it.

  “Time’s up!” called Kristy. “Everybody stop what you’re doing. The judging of the snow sculpture contest is about to begin. Mr. Cheney and Claudia will be around to examine each sculpture. Please stand with your hands behind your backs.”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” muttered Mallory, and I giggled. She sounded exactly like her mother.

  “Kristy loves rules. You know that,” I said. One thing I’ve learned is that everybody, even the people you like best in the world, have faults, or do things that bug you. If you want to remain friends with those people, then you choose to overlook their faults. I overlook Kristy’s bossiness and love of rules. After all, she let me into her club at a time when a lot of people in Stoneybrook didn’t like our family. Kristy’s attitude was, “Who cares? I like Jessi, we all like Jessi, she’s a good baby-sitter, so she stays.” I have never forgotten that about Kristy.

  Anyway, I’m completely off the subject.

  So Mal and I were standing like fools with our hands behind our backs, waiting for Mr. Cheney and Claud to evaluate the mammoth pair of snow ballet slippers we’d patted into shape. You could see the ribbons winding up the ankles and everything.

  Next to our shoes three kids had built a massive snow castle (not too original when you consider that people on beaches always build castles). On our other side was a snow model of the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz. Claud and Mr. Cheney walked from sculpture to sculpture, studying each one and whispering.

  I watched them carefully. They stood for an awfully long time by one sculpture and when they moved away I saw that it was of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland — and that the kids who made it had tinted it with food coloring!

  “Is that fair?” I exclaimed to Mal.

  “I guess so,” she replied. “Kristy didn’t say we could only use snow. In fact, she didn’t mention any rules except the time limit. And standing here with our hands behind our backs.”

  “Darn. Why weren’t we more creative? Well, at least the Cheshire Cat’s on our team.”

  After Claudia and Mr. Cheney considered forever, the Cheshire Cat won. (Kristy looked like she wanted to kill Claudia.) When the winner was announced, I made another announcement, reminding kids about the auditions for the talent show, and then everyone who’d been sculpting on the lawn went off in different directions. Quite a few came to the grand ballroom to try out for the show.

  Whew. Ever since I’d agreed to organize Talent Night a worry had been plaguing me: What if no one wanted to be in the production?

  I should have known better. We are a bunch of show-offs. I had even brought my Swan Lake costume with me and planned to dance a solo number. I’d decided that was my personal right as talent-show coordinator. (I also wanted to ensure that there would be at least one number in the show.)

  “Okay, everybody,” I shouted to the twenty or thirty kids who were milling around the ballroom. I stood up on the stage so they could hear me better. “Those of you who have numbers rehearsed, stand on that side of the room,” I said, pointing. “The rest of you stand on that side. I’ve got some ideas for you. Let me say in advance that the show is supposed to be forty-five minutes long, including the teachers’ skit, which they tell me is seven minutes, so we’ve got thirty-eight minutes — more or less — to work with. If we run slightly overtime, no one will kill us. But I want you to understand that I will have to be a little picky. Not everyone can be in the show or it’ll be too long. I’m sorry, but that’s what Ms. Halliday told me, and she’s the advisor for the talent show. Okay, let’s begin with those of you who prepared skits or routines. I’ll watch all of you and make my decision before you leave this afternoon.”

  Wow. As I stepped off the stage I felt pretty proud of myself. The kids were really listening to me. Not only was I a lowly sixth-grader, but I was the only black sixth-grader at SMS — and for that reason the kids either used to ignore me or jeer at me. But that was awhile ago, this was now. I was in charge, and everyone (even the eighth-graders) were listening.

  “Okay, first number,” I said. “Up on stage.”

  This seventh-grade girl, Davina, walked nervously onto the stage, sang some song called “Stop Pickin’ on the President,” and then played a couple of choruses on a harmonica with one hand while waving an American flag with the other.

  I wrote her name on a pad of paper and put a big NO next to it.

  The second act was Alan Gray and a friend of his, Rodge Somerset. They did a takeoff of a vaudeville sketch. They were wearing top hats and carrying canes, and they told corny jokes like:

  Alan: Hey, Rodge, did you get your hair cut?

  Rodge: Nope, I got ’em all cut!

  And, Alan: Did you hear about the fire down at the shoe factory?

  Rodge: No, what happened?

  Alan: A thousand soles were lost!

  Their sketch was actually funny. I decided it was a possibility.

  For the next hour, I watched act after act. A sixth-grade girl tap-danced to “Singin’ in the Rain,” wearing a raincoat and rain hat. Three seventh-grade boys did a tumbling act which was pretty good, and three seventh-grade girls dressed up as the old-time Andrews Sisters and lip-synched to “Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree.” An eighth-grade boy who billed himself as “The Flooglemeister” juggled three bananas while playing a kazoo and balancing a ski boot on his head. Then four girls put on a skit that was a ghost story and both scary and funny. The last act I watched was this boy who could play all of “Doe, a Deer” with his armpit.

  I studied my notes. Then I announced the acts that I’d chosen for the show. I could see a lot of disappointed faces, so I added, “If your act wasn’t selected, come join the other group of kids. You can try out for something else.”

  I was glad I’d organized the tryouts this way. See, I knew there’d be some kids who were just dying to be in the show but really weren’t that talented or didn’t know what to do with themselves. I also knew that the teachers would be happy to see some nice normal ac
ts in the show. So I had written a skit about Leicester Lodge with lots of parts in it, and I had also arranged a simple song-and-dance routine to a fifties song that I like a lot called “Chains of Love.”

  When I had selected kids for those numbers and rehearsed each number twice, I sent Mal (who had volunteered to be my helper) off to find Mary Anne and the kids from Conway Cove. She found them quickly — they’d been waiting eagerly for the ballroom to clear out so they could get on with their part in the show — and they raced over to me.

  “I know what I want to do! I know what I want to do!” the kids were shouting. They were jumping up and down, except for Pinky, who was still supposed to be taking it easy on her foot.

  “Okay, okay. One at a time,” I said with a smile.

  “Me first!” cried Joey. “Look at this. I can pretend I’m in a circus. See? First I’ll pretend I’m a man on the flying trapeze. Then I’ll be a bear on roller skates. Then I’ll be a … grrr … lion tamer!” Joey proceeded to put on a one-man circus.

  “My turn! My turn!” said Ginnie. “I can recite Shakespeare.”

  “Shakespeare?!” I couldn’t help exclaiming.

  “Yup. My big sister is in high school and she’s in the drama club and she teaches me things all the time. Listen to this: ‘A bee or not a bee. This is a question. If it’s more noble to die, well, then I’ll just have to die with my boots on.’”

  I don’t know much about Shakespeare, since we haven’t studied any of his plays yet, but what Ginnie had said sounded … odd.

  When Ginnie was done, Amber wanted to do a four-legged tap dance. She said she could put tap shoes on her feet and her hands and dance to “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” She also said that all four of her tap shoes were back in Conway Cove.

  At this point I broke in and said, “Mary Anne, I thought you were going to help the kids write a skit. We don’t have time for a million numbers — just one. What happened?”