Claudia's Friend Read online

  In fact, they were great.

  Shea followed me out onto the front porch. “Thanks,” he said.

  “Hey, Shea? Thank you.”

  I put up my umbrella and walked home, almost singing in the rain.

  Wait until I told Stacey!

  Then I remembered. Stacey and I weren’t speaking. Since our fight we’d had one tutoring session, a session of extreme politeness, and we’d been cordial in the BSC meetings.

  But that was all.

  I couldn’t just go home, call Stacey, and tell her about Shea. Unless I apologized.

  I wasn’t ready to do that. I was still pretty angry with Stacey about her killer teacher attitude. She’d been so caught up in trying to act like a teacher that she’d forgotten to act like a friend. I’d become some kind of project for Stacey. And that didn’t help. No way.

  When I reached home, I dug out my secret journal and wrote:

  No. I wasn’t ready to apologize to Stacey. I wasn’t ready to make peace.

  When Stacey reached Kristy’s house on Friday night, the phrase ‘the lights were on but no one was home’ came to mind. I mean, it’s a big house, but everyone except Nannie, David Michael, and Emily Michelle had left: Kristy to Bart’s school to watch him play in a basketball game, Charlie on a date, Sam with his friends to the movies, and Kristy’s mom and stepfather to a film at the college (that’s different from going to the movies, you know). Karen and Andrew Brewer were at their mom’s that weekend, and Nannie, who met Stacey at the door, was on her way to a dinner party.

  “Wow, you look nice!” exclaimed Stacey when Nannie opened the front door. Then she was embarrassed. “Not that you don’t always. I mean, you know …”

  Nannie’s eyes twinkled. “I know. You don’t often see me in anything but pants.”

  Grateful that Nannie understood, Stacey nodded. “That’s a terrific dress. Pink really is your color.”

  Nannie was wearing a pink silk dress with a wide twisted silver and pink sash, sparkly silvery earrings, and these really cool flat pale silver slippers.

  Stacey wasn’t the only one impressed by Nannie’s appearance. David Michael and Emily Michelle were staring at Nannie as she checked her hair one last time in the hall mirror. Giving it a quick pat, Nannie picked up her purse and cape and said, “You know where everything is, of course, Stacey. David Michael had seconds on dessert tonight, so he can have a glass of milk before bed, and some fruit if he wants it, but no more sweets …”

  “Aww,” said David Michael.

  “The same for Emily Michelle, although she usually doesn’t want anything once she starts getting sleepy…. Mr. and Mrs. Brewer will be back around eleven. The pertinent numbers where we can be reached are on the bulletin board above the phone in the kitchen. And that’s it.”

  “Have a good time,” said Stacey.

  “Thank you,” Nannie replied. She waved at everyone and then slipped out the door.

  Stacey turned to look at the two kids.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hi,” said David Michael.

  Emily Michelle stared solemnly.

  “Not talking? That’s cool. What do you want to do?”

  David Michael made an elaborate show of looking over each shoulder. Then he said in a loud whisper, “Play haunted house.”

  That caught Stacey off guard. If he had been Karen Brewer, she would have been expecting it, since Karen has a very vivid imagination and exercises it regularly, by doing things like convincing herself that the old woman next door is really a witch named Morbidda Destiny. But David Michael is generally a little more realistic.

  “Haunted house?” repeated Stacey. Even as she said the words, she knew it probably wasn’t a good idea. It sounded like just the sort of game that would scare kids into staying awake and over-excited, long past their bedtime. “Um, David Michael …”

  “We turn off all the lights, and we get a flashlight and we go from room to room looking for ghosts!”

  “It sounds fun. And scary,” Stacey said. “But I don’t think it is a good idea to play that tonight.”

  “Why not?” asked David Michael.

  “It’d probably be too scary.”

  “Not for me.”

  “But maybe for Emily. And,” Stacey added, pretty truthfully, “definitely for me!”

  “Can we read ghost stories, then? I have a new collection of scary, true ones.” David Michael started back toward the den and Stacey and Emily trailed after him.

  Stacey asked, “What is all this ghost stuff? It’s not even Halloween.”

  But she sat down on the sofa in the den, pulled Emily up next to her and took the book David Michael handed her. “I know this one,” said Stacey. “Dawn has Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark in her scary story collection. There are two more of these, too.”

  “Oh, boy,” said David Michael. He sat down by Stacey.

  She flipped through the pages until she found a story that was more funny than scary, and started reading. When she was finished, David Michael said, “That was good. Can we read another?”

  But Stacey had decided that one story was enough, especially with Emily Michelle sitting attentively next to her. Who knew what Emily was making of it all?

  “Not right now,” said Stacey.

  To her surprise, David Michael didn’t argue. He jumped off the couch and said, “Then may I be excused for a minute?”

  “Sure,” replied Stacey. David Michael left and Stacey said to Emily, “So, Emily, what’s happening?”

  “Emily,” said Emily. Her face split into an unexpected smile.

  Stacey smiled back. “Most def, Emily. You are most definitely what is happening.” She turned one of Emily’s hands up and softly slapped her five.

  Emily’s grin turned into giggles. So Stacey gave Emily five on her other hand and then on the soles of her feet, which made Emily giggle even harder. They were still giggling a few minutes later when Stacey realized that David Michael hadn’t come back.

  “David Michael,” called Stacey.

  No answer.

  “David Michael?” she called, louder this time.

  Still no answer.

  “Uh-oh, Emily. Come on.” Stacey stood up, took Emily by the hand, and went off in search of David Michael. Just as they reached the hall, the lights in the house flickered — and turned off.

  “David Michael, stop that!” she called, suddenly realizing just how big the Brewer mansion was. And how empty. And how full of dark, dark rooms …

  “S-Stacey?” David Michael’s voice sounded a little quavery.

  Trying to remain calm, Stacey bent over to pick Emily up, then took a deep breath. “David Michael, where are you? Turn those lights back on!” Stacey just knew that David Michael was trying to trick her into playing haunted house. And she wasn’t going to fall for it.

  David Michael didn’t answer. And it was in the little moment of silence that followed that Stacey realized how really dark it was. When she looked out the window, she couldn’t see any streetlights or lights from other houses.

  David Michael couldn’t have done that, could he? No, of course not. It had to be some kind of power outage. And David Michael was somewhere in the house in the dark, probably a little scared.

  “David Michael, the power has just turned off outside. It’s no big deal. Stay where you are while I get a flashlight. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said David Michael at last. He sounded calmer.

  Shifting Emily, who was getting heavy, Stacey groped her way to the kitchen and found the flashlight in the utility drawer. She switched it on, reassured by the light, but not happy by all the shadows it suddenly cast.

  Stop it, Stacey, she told herself. You’re the responsible one here. The one in charge. The baby-sitter.

  Ugh. That sounded just like the title of a horror book.

  Shaking off thoughts of scary stories and ghosts and horror books, Stacey followed the beam of the light back into the hall.

  “David Mi
chael?” she called. “Where are you?”

  “In the basement,” he called back.

  “The basement?” What, Stacey wondered, was David Michael doing in the basement? “Okay. Hang on. I’m on my way.”

  She and Emily crept toward the basement. When they reached the basement door, which was partially open, Stacey put Emily down and took her hand. Together, they made their way down the basement stairs.

  At the bottom of the stairs, Stacey flashed the light around the basement. It was a huge jumble of all kinds of things (with all kinds of shadows, she noted unhappily). “David Michael?”

  “Over here,” said his voice from a dark corner.

  Carefully leading Emily, Stacey began to pick her way across the basement.

  She rounded an old wardrobe.

  Then she jumped and began to scream.

  David Michael began to scream.

  Emily Michelle began to cry.

  And the lights came back on.

  Stacey stopped screaming, loosened her grip on Emily (which is probably one of the reasons Emily had started to cry), and began to murmur little soothing things to Emily. Emily snuffled a few times, then stopped to stare with puzzled wet eyes at her brother.

  Who was wearing a long white sheet.

  “David Michael, what are you doing?” demanded Stacey.

  The ghost began to thrash around inside the sheet. At last a sheepish, red-faced David Michael emerged to face Stacey and Emily Michelle. “I just wanted to scare you a little. I was going to make moaning sounds when you came to look for me and then jump out and say boo.”

  “Not funny, David Michael.”

  “Then the lights went out!” David Michael sounded indignant now. “I wasn’t scared, but … I thought maybe, you know, Ben Brewer …”

  Ben Brewer was an ancestor of the Brewers. Karen (who else?) is convinced his ghost still lives in the house.

  “It wasn’t Ben Brewer, it was the power company. There must have been a power failure or something.”

  “Oh,” said David Michael.

  “Come on,” said Stacey. “Let’s have some milk, and a nonscary story, and then I think it is time for bed.”

  David Michael didn’t argue. In fact, he was very, very good for the rest of the night.

  Later, after she’d put David Michael and Emily Michelle to bed, Stacey had to laugh at the timing. Poor David Michael! He must have been terrified when the lights went out while he was down in the basement.

  And he had sure scared her.

  In fact, she still felt a little jumpy. With both children in bed, she was aware once again of the huge, silent house. She picked up a magazine, put it down, flipped through the TV channels, then gave up and picked up the phone.

  Mary Anne was home. “You won’t believe what just happened!” Stacey told her, and then recounted how David Michael had been outghosted by the power company.

  “Poor David Michael,” said Mary Anne sympathetically.

  “Mary Anne!” cried Stacey. Then she realized that Mary Anne was laughing.

  “At least it wasn’t the secret admirer,” said Mary Anne.

  “Puh-lease!” said Stacey. “I’m not opening the door tonight to check for notes. I’ve had enough thrills for one evening.”

  “Oh, guess what?” Mary Anne said.

  “You heard from the secret admirer?”

  “No. But Logan asked me to the dance.”

  Stacey was pleased for Mary Anne. “Excellent. Did he say anything about the notes?”

  “No, not a word. Not a clue. But Bart asked Kristy, too. Maybe he said something to her. You could ask her when she gets back.”

  “Good idea,” said Stacey. They talked for a little while longer, then hung up. A few minutes later the phone rang, and Stacey picked it up.

  “I’m going to the dance,” Mallory announced. “With Ben Hobart.”

  “All right!” said Stacey. She and Mallory talked about it for a few minutes, along with other topics, like what to wear to the dance.

  Afterward, Stacey sat for awhile, thinking about the notes. So far, Mary Anne and Logan were going to the dance, as were Bart and Kristy, Ben and Mallory, Jessi and Curtis Shaller (Jessi had been the first one asked), and Stacey and Sam.

  But not one single guy had mentioned any anonymous love (or like) notes. And not one single guy was even acting suspicious or suspiciously romantic.

  Frustrating, thought Stacey. Maybe something was wrong with their theory about a secret admirer. Or maybe the notes were from some guy they hadn’t guessed yet?

  Stacey got up and checked on David Michael and Emily, who were both asleep. Stacey was relieved that Emily didn’t seem to have been affected by the “ghost” scare in the basement. She smiled again, thinking of how they had all scared each other.

  She could hardly wait to tell Sam. She hoped he’d come home from the movies before she left.

  Back downstairs, Stacey settled down with a book and a diet soda. She turned the pages dreamily and thought about going to the dance with Sam. It would be romantic, but it would be fun, too. That was the nice thing about Sam. When he wasn’t acting wild and crazy, he was a lot of fun.

  She wondered if he was sending the notes. If he wasn’t, who was? Stacey tried to think of someone at school, some cute but shy guy, who might have been lingering nearby one of them. Try as she could, though, she couldn’t think of a single candidate.

  So if it wasn’t some shy guy, and it wasn’t someone they knew, who was it?

  A ghost, thought Stacey wryly. Maybe the secret admirer was a ghost.

  In spite of everything awful that was going on in my life, I was feeling pretty pleased and flattered as I rang the Rodowskys’ front doorbell. Why? Because at a BSC meeting on Monday, Mrs. Rodowsky had called and specifically asked for me, Claudia Kishi, to come for a tutoring session with Shea. It was hard not to give Stacey a smug look of triumph as I said, “Well, I wasn’t going to accept any more baby-sitting jobs until after the test. But in this case, I think I should make an exception.”

  So there I was on Wednesday afternoon, looking forward to a tutoring session!

  Mrs. Rodowsky seemed in a pretty cheerful mood, too.

  “Come in, Claudia,” she said, holding the door wide open. “I won’t say Shea has been looking forward to more tutoring, but I will say he has shown more enthusiasm at the idea of your helping him than he has shown about anything in awhile.”

  “I guess we get along,” I said. “You know, have some stuff in common and all.”

  Very articulate, Claudia, I told myself. But Mrs. Rodowsky didn’t seem to notice. She nodded and said, “Well, Shea’s in his room. You know where it is.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Shea was in his room. His pose was a variation on the “I’ll-sit-near-my-work-and-maybe-it-will-rub-off-on-me” position. I recognized it because it is one of my favorites. It means you spread out everything you have to do, and then you doodle or draw or do something else, anything else, on the top of all your work.

  Shea had set up his books in an obstacle course, and was rolling marbles down them.

  “I’m betting on the blue marble,” I said.

  The blue marble rolled down one book, slid down a paper funnel, missed the gap between the end of the paper and the next book, hit the top of the desk, and fell onto the floor.

  Shea looked up at me and grinned. “You lose.”

  “You win some, you lose some,” I answered. “Come on. Let’s get this tutoring stuff started.”

  “Okay,” said Shea. He scooped the marbles into the desk drawer. “I have five math problems. Then I’m supposed to make a graph of the answers.”

  “Math,” I said. “Yecch.”

  “Yeah,” said Shea.

  Fortunately, the problems weren’t too complicated. In fact, the hardest part for Shea (who, once he understood what the problem was, could actually figure it out in his head right away) was reading the problem correctly and then writing it down correc
tly. Since getting the answers right is my weak point, we soon had a pretty good system going. Sort of like this:

  Shea: “No, it can’t be a hundred and twenty-six. You forgot to divide by two.”

  Me: “Right. Let’s see, half of one twenty-six is twelve divided by two is …”

  Shea: “sixty-three.”

  Me: “How did you do that?

  Shea (making an it-was-no-big-deal gesture, but looking pleased): “I don’t know.”

  Me: “Pretty good, Shea. So now you have to write it out …” Then, “Wait Shea. It’s a hundred and twenty-six.”

  Shea (staring at the paper): “One, two …” (muttering) “Nine is above six…. And nine looks forward, ‘P’ looks backward.” (Then erasing the “9” he’d written and putting a “6” in its place.)

  Me: “Decent!”

  Shea: “Yeah.”

  The graph was kind of fun. I’d come straight from school and I had my art pencils with me. So instead of just a plain old No.2 lead pencil graph, we made the graph in super colors like magenta and mango yellow.

  “Outstanding,” I said.

  “Decent,” agreed Shea. “The colors make it easier to follow.”

  “Yeah, and it doesn’t look so much like math homework!”

  Shea finished shading in a section of the graph and said, “Someday, when I’m grown up and through with school, I’m going to invent an alphabet that doesn’t have so many slippery letters in it. Or numbers either.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “Why don’t you just leave the numbers out altogether? I’d vote for that.”

  He considered the possibility, then said, “Maybe. Only we might need them to count money.”

  “Money is always a problem,” I agreed.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You know, some languages don’t have as many letters, like Hawaiian. It doesn’t have any ‘v’s’ and stuff like that.”

  “Cool. Pretty smart of the Hawaiians. But what about Chinese? That language has about two thousand alphabet characters. Or maybe it’s twenty thousand, I forget. But lots, anyway.” (I knew this from some research I’d done for a calligraphy class.)