The Summer Before Read online

  Now, Claudia had gotten jewelry. mostly, and some clothing and accessories. That had not been lost on Kristy and me. Nor had the boys or anything else about Claud's birthday. So after much deliberation, Kristy had decided not to have a slumber party or a gymnastics party or any kind of party. She'd settled on a nice dinner at home.

  And then she'd invited me (and Claudia, although Claudia wasn't able to come). That had been fine. I was thrilled to have been invited. Except that Kristy had told her mother she didn't want to invite Watson. Or his kids. The message being that this was a family party and Watson and Karen and Andrew weren't part of her family - while I was. Mrs. Thomas had tried to be understanding about this, but Kristy could tell she was hurt, and that had upset.Kristy, although not enough to make her change her mind.

  As bad as all these things were, they paled in comparison to something else about Kristy's birthday: She fervently hoped her father would remember the day in some way - maybe even that he would show up for the party - and I was pretty sure neither was going to happen. How could Kristy even think this? She hadn't seen her father in years, he lived in Califomia and had very little money, and (she had finally confessed to me) she had secretly written him at the beginning of the summer and his letter had been retumed to her.

  "So you don't know where he lives?" I had said when she"d told me about the letter.

  Kristy had looked uncomfortably at her hands, which were absentmindedly fashioning a chain of clover blossoms as we sat in the grass in her backyard. "Does it matter?" she'd replied. "He knows where we live. I mean, he and Mom must be in touch. About money and stuff. So he would know we haven't moved or anything. Plus, he knows when my birthday is. I, um, shouldn't exactly have to remind him about that."

  No, I had thought. She shouldn't have to. But her father had a very bad track record when it came to birthdays and holidays, or even just to jotting a few lines on a postcard.

  "Dad?" I said now, setting aside my knitting. "I want to get Kristy something really special for her birthday this year."

  "You do? That's nice of you, Mary Anne."

  I nodded. I couldn't tell Dad why I wanted to get her something extra special, but that didn't matter.

  "Could you take me shopping on Saturday?" I really wished I was allowed to walk downtown and go shopping with my friends or even go shopping by myself, but that was a no-no. Dad . wouldn't let me make the trip into town without a grown-up.

  "Sure."

  "Good. Thank you. I'm glad I eamed all that sitting money." I had baby-sat two more times with Kristy, and what with those jobs and my allowance, my wallet was bulging nicely. "Kristy's kind of like my sister," I remarked to my father.

  He put the paper down and gave me his full attention. "You two have been through a lot together," he said. "You were there for Kristy when Mr. Thomas left and through all the changes that came afterward."

  "And Mrs. Thomas is like a mother to me sometimes," I added, hoping this wouldn't offend Dad. Sometimes he could be very protective of my mother, even though she'd been dead for my whole life.

  But he said, "Just like Mimi has been. You're lucky, Mary Anne, to have Mrs. Thomas and Mimi so nearby. And Kristy is lucky to have you."

  Later that night, I sat in my room and looked through my mother's box. I had no memories of my mom, but I was comforted by the simple thought that all of the things she'd saved had been important to her. Then I thought of Kristy. She had memories of her father, but he wasn't part of her life, and in fact it felt (to me, anyway) that he didn't particularly want to be part of it. Or maybe that he couldn't be.

  I had never known my mother; Kristy had known her father but had lost him. Maybe this was what bound us together as close as friends could be, as tight as sisters. There was one enormous difference between Kristy and me, though. I didn't know what I was missing, and Kristy did. Sure, I watched wistfully as my friends celebrated Mother's Day, as Kristy and her mother talked about things I could never discuss with Dad, as Claudia and her mother and Mimi occasionally had a "girls' day out." But it was like watching television. Not quite real.

  Kristy, on the other hand, remembered Fathers Day celebrations and bedtime stories with her dad and playing catch with him at the park. She remembered riding on his shoulders and being scolded for teasing Louie and leaming how to dance, her feet on his. She had years' worth of memories. And now she had... I wasn't sure exactly what Kristy thought she had, but from the outside looking in, I would say she had a phone call here and there, a card here and there, and a lot of disappointment. And she didn't ask for much from her father. Really, she just wanted him to remember her, to appreciate her.

  I set the box on the floor, climbed in bed, and switched off the light. I'd been giving a lot of thought to Kristy's birthday present, and the very first idea that popped into my head now was for a gift that didn't come from a store. I would think about the store-bought gift later. What had popped into my head at the moment was something called Kristy Day. Huh. Kristy Day. A day on which to celebrate and appreciate Kristin Amanda Thomas. That, I thought, would cheer her up, should she be feeling sad after her birthday dinner.

  I liked the idea so much that I thought I'd better make a few notes about it. The only trouble was that once it's lights-out in my room, it's really lights-out. Even during summer vacation. Dad was a big believer in getting enough sleep. So I was forced to make my notes by flashlight. I kept one shoved in the back of my top desk drawer for just such situations. I crept out of bed, listened for a few moments at my door but heard nothing at all, and tiptoed to my desk, where, once I had located the flashlight, I also found a pad of paper and a pen.

  Back in bed, I positioned the flashlight on a folded blanket and aimed it at the paper, hoping its beam wasn't bright enough so that Dad could see light under my door. Then I opened the pen with my teeth and carefully wrote across the top of the pad: KRISTY DAY.

  I began to make notes:

  1. To be held August 21st. That was the day after Kristy's birthday, a day on which she might be very, very disappointed.

  2. How to honor Kristy? Parade? Skits? Speeches? I scratched out Speeches, thinking I might be getting carried away.

  3. Who should come? I wrote down Claudia, Mariah arid Miranda Shillaber, and Laurert Hoffman. Mariah and Miranda (twins) and Lauren had been Kristy's friends originally, and I had gotten to know them through her. Sometimes we sat together in the cafeteria. Kristy would be pleased if they could come to Kristy Day. I paused, then added David Michael, all the Pike kids, Jamie Newton, Jenny Prezzioso, the kids for whom Kristy baby-sat.

  I sat in bed and wrote for fifteen minutes. By the time I finally tumed off the flashlight and went to bed (for the second time), I was feeling quite pleased with the way Kristy Day was taking shape.

  On Saturday, Dad went into his office for the morning. After he left, I lined up my mother's dolls on my bed and sat next to them with a big pile of yam in my lap. I was wondering if I could knit hats and scarves for the dolls, and realizing at the same time that knitting doll clothes would be a fabulous baby-sitting activity - I could spread my love of needlework to my sitting charges - when the phone rang.

  "Hello, Mary Anne?" said the caller. "This is Mrs. Newton."

  "Oh, hi!"

  The Newtons lived on my street, and both Kristy and Claudia occasionally sat for Jamie Newton, who was three years old.

  "Mary Anne, I understand you've started baby-sitting, and I was wondering if you'd be able to sit for Jamie next week. I need someone from two-thirty to four-thirty on Tuesday aftemoon."

  My first reaction was to shriek "Yippee! A real sitting job!" since this was the first time a parent had personally requested me, as opposed to my tagging along on one of Kristy's jobs just to get some experience. But I restrained myself. Also, I remembered my father's rules, and although Mrs. Newton had phoned and asked for me, I would still have to find someone to come with me on the job. Dad had not relaxed his rule about my sitting alone.

  I said i
n what I hoped was a professional-sounding voice, "Yes, I'm free on Tuesday. And I'd be happy to sit for Jamie. One thing, though," I drew in a deep breath. How to explain this? "Um, well, I just started baby-sitting this summer, and my father" (I was very tempted to say that my father was a Rule Freak who still saw me as a preschooler, but that certainly didn't sound professional or confidence-inspiring) "prefers that I have a buddy along when I sit. So I'll just need to see if Kristy or Claudia can come with me."

  "Oh," said Mrs. Newton. "Well, H was only planning on one -"

  "Oh, you'll only have to pay for one sitter," I said in a rush. "Don't worry about that. Could I call you back after I talk to Kristy and Claudia? I promise I'll call you by this evening."

  "All right," said Mrs. Newton, but she sounded uncertain, and I couldn't blame her. Two sitters for one little kid? A little kid who might even be napping during the entire sitting job?

  "Thank you! Thank you, Mrs. Newton," I said before she could change her mind. "I'll call you back soon."

  I hung up then and dialed Kristy's number. "Hi," I said. "Guess what. Mrs. Newton just called me and asked me to baby-sit! Isn't that cool?"

  "Your first true sitting job!" exclaimed Kristy. "That is cool."

  "Except," I continued, "I still can't go by myself. Can you come with me? Mrs. Newton needs us on Tuesday aftemoon."

  There was a little silence at the end of the phone.

  "Kristy?"

  "I'm busy on Tuesday. I'm sitting for Claire and Margo Pike."

  "Oh."

  "Hey, maybe I could bring the girls over to Jamie's."

  I sighed. "No. That's okay. I'll call Claudia and see if she can come."

  "I'm sorry," said Kristy.

  "It isn't your fault."

  I wasn't eager to call Claudia. I wanted to take the job at the Newtons, but I didn't particularly want to phone Claudia and display my babyishness to her, as if she weren't already completely aware of it.

  I plopped onto my floor and leaned against the bed. I hadn't seen much of Claudia since her party. Well, that wasn't quite true. What I meant was that I hadn't spent much time with her. I had seen her often enough - Claudia and Frankie Evans pedaling away from the Kishis' house on their bicycles, Claudia and Frankie sitting side by side on the Kishis' front stoop, Claudia sliding into the Evanses' station wagon on her way to who-knew-where with Frankie's family to do who-knew-what with them.

  Claudia and Frankie.

  Frankie and Claudia.

  Was Frankie Claudia's boyfriend?

  Were you allowed to have a boyfriend before seventh grade?

  Were you a total baby if you even had to ask these questions?

  I slumped farther down onto the floor, but then I heard Dad retuming from work and I jumped to my feet. I decided to forget about calling Claudia. For the moment.

  "Dad!" I said, running down the stairs to meet him in the kitchen. "Could we go into town this aftemoon? I want to buy Kristy's birthday present."

  "Sure," said Dad. "That sounds like fun. Let's have lunch at Renwick's first."

  "Yes!" I cried.

  Dad and I had a very nice lunch and I told him about Mrs. Newton's phone call. Then I looked in four different stores before I found the perfect gift for Kristy - a baseball jersey on which her name could be stenciled along with any number I chose. The man in the store helped me pick out the style and the color of the letters and the number, and before I knew it I was walking away with a gift-wrapped box for my best friend. I had spent quite a bit of my money, but it was worth it.

  Dad drove us home then, and at last it was time to face what I'd been putting off. I had to call Claudia and ask if she could baby-sit for Jamie with me. I was very nervous about making the call, which I knew was not a good thing. Calling someone who's been your friend your entire life should not make you nervous. But when I picked up the phone, I noticed that my hands were sweating.

  My sister was barely speaking to me. My oldest friends in the world still played with dolls and laughed at boys behind their backs. I would have felt really lonely if it weren't for Frankie.

  Two days after my birthday party he called. Just to talk. He called me on my own personal line and I spoke to him privately in my bedroom. Okay, so answer me this: How did Janine know he had called? I hadn't a clue, but somehow she did know, because after I hung up the phone I found her waiting for me in the hall outside my room, like a vulture.

  "Was that Frankie?" she asked.

  "Yes." I was shocked. Maybe my sister had magical powers. That would be important to know.

  "Uh-huh," said Janine.

  I waited for her to say something else, but she didn't, she just slunk back down the hall to her lair.

  Frankie called again the next day, and the day after that he dropped by the house for a few minutes. Luckily, Janine wasn't at home, but her powers kicked right in, because the moment she walked through the door that aftemoon she said, "Did you and Frankie have fun?"

  Maybe my sister had spies in addition to magical powers.

  Frankie and I walked downtown and had sodas at Renwick's. (If our arms accidentally touched, the world began spinning again.) We browsed the music store, and I made an effort to spend as much time looking at the merchandise as I did at Frankie. We took a bike ride. I rode behind Frankie and watched the way his curls blew back and got kind of straightened out by the wind. We sat on swings at the elementary school playground and I noticed the pleasant, sun-warmed boy-smell of his skin.

  Every time my phone rang I hoped it would be him.

  Apparently, I was the only one in my family who felt this way. Nobody disliked Frankie. But I saw the frown that furrowed Mimi's brow when Frankie appeared on our doorstep, and the looks Mom and Dad exchanged when I closed my bedroom door after my phone had rung. They didn't have to say they thought I was too young to have a friend who was a boy. All right, who was I kidding? They didn't have to say they thought I was too young to be spending time with a boy who was clearly more than just a friend. But I knew that's what they were thinking.

  One quiet evening when Janine was off at a study group and Mom and Dad and Mimi were reading in the living room, I was sitting lazily on our front steps - not reading, not even really thinking, just sitting - when I saw a bicycle tum the comer onto Bradford Court. Frankie zipped up my driveway and hopped off the bike.

  "Hi," he said casually.

  I swallowed a giant lump that had formed in my throat at the very sight of him. "Hi," I replied, and was surprised when the voice sounded like my own.

  "What are you doing?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing."

  "Claudia?" my father called from inside. "Is someone here?"

  "It's Frankie," I told him, and led Frankie into our living room.

  My parents and Mimi hadn't had much opportunity to talk to Frankie, and now here he was, standing before them. They were very polite to my boyfriend. Very, very polite. Dad asked a zillion polite questions about his family and his summer and his interests, and Frankie told him with equal politeness what his parents did, and that he had a brother and a sister, and that most of his friends were away for the summer, and that he had started a garage band. (Mimi looked puzzled by this last piece of information.) Then Frankie said, "Speaking of interests, I hear that Claudia's a really good artist. I was wondering if I could see some of her paintings?"

  "Sure!" I exclaimed. I was extremely flattered. "Come on upstairs!"

  I caught the horrified look on my parents' faces just in time. "I'll leave my door open," I hissed to my mother.

  That didn't seem to be good enough. She got to her feet. For one awful second I thought she was going to say, "I'll come with you." Instead, she said, "I have a mountain of laundry to fold," and followed us up the stairs but detoured into her bedroom.

  Frankie stepped into my room and looked around. "Whoa," he said. "Cool." He took in the easel, the shelves of brushes and paints and pastels and charcoals, the projects, both finished and unfinished, that covered
most of the surfaces. "Claudia, you're amazing," he said after a few moments. "You're a really amazing artist." He leaned over to examine a study that I had done of my own left hand but didn't touch it. Now, how did Frankie know I didn't like people to touch my art?

  "Thanks," I said.

  "How does this..." Frankie paused, searching for words, and started over. He gestured around the room. "How does this... come out of you?"

  I shrugged and was pretty sure I began blushing. "I don't know. It's just... it's in me. And it comes out as art."

  Frankie glanced toward the hallway, saw that my mother was nowhere in sight, and came to stand close to me, so close that I could feel his arm on my arm. And an incredible amount of heat.