Jessi's Gold Medal Read online

  The last contest of the day was a “crosscountry” race. That meant two laps around the property, including the front and back yards. Suzi Barrett, Johnny Hobart, and Jenny Prezzioso had entered. Watson was standing by the finish line, looking like he couldn’t wait to sit down.

  Suddenly Andrew came dashing across the lawn. “Wait, Daddy!” he shouted. “I want to be in it!”

  Watson smiled palely. He was probably thinking what I was thinking — Andrew would be better off quitting before he got too upset. Still, the other kids were about his age (four), so maybe he’d have a good chance.

  Andrew lined up next to the others.

  “Okay, ready …?” Watson announced. “Set … go!”

  The kids dug in. Johnny got off to a fast start, but Jenny and Andrew were right behind him. Suzi was last, shouting, “Wait! Wait!”

  Her brother, Buddy, slapped his forehead in big-brother disgust. “They can’t wait! It’s a race!” he yelled from the sidelines.

  The runners disappeared behind the house, then appeared a moment later around the other side. This time, Andrew and Jenny were in the lead, neck and neck.

  “Come on, Andrew!” Kristy shouted. (I wanted to shout, too, but it wouldn’t have been right. I’m not his sister.)

  They made the turn for the second lap. Andrew was pulling in the lead. His face was red, and he was huffing and puffing.

  By the last lap, Andrew was in third place. He hadn’t paced himself, and he was gasping for breath. And that was how he crossed the finish line, only a couple of steps ahead of Suzi.

  Lucky for him, Watson was waiting there with open arms, ready to pick up his sobbing son who had tried and tried till the end.

  “Psssssst! Go ahead, press it now!” Kristy said in a loud whisper.

  Alan scowled. He was standing next to Dawn’s tape recorder, which was plugged into an outdoor electrical outlet on the wall of the house. Obeying Kristy, he pressed play.

  A loud trumpet fanfare echoed through the backyard. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” Kristy announced through her bullhorn in a grand voice. “We have reached the conclusion of the First Annual Mini-Olympics. Gather around for the official awarding of prizes!”

  The trumpet fanfare had turned into this raucous brass number, with trombones and tubas blatting away. Kristy put down the bullhorn and hissed at Alan, “That’s enough! Press stop!”

  Alan let it go a few seconds longer. When he did turn it off, this tiny smile was on his face.

  “Thank you … maestro,” Kristy said in her announcer voice again. “May I have the basket, please?”

  The rest of us BSCers were next to the table, holding a wicker wastebasket full of ribbons. It was 4:17, and we had just spent the most frantic seventeen minutes of our lives filling in names on the prizes, making sure everyone received one.

  Stacey held up the basket and Kristy picked out a ribbon. “I shall now present the first award!” With a dramatic flourish, she lifted it up and read the tag. “And the Most Creative Award is hereby … uh, awarded to …” Kristy cleared her throat. “Charlotte Johanssen!”

  And “Merriment spread throughout the Land.” (That’s from an old fairy tale I read. It’s a fancy way of saying, “Everybody clapped.”)

  I heard Stacey whisper to Kristy, “Uh, could you step it up? There are a lot more in the basket.”

  Kristy pulled out the second one and read, “The Crosscountry Champ … Johnny Hobart!”

  Johnny ran forward, and I caught a glimpse of Andrew’s face, pouty and sad, probably thinking of the race he had almost won.

  Most Frequent Weight-Lifting Award … Linny Papadakis!” Kristy announced next.

  As the crowd cheered, Linny’s face lit up like a lantern. You’d think he had won an Oscar or something. He grabbed his ribbon and held it triumphantly in the air.

  Kristy picked another. “The Most Determined Award …” She paused. Her solemn “announcer” expression melted into a warm smile. “This is a very special one, and it goes to Andrew Brewer!”

  Andrew’s mouth just dropped open. He looked around in disbelief at all the people smiling and cheering. Mrs. Brewer hugged him, then gave him a gentle push forward.

  I could hear him say “thank you” in a teeny voice as he took the ribbon from his stepsister.

  * * *

  The award ceremony left everyone feeling happy. We managed to give all the kids something, right on down to Most Summery Outfit or Smoothest Running Style. (We were really stretching it.)

  By five o’clock the last of the families had drifted off. Elise thanked me for inviting her, and my parents asked her over for dinner the next week. We both agreed to buy each other ice cream cones afterward, since we both lost our bet.

  That left all us BSC members to clean up. Well, I should say all of us minus one. Kristy was lounging on a lawn chair, sipping iced tea.

  Her butler had taken her place.

  “More, please,” Kristy said, handing her empty glass to Alan. As he went inside, grumbling, she said, “You know, I’m really proud of my stepbrother. He never gave up trying, the whole day long.”

  “If he keeps that up, he can’t help but be a winner,” I said. Boy, that sounded corny, but I really believed it. My synchro experience had taught me that.

  Dawn nodded in agreement. “You know, they’re just kids, but sometimes you can really learn things from them.”

  “Yeah,” Mary Anne said. “Like Charlotte. I never imagined she’d figure out how to get both us nonjocks involved in these jock events.

  Mallory sighed. She had this strange, pinched look on her face, like she was dying to say something. “I — I guess I should have talked to Char.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Well …” Mal said, “if I had, maybe I wouldn’t have tried to chicken out like I did.”

  “But you sprained your ankle,” Kristy said. “That’s not chickening out.”

  Suddenly Claudia gave Mal a look. “You didn’t sprain it on purpose, did you — in that potato-sack race?”

  “Yes — I mean, no,” Mal said uncomfortably. “I mean, I wanted to pretend to hurt myself. I figured if everyone believed me, then I wouldn’t have to be in the festival. But I guess I was trying too hard. A real sprain wasn’t in the plan.” She sighed. “Then I stayed on crutches longer than I needed to, so no one would bother me about joining in at the last minute.”

  “Mal,” I said gently, “maybe if you’d just admitted from the beginning that you didn’t want to be in the festival, you wouldn’t have had to go through all that.”

  “Yeah,” Mal said quietly. “I know.”

  No one knew what to say for a moment, so I broke the ice. “Well, we all make mistakes. Elise and I decided synchro class wasn’t for us. We’re not returning.”

  “What?” Stacey said. “But you’re so good at it — and you worked so hard.”

  I nodded. “Synchro’s a great sport, and I can see why people like it. But for Elise and me, it was, like, too much work and too little fun. She told me she was starting to mess up in her regular swim class, which she loves. And I realized I didn’t have enough energy for ballet. So when we looked at it that way, the decision to quit was easy.”

  Slam!

  The back door flew open and shut as Alan stalked out, carrying another iced tea. Kristy took one look at the glass and said, “Where’s the lemon?”

  And that was when it happened. Alan’s neck tightened up, his eyes reddened, and he looked like he was either going to explode or cry.

  The rest of us scattered, picking up odds and ends around the yard.

  Alan smacked Kristy’s drink down on the table. Iced tea splattered all over his pants, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Okay!” he said, practically spitting the word out. “I’ll get you your stupid lemon. I’ll get you whatever you want, Kristy. But I challenge you to another race — just you and me, without all your friends around. And this one’ll be for two weeks of personal service.”

  Kris
ty stared at him. I think she was a little shocked.

  “What do you say to that, ma’am?” Alan said sarcastically.

  Kristy slowly lifted the iced tea to her lips. Before she took a sip, she smiled at Alan and said, “You’re on. Now go change your pants.”

  Alan looked down at the brown iced-tea stain that was spreading down his leg. He opened his mouth. Then he shut it. No words came out.

  As for me, I held my breath. I vowed I’d pass out before I allowed myself to laugh. To my left, I saw Mary Anne’s shoulders start to shake. To my right, I saw Mallory put her hand over her mouth.

  My vow lasted about two seconds. I burst out giggling. Soon the yard echoed with laughter — mine, Mal’s, Kristy’s, Mary Anne’s, Dawn’s, Stacey’s, Claud’s.

  And finally, Alan’s, too.

  * * *

  Dear Reader,

  In Jessi’s Gold Medal, Jessi finds that everyone expects she’ll do well on the synchronized swim team simply because she is a talented dancer. Over the years, I have found that many people expect that I will be a good speaker simply because I am a writer. The truth is, many writers are good speakers — but not all of them. However, even though I knew that I did not like public speaking, I felt that because I was expected to be a speaker, I should be one. For years I spoke at schools and at conferences. I thought that I would get better at it, or at least that I would learn to enjoy it. But neither one happened. Finally I realized that I truly am not a good speaker, so I stopped doing any kind of public speaking. It wasn’t worth the anxiety it caused. Since then, I’ve become very careful about people’s expectations. And I did learn something about speaking — to speak up when I’m not comfortable with something. That’s a lesson everyone should learn!

  Happy reading,

  * * *

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Peter Lerangis

  for his help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  About the Author

  ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.

  There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.

  Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.

  Copyright © 1992 by Ann M. Martin.

  Cover art by Hodges Soileau

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First edition, June 1992

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-69049-2