Dawn and the Big Sleepover

  A few of the teachers had to shush some kids. I looked at my watch. My speech was over, but I realized we still had five minutes to go. “Um, does anybody have any questions?”

  Haley’s hand shot up. “Haley?” I said.

  “That’s the best idea I ever heard, Dawn!” she blurted out. “Can we tell our pen pals what we’re doing?”

  “I’m glad you asked that,” I said. “The answer is no. This is going to be a surprise. If you write to them, don’t even give the slightest hint.”

  Then I called on Valerie Namm, a friend of Charlotte’s, whose hand was raised. “Valerie?”

  “How long will the drive last?” she asked.

  “About three weeks,” I said. “Longer if it’s going really well.”

  The next person I called on was David Michael, Kristy’s brother. “When we go to people’s houses, can we collect money, too?” he asked.

  I looked back at the other BSC members. They were all leaning over to Kristy, who stood up and said, “Sure. Since fund-raising is going to be up to you, that can be your method.”

  “Rob,” I said, pointing to Rob Hines.

  “Can we just go to the party and forget the other stuff?” he asked.

  Three or four boys on either side of him began to laugh.

  “No work, no play,” I answered.

  Then I called on Jordan Pike.

  “Hey, Mal,” he said, “what’s that thing crawling up the wall behind you?”

  Mal spun around, and Jordan’s group of friends began to howl with laughter. That’s when Ms. Besser stood up and said, “All right, if you have any more questions — real questions — I’ll take them for the next few minutes. But first let’s have a round of applause for the girls before they leave!”

  The kids did applaud — enthusiastically, too. As I led the other BSC members off the stage, I waved to the kids. When we got to the hallway, we all did a little jumping and squealing and giggling of our own.

  Inside, through the open door, we could hear Ms. Besser answering more questions.

  “You did it, Dawn!” Kristy said, beaming.

  “I guess,” I said. I was trying not to get overexcited, because there was so much work to do now. But the truth was, I felt like shouting with joy. The assembly was a success, and we were on our way!

  That Saturday was exactly one week and a day after the assembly at SES. Mal and Jessi had somehow managed to organize a carnival in the Pikes’ backyard. Booths, grab bags, a magic show, the works.

  Now, carnivals are supposed to be a little wild, but this one … well, let’s just say things didn’t go the way anyone had expected.

  It started out great. Every day that week, Mal and Jessi got together and planned all the details with the younger Pike kids and some of their friends. They built stands out of cardboard boxes and used a lot of old stuff the Pikes had around the house. For whatever else they needed, they pooled money with Mal’s brothers and sisters.

  The kids had plenty of ideas for the carnival. Mr. Pike had just put up a basketball hoop on the garage, so Adam and Byron set up a free-throw contest. (It cost a quarter to try, so I don’t know why they called it “free throw.” All I know is when I asked them, they rolled their eyes as if I were really stupid.)

  Nicky and Jordan made a grab bag out of a huge duffel bag, which they stuffed with little prizes like pencils and baseball cards and comic books. Vanessa and Margo took a plastic wading pool and made a “fishing pond.” They used Claire’s rubber ducks, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack, and Quack (named after the ducks in Make Way for Ducklings). If you could pick up one of the ducks, using a fishing rod with a big plastic hook, you could win a small prize.

  Jessi had invited her cousin Keisha to come up from New Jersey for the weekend to help out. The two of them took Polaroid pictures of people in a pretty spot in front of the Pikes’ garden, for a fee. (Whenever they didn’t have customers, Jessi went around taking candid shots, which sold really well, too.) Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold, who are twins, organized a ringtoss, using plastic bowling pins. David Michael Thomas made plastic name tags and messages for people, using one of those little rotating things that look like mini versions of the Starship Enterprise. Linny Papadakis, David Michael’s friend, performed a magic show. The audience entered his “theater” through a “curtain,” which was a couple of strung-up blankets that blocked off a corner of the yard.

  So, there the kids were, ten o’clock Saturday morning, frantically setting up. There was a steady slap, slap, slap … bonk! as Adam and Jordon dribbled and shot baskets on the driveway (and missed most of the time — the bonk! was the ball hitting the rim). Linny, wearing a shiny fake handlebar mustache and a long black cape, was standing outside his curtains and practicing his sales pitch. “Come one, come all, to the greatest magic show on earth!” he shouted over and over. You would not believe the chaos in the yard.

  Oh, well, it was for a good cause, right?

  Jessi was making sure the garden looked nice, tossing away dead flowers and stray toys that were lying around. Mal was running all over the place, checking the booths. She spotted Vanessa having trouble blowing up the wading pool. “Vanessa,” she called out, “why don’t you get Dad or Mom to help —”

  All of a sudden she was hit from the right. She stumbled, then looked over to see Adam running across the yard. The basketball was heading for Linny’s curtains. “If you guys can’t control the ball, I’m not going to let you have your contest!” Mal shouted.

  “You can’t say that,” Jordan snapped back. “You don’t even have a pen pal!”

  Mal was trying to figure out the logic of that when Jessi leaped in front of her and said, “Say cheese!”

  “Jessi, don’t!” Mal said, but it was too late. Jessi snapped the shutter, and the picture came shooting out the front of the camera.

  As they watched it develop, Mal groaned. Her eyes were half shut and her lips were curled in a weird, snarly way. “Ew!” she said. “Throw it out!”

  “I told you to say ‘cheese,’” Jessi said.

  “Oh, never mind,” Mal said. “Did you talk to Boober yet?”

  Overhearing, Claire squealed, “Boober the Fraggle is coming?”

  “Goober,” Jessi corrected them. “He’s going to do three shows — at twelve, two, and four.”

  “Good,” Mal said. “We’ll set him up in the driveway.”

  “Oh, no you won’t!” came Adam’s voice. “We need it!”

  “The shows aren’t long,” Mal said. “Besides, I don’t want anybody shooting dumb baskets while the show is on.”

  “Everybody’ll be watching him, anyway,” Jessi added.

  You must be dying to know who Goober Mansfield is. His real name is Peter, and he’s the star of all the high school plays in a nearby town called Mercer. He’s even had a part in a professional theater production of Shenandoah. Jessi found out about him in ballet class. One of her classmates, Julie Mansfield, is Goober’s cousin. Julie mentioned that Goober did a dinosaur show at parties in Mercer, and all the kids there loved it.

  Well, Jessi got a call from him that night. He was so enthusiastic — and funny — that she signed him up.

  He showed up at the Pikes’ in a minivan around ten-thirty the day of the carnival. Mal liked him right away. He had a round face with a goony smile and a loose, rubbery body. Just seeing him made her want to laugh. You know how a person sometimes resembles a name? Well, he sort of looked like a Goober.

  He and two of his brothers pulled a heavy wooden trunk out of the minivan. Mal led them into the yard and pointed to the driveway. “Set up over there, next to the basketball hoop.”

  “Mal —” Adam began to protest, but Mal gave him a Look.

  Adam and Jordan sulked as Goober began setting up. He pulled out a papier-mâché tyrannosauraus head, a pair of big dinosaur feet made from diving flippers, a couple of strange-looking masks, a portable cassette player, and a bullhorn.

  Right around then, Claire raced up the
driveway, shouting, “They’re coming!”

  “Who?” Mal asked.

  “People!” Claire said, jumping up and down.

  There were shrieks of excitement (from the booths that were prepared) and panic (from the ones that weren’t). Everyone hurried around, doing last-minute things.

  “Okay!” Mal called out above the noise. “Get ready!”

  Then, finally, it began.

  The first to arrive were Linny Papadakis’s parents and two sisters. They, of course, went straight to the magic show. A few minutes later, Betsy Sobak and her parents came, then the Prezziosos.

  Before long, the yard was full. Mal guided kids to the booths. Jessi and Keisha snapped away. Goober moved his stuff far enough from the basketball hoop for Adam and Jordan to have their contest. Linny had a steady stream of customers in the magic booth.

  At exactly noon, a whistle blew shrilly.

  Mal quickly looked at her watch. “Oh! It’s time for the show!” She cleared her throat and called out, “Attention every —”

  “Awroooooo!” She couldn’t even finish the sentence before Goober began shouting into a bullhorn. “I am a giant duck-bill dinosaur!” he shouted. “Please help me, I’m dying! Hellllllllp meee! Awrooooo!”

  He was wearing a scary mask that looked something like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, plus green flipper feet. He wriggled and twisted as if he were in great pain, then fell to his knees. “Helllp meee!”

  Kids quickly finished their games. One by one, they gathered around Goober and watched, fascinated. Suddenly he stopped yelling and cocked his head. Then he sprang to his feet and roared.

  A couple of the kids screamed gleefully, and Goober began laughing. “There, that’th better!” he said in a goofy, lisping voice that reminded Mal of the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz. “What kinda dinothaur would I be if I couldn’t thcare people?”

  In no time, everyone was watching. Even Adam and Jordan put down their basketballs and stared. Goober impersonated different dinosaurs, talking about their characteristics, when they lived, whether they ate plants or meat, things like that. He even performed an original dinosaur rap song, dressed as a stegosaurus.

  When Mal told me about the show, I wished I’d seen it — but mostly because of what happened later.

  It was during the second show that the Perkins family arrived. (They live in Kristy’s old house, and they’re regular customers of ours.) Many of the kids there had already seen the first show, so all the exhibits were busy. Gabbie Perkins, who’s almost three, came racing into the backyard with a tennis ball, giggling. Beside her was their Labrador retriever, Chewy (short for Chewbacca).

  “Ugh! Is that what took over after we became extinct?” Goober’s voice boomed out.

  Gabbie spun around to see Goober, wearing his tyrannosaurus mask and pointing at Chewy.

  Everyone watching the show turned around. Goober took a step toward Chewy.

  Gabbie looked half interested, half frightened — but Chewy knew exactly how he felt. He drew back his lips and let out a snarl.

  “Say, pal,” Goober said in a deep, rough voice. “How’d a little thing like you end up surviving to the twentieth century?”

  With that, he leaned down to pet Chewy.

  Well, maybe it was that big, ugly mask, or maybe Goober looked like he was attacking, but Chewy did something no one had ever seen him do before.

  He turned tail and ran.

  “Chewy!” Gabbie cried out.

  “Chewy, no!” called Myriah, her older sister.

  It turned out that Jamie Newton was a little afraid of dogs — and a lot afraid of dogs who jumped in front of him without warning.

  Jamie’s shriek was practically bloodcurdling. He ran away — right into Marilyn and Carolyn’s ringtoss. Their bowling pins went flying.

  Marilyn ran after the pins. Mrs. Newton ran after Jamie. Myriah and Gabbie ran after Chewy.

  And Chewy decided to run into Linny’s curtains to hide. He plunged right in, snapping them off the clothesline.

  The three kids watching the magic show stood up in surprise. So did Linny.

  “Hey, you’re ruining my act!” Linny shouted.

  “Chewy!” Gabbie said.

  “Waaaaah!” Jamie cried.

  * * *

  It didn’t take long to get everything back to normal. Jamie recovered and went home. Mr. Perkins took Chewy back to his house. The exhibits were fixed up and Goober continued his show.

  It did take awhile for Jessi and Mal to recover. For a long time they talked about Goober Mansfield as if he had ruined the day. But Jessi realized one important thing. After all that crazy stuff had happened, the carnival became twice as crowded.

  Maybe, despite everything, Goober Mansfield was the best thing that happened that day.

  Claudia’s story actually started a week before she wrote her entry. At our meeting the Monday after the assembly, she picked up a call from Mrs. Rodowsky.

  “Hi, Mrs. Rodowsky,” she said. “Can we help you?”

  I hate to say it, but you could practically hear us thinking “Oh, no!”

  I should tell you one thing. Sitting for Jackie Rodowsky is only for the very brave. He is the most accident-prone seven-year-old you’ve ever met. If there’s food on the table, chances are he’ll spill it. If there’s something on the ground, chances are he’ll trip over it. If he has a new outfit on, you can bet there’ll be a rip in it by the end of the day. Claudia always wears her most indestructible clothes when she sits for the Rodowskys. If she had a suit of armor, that would probably be better.

  “Jackie and Shea were telling me about the plan you girls are organizing,” Mrs. Rodowsky said, “and Jackie had the most wonderful idea — a yard sale. We can get families to donate things they don’t need anymore. I’d be happy to volunteer my backyard. And I was wondering if one of you could supervise the sale.”

  “Oh,” Claudia said, trying to sound enthusiastic but imagining Jackie toppling over a table full of china, “that’s a great —”

  “How does Sunday sound?” Mrs. Rodowsky continued. “Do you think that gives us enough time?”

  “Uh, sure, I think so,” Claudia said. “Let me talk it over with everyone. We’ll be … happy to help you.”

  “Great. I’ll have the boys spread the word in school, and I’ll contact their teachers. We’ll talk later in the week about details.”

  “Okay,” Claudia said.

  “Terrific. ’Bye, Claudia.”

  “’Bye.”

  Well, no one exactly jumped out of her seat to volunteer to be in charge. In fact, we actually had to choose straws. And of course, Claud picked the short one.

  “Wish me luck,” she said with a sigh.

  Jackie and Shea Rodowsky were incredibly enthusiastic. They asked Claudia to draw an advertisement for the sale, which they copied and plastered all over their school. And they managed to convince tons of kids to make donations. Whenever Claudia wasn’t sitting, she’d help Jackie and Shea pick up all kinds of things from their friends. Lamps, old chairs, paintings, boxes of books, appliances, silverware — you name it, they lugged it to the Rodowskys’.

  It was the same week that Mal, Jessi, and the Pike kids put together their carnival. It was the same week that the entire school seemed to get caught up in a frenzy of giving. I know, because I shared “barn duty” every evening with Mary Anne. Kids were constantly coming over, bringing all kinds of donated clothes and food.

  We were impressed with everyone’s concern for their pen pals — until some of the kids started asking us for receipts! They wanted to make sure they got credit for their donations. When I asked one of them why, he said, “So I can win first prize at the sleepover!” I had to assure them that we were keeping close track of who brought in what.

  Claudia noticed how competitive the SES kids were getting, too. Just how competitive, she found out that Sunday.

  The Rodowskys’ yard was every bit as crowded as the Pikes’ backyard had been t
he day before. Claudia and the Rodowskys spent the morning busily piling things onto tables. Even Archie, Jackie’s four-year-old brother, helped out.

  Jackie and Shea were constantly going into the house and returning with things they hadn’t thought of donating, like jewelry and glassware. Ninety-nine percent of the time, Mr. or Mrs. Rodowsky would scold them and make them put the things back.

  At one point Jackie ran to Claudia and whispered excitedly. “We got the blender!”

  “The blender?” Claudia repeated.

  “Yeah,” Shea piped up. “Mom and Dad never use it, but Dad didn’t want to give it up.”

  “And I made him feel guilty about not donating to such a good cause,” Shea added with a grin.

  “They also gave us an old toaster,” Jackie said, “and a juice extractor, and a waffle maker, and these glass bowls we’ve never used.” He reached over to a table and picked up a heavy glass bowl, wedged in among a lot of appliances. “They’re in really great shape, too. Look —”

  The edge of the bowl caught on a plastic knob on the toaster. The toaster tipped, nudging a pile of plates. “No!” Claudia shouted.

  Too late. The plates fell off and crashed onto the Rodowskys’ driveway. Two of them smashed right away.

  When the toaster fell, it took care of the others.

  “Oh,” Jackie said, his mouth hanging open, “sorry.”

  “Uh, Jackie,” Claudia said, stooping to pick up the toaster, “maybe you should get a broom from the garage, okay?”

  “Yeah,” Jackie said, backing away, “okay.”

  “Watch it!” Claudia warned, her eyes widening.

  Jackie spun around just in time to miss bumping against another table.

  With a sigh, Claud picked up the big pieces of the broken plates. (Now you can see why Jackie’s nickname is “the walking disaster.”) In a moment, Jackie returned unharmed with the broom, and they swept up the rest of the mess. Then Claud went back to setting up the yard. She had to hand it to those boys — they had carefully labeled everything with prices, even sorted things into categories.