Dawn and the Big Sleepover

  By one o’clock (opening time), the yard was set up.

  And nobody came — except for Mary Anne and me, but we don’t really count. Claudia could feel her heart sink.

  But it didn’t sink far. By one-twenty the place was hopping. Claudia got so busy she didn’t know what hit her.

  Well, the sale wasn’t even a half-hour old when Mrs. Delaney picked up a big, expensive-looking lamp and said, “Hey, that’s my lamp!”

  Not long afterward, Kristy’s stepfather, Watson, strolled over with a big smile. “Hi, Claudia,” he said. “What sort of literature are you peddling?”

  “Some good stuff!” Claudia said, picking up the top book from a pile of old, leatherbound books. “Dusti — Doze —” she stammered, reading a spine that said “Dostoevsky.” She quickly looked on the front and read the title instead. “Crime and Punishment!”

  With a smile, Watson picked up the book and began turning pages. “Sorry, but I have this collection. Precious stuff, too. Why would anyone want to —”

  Suddenly his face fell. Watson’s name was written in faded blue ink on the title page. He put the book down and opened to the title page of another of the books. “Wait a minute … this is my collection!”

  Claudia didn’t know what to say. “Oh … I can’t imagine what …”

  “David Michael!” Watson called out, his eyes blazing.

  David Michael was at the games table, looking at a jigsaw puzzle. He whirled around. “What?” he asked timidly.

  “Come here, please,” Watson answered.

  David Michael slunk over to him with his head down. “What?” he asked again, quietly.

  “Did you give the Rodowsky boys these books?”

  David Michael’s face was turning red. “Well … they — they’re so old, and you never ever read them, and —”

  “Watson?” Mrs. Brewer’s voice interrupted her husband. She was walking toward him, holding a box full of dusty picture frames. “Did you know that this was on the table by the porch?”

  Watson glared at David Michael.

  “They were in the attic!” David Michael protested. “And you said you wanted to throw them out!”

  “It’s not only David Michael,” Mrs. Brewer said to Watson. “Mrs. Kilbourne found a necklace of hers that Maria had donated, and Mrs. Kuhn —”

  Just then, Shea ran by, wailing. His father was following behind, holding a tennis racket and shaking his head angrily. “Seventy-three bucks,” he said to Kristy’s parents. “If I hadn’t seen someone buying it —”

  He must have sensed something was up with Kristy’s parents, because he stopped. Watson raised an eyebrow and nodded. “We’ve had a little surprise of our own,” he said.

  Poor David Michael was almost in tears.

  Mr. Rodowsky scrunched up his forehead. “And Mrs. Delaney, and —”

  “You better believe that’s my radio!” another voice boomed out. “Your father bought it for me for our first anniversary!”

  It was Mrs. Addison, scolding her daughter Corrie.

  Watson, Mr. Rodowsky, and Mrs. Brewer turned to each other slo-o-owly, their eyes wide and their mouths slightly open. Claudia nearly cracked up.

  The next thing they knew, Mr. Rodowsky was standing on a chair, saying, “Attention, everybody! Attention!”

  The crowd quieted down. Mr. Rodowsky put on a brave smile and said, “It has come to my attention that certain items at this sale might not be … uh, authorized. I think some of our collectors have been a little overzealous. I want to offer my apologies, and I hope this won’t dampen the spirit of giving. Perhaps we should take a few moments to sort out the sale items from the … nonsale items before we go on. And I assure you, if anything is missing, I’ll be responsible. Thank you.”

  There were a few chuckles from the crowd. The first voice Claudia heard was Mrs. Delaney’s: “You know, the lamp is a little clunky-looking anyway. I’ll let it go.”

  “Well I do want my radio,” Mrs. Addison said, then added, “so I’ll give you ten dollars for it …” She handed a ten-dollar bill to Mrs. Rodowsky, who was behind the table. A smile crept across her face. “After all, it’s for the kids, right?”

  Most of the parents began chattering with each other and laughing. Watson tapped the book a few times and said, “I’ll buy these back for fifteen dollars.” He gave a small grin. “Nonnegotiable.”

  Claudia breathed a sigh of relief. Moments before, she had imagined the whole project falling apart. But it didn’t. In fact, it was a big success and raised a lot of money. There were a few more misunderstandings, a few parents dragging their kids home, clutching jewelry or coffeepots. But for the most part, the parents were very understanding. They may have been annoyed, but they acted like … well, adults.

  “That’s a big box!” I said to Buddy Barrett as he dragged a carton up our driveway.

  “Yup,” he said. “I can lift it, too.”

  He did, and his knobby knees shook with the strain.

  “Very good, Buddy,” I said. “Why don’t you put it down and slide it into the barn.”

  “Okay.”

  I helped him pull the box in. It was heavy. Buddy lives only a couple of houses away, but I was amazed he had struggled to get the box to the barn himself.

  “There!” I said, shoving it into a corner. “You know, you’re pretty strong for an eight-year-old.”

  “Yeah,” he said, beaming.

  “You want me to give you a receipt, Buddy?” I asked, hoping he’d say no.

  He nodded eagerly.

  For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I grabbed my clipboard from the floor. I had reached the last page of a thick pad of legal paper. The rest of it was covered with inventory, inventory, inventory.

  Originally, when I had agreed to let my barn be the storage area for the drives, I thought Mary Anne and I would have an easy job. All we had to do was sit there while kids came and dropped off an occasional box or two. Easy, right?

  Wrong.

  The carnival and the yard sale had whipped up an unbelievable amount of support for our program. On some days, kids had to stand in line when they brought stuff to the barn.

  It was Friday, almost a week after the big weekend, and I felt like I was ready to drop. I lifted out the things in Buddy’s box and wrote them down on my pad:

  “Buddy,” I said, “are you sure your mom wants to get rid of an entire case of formula?”

  “Yeah!” Buddy said. “Marnie grew out of that stuff a long time ago.”

  “And your mom said you could take it?”

  Buddy rolled his eyes. “Dawwwwwn, are you going to give me a receipt or not?”

  I was too tired to get into an argument. I quickly scribbled a receipt and Buddy took off. Three more kids came, and I went through the same routine with each. One of them was a kid named Rob Hines. He had been to the barn three times that week.

  At a quarter to nine, people stopped coming (finally!). I was sitting on a box, gazing around, when I realized I had spent all this time collecting this stuff but had never really looked at it.

  And there was a lot to look at. About half of the stuff had come in on Mary Anne’s days, so I really was seeing it for the first time.

  A lot of it was pretty junky, to be honest — stuff I would be embarrassed to send to New Mexico. There were fashions that were pre-historic, like a polyester pale blue leisure suit with stretched-out pockets. There were shoes that were so old and worn, you could tell exactly what the people’s feet looked like and how they walked.

  But there were also some pretty nice clothes, and some things that were quite beautiful. I ran my fingers down a gorgeous, silky nightgown with what looked like a hand-painted flower pattern. There were some designer dresses I would die to wear. Someone had brought his-and-her running shoes that looked like they hadn’t been worn.

  I began snooping around the food section, too. There were mostly cans of tuna, soup, beef stew, and boxes of cereal and flour and raisins. Sensi
ble things — nutritious, inexpensive, and long-lasting. But mixed in with them were six-packs of gum and candy bars, tins of cookies, a box of imported chocolates, a huge canister of cocoa, three jars of caviar …

  Caviar?

  What was that doing here? Who in her right mind would send caviar to people who needed necessities? For that matter, why would anyone send hot cocoa to people who lived in the desert? And the imported chocolates were wonderful, but not exactly necessary.

  It seemed funny to me that most parents would donate practical food and clothing while others would give things so off-the-wall.

  Unless the parents didn’t donate them.

  Suddenly the nice stuff didn’t seem so … nice. My eyes traveled to a gray flannel man’s suit, hanging near the window. I went to it and opened the lapel.

  A tailor’s receipt was sticking out of the inner pocket. I pulled it out and read the words scrawled on it.

  Under the name HINES was last Wednesday’s date.

  Mr. Hines had bought a suit last week, had it tailored, and then turned around and given it away?

  Something was very wrong. And after what had happened at the yard sale, I had a feeling I knew exactly what.

  * * *

  The next morning, Saturday, I explained my suspicions to Mary Anne over breakfast.

  “You know,” she said, “I was starting to think something funny was happening, too.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want to assume. Besides, I imagined how happy the pen pals would be when they saw such nice things …” She shrugged and sighed. “I guess it was just wishful thinking.”

  I nodded. “Well, we still don’t know for sure, right?”

  “Right. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “So what should we do?”

  Mary Anne took a bite of her grapefruit and thought about it for a moment. “I think we should talk to some of the kids.”

  “You mean, go to their houses? We can’t do that.”

  “We won’t have to, Dawn. The ones who are doing it are probably the ones who keep coming back. They’re going for the prizes.” She smiled. “We’ll just wait for them.”

  As if on cue, the Hines family drove up. We were really in luck. Not only were we going to see Rob, but his parents, too. We met them at their car and walked with them to the barn.

  Poor Rob. The minute Mary Anne said, “Thank you for your incredible generosity, Mr. and Mrs. Hines,” I could see him start to squirm.

  Mr. Hines chuckled. “Oh, no problem. It’s nice to know everything will be put to good use.”

  “Donating the suit was especially nice,” Mary Anne continued, gesturing to the gray flannel suit.

  I watched the color drain out of Mr. Hines’s face (not to mention Rob’s). “Why — I — what’s that doing here?” he sputtered.

  Rob looked back at the car, as if he could make a getaway.

  “Rob,” Mrs. Hines said.

  “Um … I … I guess I just took it by mistake …” Rob said.

  Mr. Hines was now rummaging through a box under the suit. “And my wing-tip shoes! I was looking for them yesterday!”

  “But you never wear them,” Rob said weakly.

  “That’s not the point,” Mrs. Hines replied. “The clothes don’t belong to you.”

  Rob hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Mr. Hines sighed. “I’m awfully sorry, girls. I guess this’ll have to be an exchange. I’ll take back my good clothes and leave you with a couple of bags.” There was an embarrassed smile on his face. “I’m afraid what we’re leaving won’t be quite as nice.”

  “Anything’s welcome,” I said.

  After the Hinses left we had a few more confrontations. Fortunately, not too many kids had pulled the same trick.

  But leave it to Mary Anne to figure out a solution to the problem.

  Permission slips!

  Now, instead of just taking an inventory and writing out receipts, we also had to check each kid’s slip, which was made up by Mary Anne and looked like this:

  (The lines at the bottom were for a list of donated items and a signature.)

  Mary Anne wrote out the first slip, and Richard took her to a shop in town to make copies. From then on, we didn’t let any kid drop off boxes without a slip (if they didn’t have one, we’d send them home, box and all).

  It worked. The kids weren’t so … ambitious after that. And to be honest with you, there were moments when I wished we hadn’t been, either.

  The drives and the fund-raising were fun, but I was totally exhausted.

  “Don’t you think it’s a great idea, Mary Anne?” Haley said. “I know I can raise money. Please let me be Madame Leveaux. All I have to do is go out front and tell fortunes. Please please please please please?”

  “It is a great idea,” Mary Anne said, “but it’s so elaborate. By the time you get ready, I’ll have to leave.”

  “I’m just going to use my Halloween costume!” Haley insisted. “All the stuff is in my room. And I know exactly what to say. I’ve been practicing!”

  “You have? Whose fortunes have you told?”

  “I mailed one to my pen pal.”

  “From Madame Leveaux?”

  “Please, Mary Anne,” Haley said, ignoring the question. “It’s two whole days to the sleepover. I could make so much money … you know, for the pen pals.”

  “Mm-hm,” Mary Anne said. She could sense that Haley had her sights set on a prize, and this was a last-ditch effort. On the other hand, Haley had been working hard on the project, and she was so determined …

  “Well, okay,” Mary Anne said. “But promise me you’ll be happy — whether you make a lot of money or not.”

  “Yay!” Haley shouted, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “Oh, I knew you’d be nice, Mary Anne!”

  Haley turned to her brother, Matt, who had just come into the room. Matt was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to tell him what was going on.

  Matt was born deaf. He’s attended a special school for the hearing impaired in Stamford since he was two. Haley talks to him by using Ameslan, or American Sign Language. It’s beautiful to watch — all these quick, delicate finger movements — but it’s very hard to learn. Of all us baby-sitters, only Jessi has learned to use it well.

  Haley signed to Matt with an excited expression on her face. Matt smiled and immediately ran down to the basement. Haley disappeared into her bedroom.

  For about two minutes, Mary Anne had some peace.

  Then Haley emerged, dressed in an outrageous gypsy costume, something like the genie’s outfit in I Dream of Jeannie. A fringed, sheer, black veil covered her face.

  “Greetings!” she said, rolling the r. She began doing her idea of an exotic dance — wiggling awkwardly with her hands over her head, palms together.

  Mary Anne burst out laughing.

  Haley stopped and said, “Vhat? You dare to laugh at zee famous Madahm Leveaux?”

  “Who are you supposed to sound like?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Thees eez zuh vay vee speek een Trannnsylvania,” Haley replied.

  “Transylvania? Leveaux is a French name!”

  “I moved vhen I vas a very leetle girl.”

  “Oh, that explains it,” Mary Anne said.

  “What do you think?” Haley said in her normal voice. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “Definitely … one of a kind,” Mary Anne replied. “Now let’s hurry. Your parents come back in about an hour.”

  There was a sudden clatter from the basement stairs. Matt burst through the door to the kitchen, holding a card table under one arm. He gave it to Haley, then signed something to her and ran back downstairs.

  “He’s going to get two chairs,” Haley explained. “All we need now is a sign.”

  “I’ll make it,” Mary Anne said.

  Haley ran into the study and brought Mary Anne a piece of paper and some Magic Markers. Mary Anne drew a big sign that loo
ked like this:

  By that time, Matt was back from the basement with two folding chairs. He nodded and smiled when he read the sign.

  “Perfect!” Haley squealed. “Ooh, this is going to be so great — I mean, zees veel be a vonderful opportunity for zee great Madahm Leveaux.”

  “Come, Madahm,” Mary Anne said, imitating her accent. She led the two Braddock kids out the front door. Mary Anne held the table and a chair, Matt held another chair, and Haley held the sign (plus a pack of playing cards she’d found in her room).

  Mary Anne set up the table by the sidewalk. Then Haley began spreading the playing cards on top in neat piles, as if she knew what she was doing. Matt signed something to Haley and ran back inside.

  She shook her head, annoyed.

  “What did he say?” Mary Anne asked.

  “He promises to help,” Haley replied, “but he wants to practice catching fly balls while we’re waiting for customers.”

  Matt emerged again, wearing a New York Mets cap and a baseball mitt. He quietly threw the ball high in the air and caught it, sometimes sprawling on the ground for dramatic effect.

  Before long, Haley had a customer.

  Mrs. Barrett, Buddy’s mom, came walking by with her two girls, Suzi and Marnie. The minute she saw Haley, she flashed a dazzling smile.

  “Well, well,” she said, “who do we have here?”

  “I am zee great Madahm Leveaux!” Haley announced. “As eet says on zee sign!”

  “So it does!” Mrs. Barrett said. “It is a great honor to meet you, Madame.”

  Suzi tried to curtsy, but Marnie just stood there, staring blankly at Haley and clutching her mom’s hand. (Suzi’s five but Marnie’s only two.)

  “Zee honor eez mine,” Haley said. She gestured grandly to the empty folding chair, which Matt pulled backward as if he were a waiter in a fancy restaurant. “Please, one of you have a seat and I vill look into your future! Suzi? Marrrnie?”

  “Can I, Mommy?” Suzi said excitedly.

  “Sure,” Mrs. Barrett said, letting go of Marnie and reaching into her purse for a quarter. “And then it’s your sister’s turn.”