Claudia and the World's Cutest Baby

  Kristy obeyed. The twins answered the door, looking all smiley and innocent. “Hi, there, Kristy, so nice to see you!” Marilyn began. “Now, you growl and say, like, ‘What’s so nice about it?’ ”

  “Do we have to use my real name?” Kristy asked.

  Marilyn put her hands on her hips. “Who’s the director, us or you?”

  Kristy wanted to crack up. She didn’t mind taking orders at all. She is such a ham.

  The rehearsal was pretty basic. The two directors became more and more creative after the filming started. They made Kristy play a total jerk, yelling at them and eating all their food and not letting them watch TV and tying them to kitchen chairs.

  Then Kristy filmed the twins soaking up rays from a distant star (a fluorescent sticker in the bathroom). Next they developed superpowers, burst out of their ropes, and flexed their muscles.

  They filmed Kristy picking her nose in the living room, as she pretended to eat an old pair of Marilyn’s sneakers.

  Then Kristy held the camera upside down, so it looked as if the twins were sneaking up to Kristy by walking on the ceiling.

  The attack was spectacular. Kristy’s ear-tearing scene was Oscar-caliber. And the fright-wig/ripped-shirt/boogers-and-ketchup getup? Too glamorous for words.

  Really, you had to see this. We did. We have never laughed so hard in our lives.

  You’ll be happy to know the twins no longer have a bit of trouble going to sleep at night. But they do pester their parents all the time about seeing gory horror movies.

  As for Kristy, she made a copy of the video for herself.

  She’s thinking of submitting it to a film festival.

  “Yo, it’s Claudia Kishi, the star of Home Alone Thirteen: Lost in Philadelphia!” Alan Gray cracked up at his own stupid joke.

  So did his pals Pete Black and Justin Forbes, and about five or six other kids who passed by my table. Just about everyone else ignored me.

  It was Saturday evening. Ms. Bernhardt had reserved a room for all of us at a restaurant called Le Harborside. It’s supposed to be a seafood restaurant, but as far as I was concerned, I might as well have been in the Sing-Sing mess hall. My appetite was gone, and my classmates were looking at me as if I were an ax murderer.

  If they were looking at me at all.

  Melissa was sitting at the opposite end of the restaurant with Lily and her mom. All three of them were staring glumly at their bread plates.

  To be honest, I was surprised that my roommates agreed to sit with me. I didn’t think they’d want to risk being in the path of flying steak knives.

  Yes, Melissa and I had survived the afternoon. Barely.

  Standing on the sidewalk near the subway station, Melissa started wailing. A gray-haired guy in a suit passed by and gave her a concerned look. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  Great. Now we were being accosted by strangers. “Fine,” I replied. “We just can’t find the art museum, that’s all.”

  “Cheer up.” He smiled and pointed down the street. “It’s two blocks that way.”

  “Really? Thanks!” I said.

  Melissa and I sprinted.

  The place we reached was a much smaller building than the Philadelphia Museum of Art. No Rocky steps, no tree-lined parkway approach. A sign outside said The Museum of American Art of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts.

  Any other time, I would have been thrilled. I found out later it was America’s first art museum.

  But Melissa and I only went as far as the information desk.

  “Excuse me,” I said to the clerk. “But do you know where the Pepperidge Inn is?” (I figured that by now Ms. Bernhardt must have called the hotel asking about us.)

  The clerk shook her head and reached under her desk. “Not offhand, but I do have a map and a phone book.”

  “Uh, the problem is, we’re kind of —”

  “Lost,” Melissa blurted out.

  The clerk’s eyes widened. “You aren’t the girls from Connecticut, are you?”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “We had a call about you, from your teacher. She was checking local art museums, because one of you is an artist or something?”

  “That’s me,” I said, feeling for a teeny moment like a celebrity.

  “Mr. Douglas, I found them!” the woman shouted across the floor. “The lost girls from Connecticut!”

  A balding man came jogging toward us with a big smile. “Thank goodness!”

  A round of applause broke out. Museumgoers were staring at us, clapping.

  Forget about celebrityhood. I felt like a total goon.

  “Come into the office,” Mr. Douglas said. “Your teacher left a number. You can use our phone.”

  “Pepperidge Inn,” a voice greeted me.

  “Hi, it’s Claudia! I mean, Kishi. And Melissa Banks. The lost girls from Connecticut?”

  “Hold, please.”

  My knuckles were white from gripping the phone so hard. I was on the verge of total hysteria, and the phone was playing the “Doe, a Deer” song in my ears.

  Right after “Fa, a long, long way to run,” Ms. Bernhardt’s voice cut in: “Hello, Claudia?”

  At least I assumed it was her voice. I have never heard it so tense and frightened and angry.

  “H-hi,” I said, choking back a sob.

  “Are you all right? Where are you? Is Melissa with you?”

  I nodded. (Real smart.) “Y-yes. We’re —” Sniff. “At, at —”

  I looked at the clerk. She whispered the museum’s long name and I repeated it.

  “Stay there, I’m coming in a cab to get you. I don’t want you two traveling alone another minute.”

  “I’ll pay for it,” I volunteered. “Will two dollars and eleven cents be enough?”

  I don’t need to tell you what the answer to that was. Ms. Bernhardt arrived in the cab about ten minutes later. She did not seem terribly happy.

  In fact, she lectured us all the way back to the hotel.

  Okay, it was more than a lecture. It was somewhere between a shriek and a bellow. “I had just called the police!” she cried. “Then I had to call them back to say, ‘Never mind.’ Do you think they appreciated that? Don’t you think they had better things to do than chase after two wayward thirteen-year-olds? And did you stop to think about your classmates? A whole busload of them is sitting at the hotel, waiting. Poor Mrs. Karp feels horrible. She’s blaming herself for your inconsiderate, selfish behavior!”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  Melissa and I must have repeated that word a thousand times during the trip. Ms. Bernhardt did soften up a bit toward the end. She admitted she was happy to see us, and she told about a time she wandered away from her parents at the Grand Ole Opry when she was a girl.

  When we reached the Pepperidge Inn, the bus was parked in front and our classmates were clogging the sidewalks and the lobby. Staring at us.

  From their expressions, I half-expected to find twin electric chairs awaiting us by the front desk.

  I was glad Ms. Bernhardt allowed us to go to the restaurant. I guess she couldn’t have iron bars and a lock installed in our hotel room windows in time.

  “I think I’m going to have a New York steak,” Abby said, perusing the menu.

  “Abby, this is Philadelphia,” Stacey reminded her.

  “I don’t see pretzels with mustard listed here,” Abby replied.

  “Well, I’m having snapper soup and softshell crabs,” Stacey declared. “How about you, Claudia?”

  “Try some fish,” Alan the eavesdropper called out. (He was at the next table. Lucky me.) “They never stray from their school!”

  This time the whole room seemed to burst into laughter. I sank in my seat. I wanted to run to the dock and ride off on a motor boat.

  Somehow I made it through dinner, but I didn’t eat much. I was thrilled to go to the theater afterward. Being in a dark place where no one could see me or talk to me was just perfect.

  The
show was great, too, and really appropriate — a revival of the musical 1776 at the Forrest Theater. After having studied all the important stuff Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams did, it was nice to see they could sing and dance, too.

  Abby, of course, did her own renditions in the room later on. How was she? Well, let’s just say the talent scouts were not breaking down the doors of the Pepperidge Inn that night.

  Stacey and Abby both wanted to hear all the details of my horrible afternoon. Somehow, as I was telling it, the whole thing seemed kind of funny. They howled at the part about the triangle, and they were on the floor when I told them about the people who cheered for us in the museum.

  Finally I was recovering my long-lost appetite. Our window was open, and the scent of broiling hamburgers wafted in from the coffee shop next door. “I’m starved,” I said.

  “Maybe we can stick our heads out the window and ask someone to flip us up a burger,” Abby offered.

  I was dying to go to the coffee shop. I knew Abby had money left. I could repay her at home. And I definitely wouldn’t become lost. “Let’s sneak out for a snack,” I suggested.

  Stacey snorted a laugh. “Right.”

  “I mean it,” I insisted.

  “Are you nuts?” Abby said. “We’re not allowed to leave the room.”

  “Let alone the hotel,” Stacey added.

  “The shop is next door,” I pressed on. “It’s attached. We’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Claudia, it’s almost midnight!” Abby said.

  I shrugged. “Which means everyone’s asleep, right? What better time than this?”

  Stacey looked at Abby. Abby looked at Stacey. They both started giggling.

  “You sure you won’t get us lost?” Abby asked.

  “Very funny,” I said.

  “Okay,” Stacey said, springing to her feet. “But we walk on tiptoes. Melissa may be listening through the walls.”

  We scurried downstairs, through the lobby, and outside. Trying not to laugh out loud, we ducked into Ralph’s Corner Diner.

  The food? Greasy. The atmosphere? As charming as a bus station.

  But we didn’t care.

  Forget Le Harborside. Ralph’s was the dining experience of the weekend.

  “Claudia … ?” I was dreaming about Lynn again. This time, I was holding her snugly in my arms, and Peaches was standing over us, smiling.

  “Claudia … ?”

  The trouble was, Peaches’s voice didn’t sound like Peaches. It sounded like Melissa.

  My eyes fluttered open.

  “Claudia? Hi. I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

  Melissa was sitting in the bus seat next to mine.

  It was Sunday. When we’d left the Pepperidge Inn that afternoon for our trip home, Melissa had sat with Lily in the back of the bus. Stacey and Abby had taken two seats together. I’d plopped down on the seat behind them.

  Yes, we were finally heading for Stoneybrook, after a whirlwind tour of the Philadelphia waterfront and Independence Seaport.

  Until that moment, the seat next to mine had remained empty. (I guess my classmates were still sore at me.) All around me, kids were slumbering away, including Stacey and Abby.

  At that moment, I wished I were, too. I was kind of surprised Melissa was talking to me. She’d avoided me all day. Finally she had started sticking with her roommate. (Lily is so sweet. Honestly, I thought she’d blow Melissa off after her rudeness this weekend.)

  “Well, yes, I was asleep,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry, Claudia,” Melissa said. “I just wanted to … you know, talk.”

  “We’re talking.”

  Melissa took a deep breath. “Look, I know you’re mad at me. And if you want to yell at me, I wouldn’t blame you. Lily did. She said I was being like a puppy dog, running after you and Abby and Stacey, and ignoring her.”

  “Well …” I didn’t want to insult Melissa. But Lily was right.

  “I didn’t mean to be a pest, Claudia. Really. I didn’t realize I was. I guess I just liked hanging out with you. You’re really funny, and fun to be around.”

  “It’s not that we don’t like you, Melissa,” I said. “We don’t really know you that well —”

  “I know, I know. Because I was trying too hard to be cool. Like you guys.” Melissa shrugged and gave me a half smile. “Anyway, I should get back to Lily. I just wanted to come over and say I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. “Apology accepted.”

  As she walked away, I gazed out the window. We were passing an industrial area of New Jersey. The last time we’d been through here, it had been raining. I’d been thinking about what a terrible godmother I was. What a pest I’d been to Peaches.

  A pest.

  I thought about Melissa. How she’d almost ruined my weekend. How hearing her voice would make me cringe. How she’d intruded on my time with my friends.

  Was that the way I’d seemed to Peaches? Nahhh. I was nothing like Melissa. And besides, Peaches and I have been buddies all my life. What had I done to her? I had paid loving visits, bought presents, and given advice.

  Every single day.

  Many times past dinner.

  I tried putting myself in Peaches’s shoes. I imagined what it must have felt like to have my niece showing up every day like clockwork. Correcting my mistakes. Doting over my baby. Sticking around after my husband came home. Inviting myself to dinner.

  Ugh. What was it Melissa had said to me during our disaster in Philly? “I was only trying to help”?

  That sounded familiar.

  I sank back into my seat and sighed.

  Melissa’s apology had made me feel much better.

  I owed Peaches. I owed her, big-time.

  * * *

  I must have fallen asleep again, because I was jolted awake when the bus stopped.

  Outside my window was the parking lot of Stoneybrook Middle School, dimly lit by streetlamps in the darkness. A small crowd had gathered by the curb. Mom, Dad, and Janine were waving at me, grinning ecstatically.

  So were Kristy, Mary Anne, Logan, Mallory, Jessi, and Shannon.

  I bopped Abby and Stacey. “Wake up, guys! We’re home!”

  “Ohhh … are we in Hawaii yet?” Abby moaned.

  “La-a-a-st stop!” the bus driver called out.

  With a fwoosh, the door opened.

  I rushed out to a sea of familiar faces and happy voices.

  “Hi!” Mary Anne shouted. “How was it?”

  “Did you bring me home a hoagie?” Kristy asked.

  “How were Ben and George and Betsy?” Janine asked.

  I hugged and laughed and answered as many questions as I could. Soon I spotted Stacey and Abby straggling out. Just beyond them, the Karps and the Bankses were greeting each other. Everyone looked so happy.

  Boy, was it good to be home.

  My fingers were shaking as I lifted the receiver of my phone. Carefully I tapped out Peaches’s number. “Hello?”

  “Peaches?” I squeaked.

  “Claudia? You’re back! How was your trip?”

  She didn’t sound angry. Okay, she didn’t exactly sound ready to commandeer the welcome wagon, either, but I had to take what I could get.

  I told her about the weekend. I described the sights and the show and the restaurant. (I left out my misadventure with Melissa. That could wait until later.)

  “Sounds terrific, Claudia. Well, Lynn missed you very much. She’s right here and she’s dying to talk to you. Say hi to your godmother, Lynn.”

  I heard the cutest heavy breathing and gurgling. My heart melted. “Hiiiii!” I cooed. “Oh, I missed you, too. I hope you behaved. You didn’t? Oh, well, that makes two of us.”

  “Oh?” Peaches said. “Did you leave out any juicy details of your trip?”

  I laughed. Now Peaches was sounding like her old self. “I’ll tell you when I see you in person. Like, maybe tomorrow after school?”

  “Well, sure —”
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  “Only for a short while,” I said quickly. “I won’t stay more than a half hour or so. Just enough to say hi and chat awhile. I don’t want to be in your way.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

  “And I promise I won’t be a pest anymore, really —”

  “Claudia, you’re not a pest,” Peaches said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was just stressed out, that’s all.”

  “I know, and I wasn’t helping by breathing down your neck every day.”

  “Look. You are my daughter’s godmother. I know how much you love her, and our door will never be closed to you, Claudia. Never.”

  My throat just choked right up. “Thanks, Peaches,” I croaked.

  “But you have to give us a little courtesy, that’s all. A phone call before you come over, just in case we can’t handle a visit at that particular time.”

  I nodded. “I promise it won’t be every day. I’m so sorry for the way I’ve been. And I won’t butt in with advice so much, or take away your time with Russ, or bring so many gifts —”

  “Whoa. Back up. I don’t mind the gifts.”

  I burst into giggles. “Well, in that case, I can’t wait to show you the cutest dress I bought in the Gallery …”

  Peaches was all ears.

  I didn’t dare tell her I had thought about de-godmotherizing myself. I wiped the idea from my mind.

  Forever.

  * * *

  A week later, it became official.

  Baby Lynn was christened at the First Congregational Church in Stoneybrook. I, Claudia Lynn Kishi, stood by her side and vowed to take care of her and help her grow up right. I tried not to be weepy, but it didn’t work.

  Oh, well. Nobody minded when Lynn started crying, so why shouldn’t I cry a little, too?

  Lynn’s godfather was a close friend of Russ’s. To cheer me up, he kept whispering jokes.

  Some godmother. I alternated between honking my nose into a tissue and fighting back giggles. Then I developed the hiccups.

  The worst part was that Kristy taped the whole thing with her camcorder. And she zoomed in on me a lot.

  I guess she was shifting from horror to comedy.