Logan Likes Mary Anne!

  “Oh, sure,” said Logan. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Great,” said Mrs. Rodowsky with a smile.

  (One point for Logan, I thought. He was good with parents.)

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Rodowsky left with two other redheaded boys.

  Jackie began jumping on the couch in the rec room.

  “Boing! Boing! Boing!” he cried. “I’m a basketball! Watch me make a basket!”

  Jackie took a terrific leap off the couch, his knees tucked under his chin as if he were going to cannonball into a swimming pool. Logan caught him just before he crashed into the piano.

  I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d caught Jackie, but Logan raised him in the air and shouted, “Yes, it’s the deciding basket, fans! The Rodowsky Rockets have won the Interstellar Championship, and it’s all due to Jackie, the human basketball!” Then he carried him away from the couch and the piano. (Another point for Logan.)

  I hung back. This was really Logan’s job, not mine. I was just along to watch.

  Jackie giggled. He squirmed out of Logan’s arms. “I gotta show you guys my grasshopper,” he said. “His name is Elizabeth.”

  “You’ve got a grasshopper named Elizabeth?” said Logan.

  “A boy grasshopper?” I added.

  “Yup,” replied Jackie. “I’ll go get him for you. Be right back.”

  Jackie dashed up the stairs.

  Logan glanced at me. “Whoa,” he said. “That kid’s got energy.”

  I nodded, feeling shy.

  Logan wandered into the living room and waited. I followed him.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Rodowsky must have their hands full,” Logan commented.

  “Probably,” I managed to reply.

  “Maybe they’ll need sitters often,” he added. “I wouldn’t mind.”

  I gazed at the walls of the Rodowskys’ living room. They were covered with the boys’ artwork, professionally framed. Logan wandered over to one of the pictures — a house formed by a red square with a black triangle sitting on top of it. A green line below indicated grass, a blue line above indicated sky. A yellow sun peeked out of the corner.

  “Well, what do you know,” said Logan. “We’ve got a painting just like this at our house. Only it says Logan at the bottom, not Jackie. And all these years I thought it was an original.”

  I giggled. We had one of them, too. Why couldn’t I say so? I looked at the other paintings. Logan picked up a magazine.

  “It’s, um, it’s — it’s taking Jackie an awfully long time to —” I was stammering, when suddenly we heard a noise from upstairs.

  KER-THUD!

  The crash was followed by a cry.

  Logan and I glanced at each other. Then we ran for the stairs. Logan reached them first. We dashed to the second floor.

  “Jackie!” Logan bellowed. “Where are you?”

  “Ow! … I’m in the bathroom.”

  Logan made a sharp left and skidded to a stop. I was right behind him. Jackie was sitting on the floor. The shower curtain was in a heap around him, and the rod that had held the curtain was sticking crazily out of the tub.

  My first thought was to run to Jackie, give him a hug, and find out what had happened. But I hung back. This was Logan’s job.

  “Are you hurt?” exclaimed Logan.

  “Nope,” said Jackie, He stood up.

  “Well, what happened?”

  (So far, so good, I thought. But as far as I was concerned, Logan had made one mistake. After letting Jackie go upstairs alone, he had let far too much time go by. He should have checked on him after just a couple of minutes. Minus one point.)

  Jackie looked a little sheepish. “Today in gym we were exercising. We were climbing ropes and chinning on these bars —”

  “And you thought you’d try chinning on the curtain rod,” Logan interrupted.

  “Yeah,” said Jackie. “How did you know?”

  “I did it myself once.”

  Jackie nodded. (What was this? Some sort of boy’s ritual I’d never heard of?) “I stood on the edge of the tub,” said Jackie, “grabbed onto the rod, and as soon as I pulled myself up, the bar crashed down!”

  “When I did it, I had to have six stitches taken in my lip,” said Logan. “Look, here’s the scar.”

  I shook my head. Logan hadn’t checked Jackie for bumps or cuts, and he hadn’t told him not to try chinning again. I waited a few moments longer. The boys were discussing gym class catastrophes. It was time to break in.

  “Um, Jackie,” I said, “I’m glad you’re not hurt, but you better let us check you over, just in case.”

  Logan looked at me in surprise. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Good idea.”

  I checked Jackie’s arms and legs while Logan rehung the curtain rod. A bruise was already coming out on one of Jackie’s knees, but it didn’t look too bad. “Now let me feel your head,” I said. “You wouldn’t want a big goose egg, would you?”

  “Goose egg?” repeated Jackie, giggling.

  Logan smiled. “I should have thought of this, Mary Anne,” he said. “Sorry. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and actually smiled. (I was glad he was there.) I decided the talk about not chinning could wait until later.

  Jackie’s head seemed fine. The three of us went downstairs. “I need some juice,” Jackie announced. He made a beeline for the refrigerator and took out a jar of grape juice.

  “Better let me pour,” said Logan. (Score another point.)

  “No, no. I can do it.” Jackie got a paper cup and filled it to the brim. “I’ll have it in the living room,” he said, and before we knew what was happening, he ran out of the kitchen, tripped, and spilled the entire cup of juice on the living room carpet.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned.

  But Logan kept his head. For one thing, the carpet was dark blue, so the juice didn’t show — much. Logan sent Jackie into the kitchen for paper towels. He got busy with water, soap, and finally a little soda water. When he was done, the rug was smelly and damp, but he assured me there wouldn’t be a stain.

  I was pretty impressed.

  “Hey!” said Jackie. “I never showed you Elizabeth.” He started up the stairs.

  “We’ll come with you,” said Logan hastily. (I was relieved. He was doing okay after all.)

  We followed Jackie into his bedroom. He removed a jar from the windowsill. “This is Elizabeth,” he said softly. He reached into the jar, let Elizabeth crawl onto a finger, pulled his hand up — and found that his hand was stuck.

  No matter how we pulled and twisted, Logan and I couldn’t get the jar off Jackie’s hand.

  “Do you think we could break it without cutting Jackie?” I asked.

  Logan frowned and shook his head. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. He went downstairs and returned with a tub of margarine. A few seconds later, Jackie’s greasy hand was out of the jar.

  “Good thinking!” I exclaimed.

  Logan grinned. “What was it you said just before we rang the doorbell this afternoon?”

  “I said … oh, yeah.” (I’d said, “How much trouble can one little kid be?” but I didn’t want to repeat that in front of Jackie.)

  Before Mrs. Rodowsky returned, Jackie managed to fall off his bicycle, rip his jeans, and later to make me fall over backward into Logan’s arms. (Sigh.) I felt that Logan had earned every penny he was paid. I was really proud of the job he’d done — and I was glad the Rodowskys were going to be mostly his clients.

  As Logan and I crossed the Rodowskys’ lawn, the front door safely closed behind us, Logan said, “I’ll never forget the look on your face when Jackie spilled that juice.”

  “I’ll never forget the look on your face when the jar got stuck on his hand!”

  “And,” Logan added, “I’ll never forget the look on your face when Jackie knocked you into me.”

  I blushed furiously.

  “Oh, no,” said Logan quickly. “It was a nice look. Really nice. Yo
u know, you have a pretty smile.”

  I do?

  I was melting, melting away. I was turning into a wonderful Mary Anne puddle. And all because of Logan.

  Friday

  I love mari Myih Myriah and Gabbie. I really do. But that Chewy. What a dog! This afternoon I was suposed to have a nise easy siting job at the Perkins but Chewy caused so many problems I can’t believe it. Mrs. Perkins asked Gabie and me to meet Myriah when the bus from the comuty center droped her off we did but we broght Chewy whith us. What a mistake! Heres a tip for everyone in the club. Never ever let Chewey out of the bake yard! Im not kidding!!!!

  Claudia really wasn’t kidding. After her experience, no one will ever let Chewbacca Perkins loose again — unless we’re told to walk him or something. He’s a sweet, lovable dog, but he’s so big. And he gets so excited.

  Claudia went to the Perkinses’ house right after school on Thursday. Gabbie answered the doorbell. “Hi, Claudee Kishi!” she cried, jumping up and down.

  “Hiya, Gabbers.” Claudia let herself inside.

  Gabbie held up her arms. “Toshe me up, please.”

  Claudia picked her up and gave her a squeeze. Gabbie is very huggable. “Hi, Mrs. Perkins,” she called.

  Mrs. Perkins was frantically folding laundry in the living room. “Oh, Claudia, thank goodness you’re here. It’s been one of those days. The dryer just broke, although not till after I’d done this load, we have a leak in the bathroom, and Gabbie spent all morning gluing stickers to her bedroom door.”

  “Want to see, Claudee Kishi? My door is very beautiful.”

  “You did a nice job, sweetie,” said Mrs. Perkins, struggling with a sheet, “but stickers don’t go on doors. They go on paper.”

  “My door is very beautiful,” Gabbie repeated, looking serious.

  “Where’s Myriah?” asked Claudia.

  “Oh, she’s at the Community Center.” Mrs. Perkins stood up, carrying a pile of folded clothes. “She takes Creative Theater there on Thursdays after kindergarten. The Community Center bus will drop her off at the comer of Bradford and Elm. I need you and Gabbie to meet her there at four, okay?”

  “Sure,” replied Claudia.

  “I’ll be back a little after five. I have a checkup with the doctor, and then I’m going to drop by a friend’s house. Both numbers are posted on the refrigerator. So’s the number of the Community Center, just in case.”

  “Okay. Where’s Chewy?”

  Mrs. Perkins smiled. “You missed his galloping feet? He’s out in the backyard. He’s fine there.”

  Chewbacca is a black Labrador retriever. He has more energy than all eight Pike kids plus Jackie Rodowsky put together. The Perkinses have fenced in the entire backyard for him so he has a big safe area to run around in.

  Mrs. Perkins checked her watch. “Oh, I’m going to be late! Claudia, could you carry these clothes upstairs for me? Leave them anywhere. By the way, the girls can have a snack later. Myriah is usually starving by the time she gets home from the center.”

  “Okay,” said Claudia. “See you later. We’re going to have lots of fun. Right, Gabbers?”

  “Right, Claudee Kishi.”

  Mrs. Perkins rushed off. Gabbie helped Claudia carry the clothes upstairs. When they’d finished, she took Claudia by the hand and led her to her bedroom.

  “See my beautiful door?” she said.

  Claudia smiled. It really was covered with stickers — wildlife stickers with gummed backs — from the floor to as high up as Gabbie could reach, which wasn’t very high.

  “You must have worked hard,” said Claudia.

  Gabbie nodded. “Yes,” she agreed. “I did.”

  Claudia wondered what she would have done if Gabbie were her little girl. The door wasn’t ruined, but it would take a lot of work to scrape off the stickers. Gabbie didn’t think she had done anything wrong, though. She had only wanted to make her door “beautiful.” It must be hard to be a parent, Claudia thought.

  “Well,” said Claudia, “what do you want to do? We don’t have to meet your sister for a while.”

  “I want to …” Gabbie frowned. “I want to play with Cindy Jane.” (Cindy Jane is an old Cabbage Patch doll. Myriah says her name is really Caroline Eunice.)

  Gabbie found the doll. She placed her in a baby carriage and wheeled her around the house, singing to her. By the time she got bored, Claudia was ready to meet Myriah.

  “Let’s go, Gabbers,” she said. “It’s almost four o’clock. Your sister will be getting off the bus soon.”

  Claudia and Gabbie left the house through the garage door. As they started down the driveway, Chewy barked at them from the backyard.

  “Poor Chewy,” said Claudia, turning around. “I bet you want to come with us, don’t you?”

  Chewy was standing on his hind legs, front paws resting on the fence. He whined pitifully.

  “What do you think, Gabbie?” Claudia asked. “Should we bring him with us? He looks like he’d enjoy a walk.”

  “Mommy doesn’t walk him to the bus stop,” Gabbie replied.

  “But we could. Do you know where his leash is?”

  “Yes,” said Gabbie. “It’s in the mud room.”

  Sure enough, Claudia found a fancy red leash hanging from a hook in the “mud room.” It said Chewy all over it in white letters.

  “Okay, boy. Here you go,” Claudia murmured as she clipped the leash on Chewy’s collar.

  Chewy began wriggling with joy — tail first, then hindquarters. The wriggle slowly worked its way along his body until he was yapping and wagging and grinning. If he could talk, he would have been saying, “Oh, boyo, boyo, boy! What a great day! Are you guys really taking me for a walk? Huh? Are you? Oh, boyo, boyo, boy!”

  Claudia grinned. “I wish we had a dog,” she told Gabbie.

  “Daddy says having Chewy is like having three dogs,” remarked Gabbie.

  Now that should have told Claudia something, but both she and Chewy were too excited for Claudia to pay much attention.

  “Okay, boy. Here we go.” Claudia took Chewy’s leash in one hand, and Gabbie’s hand in the other. They set off with a jerk as Chewy bounded out of the yard.

  “Whoa, Chewy, slow down!” cried Claudia. She held him back, but he strained and pulled on the leash, whuffling and sniffing at everything he saw — rocks, patches of grass, cracks in the sidewalk.

  Claudia and Gabbie passed a work crew repairing the road and reached the corner where they were to meet Myriah. A few moments later the yellow Community Center bus pulled to a stop.

  “There’s your sister!” Claudia told Gabbie.

  “Where?” Gabbie stood on her tiptoes and craned her neck around.

  “There. Look in the window.”

  Myriah was waving from a seat near the front, but Gabbie exclaimed, “I still can’t see her.”

  So Claudia picked her up, dropping Chewy’s leash as she did so. “Uh-oh,” said Claudia.

  As the bus door opened, Chewy bounded away. Claudia made a grab for the leash and missed. Myriah stepped off the bus then and Chewy ran to her with a joyous woof. But he didn’t stop when he reached her. He snatched her schoolbag out of her hand and gallumphed away.

  “Chewy!” Myriah screamed.

  “Chewy!” Claudia and Gabbie screamed.

  The bus drove off.

  “Claudia!” cried Myriah. “He took my bag. Get him! There’s a note from my teacher in there! And a permission slip and my workbook pages with stars on them!”

  Chewy was halfway down the block by then, his leash trailing behind him. He tore along, every now and then looking over his shoulder at Claudia and the girls with a doggie grin, as if the chase were a big game.

  “My bag’s going to be all slobbery!” said Myriah.

  “Well, come on, you guys!” shouted Claudia. She took off after Chewy, with the girls behind her.

  Chewy ran into the Newtons’ yard.

  “Look out, Mrs. Newton!” yelped Claudia.

  Mrs.
Newton was working in a flower bed, with Jamie and Lucy playing nearby. When she saw Chewy, she dashed to Lucy and picked her up, whisking her out of Chewy’s path.

  “Help us catch Chewy, Jamie!” called Myriah.

  Jamie joined the chase.

  Chewy ran into Claudia’s yard. Mimi, Claudia’s grandmother, was taking a teetery stroll down the front walk.

  “Look out, Mimi!” cried Claudia.

  Mimi stepped aside, but actually tried to grab Myriah’s bag as Chewy flew by.

  She missed.

  “Thanks anyway, Mimi!” Myriah shouted.

  Chewy gallumphed on, and Charlotte Johanssen, Stacey’s favorite baby-sitting charge, rounded a corner. She saw Chewy coming at her full speed.

  “Aughh!” she screamed.

  Chewy put on the brakes to avoid her.

  “Get the bag!” yelled Claudia.

  And Charlotte did just that — but then Chewy sped up and tore away again.

  “Oh, thank you,” Myriah said breathlessly to Charlotte. “This bag is full of important stuff.”

  Well, the bag was back but Chewy wasn’t. Claudia didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t catch Chewy, so she simply returned to the Perkinses’ with Myriah and Gabbie, and waited. Mrs. Perkins would be home around five. At 4:40, Claudia began to feel very worried. At 4:45, she was a bundle of nerves. At 4:50, the doorbell rang.

  Claudia answered it. A workman wearing blue overalls was standing on the steps. “Hi,” he said. “I’m fixing the road.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the repair crew that Claudia and Gabbie had passed earlier.

  “Yes?” said Claudia curiously.

  “Well,” the man continued, “I really like your dog. He’s very nice and all, but he won’t give me my cones back.”

  Claudia didn’t have the faintest idea what the man was talking about.

  “Go look in your backyard,” the man said.

  Claudia left him at the door and ran through the house. She looked out the kitchen window. There was Chewy dragging a big orange plastic roadmarker over to a pile that he had gathered by the swingset. Claudia snuck outside and trapped Chewy on his next trip to the road crew. The workman took his cones back. Mrs. Perkins came home. Claudia told her what had happened while she was gone. But she wasn’t sure Mrs. Perkins believed her. Claudia couldn’t blame her.