Kristy was wearing navy blue shorts with a matching camp shirt, white socks, and her best sneakers. Her package was also neatly wrapped and she thrust it into my hands before I could say anything.
“Happy birthday, Claudia,” she cried, and charged in.
“Happy birthday,” Mary Anne echoed, giving me my present and walking with me into the house.
Kristy stopped in her tracks at the sight of the dining room. “Wooow,” she said. “Neat and awesome, Claudia.”
“Would you like some refreshments?” asked Janine, who’d taken up a position by the punch bowl.
“Double yes,” said Kristy.
“Yes, please,” said Mary Anne.
Janine ladled out the punch. She even ladled me out some when I asked, I guess because it was my birthday. She gave punch to Mom, Dad, and Mimi and then poured a cup for herself.
My father cleared his throat. “Well, we’ll be singing ‘Happy Birthday’ soon, but let me take this opportunity to say it.” He raised his punch. “Happy birthday, Claudia.”
“Thank you,” I said. I had put the gifts on the side table in the dining room. I kept looking at them. What was inside? I could hardly wait to open them. Maybe we would play one — no, two — games and then I’d open the gifts. Or maybe it would be better to play all the games and open the gifts last, while we had punch and ice-cream cake.
We finished the punch. My mother looked at her watch. “It’s almost twelve-thirty,” she said. The invitation said the party started at twelve. “I’m surprised people are so late.”
“Summertime is different from regular time,” my father said. “People take things more slowly in the summer.”
“True,” said my mother. “Let me go check on the cake.” She disappeared into the kitchen.
“Want to go see the pin the nose on the clown?” I asked Kristy and Mary Anne. Of course they did. So we went outside and admired that.
Then we ran back inside.
“More punch?” asked Janine.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I want to save some for when the others get here.”
We waited.
And waited.
My mother looked at her watch again. “It’s one o’clock,” she said finally. “I don’t think anyone else is coming.”
“But they have to!” I burst out. “It’s my birthday!”
“Are you sure you gave out all the invitations?” asked my father.
“Yes! Kristy and Mary Anne helped me!” I could feel a lump in my throat. Why wasn’t anyone at my birthday party?
“Maybe people forgot,” said Kristy. “Like maybe because it was the last day of school and they forgot to show the invitations to their parents.”
Mary Anne added, “We gave them out right at the end of the day.”
She and Kristy and I all began to talk at once, telling how we’d given out the invitations and who we remembered giving them to and what people had said. At last my mother held up her hand. “Okay, okay. Hold on. You know what I think?” She checked her watch one more time and sighed. “I think half of those kids forgot to show their parents the invitations in all the excitement of the last day of school. The other half are probably on vacation and forgot. And maybe Mimi did forget to write RSVP on some invitations.”
“You mean no one’s coming to my party?” I cried. Tears began to sting the backs of my eyelids.
“I’m afraid not,” said my mother.
“We’re here! Me and Mary Anne,” Kristy said.
“And the three of you can have a party anyway,” said Janine. She looked almost as upset as I felt. That just made it worse — that my older sister felt sorry for me. “You open the presents and I’ll go get the cake.”
“I’ll help you light the candles,” said my mom.
I didn’t say anything. I was trying hard not to cry. I was being brave.
Janine and Mom were gone for what seemed a long time. When they came back, Janine was holding the cake. The candles — seven in all, six and one to grow on — were arranged around the lion tamer, burning brightly. Janine and my mom began to sing “Happy Birthday to You” as they came into the room and everyone quickly joined in.
But I didn’t blow out the candles on the cake. I watched as they sagged lower and lower while everyone sang. I watched as they sank into the melting, soggy ice-cream cake. I watched as one drowned in the ice cream and went out with a nasty burnt milk smell. I watched as the little lion tamer figure on top fell over in the goo that was my melted birthday cake.
And then I burst into tears.
I don’t remember much else. My mother put her arm around my shoulders and said something about it’s not being anyone’s fault. My father said something about going out for another ice-cream cake.
I saw Kristy lean over and whisper into Mary Anne’s ear. I saw that Mary Anne looked as if she were close to crying herself (even then, Mary Anne was very, very sensitive).
“We’ll go now,” said Kristy suddenly.
“ ’Bye … ” I wailed, and ran out of the room.
“You still have presents to open.” That was Janine, on the other side of my door. Everyone had been coming upstairs to be nice to me. And that just made it worse.
“Go away,” I said. I was sulking in my room. I’d finished crying, but I hadn’t finished feeling sorry for myself. I checked out my mournful self in the mirror, all dressed up in my birthday best with no birthday party to go to.
I could understand how kids might not have remembered their invitations, when I thought about it. After all, I had trouble remembering things in school for even a minute. I could understand if Mimi had forgotten to write the magic RSVP on some of the invitations. I could even understand, sort of, how everyone could miss my party.
But it still hurt. It was like when I had fallen skating and skinned my arm. I knew why I fell. But I still felt dumb. And my arm still hurt.
I heard the back door open and close as I moped on the bed, and figured my dad must have gone to his office, as he does some Saturdays. Probably Janine had gone to the library. She liked to go with my mom to the library in the summer and sit in the kids’ reading room.
And wherever Mimi was, she’d probably just forgotten about my birthday by now, like everyone else. That’s what I decided as I sprawled on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I let tears leak out of the corners of my eyes and down my earlobes onto the pillow.
I decided I hated circuses. And birthdays.
A long time passed. I didn’t know how long. But then I heard another knock at the door.
“Go away,” I said angrily.
“My Claudia, it is me,” said Mimi. “If you will please open the door, I have a request to make of you.”
“Right now?” I asked, still sounding very grouchy.
“Yes, now,” said Mimi firmly.
Reluctantly, slowly, I got up and opened the door. Mimi smiled when she saw me. I didn’t smile back.
“You’ve been crying,” said Mimi. “I would cry also. Then I would put cold water on my face so I would feel better.” As she was talking, she took my hand and led me to the bathroom. She ran water on a facecloth and wiped my tear-streaked cheeks (and earlobes) with it.
“There,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “May I go back to my room now?”
“In a minute. But first I need you to help me. I must go to Mary Anne’s house.”
“Why?” I asked.
Mimi didn’t answer. She smoothed my jacket (I was still wearing my birthday lion tamer’s outfit) and took my hand again.
“I don’t see why you need me to go to Mary Anne’s house with you,” I complained.
Mimi smiled at me and led me across the street without answering. Instead of going to the front door, she led me around the side of the house.
“Mimi,” I began. But I didn’t get to finish. As Mimi opened the gate to the Spiers’ backyard, what sounded like a hundred voices shouted, “SURPRISE!”
And then the
y began to sing “Happy Birthday.”
I was shocked. I let go of Mimi’s hand and stood there with my mouth open.
The Thomases, the Spiers, and my family were standing there, wearing silly party hats and big grins. The picnic table in the Spiers’ backyard was draped with the circus cloth. Places had been set at the table and the pin the nose on the clown game had been thumbtacked to the gardening shed at the side of the yard. And there was an enormous homemade chocolate cake with lit candles — and the lion tamer in the middle from the ice-cream cake.
Can you tell Im very surprised?
“Hurry up!” said Kristy, pointing to the cake. “Blow out your candles and make a wish!”
Mimi gave me a little push. “Happy birthday, my Claudia,” she said.
I walked forward in a daze and blew out my candles. Everyone burst into cheers and Mary Anne put a silly party hat on me, too.
We ate ice cream and cake and drank punch. And then we played pin the nose on the clown (Kristy won) and circus Simon says. No one won that because we were laughing too hard at people roaring like lions and walking like elephants and scratching like monkeys in the circus. Then my father painted silly clown faces on all of us, even Mimi.
After that I opened my presents. My mouth fell open when I saw them piled up on the blanket under the tree. Then I realized that my family had brought their presents over. And Kristy and Mary Anne had wrapped gifts from the people in their families.
I remember every one of the other presents, too — the neat set of paints I got from Mimi, (my first real paints); the little gold ring with a tiny red stone in it from my mom and dad (it was a garnet, but it was red because my birthstone is a ruby); the artist’s notepad I got from Mary Anne; the beginning reader mystery I got from Janine (it took me forever to read it, because I wasn’t even reading yet, but that’s how I got hooked on mysteries); socks with dogs on the cuffs that I got from Kristy; Sam’s and Charlie’s old train set; a set of colored markers from Mr. Spier.
Every single person had given me a gift, maybe not a brand-new gift, but a gift that was neat and cool and thoughtful. I still have some of the gifts, such as the ring, which is way too small for my finger. I wear it on a gold chain around my neck sometimes. I gave the train set to David Michael for his birthday not too long ago. I still have that first mystery book….
And I have a videotape, too. My father videotaped the entire party. I’ve watched that tape many times since: my mom hopping on one leg in the circus Simon says; Mimi letting my dad paint a clown face on her; Mimi and Kristy and Mary Anne and me all together, grinning (in clown paint) at the camera; me blowing out the candles and opening the gifts.
That’s how I can remember so many of the details. But I think I would remember them anyway. No. I know I would remember them.
Because I had a kid’s worst nightmare: I had a birthday party and no one came.
And then I had the best birthday ever. Because it was a surprise and because the people I really loved were there.
It was and is my favorite birthday. I will never, ever forget it.
Do you remember second grade? That’s when losing your baby teeth seems to reach its peak. Every time I turned around, some kid in my class was losing her (or his) teeth. And of course, Kristy had managed to lose two at the same time, which she announced during her second-grade show and tell. Even Mary Anne had lost a tooth (she was in Kristy’s class, too). Mary Anne didn’t announce it at show and tell, but she did bring it to school to show Kristy and me. Walking to school one morning, we compared the three teeth.
I thought they were interesting-looking. So did Kristy. Mary Anne was sort of squeamish about them, but she was proud that she’d let her dad pull out her loose tooth without even crying.
I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. No loose teeth. “I’m not going to lose any of my teeth,” I announced.
We had almost reached school. Janine had put her book in her backpack and she heard me.
“Of course you will,” she said. “Everyone does. You lose your baby teeth so you can get your adult teeth.”
“Yeah,” said Kristy. “Besides, you get money or presents from the tooth fairy!”
“I hope I get enough money to buy that jogging outfit for my Barbie doll,” said Mary Anne. She giggled and I saw the gap where she’d lost her lower tooth. “If I don’t get enough from this tooth, maybe the next one will do it.”
“Ugh,” I said, and walked into my classroom. I didn’t look back as Kristy and Mary Anne hurried down the hall to their classroom. I didn’t want to talk about this tooth fairy business anymore.
Because I knew the Truth about the tooth fairy.
The tooth fairy ate teeth. And not just teeth you left under your pillow to lure her into your room. Loose teeth, still inside your head. Like, if you were sleeping with your mouth open and the tooth fairy were around, she would just yank the tooth right out of your head.
And maybe some of your good teeth, too.
I don’t know how I knew this. But I wasn’t the only one who did. Emily Bernstein, who sat beside me, and Rick Chow, who sat in front of me, and I had been talking about it. Emily (who, like me, hadn’t lost a tooth yet) said her mother and father wouldn’t talk about the tooth fairy at all. We agreed that that was suspicious.
And Rick Chow, who had just lost his first tooth, had actually caught the tooth fairy in his room. He woke up one night to see a huge, dark shape bending over his bed. He closed his eyes and his mouth and stayed absolutely still.
This sounded terrifying to me. “Was your tooth missing when you woke up in the morning?”
“No,” said Rick. “It was still just loose. But I knew the tooth fairy wanted to yank it out. That’s why I shut my mouth!”
“Wow,” said Emily. “Then what happened?”
“The tooth fairy said my name.”
Emily and I shuddered.
“But I didn’t answer. I knew not to open my mouth. So then she went away!”
“Wow,” Emily said again. “No way am I letting the tooth fairy in my room.”
“Me either,” I said.
Of course we didn’t tell anybody else about this. The other kids would not have believed us. Any more than we believed them when they talked about losing teeth and hiding them under their pillows while they were asleep and waiting for a visit from the tooth fairy who would leave them presents or money in exchange for their teeth.
Apart from the tooth fairy business, I really liked second grade. In fact, it was probably the last year I liked school. I was slow at reading and terrible at spelling — but lots of kids were still bad at spelling then. And Mr. Eccles, a tall, thin man, who wore jeans and a suit jacket and a little bow tie, didn’t mind that I was easily distracted. “When you have trouble paying attention, Claudia,” he told me, “ask a question.” He didn’t mind when I’d suddenly blurt questions out in the middle of reading or arithmetic.
And Mr. Eccles made learning new things fun. We didn’t just read about them, we learned all about them. Mr. Eccles was a cool teacher.
For instance, when Cokie Mason was the first person to lose a tooth during school (and of course bragged about it in show and tell as if we were all a bunch of big babies who hadn’t lost any of our own teeth yet), Mr. Eccles said that different people lose teeth at different times, and then he started talking about how sharks lose hundreds and hundreds of teeth (which made Cokie turn green and made the rest of us laugh).
Then Mr. Eccles said that we’d study teeth, and we did. Only it hadn’t been some boring “All About Your Teeth” unit like poor Mary Anne and Kristy had in their second-grade class.
Instead we’d studied the teeth of different kinds of animals and what they’re used for, and Mr. Eccles had brought in a shark’s tooth from a family summer fishing expedition on a charter boat. The captain of the charter boat had given it to him and we’d been fascinated by it.
We’d learned that meat-eaters have different teeth than grass-eaters.
We learned about calcium, which makes your teeth strong, and about the ways you can get calcium besides milk. (We’d even learned that there are whole cultures that never drink milk!)
All in all, it had been a pretty cool unit. We’d even had a dentist come visit our class. She had brought along a big set of plastic teeth and told us funny stories about being a dentist. And that day, the art teacher was coming in to help Mr. Eccles and our class make papier-mâché models of teeth. Our group (Rick and Emily and me) already knew what we were going to make: a walrus tusk.
First we looked up walruses and read about them. Emily read aloud and Rick took notes. Then we had to figure out what size tusk we wanted to make (that was easy — life-sized). Then we had to measure out how much of each ingredient we needed to make our papier-mâché. After that we went to work.
We added a little tiny bit of brown water-color paint to our papier-mâché because the picture in the book showed that walrus tusks weren’t white but ivory-colored.
“Excellent, excellent,” said Mr. Eccles. “It’s a good thing there are no walruses around. They’d think you’d stolen their tusk!”
We thought that was hugely funny, of course. When we finished, we put our tusk on the bookshelf by the window to dry.
I was very proud of that tusk.
But it made me a little uneasy, too. Because I’d somehow added the tusk to my mental picture of the tooth fairy. I shuddered at the image: something big and dark and hairy with enormous tusk teeth sticking out of its face. I imagined it leaning over my bed. I imagined it whispering “Claudia, Claudiaaaaaaaaa.”
I clamped my mouth shut just thinking about it.
Yes, I knew the Truth about the tooth fairy. And I didn’t want the hairy fairy anywhere near me or my teeth, no matter what Kristy or Mary Anne or any of my friends said.
But it had to happen. I had to start losing my teeth. Although I started brushing them three and even four times a day to make them stay healthy and last a long, long time, I finally got my first loose tooth.
By accident.
We were playing tag on the playground at afternoon recess. I was running at top speed, looking over my shoulder. Suddenly Kristy called, “Claudia, look out!”