Kristy's Mystery Admirer

  “I’m dead,” I told her.

  “Too dead for some tips?”

  “What kind of tips?”

  “Oh, makeup, stuff like that.”

  “I don’t wear makeup,” I told her.

  “Not even to dances?”

  I rolled over. “Hmm. I’m not sure.”

  “You want to look good for Bart, don’t you?”

  “I just want to look like myself. And if I’m going to look good, I’ll look good for me.”

  “Okay. So what about makeup? And what are you going to wear?”

  “Wear? I don’t know.”

  “You do own a dress, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do … I think.” I got up and went to my closet. “There must be a couple here somewhere.” I pawed through my collection of shirts and sweaters. “Oh, here’s one. I wore it when Mary Anne’s dad and Dawn’s mom got married. And here’s another. This is the one I wore when my mother and Watson got married.” I held it up.

  “Well, you can’t wear that one to the dance,” said Shannon. “It’s much too dressy. It’s a long dress for heaven’s sake. Let me see the other one.”

  I put the fancy dress away and showed Shannon the more casual one. “Of course, Bart and I could go in costume,” I pointed out. “A lot of kids do go to the Hop in costume.”

  “But don’t you want to look special for Bart?” asked Shannon. “And that dress is perfect. Who helped you pick it out?”

  “Stacey did,” I admitted.

  “Well, it’s great for a dance. Okay, put it on.”

  “How come?”

  “Because I can’t figure out your makeup and nail polish until I see you in the dress.”

  “Nail polish? No way! I’ll wear makeup — a little makeup — but no nail polish.”

  “Okay, okay. Calm down.”

  Luckily, before we had gotten too far into the makeup ordeal, Watson stuck his head in my room and told me that Bart was on the phone.

  “Thanks,” I said, but as soon as he had left I moaned to Shannon, “I just know he’s decided he doesn’t want to go to the dance after all. I should have let the Bashers win the game today.”

  “Kristy,” said Shannon sharply, “you should not have. Go see what Bart really wants. I’m sure he’s not backing out.”

  I picked up the phone as if it were a dead snake. I barely touched it. “Hello?” I squeaked. “Bart?”

  “Hi, Coach,” said Bart cheerfully. “Listen, you won’t believe this. I have the greatest costumes for us to wear to the dance. I know we didn’t say anything about costumes, but I was just up in our attic and I found — I know you’re not going to believe this — but I found two lobster costumes. My parents wore them to a party once. A long time ago. I think my mom’s costume would fit you. Do you want to wear it?”

  Did I want to wear it? Of course I did! Then I wouldn’t have to wear a dress. Or nail polish. “Oh, yes!” I cried. “Definitely. That’s terrific, Bart. You know, they’re giving out prizes for costumes this year. Scariest, funniest, that sort of thing. Hey, do these costumes have masks?”

  “No,” replied Bart. “We’ll have to do a little makeup. Is that okay?”

  “It’s great!” I said. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon. ‘Bye!” I hung up and ran back to my room. “Shannon,” I said, “that was Bart. Guess what. I’m going to do my own makeup. Watch this.” I smeared my entire face with liquid rouge. I looked as red as a you-know-what.

  Shannon gaped. “Kristy!! That’s not a makeup job.”

  “It is when you’re going to be a lobster.”

  I explained to Shannon about the costumes. Then I gleefully took off my dress and put it back in the closet.

  “Kristy?” said Shannon.

  “What?”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Thank you.”

  Shannon grinned at me. “You and Bart are going to have a great time,” she said.

  “I hope so,” I replied.

  It was Friday night, the night of the Halloween Hop.

  I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom.

  I was wearing a lobster costume.

  “Not bad,” I murmured. I certainly did look like a lobster — if lobsters were able to stand up and walk on their tails with their legs waving around in front of them. I had antennae, the proper number of legs, and even claws. (The claws fitted over my hands, like mittens.) The other six legs were stiff with wire and were fastened to the body of the costume.

  I was just applying the last of the rouge to my face when, “Aughhh!”

  “Aughhh!” I shrieked back.

  Karen was standing behind me. My costume had scared her, and she had scared me. “Is that what you’re wearing to the dance tonight?” she asked, incredulous. “I thought when girls went to dances they wore beautiful gowns and ribbons or maybe pearls in their hair. And jewelry, lots of jewelry.”

  Karen moved beside me and gazed in the mirror. I’m sure she was picturing herself at a “big girl” dance, jewel bedecked and gorgeous.

  “No, silly,” I said, fluffing her hair. “I mean, usually people do get dressed up for a dance, but this is a Halloween dance, so Bart and I are wearing costumes. How do I look as a lobster?”

  “Fine. Is Bart your boyfriend?”

  “Maybe.” I answered. “I’m not sure.”

  “How come you’re not sure?”

  “I’m just not, that’s all.” Usually, I like having Karen and Andrew live with us every other weekend, but sometimes Karen asks too many questions. So I asked her one instead, hoping she’d forget about Bart. “Is your Halloween costume ready?”

  “Yup.” (Karen, Andrew, David Michael, Emily, and a bunch of their friends were going to go trick-or-treating the next day as characters from The Wizard of Oz. Mom had hired me to take them around the neighborhood.)

  “Well, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I told Karen.

  “Are you nervous, Kristy?”

  “A little.” Actually, I was very nervous, but not for any reason Karen could imagine. Here are the reasons I was worried:

  I’m not a great dancer, and it was hard enough to walk in my costume, let alone dance in it.

  This was basically my first true date. I’d gone to dances before, but only with dweebs like Alan Gray, so those didn’t count. And Bart and I had gone to the movies and stuff before, but usually on the spur of the moment, and definitely only as friends. I had a feeling tonight would be different.

  Nobody at SMS, except my friends (and some enemies, who shall remain nameless) had seen Bart. Kids didn’t bring dates from other schools very often, so Bart and I would have stood out as a couple even if we weren’t dressed like lobsters. I was afraid that some kids might give Bart a hard time.

  “Kristy!” called Watson from the front hall. “Are you ready to go? We told Bart we’d pick him up in ten minutes.”

  “Coming!” I called back. “Are you sure I look okay?” I asked Karen.

  “Okay for a lobster,” she replied.

  I grinned. Then I gave her a good-night kiss. “See you in the morning.”

  “You’re going to be out that late?”

  “Pretty late. Oh, and guess who will be here when you wake up tomorrow?”

  “Who?”

  “Shannon, and Mary Anne, and all my friends from the Baby-sitters Club. We’re going to have a sleepover after the dance.”

  “Goody!” said Karen.

  “Kristy!” Watson called again.

  “Okay, coming!” I ran downstairs. Watson drove me to Bart’s house, we picked up the second lobster, and before I knew it, Watson was letting us off in front of SMS.

  “Charlie and I will pick up you and your friends at ten-thirty, okay?” said Watson, as Bart and I struggled out of the car.

  “Okay,” I replied. “And thanks.”

  The Halloween Hop was a dance for all grades at SMS. Mary Anne and Logan were going to be there. Claudia was ecstatic because Woody Jefferson
had asked her to go. Stacey had gotten up the nerve to invite Kelsey Bauman (the new boy she liked). Dawn and Jessi were going stag. And Mallory was going with Ben Hobart!

  “Well,” I said nervously to Bart as we entered my school, “this is SMS.”

  “It’s big,” said Bart. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never driven by it, but when you’re this close up, it seems so much bigger than Stoneybrook Day School.” Bart looked sort of nervous himself.

  “Come on,” I said, taking his claw, which was difficult to do.

  I led Bart inside. We were entering the back way, near the gym, where the dance would be held. The BSC members (with or without dates) had agreed to meet there. I was relieved to find Stacey and Kelsey, Dawn, and Mary Anne and Logan already there. As soon as the others arrived, we entered the gym in a big bunch.

  Right away, people began staring at Bart and me.

  “Everyone’s looking at us,” I whispered to Mary Anne.

  “It’s just your costumes,” she whispered back. “They’re so unusual. Don’t worry. No one’s laughing.”

  But Bart and I gripped claws even more tightly.

  “Come on,” said Bart. “Let’s get some punch.”

  So we did. After we had stood around for awhile, and people had gotten used to us, Bart said, “Do you want to dance? This band is good.”

  “Hey!” I exclaimed, as we headed for the dance floor, “maybe someday your band could play here. We’re always looking for bands.”

  “Maybe,” replied Bart, sounding excited at the prospect.

  And so we began to dance. I soon realized that Bart couldn’t tell if I was a good dancer or a rotten one. Neither of us could dance well with all the legs and claws and tentacles.

  I relaxed and looked around the gym. It was decorated with black and orange streamers and balloons. And the chaperones (our teachers) were all in costumes! Bart and I whirled by Mary Anne and Logan, who were dressed as a witch and Frankenstein. We danced by Stacey and Kelsey, who were just dressed up. (Karen would have approved.) We passed by Dawn, dressed as Alice in Wonderland, who was dancing with a hunchback. (I didn’t recognize him.)

  And then we danced by Cokie Mason and Austin Bentley.

  I prepared myself for remarks, but Cokie pretended not to notice Bart and me — even though I know she saw us. Good. Maybe our war was over. I didn’t mind being ignored by Cokie. Anyway, a lot of kids at school were mad at her for sending the notes. I felt satisfied.

  Bart and I took a break after awhile, had some more punch, and then returned to the dance floor. The first slow dance began. Yikes! A slow dance. Bart put his arms around my neck and we swayed back and forth, back and forth, in time to the music. Somehow, though, I had a feeling that I wasn’t getting the full effect of things, what with those layers of foam between us. It didn’t matter, though. A slow dance felt pretty nice.

  When the band stopped for a break of their own, one of the teachers (Ms. Mandel, who was dressed as Snow White), stepped up to a microphone. “While the members of the band are taking a rest,” she began, “I would like to present the prizes for the best costumes.”

  Bart and I glanced at each other, hopeful.

  “Scariest costume prizes,” said Ms. Mandel, “go to Danny Olssen and Tara Valentine, our space monsters. Funniest costume prizes go to Danielle Pitchard and Marcus Brown, the surfing dinosaurs. The prizes for the most unusual costumes go to our lobsters, Kristy Thomas and …”

  I didn’t even hear the rest of what Ms. Mandel had to say. “We won!” I exclaimed to Bart. “I wonder what we won.” And then I added, “You don’t think most unusual really means strangest, do you?”

  “No,” Bart assured me. “Besides, who cares? We won a coupon for a free large pizza at Pizza Express.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. That teacher just announced it. Come on. We’re supposed to go and collect our prize.”

  So Bart and I joined the other winners, who were surrounding Ms. Mandel. As our pizza coupons were handed out, everyone clapped.

  Then the band members returned and the dancing began again. Bart and I danced until Bart looked at the clock on the wall and said, “Kristy, it’s ten-fifteen. We better find your friends and get going.”

  “Oh,” I said in disappointment, but I knew he was right. “Let’s just finish this dance first, though.” (It was a slow dance.)

  So we did. And when the music ended, Bart leaned toward me and kissed me very gently on the cheek.

  Ooh, I thought. So this is what it’s like to be in love.

  “All right, I want to know everything,” said Shannon.

  She and I, and Jessi, Stacey, Mary Anne, Mallory, Dawn, and Claudia were sitting around my bedroom. The dance was over. Scattered about the room were pieces of our costumes — Dawn’s Alice in Wonderland dress, Mal’s clown feet (she’d had a lot of trouble dancing at the Hop, and had had to take the shoes off and dance barefoot) Mary Anne’s witch hat, and my lobster suit. The suit was huge and was standing in a corner, the tentacles waving ever so slightly.

  My friends and I had all changed into our nightgowns. Shannon, Stacey, and I were lying on my bed on our stomachs with our feet in the air. Mallory, Dawn, Mary Anne, and Jessi were propped up in various places on the floor of my room. Dawn, in fact, was leaning against the bed, and Shannon was braiding her hair from above. Claudia was sitting at my desk, painting her nails.

  “Why are you painting your nails now?” I asked her, looking at my watch.

  “So I won’t have to do it tomorrow,” she replied simply.

  “Come on, I want to hear about the dance,” said Shannon again.

  “All right,” said Jessi. “I’ll start. The gym was beautifully decorated. There were streamers and balloons everywhere —”

  “Not that kind of stuff!” Shannon interrupted her. “The good stuff.”

  “The good stuff?” repeated Jessi. She and Mallory hadn’t been to too many dances. They weren’t sure what sort of information Shannon wanted.

  “How about this?” said Stacey. “Cokie Mason was all dressed up. I mean, not in a costume, just really dressed up. She was wearing a lot of makeup, too, including false eyelashes.” (I began to laugh. I knew what Stacey was going to say. I’d seen what had happened.) “And she leaned over the punch bowl and one of her lashes fell off and landed right in the punch.”

  “And Miranda Shillaber was standing there and she made the teacher who was in charge of the refreshments get a fresh bowl of punch because she said the first bowl had been contaminated by the eyelashes. I thought Cokie was going to kill her. She gave her a Look,” I finished.

  Shannon laughed. “So what else? Did you all dance?”

  “Yup,” answered Dawn. “No wallflowers here.”

  “Ben is a great dancer,” said Mal dreamily.

  “I danced with about eight different boys and they were all clods,” announced Jessi, with disgust.

  “That’s because you’re used to dancing with boys who take ballet,” said Mal. “They’re graceful.”

  “No, Jessi’s right. Sixth-grade boys are clods,” said Shannon knowingly. “Trust me. I remember. Half of them are all gangly, kind of like spiders, and the other half are so short you can hardly see them.”

  “When does it change?” asked Jessi.

  “It’s slow. A — a sort of — What’s the word?” said Claudia, without looking up from her nail polish pursuits.

  “A metamorphosis?” suggested Mary Anne.

  “Yeah, that’s it. A metamorphosis,” said Claud. She held out one hand, examining her fingertips critically. “Not bad,” she murmured. “Some day I’m going to go to the nail salon and get a French manicure.”

  I was about to ask what that was when Shannon said, “Come on. More details! More details! I can’t stand not knowing what happened.”

  “Kristy and Bart won the prize for the most unusual costumes,” said Dawn. She reached up to pat her head and see how the braiding was coming.

&
nbsp; “Great,” said Shannon. “What’d you win?”

  “A coupon for a FREE LARGE pizza with everything,” I answered.

  “Ew,” said Jessi. “Even anchovies?”

  “Bart and I happen to like anchovies,” I replied. “We have a lot in common.”

  “Yeah,” said Stacey slyly.

  Shannon peered across Stacey’s back and over at me. “What does she mean?” she asked with interest.

  “I — I —” (I couldn’t get the words out.)

  “Bart kissed her!” exclaimed Mal, unable to contain herself. “He kissed her at the dance right in front of everyone!”

  “He kissed you?” cried Shannon. She dropped the braid she was working on. “How did he kiss you?”

  “It was just a kiss on the cheek,” I said. “And how did you know about that, Mal?” I asked.

  Mary Anne giggled. “We all know,” she said. “Everybody saw. He kissed you in the middle of the gym.”

  I tried to be embarrassed, but I don’t think I even worked up a red face. I was sort of proud that my friends had seen Bart kiss me.

  Mary Anne began to giggle.

  “What?” I said.

  “Bart is better than Alan Gray with M&M’S in his eyes, isn’t he?” she said.

  We all laughed, except for Shannon, who didn’t understand the true extent of Alan’s pestiness.

  “Alan,” I began explaining to Shannon, “will do anything for attention. Once we gave Mary Anne a party” (I said that part quickly because Mary Anne had hated the party; we should have known better than to surprise her) “and Alan walked around with yellow M&M’S squinted between his eyes, telling everyone he was Little Orphan Annie.”

  “I can assure you,” said Shannon, “that Bart will never do that. At least not in public.” She returned to Dawn’s hair.

  “Kristy?” Jessi spoke up softly. “Are you in love?”

  I hesitated, knowing that by hesitating I was giving myself away. If any of my brothers had been in the room they would have teased me for about a year. But my friends wouldn’t do that. They all just glanced at me and let the subject drop.

  “Well,” said Dawn, “tomorrow’s Halloween.”

  “No … it’s today,” said Mal in a low voice, looking at her watch. “The time is twelve-oh-three.”