Claudia, Queen of the Seventh Grade

  All the seventh-graders were standing now. Standing and applauding, for goodness sake. Some of them were eyeing the exit. I could tell they thought this was the nerdiest moment of the year. But a lot of kids were truly excited (probably the ones who voted for us).

  Mark gave a royal wave and said out of the side of his mouth, “I feel like a total fool.”

  Aha! An honest, human emotion!

  “Me, too,” I confessed.

  I joined the wave. We were waving in unison, left, right, left, to the beat of the music.

  Soon the whole audience was swaying like a mirror image.

  That was way cool.

  Mrs. Hochberger was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “Uh, before we’re all dismissed back to class, I want to remind you that the Queen and King will be choosing their attendants from among all of you. Thank you!”

  As the classes started filing out, Mrs. Hochberger pulled up a chair next to Mark and me. “The whole idea of this,” she said softly, “is to stir up excitement about the prom. Don’t go overboard bossing kids around. Just have fun with it.”

  “What exactly do we do with the kids we pick?” I asked.

  Mrs. Hochberger shrugged. “You know, they help out with the prom plans …”

  “Like, making food and decorating and picking music?” I pressed.

  “Well, no,” Mrs. Hochberger replied. “The administration has a budget for that. But on prom night you arrive early and pose for yearbook photos. Usually a photographer from the Stoneybrook News is there …”

  “You mean,” said Mark, “we don’t do nothing!”

  “You don’t do anything,” Mrs. Hochberger corrected him, then winced. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t do nothing, Mark —”

  “That’s what I said,” Mark shot back.

  “What I mean is …” Mrs. Hochberger’s smile was stiffening. “Well … it’s more like … an honor, I guess,” she stammered. “A tradition.”

  Kind of a dumb tradition, if you asked me. A waste. If you have two leaders and a bunch of attendants, why not put them to work? (I know, I know, you think I’ve been hanging around Kristy too long.)

  I was about to say something to Mrs. Hochberger, but she looked at her watch and said, “Go ahead to your classes. I’d like to have a meeting with you both after school on Monday.”

  Mark groaned. “After school?”

  Mrs. Hochberger managed a half smile. “Be a sport, Mark. Now run along, before everyone’s gone.”

  We took off our crowns and capes and walked out together.

  “What a joke,” Mark muttered.

  I shrugged. “If you think so, then apticate,” I said.

  “You mean, abdicate?” he asked with a grin.

  A mocking, superior grin. If there’s one thing worse than a cute, obnoxious boy, it’s a cute, obnoxious boy who thinks he’s smart.

  “Whatever,” I snapped.

  “I mean, if we’re the King and Queen, we should do stuff. Like make the food. My dad works in a restaurant. He could help us out.”

  Well, well.

  An Idea. A real, honest-to-goodness Idea from the mind of Mark Jaffe. And one that I agreed with. Would wonders never cease?

  “You mean, a food committee,” I said. “I was thinking of that. We should have other committees, too. My friends and I are really good at organizing stuff. They’re mostly eighth-graders, though. Thirteen, like me.”

  Mark nodded. “I didn’t know you were that old.”

  “It’s not old —”

  “Were you left back or something?”

  I glared at him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business —”

  “Sorry. I mean, I just asked because I was.”

  “You were what?”

  “Left back. In third grade. I have a learning disability. I was a late reader.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  We were at the auditorium doors, and Josh was barreling through. “Yyyyyo, Queenie!” he yelled.

  He put his arm around my shoulders and escorted me into the lobby. “No flash photos, please! Autographs after school!”

  I could hear Mark cracking up. But I couldn’t see him. We were both surrounded.

  Jeannie, Shira, Joanna, and I fell into a group hug. Josh tried to organize a throne of linked arms to lift me, but it didn’t work. My back was being slapped so much, I felt like a tomtom. Everyone was congratulating me.

  You know what? Through all of it, I could not stop grinning. Corny tradition or not, being Queen was great. I loved it.

  As I walked with my class back to gym, I spotted Mark with his class. He smiled at me and waved.

  I smiled back. I felt a little guilty. I mean, I had been kind of snobby to him. Jerky, obnoxious people can be human, too.

  Sometimes.

  During the rest of gym class, I could not stop thinking about ways to organize the seventh-grade prom. Forget about being a useless Queen. I was determined to create the All-New, Queen Claudia’s Authentic Student-Run Prom. I would organize committees. Drag Mark’s dad into the food preparation. Create fabulous decorations, maybe even costumes. Send fliers home to ask for volunteers.

  I felt as if I’d just been to see the Wizard of Oz. He’d given me a crown — and I’d discovered the Kristyness hidden inside me.

  I couldn’t wait to run my idea past Kristy herself. After class was over, I sped to the front door and waited for my BSC friends.

  Stacey was the first to arrive.

  “Guess what?” I squealed.

  “You’re Queen,” Stacey said with a smile.

  “How did you know?”

  Stacey shrugged. “It was either that, or you were just promoted. Why else would you look so ecstatic?”

  “I know. You think it’s dumb. I did, too, at first. But now I —” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kristy and Abby approaching. “Stacey, hold my train.”

  “Your what?”

  “The train of my dress. Pretend!”

  I walked toward Kristy regally, like Queen Elizabeth inspecting the Royal Middle School, waving slowly to my subjects on each side, chin held high.

  “Look, Kristy,” Abby said. “Stacey has created a Claudia robot.”

  I gave her a Look. “That’s my Queen walk!”

  Kristy looked shocked. “You won?”

  “Yup!”

  “What did you do, bribe them with Yodels?” Abby asked.

  “Ha ha,” I said.

  “But — but you’re an eighth-grader!” Kristy exclaimed.

  I put my fists on my hips. “Thank you both for being so happy for me.”

  “I was kidding,” Abby said.

  Jessi and Mal were running toward me now. “We heard you won!” Jessi shouted.

  “Yaaaaay, Claudia!” Mal called out.

  It was nice to see some respect. And when Mary Anne arrived, she actually had tears of joy in her eyes.

  But Mary Anne had to run off to the Addisons’. And Kristy and Abby had to catch the bus before I could say anything about my great plan.

  I mentioned the plan to Stacey, Jessi, and Mallory. They thought it sounded fine, but we didn’t talk about it much.

  On the way home, Jessi told us all about a ballet performance she was preparing for. In great detail.

  My Queenship wasn’t mentioned again.

  Oh, well, I guess royalty just ain’t what it used to be.

  Mary Anne was still cautious about being with Sean. I don’t blame her. How many kids do you know who would actually burn books in public places just because they didn’t want to be in a Readathon? I mean, he said he was sorry, and his parents seemed dedicated to working with him, but still …

  As Mary Anne waited on the Addisons’ front stoop, Sean peered out the living room window.

  Sean is ten years old, with wavy light brown hair and dark eyes. He’s pretty quiet, and he doesn’t show much expression.

  Well, that’s not totally true. Mary Anne was discovering that he could
put on a world-class sneer.

  She saw him mouth the words “Oh, no!” and sink out of sight.

  Nice welcome, huh?

  The front door swung open. Mr. and Mrs. Addison did not seem happy. Behind them, Sean was stomping away angrily.

  “Come in, Mary Anne,” Mrs. Addison said. “May we talk for a minute?”

  They’re going to fire me, Mary Anne thought. They hired me so they could fire me.

  Swallowing hard, Mary Anne walked into the living room and sank into the sofa cushions. Mr. and Mrs. Addison sat in easy chairs opposite her.

  Thump-thump-thump, went Sean’s footsteps up the stairs. His voice carried down from his room, muffled: “I hate brabbarabba.”

  Sean’s nine-year-old sister, Corrie, popped into the living room. With a wide smile, she said, “Hi, Mary Anne! You know what Sean told me? He eats baby-sitters for lunch!”

  “Corrie, please do your homework,” Mr. Addison said.

  “He is so mean,” Corrie said, skipping away.

  Mr. Addison smiled tightly. “Sean is feeling a little resistant to baby-sitters in general, Mary Anne. Don’t take it personally.”

  “He has a lot of anger,” Mrs. Addison explained. “He used to keep it all bottled up. He would express it in antisocial acts — you know, like the Readathon incident.”

  “Since we’ve been going to family therapy,” Mr. Addison went on, “he’s been learning to express his anger verbally.”

  Mary Anne smiled and nodded. But inside she was having a cow. Express his anger verbally? That was the last thing Mary Anne needed. She absolutely hates confrontation.

  When the Addisons left, Mary Anne took several deep breaths and slowly walked upstairs to the kids’ bedrooms. Corrie’s door was open. She was lying on her bed, reading Beverly Cleary’s Henry and Beezus.

  “Hi, Corrie,” Mary Anne said. “Just wanted to let you know that if you need me —”

  “Ssshhh, I’m at the best part,” Corrie said.

  Mary Anne slunk away. Down the hall, Sean’s bedroom door was closed. Mary Anne could hear his fingers clacking away at a keyboard. She raised her arm to knock on his door.

  “Oowww! Unnh! Unhh-unhh-uh-uhhhhh!” Sean growled.

  Mary Anne froze.

  “Will you stop that?” Corrie shouted.

  “What?” Sean called back.

  “I said, will you stop groaning? I’m reading!” Corrie replied.

  “I wasn’t groaning!”

  “What were you doing, Sean? Singing along with your headphones?”

  Silence.

  “MARY ANNE! SEAN’S NOT SUPPOSED TO LISTEN TO HIS RADIO WHILE HE DOES HOMEWORK!”

  Sean’s door crashed open. Mary Anne jumped away. Sean ran past her as if she weren’t there.

  He burst into Corrie’s room, steaming. “You ugly little frog breath pig face!”

  “GET OUT OF HERE!” Corrie cried.

  By the time Mary Anne reached the room, Sean had grabbed the book out of her hand. “Oh, I think this baby book is sooooo funny!” he said, pretending to read it. “Tee hee hee.”

  “Sean, please,” Mary Anne said. “Give her back the book.”

  Sean flung the book on the floor and stalked back to his room.

  Corrie’s lips were curled under in pre-cry mode. “He bent my book!”

  “So sit on it!” Sean shot back, disappearing behind his door.

  Corrie was in tears. Mary Anne sat on the bed next to her and gave her a hug.

  “I was j-just —” said Corrie between sniffles, “— telling you what Mom and Dad said. That’s all.”

  “I know,” Mary Anne said softly. “Your feelings are hurt. You deserve an apology.”

  “Ha!” came Sean’s voice.

  “Go yell at him,” Corrie said.

  Mary Anne stood up. Her heart was racing. He is only a ten-year-old boy, she kept repeating to herself. Be patient.

  She walked bravely to Sean’s room. His door was not quite latched, so she knocked and pushed it open a crack. “Sean?”

  Sean was sitting at his desk with his headphones on. He quickly took them off and turned around on his swivel chair. “What’s the password?”

  “Sean, I’m not trying to intrude on your privacy,” Mary Anne said. “But I’m your sitter, and I have to follow house rules —”

  “I won’t use the headphones anymore, okay?” Sean said. “I just wanted to hear one song. Now, since you didn’t tell me the password, get out of here so I can do my homework.”

  Mary Anne stood her ground. “Sean, you’re not being very nice.”

  “Yeah!” called Corrie.

  “Then will you please get out of here?” Sean asked. “And will you please tell my sister to brush her teeth because I can smell her breath from here?”

  “Hey!” Corrie protested.

  SLAM! Sean closed the door in Mary Anne’s face.

  Bursting with rage, Mary Anne kicked the door down and screamed at him.

  Just kidding. But she did open the door again and said, “Sean, you are out of line. I will let you do your homework. But I insist on two apologies. You have been rude to me and mean to your sister.”

  Sean rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he grumbled. Then he slouched into Corrie’s room, repeated “Sorry,” and slouched back.

  Oh, well. It was better than nothing.

  Mary Anne ducked into Corrie’s room again. “Call me if he gives you any more trouble,” she whispered.

  Back downstairs Mary Anne went. She quickly set up her own homework on the kitchen table.

  She was halfway through her math assignment when Sean gave a loud, strangled-sounding cry.

  Zoom. Mary Anne bolted upstairs and rapped on Sean’s door. “Are you all right?”

  “I hate this!” Sean wailed.

  Mary Anne opened the door. Sean was sitting at his desk, slumped over an open textbook.

  “Hate what?” Mary Anne asked.

  “Math!” Sean shot back. “I can’t do it.”

  Mary Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “I thought it was something serious.”

  “Password?” Sean snapped.

  “Look, I can help you with your math, Sean,” Mary Anne volunteered.

  “Not unless you know the password,” Sean protested.

  “It wouldn’t matter even if you did,” Corrie said from her room. “He changes it!”

  “Phew! Yeccch! The breath! Gag me!” Sean yelled.

  “Make him apologize, Mary Anne!” Corrie demanded.

  “She’s right, Sean,” Mary Anne said.

  “Why are you bossing me around, anyway?” Sean snapped. “You’re not my baby-sitter. You’re Corrie’s.”

  “He thinks he’s such a grown-up!” Corrie yelled. “But he’s really a baby! Sean is a baby! Sean is a baby!”

  “I hate you!” Sean leaped out of his chair.

  Mary Anne stood firmly in the doorway. She had had enough.

  “Sit down!” she commanded.

  I think Sean was shocked. He skidded to a stop.

  Mary Anne gulped. She was a little surprised at herself, too.

  “Corrie, that time you provoked your brother,” Mary Anne said over her shoulder. “Kindness has to go both ways.”

  “See, she needs a baby-sitter, not me,” Sean said, sinking into his bed. “Why do I have to have one?”

  “Is this what’s bothering you?” Mary Anne asked. “What’s wrong with having a sitter?”

  “My parents are only going to be gone a little while, right?” Sean asked.

  “An hour and a half.”

  “So what can happen in an hour and a half? I can be here alone with Corrie. I’m ten!”

  Mary Anne sat on the floor. “Lots of ten-year-old kids have sitters, Sean. The Pike triplets are ten, and we sit for them.”

  “No, you don’t. They’re, like, assistants. They told me.”

  (Boy, was that ever a stretch of the truth.)

  “Sean, have the triplets been teasing you about having
a sitter or something?”

  “Well, not them …” Sean’s eyes were beginning to well up now. “This other guy says if I have a baby-sitter, I must be a baby.”

  “That’s just silly —”

  “To you it is. But I’m the one everyone makes fun of.”

  Mary Anne gave Sean a reassuring smile. “Look, I’ll promise to keep this between me and your family, okay? No one in Stoneybrook Elementary has to know you have a sitter.”

  “Right. They’re probably spying on me.” Sean stood up and walked back to his desk. “Can I do my homework now?”

  “Okay,” Mary Anne said. “Call me if you need help.”

  Sean grunted. Mary Anne quietly turned and went back downstairs to the kitchen.

  Before long the Addisons returned. “Well, well,” Mr. Addison said. “Everything sounds nice and peaceful.”

  “Not!” bellowed Sean, clomping down the stairs. “Mary Anne was talking to me while I was trying to do my homework.”

  “He’s lying!” Corrie yelled, running after him. “Sean was being mean!”

  “I’d be much nicer if I didn’t have to have a baby-sitter,” Sean said. “I don’t need one.”

  “Sean —” Mary Anne began to protest.

  “It’s true!” Sean said. “Mary Anne didn’t do a thing to help me. From now on, I should baby-sit all by myself!”

  “We’ll consider that, Sean,” Mr. Addison said.

  Corrie looked horrified. “No way!”

  “Now, would you both mind if we talked to Mary Anne alone?” Mr. Addison asked.

  The two kids left the kitchen, bickering.

  Mary Anne was speechless. She fought back tears.

  Mrs. Addison smiled at her sympathetically. “Don’t you worry. We know you did a fine job.”

  “It’s — it’s a tough age, I guess,” Mary Anne said. “And he’s being teased at school.”

  “We know,” Mr. Addison said with a sigh. “Maybe we can figure out a way to make him feel more responsible.”

  “We’ll talk to him, Mary Anne,” Mrs. Addison said. “By next week, he’ll feel better. You’ll see.”

  “Thanks,” Mary Anne said.

  Inside, however, she was saying something else.

  She was saying, thank goodness I won’t be the one to see.

  “Tell them you need a royal scepter,” Josh said. He slammed his locker shut and began walking down the hall with Shira, Jeannie, Joanna, and me.