Kristy and the Sister War

  “Welcome to the madhouse!” Alan Gray swooped past us as he zigzagged through the crowd.

  For once, he wasn’t exaggerating. The place was in total chaos, no matter which way I looked.

  What place? The Stoneybrook Community Center. And why was I there? Good question. I was asking myself the same thing. But the fact was, I was there with my friends — we’d come directly from Wednesday’s BSC meeting — to help put the finishing touches on plans for the All-Stoneybrook Dance, which would take place in three short days. We were a little late, but I was hoping we’d still be able to help out.

  The committee had chosen the community center for several reasons. First, it has a huge gym; all the community basketball leagues play there. Second, it’s conveniently located. And third, it was neutral ground. I could see that trying to plan a dance that would please kids from three very different schools was — well, let’s just say it wasn’t easy.

  The plan for Wednesday was for the committee plus any interested kids from each school to meet at the community center and work out the final details of the dance. Also, we hoped to do most of the decorating, so that only the finishing touches would have to be added on Saturday afternoon.

  That was the idea anyway.

  So far, it didn’t look as if a thing had been done. And, at the rate things were going, it would be a major victory if even one strand of crepe paper ended up being hung. From what I could tell, there was one word missing from the vocabulary lists at each of the three schools.

  That word? Cooperation.

  Now, supposedly, the committee had already worked out the details of the dance. Decisions — about music, about decorations, about food — had been made by representatives from each school. All that was left to do was carry out those decisions. At least, that’s what I thought. Unfortunately, nobody else seemed to agree. Instead, most of the kids in the community center that night thought that all the plans for the dance were open to debate.

  In every corner of the gym, small groups of kids were arguing about — well, about every possible thing you could imagine. And most of the BSC members jumped right in. Me? Frankly, I didn’t care that much about the details of the dance. I’d just come to help out. I decided to cruise around and see what was going on.

  “Berry punch? That sounds absolutely vomitacious.” Greer Carson, one of Shannon’s friends from SDS, was talking to a group of kids that included Shannon, Stacey, and Mary Anne, as well as two guys from Kelsey. I recognized one of them, Al Hall, but I didn’t know the other.

  “We always have berry punch at our dances,” said Mary Anne, looking a little hurt. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

  “But the committee decided on lemonade,” said Al.

  “Lemonade?” Greer rolled her eyes. “I’d rather die of thirst.”

  “Well, what did you have in mind?” asked the guy from Kelsey.

  “I don’t know,” said Greer impatiently. “Something sophisticated. Something interesting. Something out of the ordinary.”

  “How about if we just have something easy?” asked Stacey. “I mean, wouldn’t it be simplest to go with the committee’s recommendation? After all, they already put a lot of thought into the refreshments.”

  Good for Stacey, I thought. The voice of reason speaks again.

  Unfortunately, nobody listened to the voice of reason.

  I shrugged and strolled over to another spot, below one of the basketball hoops. The group there was discussing decorations. I spotted Claudia (in the thick of that discussion, naturally) and Mal and an SDS guy named Kevin, who’s friends with Bart, and a girl named Polly, who looked as if she might be Kevin’s girlfriend. Two girls from Kelsey, Amanda Kerner and Jacqueline Vecchio, were also there.

  “How in the world could anyone think purple and orange are a good color combination?” Claudia was asking as I arrived. She held a roll of crepe paper in each hand, and she was looking down at them disgustedly.

  “Actually, a majority of the committee agreed on those colors,” said Polly with a sniff. “I was one of the ones who voted for them.”

  “Oh.” Claudia looked embarrassed for just a second. Then she launched in again. “And why can’t we do something a little more creative than just stringing crepe paper around the place? Why not build a stage set, or paint a mural?”

  “We only have two more days,” Kevin reminded her. “And anyway, I think the committee had some pretty creative ideas.”

  “You call purple tablecloths creative?” asked Claudia.

  “Don’t forget the centerpieces,” said Amanda. “The ones Kelsey’s donating from our last dance.”

  “I saw those,” said Polly. “And they’re very nice. But I don’t think the yellow and red color scheme really works with —”

  “We could make new centerpieces,” Mal interrupted eagerly. “I just learned this neat way to make flowers out of plain old tissues. It’s really easy, and —”

  “Tissue paper flowers are so last week,” Claudia broke in. “I know I could come up with something great if you’d just let me think for a minute.” She was so caught up in her urge to be creative that she didn’t even notice the hurt look on Mal’s face.

  I moved on. One more group sat sprawled across a section of bleachers, arguing vehemently about music.

  “No way am I going to dance to even one Beatles song,” I heard Pete Black say. “I vote for the stuff you can really thrash to. You know, like head-banging tunes.”

  “I love the Beatles,” said Cokie Mason, putting her hands on her hips. “How dare you say anything against them!”

  Personally? I’d be the first one to say nasty things about the Beatles — if I knew it would make Cokie mad. And I adore the Beatles. I just don’t adore Cokie. She’s the biggest pain at SMS.

  I saw Jessi, who was sitting next to her, shaking her head, and I knew she agreed with me.

  “How about some Beatles and some metal?” asked Emily Bernstein, who’s also from SMS. She’s very levelheaded, and it was just like her to try to make peace.

  “I don’t even know why you’re all arguing,” said a guy named Karl Schmauder. He goes to Kelsey. “The committee already made some tapes, and they’re ready to go.” He held up three cassettes.

  “Let me see those,” said Lindsey, one of Shannon’s friends from SDS. She snatched the tapes. “If there’s any Grateful Dead on here, any at all, I’m not going near this dance. I can’t stand them.”

  Abby, sitting next to Jessi, cracked up. “You’d miss this whole dance because of one Grateful Dead song?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” said Lindsey, reading through the labels on the cassettes. “You wouldn’t want me to hurl all over the dance floor, would you?”

  Oh man. I shook my head.

  What’s a dance supposed to be?

  Fun.

  And everyone had forgotten about fun. I had to do something to remind them.

  I ran to the sound system, which Alan Gray had been busily setting up. Next to the tape player was a pile of cassettes. I rummaged through them. “Hey!” said Alan.

  I waved him away. “Hold on, hold on,” I muttered as I flipped through the tapes. Finally I found the perfect one. It was the newest Happy Dogs album, and it included their hit single, “I Feel Like Dancing.” “Put this on,” I said, shoving it toward Alan. “And make sure the sound is way up.”

  “Yes, your Kristiness,” he said, bowing deeply.

  He put in the tape and cranked up the volume. I heard the first notes and grinned. “Yess!” I said. I grabbed Alan’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance.”

  “Me?” he asked, amazed.

  “Yes, you,” I said. “Now.” I hauled him into the middle of the gym and started to dance. At first, I felt self-conscious. All the arguing had stopped and everyone turned to stare at us. But then I was swept up into the music, and I started to have fun. Alan was having fun too. He grinned at me and I grinned back.

  About a minute into the song, something else happen
ed. First Claudia, then Shannon, then Al Hall, then five or six other kids began to drift toward the middle of the gym. They started to dance near me and Alan.

  By the end of the song, every kid in that gym was dancing. Angry looks had been replaced by smiles. Nobody had the breath to argue. And everyone had remembered what the dance was about in the first place.

  We danced for about half an hour and then went back to work. Does it surprise you to hear that everything went smoothly? Well, it did. By the end of the night, the gym was transformed. The refreshments committee was in agreement. And there were no further arguments about music.

  On our way out, Claudia gave me a high five. “Good work, Kristy. This dance is going to rule. And the four of us are going to have an awesome time.”

  “Four of us?” I asked.

  “You, me, Mark, and Steve.”

  Oops. “I guess I forgot to tell you,” I said. “I was inspired by the kids and their no-date dance. I called Steve the other day and told him I was going alone.”

  For a second, Claudia looked disappointed. Then she cheered up. “I know he wasn’t the right guy for you,” she said. “But you know what? We’re going to have an awesome time anyway.”

  I had a feeling she was right.

  I sat frozen in my chair, wishing I could pull that old “put on some music and dance” trick again. Would it work? Probably not in this situation.

  What situation, you ask?

  The one at the Kilbourne family dinner table.

  Oh, nobody was arguing the way they had been at the community center the night before. But what they were doing was worse.

  They weren’t talking.

  Well, that’s not quite true. Mrs. Kilbourne had spoken once, to offer the broccoli around. Mr. Kilbourne had said something I probably shouldn’t quote when his beeper went off two seconds after he’d sat down to eat. Shannon had said “Fine” when her mom asked how her day had been. And Maria and Tiffany had each said “Thank you” when their dad served them some pot roast.

  I’d said “Thank you” too, for the same reason. Other than that I’d kept my mouth shut.

  As I chased a carrot around my plate with my fork, I wondered why Tiffany and Maria had begged me to stay for dinner. It’s not as if I had anything to contribute to the sparkling conversation. In fact, the only thing I wanted to say was, “Thanks for a lovely dinner, I’m going home now.”

  But it had seemed important to the girls that I stay. They’d begged so convincingly that I couldn’t figure out how to say no. Maybe they were hoping I could wave a magic wand and make everything better with their family; I don’t know.

  Big surprise: The Kilbournes’ chaotic life was at the root of the problem for Tiffany and Maria. Everyone was too busy. The girls had said so on that Thursday afternoon while we made cookies.

  “Guess how many times Dad’s beeper went off during supper last night,” Maria said to me as she cracked two eggs and dumped them into a bowl. “Seven, that’s how many. A world record. And every time it went off, he headed straight for the phone and talked for about fifteen minutes, even though he’s always promising to cut down.”

  “It’s not as if we were having a real family dinner anyway,” said Tiffany. “Mom was at a class, and Shannon had to leave early to go over to the community center.”

  I felt a little guilty remembering how much fun we’d had dancing.

  “And Dad was reading briefs at the dinner table anyway,” added Maria.

  “Briefs?” I asked. I had a vision of Mr. Kilbourne reading the label on a pair of underwear, and I couldn’t help giggling to myself.

  “It’s some kind of lawyer thing,” said Maria, shrugging. “He does it all the time. Like when he’s pretending to watch a movie with us, he’ll really be going over some paperwork.” She sounded tired.

  I poured a teaspoonful of vanilla into the eggs Maria was beating. “So, has your mom been enjoying school?” I asked cautiously.

  “She loves it,” said Tiffany. She didn’t look very happy for her mom.

  “She’s going to go full-time next semester,” added Maria glumly.

  “Oh.” I was sorry I’d asked.

  “Then, after she graduates, she’ll probably find a job,” said Tiffany.

  I decided to change the subject. “I haven’t heard about you two pulling any new pranks on Shannon. Does that mean the Sister War is over?”

  “I guess,” said Tiffany.

  “It’s over,” agreed Maria.

  “She was pretty mad about that spaghetti,” said Tiffany. “We figured we’d better lay low for a while. Besides, it wasn’t really working.” Tiffany turned on the mixer.

  Nobody spoke for a few minutes as the mixer did its work. Then Tiffany reached over to turn it off.

  “Has Shannon been paying more attention to you?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Tiffany. She tossed back her hair. “Not like I care anymore. I’ve given up on her. Now that she’s in the school play, we’ll never see her.”

  “Shannon’s in the play?” I asked. I hadn’t heard anything about that.

  “She just found out,” said Maria. “It’s not a big role, and she doesn’t even seem all that excited about it. But she’s going through with it.”

  I was surprised Shannon hadn’t told me the night before, but maybe that was because she wasn’t thrilled about it. I dropped a spoonful of cookie dough onto the baking sheet. “So, when do rehearsals start?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Tiffany?”

  “Tomorrow night,” said Tiffany glumly.

  “So Shannon can’t come to our dance,” Maria added.

  “All the other kids’ parents and brothers and sisters are going to be there,” said Tiffany. “But not ours.” She gave a little sniffle.

  “Can’t your mom come?” I asked.

  Maria shook her head. “She has a meeting with some other people in her class. It’s about a midterm or something.” She sniffled too.

  “It’s a study group,” Tiffany explained. “And Dad has to be in New York for a meeting.”

  “That’s a shame,” I said.

  Tiffany shrugged. She was trying hard not to burst into tears.

  Maria, on the other hand, started to sob. “It’s the first party we ever planned by ourselves, and they aren’t even going to be there to see it!” she wailed. I gave her a little squeeze and stroked her hair until her crying died down.

  The baking sheet was full by that time, so I put it in the oven and set a timer. Then I pulled out another baking sheet and started to fill that one up.

  “Do Shannon and your parents know how much it would mean to you if they came to the dance?” I asked after a few moments.

  Tiffany and Maria looked at each other. “I don’t know,” said Maria.

  “Shannon seemed surprised when I acted upset about her not coming,” Tiffany said thoughtfully. “So maybe not.”

  “Well, I have an assignment for you, then,” I said. “There won’t be time this afternoon, since we’ll have to clean up the kitchen before dinner. You can do it tonight, after dinner, and after you’ve finished your homework.”

  “What do we have to do?” asked Maria suspiciously.

  “Write a letter,” I answered. “Actually, two letters. One to Shannon and one to your parents. You can work together.”

  “What are we supposed to say?” asked Tiffany. “I mean, why are we writing them letters?”

  “Why? Because you have something to say. And even though you’ve tried to say it, the message isn’t getting through.”

  “What message?” asked Maria.

  “The one about how much you love your sister and your parents, and how much you miss them.”

  Maria nodded. “I could write a whole book about that,” she said.

  “We’ll do it,” added Tiffany, “but only if you stay for dinner tonight.”

  “I — uh —” I began. After hearing about last night’s dinner, I didn’t have any special wish to b
e a guest at the Kilbourne table.

  “Please?” asked Maria.

  They worked on me while we finished the cookies and cleaned up the kitchen, and finally I gave in. For some reason they needed me there that night. How could I say no?

  So that’s how I ended up at the table surrounded by Kilbournes who had nothing to say to each other. That was one dinner I could have skipped. I could only hope that the letters would help. If they didn’t, I had no clue about what to do next.

  Shannon certainly surprised us — her fellow club members — that night. None of us expected her to do what she did. It was the night of the All-Kids Dance, and excitement was in the air.

  During our meeting that evening, we’d had calls from just about every one of our sitting charges. Charlotte Johanssen had called about a minor hair emergency. Nicky Pike called to let us know that there was no way he was going to dance with any stinky girls. Melody Korman called to ask if we thought Nicky would dance with her. Maria and Tiffany — each on a different extension — called to ask me to determine which of them most deserved to wear Shannon’s red sweater (of course I told them to leave the sweater in its drawer and wear their own clothes). And Karen called three times to make sure we remembered 1) the way to the community center, where their dance was taking place as well, 2) what time to be there, and 3) that we’d promised to serve the punch and cookies.

  Just after the final call from Karen, I realized it was six o’clock, time to adjourn the meeting and hightail it over to the community center. We’d planned to arrive early and help set everything up. Some of the kids’ parents would be there too. I expected to see Mr. Johanssen, Mrs. Pike, and Mrs. Korman. I definitely did not expect to see Shannon.

  “Hey, what are you doing here?” I asked. Shannon was waiting on the front steps of the community center. I noticed she was wearing the red sweater. I also noticed that she looked happier than I’d seen her in a long, long time.