“Not everybody can hit a bull’s-eye,” Claudia said. “I can’t even hit the target. If you can hit the bull’s-eye on your first day, you can definitely make the team.”
By the time I left the meeting, my friends had convinced me that there was no way I wouldn’t make the team. That night at dinner, I told my family what had happened. Mom and Dad were just as encouraging. My sisters and even my brothers said they knew I could do it.
The next day, though, I wasn’t so sure. I felt a familiar knot in my stomach, the one I get whenever I really want something and I don’t think I’m going to get it. So I did what I often do. I told myself I didn’t really want it.
I didn’t say much at breakfast. I guess everyone could tell I was nervous. They left me alone and no one bugged me about anything.
“You’ll do great,” said Vanessa.
“No, I won’t,” I protested. “Maybe I won’t even try out.”
Mom heard this. “You don’t lose anything by trying,” she said gently. “Win or lose, we still love you.”
I gave her a tense smile and headed for school. Jessi was waiting for me at my locker when I got there. “Today’s the big day,” she said excitedly.
“Maybe I won’t bother. I mean, I have enough to do, with school and baby-sitting and all.”
“If I can fit in ballet class, you can fit in archery,” Jessi said sternly. “You have to try out.”
“Why?”
“Because you like it. And you’re good at it. You’re just feeling a little scared right now.”
When you have a friend who knows you as well as Jessi does, you can’t get away with much. “I’ll think about it,” I told her.
“Think about it while you’re trying out,” said Jessi.
I felt as if my friends and family had put me in such a position that I had to try out. Either try out, or look like a wimp. I was glad. Otherwise, I might have chickened out.
That afternoon, I did go to the tryouts. Most of the kids there — both boys and girls — were seventh- and eighth-graders. There were only seven other sixth-graders.
The late afternoon had turned cold, and we stood around with our hair blowing and our hands jammed into our pockets. As I waited for my turn, I noticed that the rest of the kids were pretty good, unlike in gym. Most of the arrows hit the targets.
But not one of them hit a bull’s-eye.
Unfortunately, I didn’t hit one again, either. I did shoot every single arrow into the target, though.
That was good enough. When Ms. Walden read the names of the ten kids who were on the team, my name was among them!
I almost danced off the field, I was so happy. I was heading for home when I heard someone calling me. I turned and saw Ben.
“Hi,” he said, catching up to me. “I had a meeting for the school paper again. What are you doing here so late?” Before I could answer, he frowned with concern. “You didn’t have detention again, did you?”
“Nope,” I said. “I was trying out for the archery team, and I made it!”
“All right! Congratulations!” he cheered.
“Thank you.”
We walked home together. I was glad he was there. It’s much nicer to be happy with someone than alone. “I guess your brothers better look out now,” Ben joked. “They’re living with a marksman, or markswoman, I should say.”
“That’s right!” I laughed.
Ben walked me to my house, and then went back to his. When I opened the door, my house was — as usual — in a state of pandemonium.
Claire was dancing to a music video. Vanessa had spread a zillion magazines across the living room floor because she was making a collage for school. Margo sat beside her building a house of cards.
“Mallory is here!” Margo yelled as I walked in. She jumped up, sending her cards fluttering to the ground. “Did you make the team?” she asked me.
“I made it,” I told her happily.
Margo and Vanessa jumped to their feet and ran into the kitchen. “She made it!” I heard Margo yell.
That announcement was followed by the sounds of chairs being pushed around, and dishes banging. I heard my brothers talking. “That’s not how you spell it!” said Byron.
“You’re putting it on too thick!” cried Jordan.
“Let me do it!” said Adam.
“What’s going on?” I asked Claire.
“You’ll see,” she replied mysteriously.
Now what? I thought. The Pike brothers in the kitchen must mean disaster. I knew I should find out what was going on.
My brothers met me in the doorway before I reached the kitchen. They stood together, with Margo and Vanessa behind them. Jordan was holding the silliest looking chocolate layer cake you ever saw. The right side had collapsed. A lot of the icing had flowed down onto the plate. Written in wobbly letters were the words MALLORY and CONGRADULATIONS!!!!
“Wow! This is great!” I cried.
“The boys made it themselves,” Vanessa said. “It was their idea.”
“It was?” I asked. The boys nodded. “This is really a surprise. You might even call it a shock. But a good shock. Let’s go into the kitchen and have some.”
We got out plates and forks and sat around the table. “But what if I hadn’t made the team?” I asked as I cut the first piece.
“That’s why we were waiting for you to get home,” Nicky explained. “If you didn’t make the team, we figured you would need a cake to cheer you up.”
“Yeah,” added Jordan. “We were going to write Better luck next time.”
“It’s a good thing you made the team,” Adam said. “Because I don’t think we could have fit all that on the cake.”
“Well, thanks, you guys. This was really nice of you.”
“We know,” said Nicky. “We’re such great brothers.”
We laughed and went on eating the cake (which was pretty good, despite its appearance). It seemed I was going to have to rethink my opinion of my brothers, and boys in general. Even though I’d had a bad run of luck with them lately, maybe they weren’t as horrible as I’d thought. In fact, at moments like this, they seemed almost sweet.
With time, maybe they would become angels.
Stranger things have happened.
Look at how I’d changed my opinion of gym. And if that could happen — anything was possible!
* * *
Dear Reader,
Boy, can I relate to Mallory’s feelings about gym class! Gym was definitely my all-time least favorite subject in school. I hated it in kindergarten and all the way into college. Like Mallory, I wasn’t particularly coordinated, and I could always think of a thousand other things I would rather be doing. But the worst part about gym for me was that, like Mary Anne, I was shy and hated being singled out. In gym class, I felt that everyone was looking at me. I’m glad that I’ll never have to take another gym class. However, I recently took up cross-country skiing, and I do exercise every day. And that’s important.
Happy reading,
* * *
The author gratefully acknowledges
Suzanne Weyn
for her help in
preparing this manuscript.
About the Author
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1992 by Ann M. Martin.
&n
bsp; Cover art by Hodges Soileau
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, November 1992
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-76781-1
Ann M. Martin, Mallory Hates Boys (and Gym)
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