Karen's Show and Share

  We gathered in front of the school. The photographs of my two families were safe in my book bag.

  With us were our flowers in their decorated pots. Soon a school van pulled up, and we climbed in, being careful not to tip over our pots. We were on our way to Stoneybrook Manor.

  I sat next to Sara Ford in the van. Sara is nice. (She had not once bugged me about knowing Bobby Martinez.) We chatted about this and that.

  I was still not talking to Ricky, and he was still not talking to me. He had not told anybody that I had lied about knowing Bobby Martinez. But I could tell he was disappointed in me for lying to him. A couple of times I caught him looking at me. I could tell his feelings had been hurt. But I did not know what to say.

  Finally the van pulled up to Stoneybrook Manor, and we all piled out. We carried our fancy potted flowers up the front steps and into the main hallway.

  A great big banner said: WELCOME, MS. COLMAN’S CLASS!

  A nice woman in a blue dress started talking to Ms. Colman and Mrs. Ford. In a room off the main hallway some people were watching television. A baseball game was on.

  Omar, Ricky, and Jannie stood in the doorway to the room where the TV was on. Sara and I followed them. Ms. Colman and Mrs. Ford were still talking to the woman in the blue dress.

  The announcer on TV was saying, “The Padres have the bases loaded, and Bobby Martinez is up at bat.”

  Just my luck! Of all the baseball players on all the teams in all the world, Bobby Martinez would have to be on TV when I walked into that room.

  “Here is the pitch,” said the TV announcer. “He swings!”

  A loud crack! came from the TV, and then the roar of the crowd. The announcer sounded excited. “It is going, going, going … it is out of here! A grand slam home run for Bobby Martinez!”

  Everyone who had been watching the game started whooping and shouting. A couple of men traded high fives.

  Omar was jumping up and down and cheering too. As soon as the shouting stopped, Omar said loudly, “Bobby Martinez is so great! And you know what — Karen Brewer is practically best friends with him!”

  Omar turned and pointed at me.

  Sara, Ricky, and Jannie stepped back so the Stoneybrook Manor residents could get a better look at me.

  A sickly smile spread across my face, and I gave a little wave. “Yup,” I whispered. “That is me. Bobby Martinez’s best friend.”

  Ricky to the Rescue?

  Just then Ms. Colman said, “Okay, children, the residents are ready to receive our flowers and hear our presentations.”

  We followed Ms. Colman and Mrs. Ford down the hallway to another room. It was bigger than the TV room. In it were gathered about ten residents of Stoneybrook Manor. They were all smiling, and they waved hello to us when we entered. I waved and smiled back bravely. I was there to brighten their day.

  First Ms. Colman asked us to present our flowers to the residents. Since there were more residents than flowers, some of them did not get flowers. They did not seem to mind, though. The ones who got the flowers passed them around so that everyone could see. They were good sharers.

  Next Ms. Colman asked us to give our Show and Share presentations.

  Sara went first. She talked about her dog, Frederick. She explained that he is a dachshund. She showed a picture of him. He was pretty cute. Sara told a story about the time Frederick stole their Thanksgiving turkey off the dinner table. It was a funny story.

  Then it was Omar’s turn. He talked about his little sister. He brought in a painting they had made together. It was their handprints, side by side. Omar’s little sister has a very small hand. The residents seemed to enjoy hearing about his sister.

  Then Jannie showed some clip-on earrings that she had bought. “See?” she said. “They clip right on. I do not have to get my ears pierced. My mommy says I cannot have my ears pierced until I am in eighth grade anyway.” She waggled her head back and forth to make her earrings sparkle.

  It was hard for me to watch Ricky when it was his turn. I felt bad that I had lied to him. I wished I could apologize, but I did not think even an apology would help. It was too late to explain my lie.

  Ricky talked about his Little League baseball team. He said he played right field, just like his hero, Bobby Martinez. (Ricky did not look at me when he mentioned Bobby’s name.) He showed his Little League uniform shirt. It was green and said Torres across the back, above the number six. Ricky explained that Bobby Martinez’s number was six too.

  After the residents clapped for Bobby, it was my turn. I wished that Ricky had not gone on and on about Bobby Martinez.

  I held up the photographs of my two families. “My name is Karen Brewer,” I said. “Today I am going to talk about — ”

  “Bobby Martinez!” Omar interrupted me. “Talk about Bobby Martinez, Karen!”

  “Um, no, I want to talk about — ” I tried to say, but Jannie interrupted me this time.

  “Karen knows Bobby Martinez,” she said to one of the residents. “Her stepfather is Bobby’s best friend.”

  “Really?” said the woman. “That is very interesting. Tell me, young lady,” she said to me, “how did your stepfather come to know Bobby Martinez?”

  “Yes, Karen,” said Omar. “Tell us about Bobby — ”

  “Be quiet, Omar!” said Ricky. “Let Karen talk about what she wants to talk about. She does not have to talk about Bobby Martinez if she does not feel like it.”

  My mouth dropped open. I looked at Ricky. He was glaring at Omar. Then I looked at Ms. Colman. She was giving Ricky a Look of her own. She did not like it when one of her students told another kid to be quiet.

  When I looked back at Ricky, he was looking at the ground. I realized he was trying to help me. He did not want me to have to lie any more about knowing Bobby Martinez.

  He was trying to come to my rescue.

  Before I could say anything, another resident spoke up. He was an old man in a red-and-green-checked vest. He had a white beard.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you had planned to say,” the old man said. “And when you are finished, you can tell us about Bobby Martinez too.”

  “Why don’t you leave her alone?” Ricky said.

  My mouth dropped open a second time. I could not believe what I had just heard.

  “Ricky!” Ms. Colman said. “That is quite enough! I do not know what has gotten into you all of a sudden, but I will not stand for bad manners. Come with me.”

  Ricky and Ms. Colman started walking out of the room. This was terrible. Ricky was trying to save me from having to lie, and now Ms. Colman was angry at him.

  “Wait!” I called. I could not let Ricky be punished instead of me. “Do not leave. I have something to say.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I was not sure whether they were there because of what I was about to say, or because of what Ricky had already done.

  Either way, as soon as I said, “I do not know Bobby Martinez,” I burst into tears.

  A Bad Week

  I never did get to talk about my two families. After I burst into tears, Ms. Colman brought me out of the room so we could talk in private.

  I explained the truth to Ms. Colman. My first Show and Share, the one with Bobby Martinez’s baseball card, had been a big lie.

  Ms. Colman was disappointed in me for being dishonest, but she did not think I needed to be punished further. She said she felt my embarrassment at being caught in a lie was punishment enough.

  I said okay, if she was sure.

  Of course, after I explained the truth to Ms. Colman, I had to tell Omar, Sara, and Jannie too. I knew that by the end of the day, every kid in my class would know I had made up the Bobby Martinez story.

  The next week was hard. Hannie and Nancy were not mad at me (well, not very, anyway). Hannie said she had suspected I was fibbing all along.

  I tried to be especially nice to Ricky. I talked to him, smiled at him, paid extra attention to him. He seemed okay. He even smiled at me once. But I
could tell things were not the same. He still did not trust me.

  Omar and Jannie were madder at me than everyone else. Besides Ricky, they were the two biggest Bobby Martinez fans in the class. I tried to be extra nice to them too, though it was hard. I like Omar, but even when Jannie is not mad at me, she is a bit of a meanie-mo, not to mention being best friends with my best enemy, Pamela Harding.

  All week Pamela went out of her way to make fun of me.

  “Ooh, Karen,” she said. “I heard your uncle, Pete Sampras, just won another tennis tournament.”

  Ha-ha.

  “Karen,” Pamela said. “Shaquille O’Neal is making a new movie. Maybe you can get a part in it. He is your godfather, isn’t he?”

  Ha-ha-ha.

  “Karen,” said Pamela, “the U.S. women’s gymnastics team is giving an exhibition in New York this weekend. Maybe you can get our class free tickets, since they are seven of your very closest friends.”

  Ha-ha-ha-ha. I was not laughing.

  At least Mommy was nice about what had happened. Ms. Colman had told me that I should tell my parents about what I had done. So I did. Mommy and I had a long talk about honesty. (I am ashamed to admit it, but we have had this talk before.) Then she hugged me and told me she loved me. I said I loved her too. (I was being very honest.)

  Mommy did say, though, that I should tell Charlie that I had tricked him. I had to apologize to Charlie.

  I called him on the phone.

  “Hello, Charlie?” I said. “This is Karen.”

  “Hi, Karen,” said Charlie. “What can I do for you?”

  “Charlie, I need to say I am sorry,” I said. “Remember on the day of the cookout, when I asked you to sign Bobby Martinez’s name on that baseball?”

  “Sure,” Charlie said.

  I told Charlie the whole story, about wanting to get a signed ball for Ricky and pretending the one Charlie had signed was real.

  “So that is what I did,” I said. “I am very sorry I tricked you, Charlie.”

  Charlie was laughing. (He had started laughing about halfway through my story.)

  “Karen, you are too much,” he said. “There is no trouble you will not get yourself into, is there?”

  “I am not sure,” I said. “It is definitely possible that there is trouble that I would not get myself into. But I have not found it yet.”

  Charlie laughed. “Well, I forgive you. Just do not trick me that way again, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said happily.

  “Next time,” said Charlie, “trick Sam instead.”

  “Oh, um, right. Okay. ‘Bye.”

  “Good-bye,” said Charlie.

  Well, that had not been too bad. Charlie had been much nicer about it than I had expected.

  Karen’s Letter

  It was Saturday afternoon. I was in the living room, trying to read a book. I was trying, but not succeeding.

  I was not succeeding because Andrew was upstairs in his room playing the kazoo. As usual. I had made up new words to the tune he was playing. They went like this:

  This old Andrew

  He plays kazoo

  He plays kazoo and I say boo

  And bullfrogs, pollywogs, give a girl a break.

  This little brother will not do.

  I sang the words to myself over and over. I could not concentrate on what I was trying to read.

  “Karen,” Mommy called. “There is a letter in the mail for you.”

  “For me?” I leaped off the couch and ran to the front hall. I love getting mail. Maybe it was from my pen pal, Maxie, in New York.

  Mommy handed me the envelope. I looked at the return address. It said San Diego Padres.

  Oh my gosh! Suddenly I remembered the letter I had written Bobby Martinez. He had written back!

  Carefully I opened the envelope (I did not want to ruin it by ripping it) and took out the letter.

  It said:

  Dear Fan,

  Thank you very much for your kind words. It is fans like you who make the game worth playing. Every time my teammates and I step on the field, we give one hundred percent. With the enthusiastic support of the best fans in baseball, I am sure we will have another great season.

  Sincerely,

  Bobby Martinez

  Wow! Bobby Martinez said I made the game worth playing.

  “Look at this, Mommy!” I said. I handed her the letter. “Bobby took the time to sit down and write me himself.”

  Mommy read the letter. Then she said, “This is a very nice letter, Karen. But I do not think Bobby typed it up just for you. It is a form letter. I think he sends these out to everyone who writes to him.”

  “Oh,” I said. I was crushed. Just a form letter.

  Then Mommy held the letter close to her face. “But you know, the signature looks real. I do not think it was printed on a machine. I think you may have a real autograph here.”

  “Really?” I said. Suddenly I knew what I had to do with the letter. “Mommy, I need to go to the baseball card shop at the mall right away. I have to find out for sure if the signature is really Bobby’s.”

  * * *

  “Ricky, I would like to apologize one last time,” I said on Monday morning.

  “You have already said you are sorry,” Ricky replied.

  “I know. But I want you to know I really, really am sorry I lied to you. And — ” I smiled. “I have something to show you.”

  “Show me?” Ricky asked. “What is it?”

  I took the envelope from behind my back and gave it to him.

  “Ta-daaa!” I said.

  Ricky took the letter out, unfolded it, and read it.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked. “Is it real? Did Bobby really write this?”

  “I got it in the mail,” I said. “Yes, it is real. And Bobby sort of wrote it. I had written him a fan letter. Mommy says this is the form letter he sends everyone who writes to him. But,” I said importantly, “the signature is real. I had it checked at the card shop. It is a genuine Bobby Martinez autograph.”

  Ricky stared at the letter he was holding. I wondered if he thought I was lying again.

  “I am telling the truth this time,” I said. “It really is a Bobby Martinez autograph.”

  “I know,” said Ricky. “I believe you. I was just looking at it. It is awesome.”

  “Yes, it is awesome,” I said. “And it is yours.”

  “Mine? You are giving it to me?”

  I nodded. “Yup. I promised to get you a Bobby Martinez autograph. So here it is.”

  “Gee, thanks, Karen!” said Ricky.

  “You are welcome. And I want to thank you too for trying to help me at Stoneybrook Manor. It was very nice of you.”

  “Aw, it was nothing,” said Ricky. He looked down and kicked at a pebble near his toe. He was blushing. He looked up at me and smiled.

  I could feel myself blushing a little too as I smiled back.

  Little-House Kazoo Band

  I was still in a good mood when I got home that afternoon. I thought that nothing could bring me down. Except —

  This old Andrew

  He plays kazoo

  He plays kazoo and I say boo

  And bullfrogs, pollywogs …

  The sound of the kazoo was louder than ever. And it was not coming from Andrew’s room upstairs. It was coming from the kitchen.

  “What is going on here?” I shouted, charging into the kitchen.

  To my horror, I saw Andrew humming into his kazoo — and with him were Mommy, Seth, and Merry. And Mommy and Seth were humming into kazoos too!

  “What — what — what?” I sputtered. “What are you doing home?” I asked Mommy and Seth. “Why is Andrew playing his kazoo in the kitchen? And why are you two playing with him?” I stared at them in disbelief.

  Andrew, Mommy, and Seth stopped kazooing. (Thank goodness!)

  “I will be right back,” Merry said. She went into the living room.

  “We were both having slow days at work
today,” Mommy said to me. “So we decided to come home early. And Seth picked up these kazoos for us.”

  “But … why?” I asked. “One kazoo in the house is more than enough.”

  “Oh, come on, Karen,” said Seth. “Do not be a fuddy-duddy. I bought one for you too.” He took yet another kazoo out of his pocket and held it up for me.

  Well! No one calls me a fuddy-duddy! I took the kazoo and hummed into it experimentally: Hrrrmmmm!

  Kind of neat, I had to admit. It tickled my lips.

  “If you cannot beat them, join them,” said Seth. “Right, Karen?”

  Before I had a chance to reply, Merry came back into the kitchen. She was carrying a little electronic keyboard.

  “I brought this to accompany your kazoo concert,” Merry explained. She flipped a switch and pressed some keys. It sounded just like a piano!

  “So what shall we play?” asked Mommy.

  “How about ‘This Old Man’?” Andrew suggested.

  “No!” I cried. “Anything but that!”

  Seth laughed. “Okay. How about ‘She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain’? I think we all know that tune.”

  Merry waved her hands like a conductor, and we started playing “She’ll Be Comin’ Round the Mountain.”

  It sounded great! Pretty soon Merry stopped conducting and joined in with her keyboard. The Little-House Kazoo Band was in full swing:

  She’ll be comin’ round the mountain

  She’ll be comin’ round the mountain

  She’ll be comin’ round the mountain when

  she comes!

  About the Author

  ANN M. MARTIN is the acclaimed and bestselling author of a number of novels and series, including Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), A Dog’s Life, Here Today, P.S. Longer Letter Later (written with Paula Danziger), the Family Tree series, the Doll People series (written with Laura Godwin), the Main Street series, and the generation-defining series The Baby-sitters Club. She lives in New York.