Mary Anne's Revenge

  “Good grief,” said Kristy.

  A table spread with a white cloth lined one whole wall.

  Abby said, “I’ve seen Bat Mitzvahs and sweet sixteens with spreads like this, but never an ordinary party.”

  “Everything but the waiters to pass around trays of hors d’oeuvres,” Woody said.

  I saw little quiches (at least I think that’s what they were); and mushrooms, carrots, cauliflower, and celery sticks next to three kinds of dip. I saw a melon filled with fruit surrounded by even more dip. I saw at least a half-dozen platters fanned out with meat and cheese. Little bowls of pickles, mustard, and mayonnaise; trays of bread and rolls; and much, much more marched down the table. At the far end, rack upon rack of soda bottles and cups jostled a huge bowl of punch.

  “Cokie really knows how to throw a party, doesn’t she?” whispered Grace as she approached us.

  Woody, polite and politic as always, said, “I could never throw a party like this.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there,” Grace said, giggling, “eat!”

  “For once, I’m going to do what Grace says,” Kristy muttered to me.

  We picked up plates and moved down the table, then snagged seats at the far end of the room.

  Logan and Dorianne had started dancing together. I saw Woody and Emily head for the dance floor. That seemed to be some kind of signal that it was okay to dance, because soon several other couples followed suit.

  Cokie wasn’t among them. I saw her flitting from group to group. She spoke to everybody and laughed a lot, throwing her head back as if SMS had suddenly become a school filled with amazingly witty people. Her teeth flashed. She swung her hair back and forth across her shoulders. She leaned close to the boys and touched their arms.

  But no one asked her to dance. No one lingered long to talk to her except Grace and some of Cokie’s other cronies.

  Did Cokie notice that something was off? That people were wise to her phony friendliness? Did she realize that everyone was happy enough to eat her food and dance to her CDs, but that they weren’t burning to be her friends?

  I couldn’t tell.

  Kristy suddenly put her plate down. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t do anything —” I started to say, meaning No Acts of Sabotage, but I didn’t get the chance to finish. Kristy was already gone.

  Then I saw Howie Johnson stop to watch her go and realized that Kristy had figured out, correctly, that Howie was headed toward her to ask her to dance. She had made her escape.

  Howie turned back toward us.

  “More punch?” Abby said, and leaped up and made her escape as well.

  That left me. Howie didn’t seem to mind. “Want to dance?”

  “Uh, sure,” I said, putting down my plate.

  I stood up and stepped out into the crowd of couples. And then I realized that I was dancing with Howie Johnson.

  Howie hopped around like a pogo stick and flapped his hands like elephant ears. I couldn’t tell whether he was deliberately acting funny or whether that was actually the way he danced.

  I glanced at Logan, who danced as gracefully and athletically as he played baseball or football or ran track. I hoped Dorianne appreciated that.

  I made myself smile. But I was relieved when the dance was over and even more relieved when Howie said, “Thanks,” and went off in search of another victim.

  I didn’t get to sit down, though. At least not right away. Out of nowhere, Cary Retlin slid up to me and said, “Dance.”

  I couldn’t tell if it was a question or a command, but I nodded. He was a significantly better dancer than Howie. I actually found myself beginning to have a good time.

  When the music stopped, Cary walked with me back to where I’d been sitting. Kristy and Abby had returned.

  I gave them a look that said traitors, for having left me alone with Howie before.

  Cary bowed with a flourish. “Ladies,” he said. “Is the game afoot?”

  “Not without the go-ahead from Mary Anne,” said Kristy.

  “Ah,” said Cary. “Well, then … I think I’m in need of a little sustenance.”

  “If you mean food,” said Abby, “go for it.”

  “I shall return.” Cary did his disappearing act.

  It was at that moment that Cokie made her move. I’d relaxed. I’d forgotten to watch where she was. So had Kristy and Abby.

  I realized later that Cokie had to have planned it. The music stopped completely, and it was Grace who was by the CD player.

  Cokie laughed loudly into the silence. Very loudly. It was the sort of laugh that makes people look at you, wondering what’s so funny.

  She wasted no time letting people know that I was the joke.

  “Poor Mary Anne,” she said to her cronies. “Trying so hard to get Logan’s attention, throwing herself at anybody who’ll dance with her. It’s pathetic. I feel sorry for her, don’t you?”

  More heads turned as Cokie’s words pierced the quiet.

  Kristy dropped her plate and stood. Abby, who was already up, rocked slightly on the balls of her feet. I’d seen that stance in the past — right before Abby leveled a goalie with the blast of a soccer ball.

  “Wait,” I said, trying to gather my wits.

  Kristy balled her hands into fists, but she didn’t move, and I registered the amazing fact that I, Mary Anne Spier, was bossing around the bossiest person on earth.

  Abby continued to rock gently, but she didn’t move.

  I thought of all the snappy comebacks I’d wished for over the past few days — no, over all the years I’d known Cokie. I thought of saying, “You define pathetic, Cokie. In fact, your picture is next to the definition in the dictionary.”

  I opened my mouth. “Cokie,” I said in a loud voice. “I heard what you said.”

  Cokie turned. “So?” she said. “I was just telling the truth.”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll tell you the truth. You are mean. Why? Why do you work so hard at being nasty and saying horrible things about people? There’s no reason for it. Making fun of people and spreading rumors about them doesn’t make you look cool. Do you think it does?”

  “I never —” Cokie began furiously.

  I kept right on going. I steamrollered her. “It doesn’t make people like you. It makes you look stupid and petty and mean. And you know what? If you keep acting like this, you will never be Most Likely to Succeed. You won’t be likely to succeed at all … because people will see the real Cokie. They’ll know you for what you really are.”

  The room was truly silent now.

  Then, as Cokie sputtered and turned red, Kristy and Abby started to clap.

  The sound startled me. I’d forgotten where I was. I looked away from Cokie as Logan joined in. Then Dorianne. Then Emily let out a whoop. I saw Cary raise his hands to applaud over his head.

  And then the whole room was applauding. I heard “All right!” and “You go, Mary Anne” and “That’s telling her.”

  Cokie lost it completely. “Stop it! Stop it. This is my party and you can’t do this!”

  Cary stepped up to Grace, took the CD out of her hand, and slipped it into the player.

  “STOP IT!” Cokie screamed, but now the music drowned her out.

  Someone started laughing, and then Kristy and Abby dragged me out into the middle of the floor and we began to dance.

  Cary danced up next to me. “Not bad, Mary Anne,” he said. “I’d say that by telling the truth, you just got the sweetest revenge of all.”

  And he was right.

  “Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious …” sang Kristy.

  Abby and I sang along with her. The party hadn’t lasted long after I’d confronted Cokie. The last we’d seen of her, she’d been stomping out of the room.

  I’d been giddy with my newfound power — the power to stand up for myself — all the way home. From the sound of it, Kristy and Abby were a little giddy too.

  We parte
d at the corner.

  To my surprise, Kristy leaned over and gave me a quick hug. “You did good,” she said.

  “Don’t get all sentimental,” Abby warned her. “You’ll make Mary Anne cry.”

  I smiled. I’d almost felt a tear come to my eye. But happiness washed over me again. I could face anything. Bring on the lions and tigers and bears!

  Still in a state of bliss, I walked up to the back door of my house, slipped the key into the lock, slid the door open, and stepped inside. I closed it as quietly as I could and put the key back in its place.

  The kitchen lights came on.

  I jumped four thousand feet into the air, made a noise as if a giant mouse had run across my foot, and fell back against the door, my hand clapped over my mouth.

  My father was standing in the kitchen. He did not look happy.

  “Well,” he said. “Welcome home.”

  I dropped my hand.

  “Thank you,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Where have you been?” he asked.

  “To a party at Cokie Mason’s house.”

  My father was shaking his head. “I don’t believe it.” Shake, shake. “I just don’t believe it.” Shake. “I can’t believe you would so blatantly disobey me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. But I didn’t stop there. “I had to go, though. Especially when you grounded me unfairly in the first place.”

  “Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” My father’s face became a thundercloud.

  “Mine — and yours,” I said. “It takes two to make a mistake.”

  “I didn’t make a mistake! I’m your father and I know what’s best for you.”

  “Grounding me wasn’t best for me,” I shot back. “How can doing something so unfair be best for me?”

  Our voices were loud.

  Okay. We were shouting.

  That’s when Sharon flew into the kitchen. “That’s enough,” she said. “Be quiet, both of you. Now!”

  That got my father’s attention. He blinked. “Sharon?” he said.

  “Sit!” she ordered. She pointed at a chair. “And Mary Anne, you sit there.”

  My father, watching Sharon as if she were a firecracker about to go off, sat. Feeling much the same, I sat down too.

  “Listen to me. This is not a fight about curfew and this is not a fight about being grounded,” Sharon said.

  “But —”

  “Richard, let me finish.”

  My father clamped his lips together. Wow, I thought. Sharon was brave.

  “It is so obvious,” she said. “And I’m tired of standing aside and letting two very scared people who love each other very much tear each other to pieces. Richard — did you know Mary Anne is still having nightmares about the fire?”

  “No.” My father looked even more shocked.

  “She is. I hear her waking in the night, but she won’t admit it. Because, I suspect, she is trying to keep you from worrying about her.”

  I looked down at my hands, which I had clasped on the table in front of me.

  “And, Mary Anne, your father has become the house ghost. He wanders around all night because he can’t sleep.”

  “I heard you a few times,” I said. “But I didn’t know it was so bad.”

  “Almost every night,” my father admitted.

  “He gets up, he checks on you, he checks to make sure the fire alarm is working, that the oven is turned off, that things are unplugged. He lies awake and worries that next time he won’t be able to save us. Don’t you, Richard?”

  My father nodded.

  “So what do you do, Richard? You start trying to protect Mary Anne from everything. You’re treating her like she’s a little girl again. But she’s not. She’s a very mature thirteen-year-old. Don’t forget, she had the presence of mind to save Tigger.”

  I’d never thought about it that way.

  “So you’ve both got to put this behind you. Richard, Mary Anne, you can’t protect each other from everything in the world. Life goes on, and you have to go with it. And, incidentally, it’s not just you two against the world anymore. Don’t forget that I’m part of this family too.”

  Sharon stopped speaking.

  We stared at her. Then my eyes met my father’s. I realized it was true. He was scared, as scared as I was.

  “Mary Anne …” my father began.

  “I’ll leave you two alone,” said Sharon.

  “Wait,” I told her. “Stay.”

  My father reached up and caught the sash of her robe. He pointed at the chair on the other side of him. “Sit,” he said, and we all had a shaky laugh.

  So we talked, for what seemed like half the night. We drank hot chocolate, and Dad and I apologized to Sharon for how tense we’d been making things lately. We agreed that we had to be more open about everything. And we decided we’d make a new beginning together, right here, right now.

  “You’re still grounded,” my father said as I stood up.

  “Richard,” said Sharon.

  “Until Monday morning,” he added. “So don’t sneak off anywhere tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  And I went upstairs to bed and had the dream again. Only this time, I didn’t shrink. I opened the door, walked through the smoke, and out of the house. We were all safe.

  It wasn’t a pleasant dream. But it wasn’t a nightmare anymore.

  I spent all day Sunday thinking things over. By Monday morning, I’d figured out that while I wasn’t the old, shrinking Mary Anne, I wasn’t the new, tough, vengeful Mary Anne either, the one who carried around the subscriptions and dreamed of stuffing Cokie into her locker.

  But I had changed. I knew that Cokie, no matter what she said, could never make me cry again. I knew that when I got in a tough spot, I’d stand up and try to fight my way out. I wouldn’t weep and wring my hands and wait for someone to save me. Sometimes it was fine to get angry and to fight back.

  I’d never be like Cokie, or even Kristy or Abby. I’d never start a fight or leap into battle like a demon soccer warrior.

  But I would stand my ground.

  So when Cokie shot me an evil look in the hall on Monday morning, I didn’t worry about it. I didn’t respond at all. I just walked on by.

  We voted for the Most and Best that morning. Mr. Fiske decided to count the ballots himself, with some help from the assistant principal. I guess that’s what they spent their lunch hour doing.

  I spent mine talking to people I didn’t normally see at lunch. Logan stopped by the table to say hello, and that was okay. Emily came by, and so did Woody and half a dozen other people, just to say hello.

  I didn’t see Cary. I suspected he was somewhere, setting up mischief, making the world a more complicated and interesting place.

  Mr. Fiske announced the winners of the election that day before school let out.

  I’m not going to tell you every winner, but here are the most important ones:

  Claudia won Best Artist.

  Abby and Logan got Best Athletes.

  Cary and Alan tied for Wittiest.

  Emily was voted Most Likely to Succeed and Most Intelligent.

  Kristy got Most Likely to Be Elected President.

  Amazingly, Stacey didn’t win Class Style Setter. She was chosen Most Likely to be Seen in Dark Glasses in Beverly Hills.

  I didn’t win anything, but then I hadn’t expected to.

  Cokie didn’t win anything either. Not a single thing. And I think she still expected to. I saw her face as we walked out of the building.

  It was not a pretty sight. I don’t think whatever she was ranting about in poor Grace’s ear was very pretty either.

  Cokie didn’t see me then, and I was glad. I almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost.

  After school, Kristy, Claudia, Stacey, Abby, and I headed downtown to the Rosebud Café for celebratory junk food. We settled into one of the old-fashioned booths and Kristy said, “Mary Ann
e, this is on us.”

  I blushed. I grinned. I said, “In that case, I want a double chocolate fudge sundae with extra nuts and whipped cream.”

  We were just digging in when Dorianne and Logan walked through the door.

  Logan saw us and stopped, looked a little uncertain.

  I was able to smile and wave and act perfectly normal. For a moment, I was so carried away with how easy it was that I almost invited them to sit with us.

  But then I realized that I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  They sat down across the room and I discovered Kristy watching me. I made a little face and smiled.

  Kristy looked relieved. She raised her chocolate mint chip shake and said, “I’d like to propose a toast … to Mary Anne, who’s the real Most Likely to Succeed.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Abby, and we all drank to that.

  The author gratefully acknowledges

  Nola Thacker

  for her help in

  preparing this manuscript.

  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.

  Copyright © 2000 by Ann M. Martin

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