Mary Anne and the Playground Fight

  Miss Rutherford hesitated. “Yes, she is. But she does not wish to see you.” Miss Rutherford said this very dramatically.

  “Really?” I replied in a small voice. (I had been afraid of this.)

  “Well, not today, certainly.”

  “Are Lady Kent and Sir Charles home?” I asked. (I thought that maybe if I talked to Victoria’s parents about what had happened, they could explain to Victoria and then maybe she would see me.)

  “Sir Charles and Lady Kent are in Brussels,” Miss Rutherford answered. “Perhaps you should come back in a few days, when things have blown over. You know how sensitive Victoria is. Just give her some time.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll do that. But I’ll probably write her a note in the meantime.”

  “Very well,” Miss Rutherford said as she closed the front door.

  * * *

  I thought about what I would write to Victoria. First I would apologize for not telling her my plans. Then I would tell her how sorry I was that I was not going to England, but that I would make plans to visit another time. That sounded pretty good.

  At home, I meant to go straight to my room to write my note to Victoria. But first, I needed a cold drink.

  Then I made myself a small midmorning snack.

  Then I called Logan. He thought it was a good idea to write Victoria a note. I meant to do it as soon as we hung up.

  But first I washed the dishes.

  Then I fed and played with Tigger.

  Then I noticed the answering machine was blinking. I pressed the button marked PLAY.

  “This message is for Mary Anne and Dawn,” said a familiar voice, Mrs. Simon’s. I turned up the volume. “I would like you two to come in for an interview next Monday afternoon,” the message continued. (All right! Dawn and I had made the first cut). Mrs. Simon went on to tell us where and when to meet her.

  I was so happy that I danced around the kitchen with Tigger. Before we had circled the floor twice, Dawn came home.

  “Dawn, guess what? We’ve been called in to interview for the playground jobs.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dawn was happy, but not as happy as I had expected.

  “Dawn, we both have interviews,” I repeated. “Why aren’t you excited?” (I could not believe Dawn wasn’t thrilled. Usually, I’m the cautious, subdued one.)

  “Oh, I am excited,” Dawn answered. “It’s just that, well …”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just concerned that you really wanted to go to Europe and that you’re staying in Stoneybrook all summer because of me,” Dawn finally said.

  “Oh, no, Dawn. I want to be home for lots of reasons. Yes, I do want the time with you. But don’t forget, Logan is home all summer too. And I want to spend more time with him. You know how busy he is during the school year.”

  Dawn nodded. She looked as though she were feeling better but not completely convinced.

  “Besides,” I added, “I also promised to help Dad with the garden this summer.”

  “Don’t mention gardening to me,” Dawn said, grinning, as she held up her callused fingers. “Look what the lawn mower did to me.” (Dawn insisted on using my dad’s old manual lawnmower because it doesn’t burn gasoline.)

  We laughed. Then I told Dawn again how much I was looking forward to our being playground counselors together.

  “Let’s just hope we both get jobs,” Dawn said. “You know how much competition there’s going to be. I think it’s very possible that one of us will get a job and the other one won’t. We have to be ready for that.”

  “I know,” I said. “And, I admit, the thought of only one of us getting a job does bother me. But it’s not worth letting it ruin our summer. There will still be plenty of baby-sitting jobs.”

  “I agree,” Dawn said. “Plus, our time together is too important.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “I do feel better, Mary Anne. I’m glad we had this talk.”

  “Me too,” I said. Then I told Dawn what had happened at Victoria’s house.

  “She really had her nanny tell you she wouldn’t see you?” Dawn was aghast.

  “I’m going to write her an apology note,” I said.

  “Why don’t we go out to lunch first — to celebrate our interviews.”

  I thought about my note to Victoria. I decided it could wait.

  “Let’s go,” I said, grabbing my purse.

  But before we could leave, the phone rang. It was Abby, asking if we’d heard from Mrs. Simon. Abby also had an interview on Monday.

  The phone rang again and again. Kristy, Stacey, and Logan had interviews too. But Mallory and Jessi had both been cut, along with all the other sixth-graders. They were not happy, to say the least. But they weren’t taking it personally.

  The last caller was Claudia. She too had an interview on Monday, but she was very worried that her academic performance would kill her chances.

  “Oh, Claud, that has nothing to do with being good with kids, which is what they’re looking for. They want people with a lot of baby-sitting experience, like you.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes. And they probably want people who can do a lot of arts and crafts with the kids on rainy days.”

  “Well, that’s true,” said Claudia, sounding more reassured. “I can certainly do arts and crafts.”

  By the time I got off the phone with Claudia, Dawn had made us a delicious lunch, so we stayed at home after all.

  It was midafternoon when I finally settled down to write to Victoria. Although I had composed the note in my head (sort of), it was not easy to write. I read each draft aloud to Dawn. It was almost dinnertime when the note was finished:

  I delivered Victoria’s note in person and left it with the butler on Friday evening.

  On Saturday, I did not hear a word from Victoria. But I was too busy to think about it much. For one thing, Dawn and I were struggling to make our yard look presentable for the BSC fund-raiser.

  We mowed. We raked. We weeded. We pruned.

  When Logan came over, he helped us haul our long folding tables out of the barn so we could clean them off.

  By the time the other BSC members dropped off donations, there was a clean space in the barn in which to put everything, and the yard looked “wonderful” — Mallory’s word. “I’ll be here early to help you set up,” she told me.

  “Be here by eight o’clock,” said Kristy, who was standing nearby unloading a huge bag of stuffed animals from her brother’s car. “The sale begins at nine-thirty sharp.”

  Mallory’s eyes flashed. “I know it begins at nine-thirty,” she snapped. “Why are you always treating me like your little sister or something?”

  “I’m just trying to make sure we’re on top of things.”

  Dawn wiped sweat off her face with a pink bandanna. “I just hope it’s not this hot tomorrow,” she said, probably to change the subject.

  “It’s supposed to be,” said Claudia, who was lugging art supplies and poster board to the barn. Then she added, “I have some signs and other decorations at home. The paint’s drying.”

  “Just be here early to put them up,” Kristy requested.

  “Of course I will.” Claudia sounded annoyed. “And why are you always bossing everyone around?”

  “Someone has to organize this sale,” Kristy snapped. “And I don’t see you volunteering.”

  Claudia glared.

  I sighed.

  I wished everyone would stop being so competitive.

  * * *

  Kristy didn’t have to worry about everyone arriving early. On Sunday morning, Claudia, Shannon, and Logan showed up at seven-thirty, ten minutes before Kristy and a half hour before the others.

  Luckily we were so busy setting things up that we didn’t have time to fight.

  By nine o’clock, the long tables were piled high with stuffed rabbits, zebras, giraffes, monkeys, dogs, cats, koalas, lions
, polar bears, and crocodiles — to name a few. We had grouped the animals by kind, so the dogs had an entire table to themselves. The tables were decorated with balloons and crepe paper. And we had put name tags on the animals whose names we knew: a bloodhound named Baskerville; a groundhog called Shadow; Demitasse, a worn gray poodle; and my favorite, Matilda the kangaroo.

  I must admit, some of the animals looked pretty scruffy, but Claudia had tied bright ribbons around the necks of the most worn ones.

  “The best-loved ones,” Mallory insisted.

  “That’s one way of looking at it,” Claudia muttered as she knotted a purple bow around a scraggly white rabbit named Snowball.

  “You know, we have a lot of animals named Snowball,” I remarked, pointing to a polar bear, the Pike triplets’ husky, and now the rabbit.

  “They must have all been White Christmas presents,” joked Abby.

  “Very funny,” Claudia said as she fluffed the hair on a panda, who did not have a name.

  Besides the stuffed animals, we were selling toys and old children’s books. (The books had been my idea.) I put a Curious George volume in the arms of Dawn’s old Curious George monkey. A copy of The Runaway Bunny sat on the lap of Victoria’s huge blue-and-white rabbit. Babar board books stood next to the elephants.

  “I think we should give free books to the kids buying the oldest-looking animals,” Abby suggested.

  Kristy shook her head. “You’d be surprised at what sells,” she said.

  By nine-thirty, ten carloads of kids had arrived. By ten, we’d run out of food.

  All morning, kids milled around the yard. Almost all of our baby-sitting charges showed up.

  The Pike triplets decided they wanted their husky back. (We gave it to them for free.)

  Karen Brewer, Hannie Papadakis, and Nancy Dawes bought our entire poodle collection.

  Linny Papadakis and Scott Hsu fought over the tiger. (We compromised by finding a lion for Scott.)

  Jenny Prezzioso insisted on buying Victoria’s huge blue-and-white rabbit, despite her mother’s protests that Jenny already had enough stuffed animals. (We agreed with her mother, but Jenny got her way.)

  By one o’clock, we were sold out! Even the scruffiest animals were gone.

  “There’s no accounting for taste,” Dawn said as we were cleaning up.

  “Wasn’t it great that all our baby-sitting charges came?” said Abby.

  “All except Victoria,” I remarked. (That reminded me; I was supposed to baby-sit for Victoria next Tuesday. I wondered if the job was still on.)

  “We made a fortune,” Stacey jubilantly proclaimed. “Almost five hundred dollars, including money from selling refreshments and donations from parents.”

  “With that and the other jobs we’re doing, we’ll all raise half our airfare,” Kristy remarked.

  Stacey was busy writing in her notebook. “Well, we do have to reimburse Claudia for her art supplies, and Dawn and Mary Anne for the food, and Charlie for gas money. But we still made a healthy profit.”

  “Don’t forget, we’ll be earning a lot on the playground,” Abby said.

  “Yeah, you will,” Mallory couldn’t help remarking.

  “Sorry,” Abby replied quickly.

  “We probably won’t all get playground jobs,” Logan observed as he took apart the lemonade booth.

  “Party pooper,” said Kristy, looking annoyed.

  “It’s true,” said Dawn. “We might as well be prepared for that.”

  “Well, I’m planning to get one.” Kristy sounded defiant.

  “What makes you so sure you will?” Claudia asked. “You’re going to Europe, remember?”

  “I still think I’ll get the job. It’s better to be positive in the interview. Besides, I have more baby-sitting and camp-counseling experience than almost all the other applicants.”

  “Bully for you,” muttered Abby.

  By three o’clock, the yard was cleaned up, but hardly any of the BSC members felt like talking to one another.

  That night I tossed and turned in bed for a long time. I could not stop thinking about the next day’s interviews. The next morning, I could tell Dawn hadn’t slept well either. For one thing, she was up early, earlier than I was, which is unusual. At breakfast, she was rubbing her eyes, and she did not even seem excited when Dad made us a California breakfast Dawn-style — fresh-squeezed orange juice, whole-grain wheat muffins, and fresh strawberries and peaches.

  “What’s with you guys?” Jeff asked as he helped himself to his third muffin.

  “We’re just stressed about our interviews this afternoon,” Dawn said as she moved strawberries around on her plate.

  “I’m sure you both stand a very good chance of getting jobs,” Dad assured us. (And he is not one to make remarks like that casually.) “I think it should help that neither of you is going to Europe.”

  “I think so too,” I said.

  “Let’s just hope the ones planning to go on the trip admit it,” Dawn said dryly.

  * * *

  Dawn and I were still nervous when we walked to Stoneybrook Middle School that afternoon. The interviews began at four and would last until six. Jessi and Mal were covering the BSC meeting for us since everyone else in the club, except Shannon, would be interviewing.

  I felt even more nervous when I saw how many people were in the waiting room. Besides Kristy, Stacey, Abby, Claudia, and Logan, I also found Cokie Mason, Alan Gray, Emily Bernstein, Katie Shea, Howie Johnson, Ashley Wyeth, Penny Weller, and at least ten other kids from my class. In addition, there were a whole bunch of high school kids at the other end of the room, presumably there for the senior positions.

  “Look, even Janine is applying,” Dawn said, touching my arm.

  “Amazing,” I replied. Somehow I couldn’t picture Claudia’s brainy sister on the playground. But why not?

  “I don’t see Brad Simon,” I whispered to Dawn. “He really wanted a job. But I’m not surprised he didn’t make the cut. He’s been suspended for cheating.”

  “Hi, guys,” Claudia said, waving us over. “I am so nervous. I hope that if Janine gets a job, I get one too. Or it’s going to be kind of awkward in our house.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dawn said, giving me a Look.

  This conversation was not helping my nerves. I was glad when Mrs. Simon came out to talk to us.

  “Thank you all for coming,” she said in a loud voice. Almost everyone stopped talking, except Alan Gray, of course, who was telling a joke to Howie.

  “Your attention, please,” Mrs. Simon requested, giving Alan a Look. (I personally could not believe Alan even made the first cut.) “Since we have so many good applicants, in the interest of time, we would like the interviews to go quickly.”

  “Thank goodness,” Claudia muttered under her breath.

  “Please come into the interview room as soon as your name is called,” Mrs. Simon continued as she pointed in the direction of a large office off the waiting room.

  Besides Mrs. Simon, three other people were conducting interviews: Mrs. Boyden, Mr. De Young (two other SMS teachers), and a woman I didn’t know.

  Emily Bernstein, Grace Blume, and Logan were the first students to be called in our age group.

  “They’re going alphabetically,” Dawn said, sighing. Kristy drummed her fingers on her knee. Abby got up and walked around the room. Claudia rustled her Hershey bar wrapper.

  “I wish Ashley wasn’t applying. She’s a great artist, and she’s got much better grades than I do,” Claudia said in a loud whisper. I think she meant only for me to hear. Unfortunately, Ashley perked up at the sound of her name and looked suspiciously at Claudia. Kristy told Claudia (rather gruffly) to stop worrying about her grades.

  “Easy for you to say,” Claudia snapped.

  “Naww,” I could hear Logan’s drawl behind the wall. “I’m not on any sports teams this summer. I’ll have time for the kids.”

  Great, I thought. Why don’t they make these walls more soun
dproof?

  “You’re full of it,” Howie muttered later on when he heard Alan Gray telling his interviewer he knew CPR and had lots of baby-sitting experience.

  “I’ll say,” Kristy agreed. She looked at Howie and shook her head.

  Some of the other kids looked mad. I vowed to speak very softly when my turn came.

  The interviews went quickly. Claudia spoke so softly that no one in the waiting room could hear her, though I must admit we tried. We did hear Stacey telling her interviewer that yes, she would miss a week if she went to Europe, but she could very easily find a substitute for herself. She said she hadn’t even completely decided she was going.

  “That’s news to me,” I whispered. “I thought she’d already decided for sure.”

  “She has,” Kristy said. “She’s just trying to downplay her trip.”

  “But that’s not right,” I said crossly. “She’s misleading her interviewer.”

  Kristy gave me a dirty look.

  “Miss Goody-Two-Shoes,” someone in the waiting room whispered. I could feel my face turning red. Now I was embarrassed as well as mad.

  Dawn and I heard Cokie Mason’s interviewer saying she would make a “splendid counselor.”

  “Huh?” Dawn and I said together. We shook our heads in disbelief. We think Cokie is one of the most superficial people in the eighth grade. As we listened to her interview more closely, it became apparent that Cokie’s interviewer was a close friend of the Masons.

  “Great,” Dawn muttered. “That’s one less slot open.”

  “Not fair.” I was steaming.

  “We can’t do anything about it,” Kristy said, but she sounded upset too.

  “We’ve just got to build ourselves up,” Abby advised.

  During Abby’s interview, I could hear her doing just that. When Mrs. Simon asked her how she would handle a group of cantankerous kindergartners who refused to listen to instructions, Abby said she would suggest they form teams and play a game everyone agreed on. “Kids seem to forget what they’re mad about when they’re involved in a game,” Abby said. “And I know a lot of younger kids often feel frustrated because they’re too young for the sports teams at school.”

  “Hey, that’s my idea,” Kristy muttered to no one in particular. “I was the one who thought of the Krushers.” (The Krushers is a softball team Kristy organized for very young kids.)