Claudia and the Perfect Boy by Ann M. Martin
“Me?” I laughed. “Me, the worst speller on the planet, work for the school newspaper? I don’t think so. If they wanted an illustrator that might be different, but writing a column is not exactly what I’m good at.”
“You could do it,” Stacey insisted. “You wouldn’t have to write much. You’d just have to collect the letters and organize it.”
“I’d have to know if the letters had misspellings in them,” I said.
“Emily Bernstein checks everything before the paper goes to print,” said Stacey. Emily is the paper’s editor, and is extremely smart. “She’ll fix any spelling mistakes.”
“What if Emily doesn’t want a personals column in the paper?” I asked.
“What if she just never thought of it before? I’ll come in and help you with it.”
“If you’re so excited about it, why don’t you do it?” I said.
“Because it was your idea.”
“It was?”
“Sure it was. Anyway, you and Emily are friendly. You should mention it to her on Monday.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. I glanced at the clock and remembered that there was a great horror movie on TV. If we kept the sound low we could probably watch it without waking everyone else. Closing our magazines, we crept out of my room and down to the living room.
The movie wasn’t nearly as scary as I’d expected. In fact, I fell asleep on the living room couch watching it and Stacey zonked out on the floor. We woke up to the sounds of my parents preparing breakfast. Looking like two zombies, we trudged up to my bedroom and slept until noon.
We might have slept all day if Stacey hadn’t had to sit for the Hill kids (Norman and Sarah) at two o’clock. (With Mal temporarily out of action we were covering more day jobs than ever before.)
After Stacey left, I tried to study for my history test on Wednesday. Somehow I couldn’t keep my mind on the beginning causes of World War Two. It kept wandering to Stacey’s idea (or was it my idea?) about the personal ads. It might really work. And what better way to find Mr. Perfect? He’d know exactly what I was looking for. Anyone who didn’t meet the requirements wouldn’t answer the ad. At least the guys who answered would be close.
All day Sunday, I continued tossing the idea around in my mind. And the more I tossed, the better it sounded. By the time I woke up on Monday morning, I had made up my mind to talk to Emily about it.
I found her in the cafeteria at lunchtime. “Can I talk to you a sec?” I asked.
“Sure,” Emily said, sitting down at an empty table. “What’s up?”
I told her my idea of running an SMS personals column. Emily isn’t one to leap on an idea. She takes it in slowly, so it’s hard to tell what she’s thinking. She just frowned and nodded as I spoke. But when I was done she said, “This might work out perfectly. We were thinking of getting rid of the half-page column on pet care. We’ve run through all the normal pets and now all that’s left are weird ones like ferrets and snakes. Not too many kids have those. It wasn’t so bad before we became a weekly paper, but now it’s really hard to come up with new pet care ideas every week.”
“I saw the article on caring for your parrot last week,” I said.
“Did you read it?” Emily asked.
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t have a parrot.”
“Neither does anyone else at SMS, but how many times can we write the same article about caring for your cat, dog, canary, or hamster? We really need something else in that spot, only no one has been able to think of what to put in its place. But now you’ve come up with something good.”
“Then you want the column?” I asked excitedly.
Emily held up her hand. “I want it, but I have to run it past the rest of the staff. I’ll let you know as soon as I can. We have a meeting this afternoon. I can call you later.”
“Great,” I said, getting up from my seat. “Thanks.”
That evening, we were holding our regular meeting of the BSC in my room. Since the phone had been ringing for the entire half hour, I barely looked up from the BSC notebook, which I was writing in, when I heard it ring at five minutes to six.
“Baby-sitters Club, can I help you?” Stacey answered in the professional, polite way we always answer the phone during meetings. “Yes … this is Claudia’s number. Oh, hi, Emily, this is Stacey McGill…. I’m fine.”
At the sound of Emily’s name I’d stopped writing and looked over at Stacey.
Stacey’s face broke into a brilliant smile and she gave me the thumbs-up sign. “All right, I’ll tell her. She’ll be really happy. ’Bye, Emily.”
I jumped off the bed. “She said yes?” I cried.
“What’s going on?” asked Kristy.
“Claudia now has her own column in the SMS Express!” Stacey announced. “Emily said they’re going to call it ‘Claudia’s Personals.’ ”
Mary Anne went to the Barretts’ on Tuesday. She was pleased to see that Mrs. Barrett had been keeping up with her get-organized campaign. The Barrett household used to look like a war zone, but no more. Mrs. Barrett has cleaned up her house, and organized the kids. You see, she went through a really tough divorce and for a long while that family looked like a tornado had hit it. Mrs. Barrett just couldn’t handle it all. The kids were wild, the house was a horror, Mrs. Barrett would forget to tell her baby-sitters where she was going and she’d always return later than she’d said she would. Now things are a lot better over there.
Mary Anne couldn’t help breaking into a big smile when she walked into the house. “Wow! The place looks great,” she said.
“I keep trying,” said Mrs. Barrett with a laugh. As she spoke, she scooped some magazines from the floor. “At least now I don’t have to feel bad wondering if Marnie’s allergies are caused by all the dust in this place.”
“Is it her chocolate allergy?” Mary Anne asked as she put down her school books.
“No,” said Mrs. Barrett. “She never eats chocolate.” At that moment the sound of shouting came from the kitchen. Mary Anne and Mrs. Barrett rushed in to find Pow, the family’s bassett hound, covered with Hawaiian Punch. Pow is a patient, good-natured dog. He just sat still and looked up with his big, brown eyes as the juice dripped over him. “It was an accident,” said five-year-old Suzi.
“It was not,” objected eight-year-old Buddy. “You grabbed my juice box right out of my hand.”
“That’s my juice box!” Suzi shouted. “I put it right down on the table for one minute and you took it.”
As Mrs. Barrett knelt to wipe off Pow, Mary Anne got her first sight of Marnie who was sitting in her high chair looking red-eyed and miserable. “Poor baby,” Mary Anne said, gently brushing Marnie’s wispy blonde hair.
When the Hawaiian Punch mess was cleaned up, Mrs. Barrett lifted Marnie from her high chair. “Mary Anne, the number of the allergist is on the fridge. I should be home by five at the latest, so you don’t have to feed the kids.” (This really was the new Mrs. Barrett. Normally all she would have said was, “ ’Bye,” and swept out the door looking gorgeous, leaving the punch on the floor and probably even on Pow.) Mrs. Barrett put Marnie in her snowsuit and was about to leave when she stopped and added, “I almost forgot. If Franklin calls, please tell him it would be fine if he comes over with the kids around seven. That’s very important.”
“Sure,” Mary Anne said, relieved that the DeWitt kids would be coming over after she was long gone. The Barrett kids and the DeWitt kids do not always get along. The kids are so concerned that their parents might get married that they often fight when they’re together. (Mary Anne had been on hand when Franklin’s kids visited the Barretts in their summer rental house at Sea City. She’d also baby-sat for the seven of them. She knew what a disaster the combination was.)
Luckily, Mary Anne wouldn’t have to deal with that problem. And, with Marnie gone it was easy to keep an eye on Suzi and Buddy.
Once the Hawaiian Punch episode was over, the kids settled down to play a game together. They tu
After forty minutes of the zoo game, Nicky Pike, Mallory’s brother, called on the phone for Buddy. He wanted to know if Buddy could come over, and Mal’s little sister, Claire, wanted to play with Suzi. Mal got on the phone and told Mary Anne it was okay by Mrs. Pike. “Please, come over,” Mallory begged Mary Anne. “Even though Mom’s home she’s doing a typing job for someone and I’m in charge of keeping my brothers and sisters out of her hair. I need some normal company.”
Mary Anne thought about it a moment. “I’m supposed to wait for Franklin’s call,” she said.
“Turn on the answering machine,” Mal suggested. “I think they have one. Mrs. Barrett could call him back later.”
“All right,” Mary Anne agreed. “I’ll come over with the kids.”
So Mary Anne turned on the answering machine, left a note for Mrs. Barrett, and bundled up the kids. They leashed Pow and took him to the Pikes’ with them. When they arrived, Mal, Nicky, and Claire were waiting for them on the front lawn. The Pike triplets (Adam, Byron, and Jordan) were playing a game of touch football in the backyard, and Vanessa and Margo were playing hopscotch on the front sidewalk. “Mom said it was fresh air time,” Mal explained, tucking one of her curls under her green wool beret. “Which means she couldn’t work with all the noise in the house.”
Mary Anne laughed as she clapped her gloves together for warmth. “It’s not too bad out,” she said. “And it’s good for Buddy and Suzi to play outside. I’m sure Pow is happy.”
“That’s an understatement,” Mal noted with a smile. The triplets had come around to the front and Pow barked happily as Byron threw sticks for him to retrieve. “He looks so funny when he runs,” Mallory said, watching Pow waddle along at full tilt as he chased the sticks.
“He’s a good dog,” Mary Anne said, nodding.
“Thanks for coming over,” Mal added. “If Mom and Dad don’t lift the activity ban soon I’m going to lose my mind.”
“How are you feeling?” Mary Anne asked.
“Fine! Well, almost. Some nights I’m pretty beat by the time I get to bed.”
“Then maybe you still do need to take it easy.”
“Yeah, but what good is being healthy if I’m completely insane by the time I get better?” Mal complained. “Plus, I miss you guys. Jessi tells me everything that’s happening, but it’s not the same.”
“We miss you, too,” said Mary Anne. “And it’s hard now that both you and Dawn are gone.”
“How’s Shannon working out?” Mal asked.
“Fine. She’s terrific. But she isn’t you or Dawn.”
From then on, the afternoon passed in a snap. Mary Anne and Mal hardly had to do anything since the kids were so busy playing with one another and with Pow. The Pike kids were thrilled with their visit from Pow since their only pet is a hamster.
Mary Anne was surprised when she looked at her watch and saw that it was already five to five. “Come on, kids,” she called. “We’ve got to get home.” The Pikes groaned and complained, but soon they said their good-byes and Mary Anne and her charges were off.
“So, how do you feel about the DeWitt kids coming over tonight?” Mary Anne asked as she and Suzi hurried along, trying to keep up with Buddy who was holding Pow’s leash and was being dragged by the excited dog a bit faster than he could handle.
“Well, they’re not as big toadheads as I first thought,” Buddy conceded. “But I don’t want them for brothers and sisters. I hope Mom doesn’t marry Franklin.”
“Don’t you think it would be fun to be a big family like the Pikes?” Mary Anne asked.
“No!” Buddy said. “Besides we’d only be seven and the Pikes have eight.”
“Maybe your mom and Mr. DeWitt would have another baby and then you’d have eight, too,” said Mary Anne.
“Ew! Gross!” cried Buddy. “It’s bad enough that we have Marnie.”
“Marnie is not gross!” Suzi piped up.
“I didn’t say that. I just said she’s just a pain. That’s all.”
“She is not!” Suzi insisted indignantly.
The kids were still squabbling when they ran through the front door. They were so busy with their quarrel that they didn’t notice the troubled look on Mrs. Barrett’s face as she sat on the couch with Marnie on her lap. Mary Anne noticed, though. “How did it go?” Mary Anne asked cautiously.
Mrs. Barrett sighed deeply before answering. “The good news is that it’s not anything that can’t be cured,” she replied. “The bad news is that she’s highly allergic to cat and dog dander.”
It took a moment for Mary Anne to comprehend what Mrs. Barrett was saying. “Does that mean she’s allergic to Pow?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so.”
“So, she’ll just have to stay away from Pow,” said Buddy blithely as he and Pow played tug-of-war with an old facecloth.
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Pow’s hair is on everything in this house.”
“We can clean it up,” said Suzi.
“Dr. Reade says we have to get rid of Pow. There’s no other way,” Mrs. Barrett told them. “I discussed it with him at great length.”
Buddy threw his arms around Pow’s neck. “You’re not killing my dog!” he shouted. “No!”
“Buddy, we would never do that,” said Mrs. Barrett. “But we have to find a good home for him.”
Suzi burst into loud sobs. Mary Anne put her hand on her shoulder and had to work hard to fight back her own tears. She knew that the last thing Mrs. Barrett needed was for her to start crying.
Buddy jumped to his feet, red-faced. “We’ve had Pow longer than we’ve had Marnie. Let’s get rid of Marnie!”
“Buddy,” Mrs. Barrett said softly, “I know that this is very difficult for you. It’s hard for all —”
“I hate her!” Buddy screamed, pointing an accusing finger at Marnie who began to whimper.
“No one is taking my dog!” Buddy shouted again, his entire body quivering. Then he jammed his palms in his eyes to dam up the tears and ran up the stairs. Crying loudly, Suzi ran up the stairs behind him.
The final straw came when Pow started to whine. Like Marnie, he didn’t know what was going on, just that everyone was upset.
Looking as if she were about to burst into tears herself, Mrs. Barrett fished in her wallet and paid Mary Anne. By this time, Mary Anne was afraid that if she spoke she’d cry. With tremendous self-control she managed to say: “I’m sorry about Pow, but I’m glad Marnie will be better.”
“Thanks, me, too,” Mrs. Barrett replied sadly. “And if you hear of anyone who would like a terrific bassett hound please let me …” That was all she said before she started crying, which was more than Mary Anne could stand. She burst into tears and found herself standing next to Mrs. Barrett and Marnie, all of them crying, while Pow whined along with them.
In her own low-key, serious way, Emily Bernstein is a dynamo. She didn’t waste an instant with “Claudia’s Personals.” I’m the kind of person who likes to let ideas sit around for a day or two until I get used to them. Not Emily. The moment I walked into school on Tuesday she practically pounced on me as if she’d been standing by the door waiting for me to arrive. (I think that’s exactly what she had been doing.)
“Claudia, I am so excited about this,” she said. She linked her arm through mine and started walking, talking with her head ducked down. I had to tilt my head down, too, to hear what
“I’ve cleared off an old desk for you to use, and I’ve already marked a box for kids to drop their personals in,” she explained. “We were extremely lucky because yesterday, once the staff voted to use the column, I was able to pull a little cartoon out of the paper and insert an announcement about your column.”
“Wow!” I said. “You don’t fool around.”
Emily smiled. “You have no idea how fast you have to work on a weekly paper. Everything has to be done immediately. You’ll see for yourself, once you get started.”
I realized Emily had walked us to the Express office. Outside the door was a big cardboard box marked “Claudia’s Personals” lined up with other boxes for things such as club announcements, finished articles, cartoons, letters to the editor, and sports schedules. All the other boxes were overstuffed with papers, but, of course, mine was empty. Then a horrible thought struck me. What if no one placed a personal ad? What if everyone thought the idea was just too strange? “I sure hope I get some ads,” I said to Emily anxiously.
“I think you will,” she replied. “And if you don’t, it’s back to ‘How to Care for Your Pet Iguana.’ ”
Inside the office were several desks, three computers, a photocopier, four typewriters, and an artist’s slanted desk. “This will be your desk,” Emily said, pointing to an old-looking, beat-up desk. I didn’t mind the desk’s condition. It was very wide and would be perfect for spreading letters out.
“How many letters can I pick?” I asked. “Assuming I get letters, that is.”
Emily narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure that space gives you two twenty-seven-line columns of forty characters each.”
“Characters?” I repeated.
“Oh, that’s editorial talk for letters of the alphabet. You can have forty letters in each line of your two columns.” She narrowed her eyes again. “Or, you could run it straight across as one column of eighty characters. It would come out the same. Any way you want to do it is fine.”