Clauda Kishi, Middle School Dropout (10 page)

It was tempting to think about going back to sleep - until I thought of Serena McKay.
She had been so nice to me, and so supportive. After the show, I'd probably never see her again. It wasn't right to stay away. I wanted to see her one last time and thank her for everything.
I forced myself off the bed. I marched over to my closet and pulled out the first thing I put my hands on: a long black jumper with red embroidery around the neckline. I put that on over a white turtleneck, added a pair of dangly earrings with red glass beads, and twisted my hair into a casual knot. "Good enough," I said, checking myself in the mirror. For once, I didn't much care how I looked. All I was going to do was check out the show quickly, congratulate the prize winners, say thanks to Serena McKay, and head back home.
Once the show was over, that was the' end of art class. I'd have nothing to look forward to. Just months and months of being a seventh-grader. It was going to be a long, long year.
I ate breakfast by myself, since Janine and my parents had already left the house. Then I threw on a jacket and headed to the college.
On the way, I started to feel a tiny bit excited about seeing my work hung in a real art show. I've had my own art shows (the best one was the junk-food painting show, fea'turing portraits of Twinkies and Ring-Dings), but this wasdifferent. Lots of people who really knew something about art would be coming to this show, including the arts reporter from the Stoneybrook News.
I felt even more excited when I arrived at the college and saw a big yellow banner with red letters. It was strung across the main entrance, and it advertised our show. People were streaming in. As I entered the building, I followed the crowd that was heading for the show.
"Hey!" I heard someone call. I turned to see a man from my class, the one with the goatee. He was passing in the opposite direction, across the crowded hail. He gave me a smile and the thumbs-up sign, and I smiled back. The crowd pushed me along, so I didn't stop to talk.
As I entered the gallery, I looked around for Serena McKay. She was nowhere in sight, but I did spot some of the other students from my class. Everyone waved and smiled at me. "There she is!" I heard someone say, as they pointed in my direction. I turned around, expecting to see Serena behind me, but nobody was there. .
I decided to take one more look at all the artwork, even though I'd seen it just the other day. Somehow all the drawings and paintings looked different now, when the gallery was fully lit and thronged with people. They looked more official, more like pieces of art in a museum. I started with the paintings hung in the first small room of the gallery, figuring I'd work my way back to where my piece was hung, in the third room.
As I was rounding a corner, I nearly bumped into Dr. Johanssen. "Why, hello, Claudia," she greeted me with a smile.
"Hi, Dr. Johanssen," I said. It was nice to see her there. I hadn't expected to see anyone I knew at the show.
"Congratulations," she said.
"Thanks!" I answered, feeling like a real artist. I wasn't sure what she was congratulating me for, exactly. Maybe that's just what people say to you at openings.
I went on gazing at the artwork in the second room. The room was full of people, all of whom were laughing, talking, and sipping cider from plastic champagne glasses. They moved from painting to painting, looking thoughtfully at each one. It was interesting to hear their comments.
"I like the sense of space in this one," said a man dressed in black to a woman dressed in white. ' She nodded. "It has an elegant, almost O'Keeffe-iike sensibility," she added, standing back to take a better look. I rolled my eyes. Just then, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Congratulations, Claudia," said one of my classmates, the single mom.
"Thanks," I said. "Congratulations to you, too!" She gave me a funny smile and moved on, swept by the tide of people.
I made my way through the second room and walked into the third. I spotted Serena McKay talking to a tall man who was trying to juggle a notebook, a pen, and a tape recorder. I figured he must be the arts reporter. I thought I'd avoid interrupting his interview with Serena, so I began to look at the paintings instead, intending to work my way through the room so that my piece was the last one I'd see. "There she is now," I heard Serena say. "Claudia, Claudia!" she called my name over the hubbub in the room.
I looked up and smiled, and she gestured to me to join her.
"I'm so proud of you," she said, as soon as I was standing next to her. She smiled and gave me a hug. Then she turned back to the reporter. "This is the young student I've been telling you about. Claudia Kishi. That's K-I-S-H-I." "Right," he said, making some notes.
I was amazed. Why was Serena McKay telling the reporter about me?
"The judges had no idea that they'd awarded the first prize to my youngest student," Serena said to the reporter. "They were shocked when I told them that Claudia is only in eighth grade." "Seventh," I said automatically. I was still trying to make sense of what she was saying. First prize? I couldn't have heard correctly. I glanced across the room, trying to see my piece. As I looked, a tall man wearing a dark suit stepped aside, and I had a clear view.
A view of my piece - with a blue ribbon fastened to the frame.
I'd won first prize! I couldn't believe it. How could the judges have thought my piece was better than all the rest? I was just a kid compared to the other students.
"Claudia is incredibly talented," Serena McKay was telling the reporter. "I predict she'll be making a name for herself in the next few years." He nodded and made some more notes. Then he thanked us both, told me that a photographer would be by soon to take my picture for the newspaper, and left.
I was still in shock. Serena McKay just smiled at me. "How about that, Claudia?" she said. "You won. Isn't it wonderful?" And that's when I lost it. I began to cry.
I was so embarrassed, but Serena McKay didn't seem upset at all. She led me into a small janitor's closet, sat me down on an overturned bucket, and made me tell her what was wrong.
Everything spilled out. How it felt to have been sent back to seventh grade. How I missed my friends, and felt as if I'd never fit in with them again. How sad I was that art class was over.
She listened, patting my back occasionally and handing me paper towels to blow my nose on. Then she told me something incredible.
"I can relate to what you're feeling, Claudia," she said gently. "You know why? Because I was held back myself. Twice. I had to repeat sixth grade, and then I had to repeat ninth grade. I though I'd never finish school." "But you're so smart!" I cried.
"So are you," she said. "But that doesn't mean we can do well in certain learning environments. Me, I have a learning disability. I still have a hard time reading. But with the encouragement of one excellent art teacher -Folly Thompson - I managed to make it through high school anyway, and I was even accepted at Rhode Island School of Design, one of the best art schools in the East. Now I have a good career teaching art. It took a lot of work and a lot of perseverance, but I made it. And so can you." I was amazed. "Folly Thompson is one of my favorite artists," 'I said. "Next to you, that is. That's so cool that she helped you. And now you're helping me in the same way." I sniffed a little, and she handed me one more paper towel. ' "Let's go on out there so you can enjoy all the attention a first prize winner deserves," she said. "I have the feeling this is only the beginning of your long and fabulous career." Chapter 14. By the time I left the gallery, I was feeling terrific. It was as if my whole world had brightened. It wasn't just winning first prize that did it, either. It was the talk I'd had with Se-rena McKay. She understood what I was going through. Not only that, she'd been through it herself, and I could see how well she'd turned out., She was an inspiration.
She and I talked a lot, there in the janitor's closet, and one of the things she said really hit home with me. She talked about having a support group - for her it was her family, plus one or two loyal friends - and about how important it was to feel that people cared about her.
I thought of my friends in the BSC. I'd been so silly to think that it mattered to them what grade I was in. They were my friends, and they loved me no matter what. They'd tried to show me that, but I'd been so busy feeling sorry for myself that I hadn't let myself see it. My BSC friends are my friends forever, and I should have known they'd always be there for me with love and support.
Suddenly, I couldn't wait to see them. As soon as I could, I said good-bye to my art class friends. Then I spent a few minutes talking one last time with Serena McKay. She made me promise to keep in touch, and told me again how much she'd enjoyed having me in class. Then she hugged me, and I hugged her back. I took one last glance at that blue ribbon hanging next to my painting, and then I headed home.
If I hurried, I could still make it to the hospital Halloween party on time. But first, there was something I had to do. Finally, I felt like wearing a costume. Back in my room, I glanced at the clock and realized there wasn't enough time to pull together the punk look I'd planned, and anyway, I didn't think it was right for a little kids' party. Instead, I pulled on a pair of overalls, stuck a straw hat on my head, and painted red circles on my cheeks with an old lipstick. I'd go as a scarecrow.
I ran downstairs and out the door, grabbed my bike, and rode as fast as I could to the hospital. On the way I thought about how much better I felt. Seventh grade wasn't all that bad, after all. I was popular there, and I could make excellent grades. Earning' A's and B's was going to feel pretty good! (Not quite as good as winning first place in the art show, maybe, but good just the same.) And it didn't matter that I wasn't in the same grade as my friends. They'd be my friends, no matter what. I knew that now.
Sure enough, when I arrived at the hospital, everybody was happy to see me. The party was being held in a lounge near the children's wing, that way, even some of the youngest BSC charges could attend without breaking the hospital's rules about visitors being a certain age. The place was packed. All the BSC members were there, and all of them were in costume.
Kristy had brought Watson's portable CD player, and it was booming out dance music from the fifties. Mary Anne, dressed as Little Red Riding Hood, was dancing with Jackie Rodowsky, who wore a 'Frankenstein mask. He looked healthy - and happy to see so much activity in the lounge.
Stacey-the-flapper was on the dance floor, too, doing the twist near a boy in a wheelchair. And Abby, in her soccer player's outfit, seemed to be having the time of her life as she spun around carefully, holding a toddler with a broken arm.
Charlotte was' there, and so were Becca (dancing with her big sister Jessi) and the Arnold twins. I spotted Ma!, playing a noisy game of slap jack with a young girl. When I took a closer look, I saw that the girl was connected by tubes to' an I.V. machine, but she seemed to have forgotten she was sick, at least for the moment.
Jake Kuhn and Nicky Pike were playing Nerf baseball with a boy of about four who looked thin and pale but otherwise not too sick.
Margo and Claire were "putting on a show," entertaining three kids who were Testing on a couch. The Pike girls had worn their costumes, and they were doing a Native American dance they had learned at school.
Every kid - and every baby-sitter - was smiling from ear to ear. Obviously, the Hospital Buddies Halloween party was a huge success.
I joined in the dancing, laughing out loud as I traded moves with Stacey, Kristy, Mary Anne, and Abby. At one point Mary Anne leaned toward me and whispered, "I'm so happy you came." I was happy I'd come, too. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. I danced, I ate cupcakes, I played charades, I entered the wheelchair races; in short, I had a blast, and so did all the kids. The best part of all was when Jackie announced that he and the other kids had collected extra candy while they were trick-or-treating. At that point, each of "our" kids paired up with a Hospital Buddy and presented him with a small bag of goodies. (Naturally, we'd checked with the nurses to make sure it was all right for the kids to eat sweets.) It was so nice to see that spirit of giving. It made me want to give something, too. So I decided something. I would donate my prizewinning painting to the children's wing at Stoneybrook General Hospital.
Finally, one of the nurses let us know that it was time to wind things up. After some tearful good-byes (and promises of future visits), we herded our charges out of the hospital.
As we stood on the sidewalk outside, Kristy proposed a special BSC meeting and pizza party that night. "I have an announcement to make," she said mysteriously. That was fine with me. I had my own announcement to make. We agreed to meet in my room at seven.
That evening, before my friends came over, I told my parents and Janine about the blue ribbon I'd received. Then I told them how much better I was feeling about being back in seventh grade - and why. My mother hugged me, my father told me he was proud of me, and Janine said she'd always known I was an artistic genius.
"But why didn't you tell us about the show?" asked my mother.
I shrugged. "I didn't think I'd win anything," I said. "I'm sorry. But the show will still be up tomorrow." "Then we'll go see it," promised my mother: "And I hope your teacher is there. I'd like to shake her hand and thank her." By the time my friends arrived, I'd baked a pan of brownies, popped a huge bowl of popcorn, ordered three pizzas, and set up a buffet in my room. (I was trying hard to make up for those stale pretzels I'd been serving.) As soon as everyone was there, Kristy picked up a piece of pizza and proposed a toast. (We have a BSC tradition 'called the "pizza toast," when we pretend to clink our slices together.' Silly, but fun.) "Here's to the BSC," she declared. "The club is back on track, and I think we proved it with our Hospital Buddies program." She paused, then lifted her slice high. "I hereby announce that our probation period is officially over!" Whoa. What a relief. For a second, we were silent. Then we let out a cheer. "Yea!" we yelled, "clinking" our slices together.
"I have an announcement to make, too," I said, looking around the room at my friends. "First, I just want to say thank you for sticking by me, even when I was having a very hard time. I know I haven't been the greatest friend lately, but that's going to change. I may be in seventh grade, but I'm still the same old Claudia." "Yea!" everyone cried, clinking again with their slices.