Clauda Kishi, Middle School Dropout (2 page)

Kristy has always wanted the BSC to be the best possible club. She's constantly coming up with ideas to make us better sitters. Kid-Kits, for example. Those are boxes we've decorated and then filled, with stickers, crayons, and hand-me-down toys and books. Kids are crazy about them. But even Kristy has had to realize that not every single one of her ideas is great for the club. The last one she had - the Fall into Fall Festival - was, well, a dud. Everyone's entitled to at least one bad idea, though! Next, I studied Mary Anne, Kristy's best friend and the BSC secretary. (She's in charge of that record book I mentioned, and she does ,an excellent job of keeping track of our complicated schedules.) Mary Anne has brown eyes and hair, just like Kristy, but she has a trendier haircut and cares a little more about clothes than Kristy does. She and Kristy may look alike, but their personalities are like night and day. Mary Anne's portrait would have to capture her soft, tender personality. She's the most sensitive, caring person I've ever met. She's also shy, but once you know her you'll never find a better friend.
(I almost lost Mary Anne's friendship recéntly. She and I had a huge fight during the bad time the club went through, and I still feel terrible about it. We've made up, but I'm not sure if she's totally forgiven me.) Mary Anne grew up as an only child with a single parent. Her mom died when Mary Anne was just a baby. Mr. Spier took parent'ing very seriously, so seriously that he almost didn't let Mary Anne grow up. Now he's not a single parent anymore, and Mary Anne's not an only child. Mr. Spier married a woman named Sharon Schafer, who happens to be the 'mother of Mary Anne's other best friend, Dawn (and of Dawn's younger brother, Jeff). See, Dawn and Jeff grew up in California, but their mom grew up here in Stoneybrook. When Dawn's mom and dad divorced, Sharon moved back to Connecticut, bringing her kids. She met up with her old high school sweetheart - Mary Anne's father and ended up marrying him.
Mary Anne was thrilled to have a sister and brother. Unfortunately, though, it turned out that first Jeff and then Dawn discovered that they never really felt at home in the East, and both of them ended up moving back to California to live with their dad. Oh, they visit a lot, but their home is out there. I know Mary Anne misses Dawn a ton.
The phone rang as I was watching Mary Anne, and the BSC swung into action. Kristy answered the phone with a cheery "Babysitters Club!" and listened for awhile, then hung up after promising to call the client right back. "That was Mrs. Newton," she reported, "looking for a sitter for Jamie and Lucy on Friday night." Mary Anne checked the record book, scan-fling it to see which of us was free. "Looks like the job is yours," she said, smiling at Stacey, who sat next to her on my bed.
"Great," said~ Stacey.
Kristy called Mrs. Newton back, and that was that.
Stacey is the club treasurer. She's responsible for collecting dues each week, which are used to pay club expenses such as my phone bill. It's the perfect job for Stacey, since math is so easy for her.
My abstract painting of Stacey would have to suggest her strength, beauty, and elegance. I've already told you what she looks like and how she dresses, but I haven't told you one important thing about my best friend: she has diabetes. That's a lifelong disease caused by her body's inability to process sugars correctly, and unless she takes really good care of herself every single day Stacey can become very sick. ,Her parents, who were divorced not long ago (her dad still lives in Manhattan, and Stacey visits him a lot), freaked out when she was diagnosed with diabetes. She's an only child, and they, were really overprotective at first. But by now they've come to understand that Stacey has a very mature attitude toward her disease. She' works hard at keeping herself as healthy as possible. That's where the strength I mentioned comes in. It can't be easy to avoid eating sweets all the time (just think, no RingDings!) not to mention the insulin injections 'Stacey has to give herself every single day. I have a lot of respect for Stacey.
The newest member of the BSC is Abby Stevenson. She and her twin sister Anna (an awesome musician, who is not in the BSC) moved to Stoneybrook with their mom only recently. Their dad died in a car wreck when the twins were nine. Abby doesn't talk about him much. Abby has dark, thick, curly hair. She wears contacts sometimes (especially when she's playing sports) and glasses other times. She's an excellent athlete, even though she has asthma and allergies which can make it hard for her to breathe sometimes. ' My portrait of Abby'? It would have to have an energetic feeling, and lots of bright, strong colors (Abby has an independent, vibrant personality!), but it would also reveal some sadness, which I see in Abby's eyes.
Abby is our alternate officer, a job that used to be held by Dawn. "Alternate" means that she has to be ready to take over for any other officer who can't make it to a meeting. That doesn't happen too often, although Abby did just have her ,big chance to run the club while Kristy was away on a family vacation in Hawaii. She tried hard, but nobody can really replace Kristy.
Now, all the members I've mentioned so far are thirteen and in the eighth grade, like me. But the BS~C also has two younger members' (we call them junior officers) who are eleven and in the sixth grade. Both of them are extremely responsible sitters, even though they can't sit at night except for their own families. But they take lots of afternoon jobs.
Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike are their names, and they are best friends. In fact, they stick together so much that I'd probably keep them together in my abstract portrait. Jessi's part of the picture would combine grace and power. She's an awesome ballet dancer who works out every day and has the muscles and the skill to show for it. She's African-American, with long legs and gorgeous dark eyes, and she comes from a very close family: there are her younger sister, Becca, a baby brother called Squirt, her par18 ents, and an aunt who lives with them.
Mal's family is also close, but it's much, much, bigger. Her part of the picture would have to show a quiet space (Ma!, who loves to read and write) surrounded by movement and noise (representing her seven brothers and sisters!). Mal has reddish-brown hair and freckles, and she wears both glasses and braces, which she hates.
We also have two associate members: Logan Bruno and Shannon Kilbourne. They take up slack when we're extra-busy, but they aren't required to attend meetings or pay dues. Logan (who is also Mary Anne's boyfriend) is a great sitter. He has a killer smile, blondishbrown hair, and a slight southern accent (he's from Louisville, Kentucky).
Shannon has curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and high cheekbones. She goes to a private school called Stoneybrook Day School, where she's in the Honor Society and a million other clubs. Even so, she usually finds time to sit when we need her.
Although they weren't at the meeting, I thought about the abstract portraits that I would make for Logan and Shannon. Shannon's would be a collage of busy images depicting her activities and achievements. Logan's portrait would be fun and whimsical to show his sense of humor but with swirls of softer colors because he is understanding and sweet.
By the end of that day's meeting I had created an imaginary gallery of portraits. Looking around at my friends made me realize all over again how much they mean to me. The BSC is much more than a club. It's like a family. I'm so' glad we're back together. I don't know what I'd do without my friends.
'I kay, people, that's it for today!" Mr. Schubert erased the chalkboard, then stood in front of the class and clapped his hands. "Don't forget to keep up with your homework assignments. We're moving right along here, and if you don't put in the practice, you'll be lost." Tell me about it. I shut my math book, zipped my protractor into the little pouch in my notebook, and stood up, stretching. Another math class was over. That was something to be thankful, for. True, I hadn't understood most of what Mr. Schubert talked about during the past forty minutes, but that was nothing new. As I said, math is a foreign language to me. I don't expect to understand it. I knew I'd make it through the class somehow, though. I always do.
It's not as if I have a learning disability, you know. I've been tested for that. And my I.Q.
is just fine, thank you very much. I am perfectly capable of understanding anything Mr. Schubert or any other teacher throws my way. It's just that I honestly can't see why I should bother. After all, I'm going to be an artist when I grow up, not a research scientist or a mathematician.
There are so many interesting things to think about and look at and do in this world. Why waste time on' things that don't interest you in the least? For example, angles. And protractors to measure them with. I stuck my math stuff into my backpack and threw the backpack over my shoulder. It was time to head to science class.
"Claudia? Claudia Kishi?" called Mr. Schubert, trying to be heard over the voices of a roomful of kids who were milling around like cattle. I looked up at him, and he gestured to me.
Oh, boy. I've seen that gesture before. The one that says, "Stop by my desk and chat for a second." The one that says, "I'm onto you, and you're heading for serious trouble." "I have to go - " I began, as I approached Mr. Schubert.
"I realize you don't have much time right now," he said. "Neither do I. I just wanted to let you know that I'm starting to feel con22 cerned about whether you can keep up with the rest of the class." "Sure, I can," I said. "No problem. I just have to work a little harder." I smiled cheerfully, but inside I was groaning. Work harder on math? I'd just as soon eat brussels sprouts for dessert.
"I'm honestly not sure that will take care of the problem," Mr. Schubert said seriously. "I think you may also need to spend some time brushing up on what you learned in math last year." "Last year?" I repeated.
"Right," he said. "What you learned last year provides the foundations for what we're doing this year." "Uh-huh," I mumbled, nodding as I looked down at my shoes (Mary Janes with this cool lug sole and a two-inch heel - they're new and I love them). I couldn't meet his eyes. If I did, he might be able to guess the truth.
The fact is, I don't remember a thing from last' year's math class. I know I' did the work, and I even understood a lot of what I was doing - at the time. I studied hard for my tests, and then the second I found out I passed I forgot everything. I figured there was no need to clutter my brain with information I didn't need anymore. And who needs it once you've passed the test? Nobody told me I was going to have to remember that material all the way into eighth grade.
"Claudia?" said Mr. Schubert. He looked worried.
I smiled at him. "I'll work on it," I promised.
"Don't forget you can always come to me if you have questions," he said.
Little did he know. It's not just that I have questions; it's that eighth-grade math is one huge question. 1 wouldn't even know where to start. I smiled again. "Thanks," I said. Then I shouldered my backpack. "I'm going to be late," I said, realizing that the kids in the room behind me were all there for Mr. Schubert's third-period class, and that I was supposed to be in my third-period class, which is science.
Now, science isn't nearly as bad as math. In fact, there are times when I really like science class. Last year we did these cool experiments. We'd put two different chemicals into a test tube and watch how they reacted. Some would change color, or smoke, or bubble over, while others did nothing at all. I loved the suspense of waiting to see what might happen.
What I didn't love was the part after that, when we were supposed to write up our "research results" and apply something called the scientific method, which I never totally under24 stood. Also, we were supposed to learn all the qualities of liquids and solids and gases, and understand terms such as "density." Some of that I learned, some I didn't. And most of what I did learn, I've already forgotten. Again, I couldn't figure out how any of it would be important to me in real life.
I mean, is somebody going to knock on the door of my art studio some day and ask me the definition of a liquid? And even if someone does, will I care if I can't answer the question? (Only if he's offering a million-dollar prize to everyone who answers correctly!) I landed in class just in time to hear Ms. Griswold explain that we were going to be identifying rocks that day. She waved toward one of the lab tables and told us that there were a number of specimens on display, and that we were supposed to identify each one as being either "igneous, metamorphic, or sedimentary." Whew! This was not going to be easy. Those words didn't mean a thing to me, even though I knew Ms. Griswold had gone over them the week before. My classmates and I headed to the lab table, where we clustered around, clutching our notebooks and staring at the rocks. Ms. Griswold had handed out worksheets that we were supposed to fill in.
"I think this one is metamorphic," said Em25 ily Bernstein, picking up a rock with a white crystal thing growing out of one side. I didn't know if it was metamorphic or not, but I did think it had a special kind of beauty. I mean, part of it was just ~this lumpy old brown rock, and part of it looked like a diamond's cousin. It was a nice contrast.
"Igneous rocks are easy to pick out," said Rick Chow, pointing to a shiny black one. He scribbled something on his worksheet.
I turned over my own worksheet and made a quick sketch of the rock he'd pointed out. It had beautiful depth to it. The color was blacker than black. I wanted to remember what it looked like so I could use that kind of shiny blackness in a painting some day. Was he right that it was igneous? I had no idea.
I did pick out the sedimentary rock, just by luck. I was checking out the gorgeous rust and brown and cream-colored layers in this one huge hunk of stone when I realized Ms. Griswold was standing behind me. "Good, Claudia," she said. "You picked out the best example of a sedimentary rock." I smiled. I couldn't have cared less what it was called. I just knew it was made up of colors that were so harmonious that only nature could have put them together. That's the kind of blending I aim for in my artwork.
I knew I had a lot to learn about the different kinds of rocks, but I figured I could study up on it right before our next test. After all, what was the point of trying to memorize all that stuff now? I'd forget it before the test if I did. It was better to wait until the last minute.