Claudia and the Bad Joke (4 page)

     
Betsy jumped onto a swing. She sat there and smiled at me. “You take that one,” she said, pointing to the second of three swings.

     
I shrugged. “Okay.”

     
Betsy watched me like a hawk as I sat on

the swing. She was grinning, but after I’d been on the swing for a moment, her smile turned to a frown. What was with her? She was one weird kid. Wait a sec! Maybe she had boobytrapped the swing or something. I wouldn’t put it past her. But I inspected the swing, and it looked fine to me — just a little old.

     
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s have a swinging contest. Let’s see who can swing the highest.”

     
Betsy immediately began pumping her legs up and down. She really wanted to win. Good. At least her mind was off practical jokes.

     
I pumped, too. Betsy and I swung higher and higher. I remembered when 1 was Betsy’s age and believed that it was possible to swing so high you’d circle right over the top of the — CLUNK!

I
    
heard a funny, metallic noise. And then the bottom dropped out from under me.

The chain on the swing had snapped. Oh, lord, I thought.

     
You know how sometimes you have an idea that something is going to happen before it actually does happen? I don’t know if you’d call it ESP exactly, but, well, I just knew, without knowing how I knew, that I was going to fall and I was going to be hurt badly.

     
I was terrified. I could feel my heart beating in my throat, as if it had jumped up there in

fear. And before I had time to do a thing — this was all happening in a split second — I was flying through the air. I landed on the driveway — hard — and heard another noise. An awful one. It was a crunch. But the odd thing was, I didn’t feel any pain. My leg felt strange, but it didn’t hurt. Still, I knew what had happened.

     
“Betsy,” I said weakly, trying to sit up. “I think my leg is broken.”

My leg certainly was broken. It was a truly disgusting sight. There was no blood or anything, but it was twisted in a way that no leg should ever be twisted. I thought I’d seen all possible disgusting sights from eating school lunches with Kristy Thomas. But this was much, much worse. I had to look away from my leg.

     
I turned toward Betsy. She was still swinging, but the expression on her face was one of horror. Then, in a panic, she began to slow herself down. The swing hadn’t even come to a stop when she jumped off it and ran to me.

     
“Oh! Oh, Claudia!” she exclaimed. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! I knew the chain was broken. That’s why I wanted you to sit down on the swing. I thought when you did, you’d just go — boom — onto the grass. But it didn’t break right away and I forgot and you

said let’s have a contest and I still forgot and I didn’t remember until —“

     
“Betsy, Betsy,” I interrupted her. I had suddenly realized that my leg was numb. I could hardly feel it, which scared me more than anything. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. The thing is, I have to get to the hospital. And you’re going to have to help me. Can you follow directions?”

     
“Yes. I’m very good at it,” Betsy said seriously. She was kneeling next to me and had taken one of my hands in both of hers. Suddenly she looked angelic.

     
“All right,” I replied. “I need you to do two things. Listen to both of them now, and then go inside and do them.”

     
“Okay.” Betsy’s voice was trembling and her eyes had filled with tears.

     
“First, dial nine-one-one on the telephone. When someone answers, explain that I’m your baby-sitter and I broke my leg and we need an ambulance. Be sure to answer all their questions and to give them your address. Then I want you to make another call.”

     
“To your parents?” Betsy asked.

     
“No, to yours. Try your mom first. If you can’t reach her, try your dad. And if you can’t reach him, I want you to call the Rodowskys. Do you know Jackie Rodowsky?”

     
Betsy nodded.

     
“Okay, my friends Dawn and Mallory are sitting for a group of kids at his house this afternoon. If you have to call them, tell one of them to come over here and stay with you till your mom comes home. If you don’t know Jackie’s number, can you look it up in the phone book? Rodowsky is spelled, urn, R, let’s see. . . .“

     
“Don’t worry,” said Betsy. “I’m a good speller. I’ll find it.” She ran inside.

     
I lay on the driveway and began to shiver, even though it wasn’t very cold that day. I hoped I wasn’t going into shock or something. I tried to remember what us baby-sitters had learned in the first-aid course we’d taken, but it wasn’t easy to concentrate.

     
It didn’t matter. Things began to happen quickly. First, Betsy dashed back out of her house. “I made the calls!” she announced breathlessly. “The ambulance is coming and so are Mallory and Dawn. I couldn’t reach my mom — no one answered — and Dad’s line was busy, busy, busy. Here’s a pillow and a blanket,” she added. “The nine-one-one person said to give them to you.” Betsy tried to make me comfortable, which wasn’t easy, considering I couldn’t move my leg.

     
Soon after, Mallory and Dawn camezooming

up the Sobaks’ driveway on their bicycles, followed by a bunch of kids, also on bicycles. Dawn threw down her bike and ran to me. “We couldn’t let you go through this alone,” she said breathlessly. Then she told Mallory and the kids to stand in the front yard and wait for the ambulance. When they were gone, she said, “Okay, Claud. Did Betsy call your parents or Mimi?”

     
I shook my head.

     
“All right, then I’ll go do that.”

     
“Don’t call Mimi!” I cried. “She can’t drive. She won’t be able to do anything and she’ll go crazy worrying.”

     
“Then I’ll call your parents. Maybe they can beat the ambulance here.”

     
“I doubt it,” I said.

     
“Well, let me find out. I’ll be back in just a sec.”

     
Dawn ran inside and I was alone again for a few minutes. Where was that ambulance? My heart was still beating in my throat.

     
When Dawn returned, she said, “I reached your mom right away and she’s going to call your dad. They’re going to meet the ambulance at the hospital. So I’ll ride with you, and Mallory wifi stay here with the kids. We left a note for Mrs. Rodowsky. When Mrs. Sobak comes home, Mallory will tell her what hap-

pened. . . . What did happen, by the way?”

     
I tried to explain, but I was feeling pretty woozy. I was very relieved to see the ambulance a few minutes later.

     
Mallory kept the kids out of the way while the ambulance pulled into the Sobaks’ drive. Then the attendants jumped out, checked me over, and carefully (but it still hurt) loaded me onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

     
“Her parents are going to meet us at the hospital,” Dawn told one of the attendants. “I just called her mother. They couldn’t get here before you did, but they’ll be at the hospital to sign papers, or — or whatever they have to do.”

     
Just before they shut the doors, Betsy’s tearful face peered in at me. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’m really sorry, Claudia. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

     
“I know you didn’t,” I told her.

     
And then the driver slammed the door shut.

     
“Dawn?” I called. “Where’s Dawn?”

     
“I’m right here,” she replied. “I’m up front, next to the driver.”

     
The other attendants, a man and a woman, were in the back with me. They were taking my blood pressure and trying to put something on my leg. To hold the bones in place, I guess.

     
We sped toward the hospital. I was sort of

disappointed that the driver didn’t make the siren wail. I guess they only do that for big emergencies — I mean, like for car accidents. I was glad I wasn’t a big emergency, but roaring along with the siren blaring would have been exciting.

     
After awhile, the ambulance came to a stop and the driver got out.

     
“We’re here, Claud,” Dawn said.

     
The back doors were opened and the stretcher was wheeled out. The stretcher is kind of interesting. It’s on these collapsible legs. When the attendants had put me in the ambulance, they’d collapsed the legs to make it fit inside. When they took me out, they pulled the legs down again. Then they wheeled me inside the hospital. It was like being on a traveling bed.

     
“I don’t see your parents yet, Claud,” Dawn said, “but I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now. You know how traffic can be at this time of day.”

     
I nodded. I thought of the last time I was in the hospital — right after Mimi had her stroke — and I began to cry.

     
“Hey,” said Dawn, running along beside me. She found my hand and held it. “Don’t worry, Claud. I mean, go ahead and cry. That’s okay. But I know everything’s going to be all right. I just know it. Why don’t I go watch for

your parents? I can tell them where you are. Then I’ll come find you. Or your mom and dad will, okay?”

     
“Okay.” My leg was beginning to hurt — a lot. I bit my lip.

     
It seemed as if Dawn was gone forever. Before she came back, a nurse wheeled me away to have my leg X-rayed. That’s all I remember clearly. After that, somebody gave me an injection that made me feel very sleepy. I know I closed my eyes and that a lot of time passed, but I didn’t feel like I was asleep. Isn’t that weird?

     
When things finally got clear again, I was somewhere else in the hospital, my leg was stretched out in front of me in a big cast, hanging from a metal frame, and Mom, Dad, Janine, and Dawn were all peering at me. I felt like Dorothy in the movie The Wizard of Oz when she wakes up back home in Kansas and finds her family and friends around her.

     
“Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” said Dad.

     
“Was I really asleep?” I asked.

     
Everyone laughed.

     
“What’s my leg doing up there?” I went on, pointing to it.

     
More laughter, but it was gentle and friendly.

     
“It’s in traction,” Mom told me. “It’s —“

     
“When did you and Dad and Janine get

here?” I interrupted her. “What time is it?” I felt very confused.

     
“It’s only about a quarter of six, honey,” Mom told me. “I got here right after the ambulance did. Dad and Janine arrived a little while later. You drifted off while the doctors set your leg, and now you’re in your own hospital room. . . . Well, not your very own, you’ve got a roommate, but —“

     
“Wait a sec!” My thoughts were whirling. “I’m sorry I keep interrupting you,” I said, “but why am I in a hospital room? Tell the doctor to give me crutches so I can go home. When Kristy broke her ankle, she got to go right home.”

     
I saw Mom and Dad exchange one of those parent looks. You know, that look that says, “Oops. 1 think we’ve got a problem with our child. How should we handle it?”

     
Mom moved closer to me and smoothed my hair out of my eyes. “Claudia,” she said slowly, “you can’t go home yet. You’re going to be in the hospital, for a week. The break was bad. Not critical,” she assured me, “but no hairline fracture, either. The doctor wants you in traction for awhile, then in bed at home for a few more days, and then you can go back to school. They’re just not taking any chances, that’s all.”

     
“I don’t want to be here for a week!” I said, beginning to cry.

     
“But think of it,” said Dawn. “You get a vacation from school.”

     
“I’m certain you will have a stream of visitors,” added Janine. “Perhaps flowers and cards. I wouldn’t mind a week of such attention.”

     
A vacation and flowers and visitors sounded nice. But the hospital didn’t. I kept thinking of Mimi. When she was first in the hospital, she was hooked up to about a zillion machines. I was afraid to go near her. She looked dead. The doctors didn’t know if she would walk or talk again.

     
“Will I be able to walk again?” I asked tearfully.

     
“Oh, of course!” said my mother. “Is that what you’re worried about? The healing process wifi take two or three months, but you’re going to walk just fine. This is a broken bone and nothing more.”

     
I nodded. But a horrible thought occurred to me then. What if I’d broken my right arm instead of my right leg? What if I’d broken it so badly that I couldn’t use it again? Couldn’t paint or sculpt or draw? Suddenly I was angry. I was angry at Betsy for putting me in such a

rotten situation; angry at Kristy for starting the Baby-sitters Club in the first place; angry at myself for going to the Sobak~’, even after I’d been warned that Betsy was a practical joker. What was wrong with all of us? Couldn’t we see how stupid we were?

     
I was angry at the whole world.

     
Baby-sitting seemed like risky business. Maybe, just maybe, baby-sitting was risky business. Maybe I shouldn’t do it anymore.

     
“I’m tired,” I told Dawn and my family. “I think I’ll go back to sleep.”

     
I wasn’t sleepy at all, but I closed my eyes and left them closed until I thought I’d heard everyone leave the room. I wanted to be alone for awhile.