Claudia and the Genius on Elm Street (9 page)

Rosie and the other two walked down the aisles. One of the girls who had taunted Rosie whispered something to her friends, and they started snickering.

I'm sure Rosie heard them, but she just kept walking.

As the three contestants stepped onstage, Ms. Reynolds gave them a warm smile and wished them good luck. Then she said, "All right, begin!"

The teachers turned the blackboards around and raced to the sides of the stage to bring out stools for the kids.

The three kids began scribbling away. Rosie, who was the shortest, had to step on and off her stool constantly.

Some people in the audience found that hilarious. "It's a jumping bean!" someone called out. That set off the girls, who were waiting for an excuse to laugh.

One of the teachers ran to them and angrily shushed them.

Meanwhile Rosie was doing a great job. She figured out the easy clues right away. For "President Abraham ___ " she wrote LIN-

COLN, for "Opposite of high" she wrote LOW — things like that.

But there were some really tough clues, too. "What's a 'small, furry marsupial'?" Mary Anne whispered.

"Beats me," I said. "How about the author of 'The Owl and the Pussycat' — Edward Blank? Edward Allan Poe?" I guessed.

"It's Edgar Allan Poe," Mary Anne said. "Besides, there are only four letters."

I heard an explosion of laughter, this time from a group of boys. Rosie had just filled in a word, which left the word for Ten Across looking like this:

w 5
        
0
    
T

The clue was "An opening," and the answer was SLOT, of course, but you can imagine which letter the boys had pictured in the blank: an N.

"Hey, Rosie, here's a hint for Ten Across — yourself!" one of the boys called out.

This time Ms. Reynolds herself approached the boy. She took his arm and walked him out of the auditorium. As Rosie filled in the L for SLOT, another boy yelled, "Wro-o-o-ng — EHHHH," imitating an electronic buzzer.

Kids can be really cruel, but I think they're worse in a group situation. You know how it is, one person starts and everyone has to copy. Mary Anne and I were so angry, but there was nothing we could do.

Anyway, Rosie just kept writing and writing, with that same grim expression she wore when she played the piano. She figured out the furry marsupial (KOALA) and the "Owl and the Pussycat" author (LEAR).

With about one and a half minutes left, she filled in her last letter, slammed down the chalk, and called out, "Finished!"

There were a few groans from the crowd, but a few cheers, too. I guess some of the third-graders were happy to see their classmate finish first.

Rosie waited by the blackboard until the buzzer went off. Both Joseph and Nicole quickly filled in all their boxes in the nick of time.

The teachers stood in front of the blackboards and checked the answers. They mumbled to themselves, then mumbled to Ms. Reynolds.

Ms. Reynolds nodded. She stepped to the front of the stage. "Let's have a big hand for the new Stoneybrook Elementary School Crossword Champ — Rosie Wilder!"

Mary Anne and I jumped up and cheered. We didn't care what the other kids thought. Ms. Reynolds gave Rosie a trophy and a hug, which was good for one or two cries of "Ew" from the audience.

Rosie took the trophy and slunk off the stage. We ran to her.

"Congratulations!" I said. "I knew you'd do it!"

"You were amazing!" added Mary Anne. "I didn't know half those clues."

All Rosie said was, "Can we go now?"

We walked outside with her and headed away from the school. Rosie was silent for awhile, staring straight ahead and clutching her trophy. Then she said, "Why do they do that?"

"You mean, those kids?" I askexd gently.

Rosie nodded. "They always treat me like that. I don't know why. I never do anything bad to them. I just try to do my best, that's all. And they gang up on me and tease me and call me names. I mean, even the third-graders didn't cheer for me."

Rosie began to cry. She was clutching her trophy so hard her knuckles had turned white.

Mary Anne and I put our arms around her. "Oh, Rosie, it's okay," I said. "It isn't easy being different from everybody. People have

a hard time understanding you."

"That's right," Mary Anne said. "Look at the problems Claudia has."

Rosie sniffed and brushed back her tears. "C-Claudia?" She looked at me like a wounded puppy. "But you're so popular!"

I smiled. "Well, maybe. But in my family, I'm the only one who isn't a brain. You met my sister, right? I love her, but can you imagine growing up with her for a sister? My parents always compared me to her, but I could never do as well in school as she does. Not in a million years! I felt like a freak. No one in my family is anything like me."

"But didn't your parents see what a great artist you were?" Rosie asked.

"Well, now they do, sort of," I said. "But I'm thirteen. It's taken a long time."

We talked all the way to Rosie's house. When we neared Burnt Hill Road, Mary Anne said, "I have to go home this way." She smiled warmly at Rosie. "I barely know you, Rosie, but I think you're very special, even aside from your talents."

You should have seen Rosie beam.

By the time Rosie and I reached her house, she was feeling a little better. We went inside and each ate a big helping of potato salad from the refrigerator.

I checked the note Mrs. Wilder had left,

which said she and Mr. Wilder would be back in time for Rosie's five-thirty voice lesson. It was only four forty-five, so I said to Rosie, "Well, what do you want to do? Get ready for your lesson?"

Rosie grinned slyly. "I want to draw!"

"I knew you were going to say that!" I said. I found my backpack and pulled out my drawing supplies.

Rosie ran upstairs and came down with a fistful of her own sketches and a paper shopping bag. "I drew a Life Saver and a peppermint stick," she said, "but then I tried drawing a Doritos bag, and it ended up looking like a potato sack . . ."

She showed me what she'd done. Then she pulled her subjects out of the shopping bag and set them on the table.

We started with the Life Saver. I explained what she could do to make the shading better and smooth the lines.

We worked hard, going from drawing to drawing. We erased, improved, experimented. Some of the results were good, but some were hilariously awful. At one point, when Rosie was working on the crinkled outline of a Doritos bag, she drew what looked like the outline of a dog. We cracked up. "Arf! Arf!" I barked.

"Ow-oooo!" Rosie howled.

I began to sniff like a dog, moving my head left and right.

And that's when I saw Mr. and Mrs. Wilder. They were standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at us as if we'd lost our minds.

Chapter 13.

"Mom, Dad," Rosie said. "I didn't hear you come in."

"You were . . . barking too loudly," Mr. Wilder said. He smiled, but he obviously was not amused.

"Did Ms. Van Cott call in sick?" Mrs. Wilder asked.

"No," Rosie said, hanging her head.

"Then why aren't you practicing for your lesson?"

"And isn't tomorrow the due date for your math project?" Mr. Wilder asked.

Instead of answering, Rosie reached for her trophy. Her face brightened as she held it out to her parents. "Look, I won the Grand Crossword Competition!"

"Terrific, sweetheart!" Mr. Wilder said with a big grin. He took the trophy and admired it in the overhead light. "I'm going to put this front and center in the trophy case."

Mrs. Wilder bent down and kissed her daughter on the cheek. "I'm so proud of you, Rosie."

"Thanks," Rosie said.

But Mrs. Wilder had caught a close-up glimpse of Rosie's drawing. "What is that, dear?" she asked, frowning at it.

"A bag of Doritos," Rosie said meekly.

"A bag of Doritos," Mrs. Wilder repeated. "Did you draw that?"

"Mm-hm," answered Rosie.

"You, uh, don't have anything better to do with your time?" asked her father.

"I finished my math project already," said Rosie quickly.

Mr. Wilder nodded. "Very good. And did you practice for your lesson, too?"

"No, but — "

"Really, Rosie, I'm surprised at you," Mrs. Wilder said. "Drawing a bag of chips when your teacher is about to arrive."

"But Claudia's teaching me how to —" Rosie protested.

"Honey," Mr. Wilder said, "we're not spending our hard-earned money on your career just so you can fritter away your time — "

"I'm not frittering!" Rosie shouted. "I don't want to practice!"

"Rosie," Mr. Wilder said, "let's not have a

replay of the night we came back from the Uncle Dandy show."

"I hate Uncle Dandy!" Rosie snapped. "He's stupid and ugly, and if he invites me back, I'm going to turn him down!"

"Fine," Mr. Wilder said with a sigh. "I realize you were in another league from the other talents, but the show served its purpose. Now it's over. But that doesn't mean we can let up. Life moves on. There's your audition, your commercial booking next week — "

Rosie slammed her hand on the table. "I don't care about some dumb musical! And I'm tired of going into New York! I hate my life! I never have any fun except when Claudia comes over! All I do is work, work, work. And I'm not going to do it anymore!"

With that, Rosie slid out of her chair, stomped upstairs, and slammed her door shut.

"Rosie!" Mr. Wilder called after her. "Mary Rose, you come down here right now!"

"No!" Rosie yelled back, her voice choked with tears.

"Leave her, George," Mrs. Wilder said. "She needs to be alone for a few minutes."

Rosie's parents looked a little shaky. I gathered Rosie didn't act like that too often. The Wilders kind of stood there, staring at the space between themselves and me.

As for me? Well, I wanted to die. I felt as if I had taken their little girl and created a monster. At least, I was sure that was the way they saw the situation.

I thought about slipping out the back door, but then realized I hadn't done anything wrong.

I took a deep, deep breath. The Wilders looked at me. For a second I thought they were going to throw me out of the house. But they didn't say a word, which just made things worse. So I decided to break the silence.

"Auungh ..."

Great beginning, Claudia.

My mouth was so dry I couldn't even say "Uh ..." I swallowed and tried again. "Mr. and Mrs. Wilder, I've done a lot of babysitting, and I've never met anyone as gifted as your daughter. She's in a class by herself."

I looked from one to the other. I hoped that flattering Rosie would soften them a little, but it didn't seem to. I was just telling them what they already knew.

I had to tell them what they didn't know.

"I know how close you are to Rosie, and what an active part you take in her interests," I said. "But, believe it or not, I think I've found another incredible talent in your daughter. And she's hiding it."

"What do you mean?" Mr. Wilder asked.

"Well, I think Rosie is a really gifted artist," I said.

Mrs. Wilder sighed. "She doodles. That's all. She's never shown any serious interest in art."

"You haven't seen the projects she works on in her room." I spread out the sketches she had brought down. "Do you think many seven-year-olds can draw like this?"

Mr. Wilder squinted and bent down. "These are good?"

"Look at this." I showed him the Life Saver drawing. "Most kids Rosie's age would draw two circles, one inside the other. But she already knows how to use shadowing and create perspective. It looks three-dimensional. Those are things you usually have to learn from teachers. I know. I've taken tons of lessons myself."

"Oh?" Mrs. Wilder said. She looked a little suspicious.

"I've studied in school and at the Stoney-brook Arts Center; I've also studied in New York City with a great teacher named Mc-Kenzie Clarke. I'm not saying that to brag, but — "

"No, that's fine," Mr. Wilder said. "I've heard of McKenzie Clarke. Go on."

"Well, I know plenty of kids, even kids my own age in the class in New York, who don't have Rosie's potential. I know this may seem

silly, but look at the proportions of the Doritos bag she drew. I mean, they're not perfect, but do you know how hard it is to get them right? And take a look at this peppermint stick ..."

The Wilders looked closely at the drawings. I could tell they were interested. But I could also see that old light bulb switching on over their heads.

"Maybe we should contact McKenzie Clarke," Mrs. Wilder said. "On our trips to New York we could pop up to his studio."

"Or maybe he holds a Saturday afternoon class," Mr. Wilder went on.

Ugh. Just what I was afraid of. Now the Wilders saw yet another career path for their daughter. They were going to squeeze Rosie's love for art out of her, just like they had done with dance and music and singing.

Suddenly everything became clear to me. That was why Rosie kept her art a secret. She knew her parents would push her too hard. Art was something she could enjoy on her own.

"The thing is," I said, "she really loves art. You should see her face light up!" (I almost compared it to the glum look she wore while doing everything else, but that would have been going too far.)

"Isn't that something," Mrs. Wilder said.

An idea hit me — a fun way to involve Rosie

"You'll manage, Rosie," I said. "I have faith in you. But there's one thing I want you to promise me."

"What?"

"Sometime soon you should have a talk with your parents. Let them know exactly what kinds of things you want to do and don't want to do. Okay?"

Rosie smiled and nodded. "Okay."

I gave her a big hug, and then we scooted down the stairs.

Chapter 14.

Saturday was the debut of "Claudia Lynn Kishi's 'Disposable Comestibles,' a Pop-Art Multi-Media Extravaganza."

Yes, I changed the name. Comestibles is another word for food. Actually, it was Janine's idea, in a way. She passed my room one night while I was arranging a bunch of junk food, and said, "Are you painting your disposable comestibles?" Well, I thought that was hilarious. I adopted the name immediately. Janine, of course, didn't quite see the humor in it.