Little Miss Stoneybrook...and Dawn (7 page)

Claire and I talked and talked about how to answer those questions. I decided she was in pretty good shape when I said to her, “How could you change the world to make it a better place?” and she replied, “I would help everybody get to be friends and I would give them all free French fries at McDonald's.”

Close enough.

Anyway, it was 5:30 and time to go home.

I said good-bye to the Pikes and walked home with as much enthusiasm as if I were walking to my own execution.

“Jeff?” I called as I entered our house.

“Hi! Hi, Dawn! I'm upstairs!”

Jeff was ecstatic and I was a mess.

I went up to Jeff's room and looked around. Jeff was sitting on his bed, grinning. (He'd been grinning for days.) His room looked the way it did right after we'd moved in and hadn't unpacked
yet: bare. Most of his things had been put in trunks or cartons and shipped back to California. All that remained was a suitcase full of the clothes he'd been wearing the past few days and a knapsack that he was going to take with him on the plane that night. It contained a couple of books, a Transformer, his Walkman, some tapes, and a few things I could categorize only as junk.

Jeff was sitting on his bed looking through a pile of colorful papers.

“What's all that?” I asked him.

“Good-bye cards,” he replied. “Ms. Besser gave me a going-away party today, and everyone in my class had made a card for me. It was their homework last night. Ms. Besser assigned it while I was in the boys' room yesterday. The party was a surprise.”

“That was really nice of Ms. Besser,” I said.

“I think she's glad to get rid of me.”

I looked at the cards. They all said things like,
GOOD-BYE, JEFF
, and
GOOD LUCK, JEFF
, and
I'LL MISS YOU, JEFF
.

My curiosity overcame me. “Where's Jerry Haney's card?” I asked.

Jeff sorted through the pile and handed one to me. On the front it said simply
GOOD-BYE, JEFF
. But inside, in the middle of a complicated
drawing, in letters so tiny Ms. Besser wouldn't have noticed them, were the words
AND GOOD RIDDANCE
.

“I'm taking all the cards with me — except Jerry's,” Jeff told me. I watched him tear Jerry's card to bits and throw the pieces in his trash can.

“Hi! I'm home!” called my mother's voice.

“Hi, Mom,” Jeff and I replied automatically.

“Come on downstairs,” she said. “We have to eat an early, fast dinner.”

“Okay!” I shouted.

“Dawn, can you carry my knapsack?” Jeff asked as he stuffed the cards in it. “I'm all packed. I might as well take my stuff downstairs when we go.”

Jeff didn't even give his room a good-bye glance as he left it. Maybe boys don't care about those things…. Or maybe Jeff hated his life in Connecticut so much that he didn't want to remember it.

Jeff's last dinner with us was leftovers. “Sorry,” said Mom, “but it's the fastest kind of dinner to have. I want to leave for the airport in forty-five minutes.”

“I can't believe you're letting me take a night flight,” Jeff commented happily as he shoveled in a forkful of reheated brown rice.

“I can't, either,” said my mother. “But I think it's the easiest way for you to go, in terms of jet lag. You'll leave here around nine —”

“I know, I know. And arrive at eleven o'clock California time.”

“Right. You can sleep a little on the plane, and you'll still be able to get in a pretty good night's sleep in California.”

“That is, if Dad and I don't stop to do something fun.”

Mom and I exchanged a glance. “Jeff,” Mom said seriously, “don't expect life with your dad to be like your vacation with him.”

“I won't,” he replied. But he still looked awfully excited.

Didn't he have even mixed feelings about leaving Mom and me? Didn't some tiny part of him think, Gosh, I'm going to miss Mom and my sister?

I had a feeling that the answer to both questions was no. And I was very, very hurt.

That night we didn't bother to do the dishes. We just cleared the table and put everything in the sink. Mom was nervous about the drive to the airport. “You never know about traffic jams,” she said.

We were on the road before 7:00.

I let Jeff sit up front with Mom. I figured she'd have last-minute things to say to him like, “Obey Dad,” or “Don't forget to lock the door if you use the restroom on the plane,” or “Call us anytime. Call collect if you want.”

But the ride to the airport was silent except for when a car cut in front of us and Mom hit the horn and muttered something I couldn't hear.

We reached the airport an hour before Jeff's plane was supposed to take off. As we stood in the white light of a streetlamp in the parking lot, I saw Mom blinking back tears. I glanced at Jeff, who was busy hauling his suitcase and knapsack out of the trunk of the car. He was whistling.

I took Mom's hand and whispered, “It'll be okay.” Then I gave her a quick hug.

Crash
. Jeff slammed the trunk shut.

“Okay, let's go!” he cried. “Can I buy some candy from a vending machine, Mom? Please?” (Jeff's one health-food downfall is chocolate.) “And can Dawn and I take our pictures in the photo booth? You get four. We could give two to Dad and you could keep the other two.”

“Now, I
like
that idea,” Mom told him. She smiled. It was hard to stay upset around someone who was so cheerful.

We walked into the airport and checked Jeff's suitcase through.

“I hope it actually ends up in California,” I said, “and not in Albuquerque like the last time we visited Dad.”

“Oh, well,” said Jeff mildly, “it'll get to California
some
time. And my other stuff should be there by now. Right, Mom?”

“Right.”

“Just think,” said Jeff as we wandered toward a gift shop. “I'll have my old room back.
My
room. The room here was never
my
room.”

“Of course it was,” I said sharply. “Who'd you share it with?”

Mom put her hand on my shoulder, silently telling me to calm down.

“Nobody,” Jeff replied. “It just wasn't mine the way the one in California is. I can't explain it.”

“Let's look in this store,” said Mom, not too subtly changing the subject. “Do you need anything for the flight, honey?” she asked my brother.

Jeff looked thoughtful. “I don't think so. I've got two books and my Walkman, and anyway, I'm supposed to go to sleep,” he added, glancing slyly at Mom. “But could I get a Mars Bar from a vending machine?” Jeff just loves vending
machines and photo booths and those machines that plasticize things for you.

“Sure,” replied Mom. “We have time to kill.”

We found a corridor, luckily on the way to the gate from which Jeff's flight would leave, that looked like Vending Machine Alley.

“Oh, boy!” exclaimed Jeff.

“I hope you have a lot of change, Mom,” I said.

She did.

Jeff bought a Mars Bar and tossed it in his knapsack. Then he and I squeezed into a photo booth and tried to smile and look grown-up as the camera took our pictures. The photos turned out quite well and we gave Mom first dibs on them. After the photo session, we still had time to kill, so Jeff plasticized nearly everything in Mom's wallet.

When he was done, Mom said, “We better get to the gate, kids. They may board you early, Jeff, since you're traveling alone. A stewardess will accompany you on the plane, and we've got to find her.”

The gate was a mob scene. An awful lot of people were taking the night flight to Los Angeles. Jeff and I sat down while Mom spoke to a man behind the check-in counter. While we waited for
her, I looked at my brother. He was rummaging through his knapsack. My baby brother, I thought, even though he was no more a baby than I was. Jeff and I may have had our share of fights, and Jeff may have been nearly impossible to live with lately, but he was my brother and I was going to miss him.

How could we let him go? Hadn't Jeff and I huddled together in my room in California during Mom and Dad's noisy fights? Hadn't I protected him from bullies and nightmares and imaginary monsters? Hadn't
he
taught
me
how to climb ropes when my gym teacher said I was hopeless? How could I grow up the rest of the way without knowing him?

“Don't go,” I whispered.

“What?” said Jeff.

“Nothing.”

Most families stay together. A lot don't — the parents split up. But in our case, we couldn't even keep the kids together. My insides were aching. And I knew that Mom felt like a failure.

My mother sat down with us to wait, and a few minutes later a stewardess approached. She smiled at Mom, then turned to my brother.

“Jeff Schafer?” she asked.

Jeff jumped to his feet, ready to go.

“I'm Elaine,” said the stewardess. “I'll help you board now, and I'll give you any help you might need during the flight. Okay?”

“Sure!”

Mom and I stood up. The hugging and crying started. All us Schafers were hugging, but Mom and I were the only ones crying. No tears fell from Jeff's eyes.

The stewardess watched us with some surprise. I'm sure she didn't know that Jeff had no return ticket. Most boys who leave their families plan to come back.

“Good-bye! Bye, Jeff!” Mom and I called as Elaine led him away.

When he was out of sight, I sank onto my chair. I was sobbing right in the middle of that crowded room. So was my mother. We held on to each other for dear life.

Mom tried, for the umpteenth time, to assure me that Jeff might not
think
he was going to miss us, but that he really would. I had trouble believing her.

When we calmed down, we linked arms and walked out of the airport together.

Pageant Day!

I was dead tired, not having slept much the night before. Even so, I was glad of the busy day ahead. It would be a long one, an exciting one, and I needed that in order to keep my mind off Jeff.

The pageant was to begin at 1:00. It would be held in the auditorium of Stoneybrook High School. But the contestants were supposed to be at the school by 11:30. I had told Mrs. Pike I'd come over to their house around 10:00.

At 9:45, as I was getting ready to leave, I said, “Mom, can't we call Dad and Jeff now? Just to make sure Jeff got there okay?”

“Honey, it's only a quarter to seven in California,” she replied. “They'd kill us. Besides, if Jeff
didn't
get there we'd have had a frantic phone call from your father hours ago.”

Mom was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. She looked awful. I didn't think she'd slept
at all the night before. I wasn't even sure she'd gone to bed, although she was in her nightgown and robe, and her hair was a fright.

“I know,” I said. “You're right. Hey, Mom, why don't you come to the pageant today? I know you don't like the idea of them, but this one might be funny — I mean, fun — and you'll know a lot of the girls in it.”

“Maybe I will,” she replied.

“You could sit with Mr. Spier. He's going because Mary Anne helped Myriah Perkins get ready for the pageant.” (My mom and Mary Anne's dad are old friends.)

“I'll think about it,” said Mom, and she actually smiled. “Now, you scoot.”

I scooted.

When I rang the Pikes' doorbell, it was answered by Mallory, looking positively murderous.

“I hope you can calm Claire and Margo down,” was the way she greeted me. “They are driving us bananas.”

From upstairs I could hear, “… that kissed the maiden all forlorn, that milked the cow with the crumpled horn, that tossed the dog …” mingled with, “…
I live in a garbage can. I eat all the wor-orms
…”

“Just look at their room,” Mallory added ominously as I started up the stairs. “Oh, by the way, Mom said to say she'll be up in a minute to help you.”

“Okay,” I replied.

I stood at the entrance to Claire and Margo's room. I swear, I thought an earthquake had hit. Hair ribbons and shoes and socks and barrettes and rubber bands were everywhere. The girls were trying to rehearse in the middle of the mess. The only good thought that came to mind was that, by the afternoon, the pageant would be over.

“
What
is going on?!” I exclaimed.

Claire and Margo ran to me.

“Oh, you're here!” cried Claire.

“Mommy said to get all our stuff together,” Margo tried to explain. “And we were nervous. And we didn't want to forget anything, and …”

It took almost an hour, but Mrs. Pike and I managed to get the girls organized. First we dressed them in jeans and T-shirts for all the pre-pageant stuff. Then we laid out their outfits separately and put each one in its own bag — except for the dresses, which we placed on hangers to try to keep them neat.

“What else do we need?” asked Mrs. Pike, looking around.

“Curling iron!” I said.

We remembered a few more items, put them in yet another bag, and were on our way to the high school. Mrs. Pike drove us. As we traveled through town I kept saying things like, “Remember to smile — all the time,” “Remember to give
nice
answers to the questions,” and “Don't worry if you forget your lines while you're performing. Just start over again or make something up. That's the professional thing to do.”

Mrs. Pike dropped us off in front of the high school with her own set of reminders for the girls. She and the rest of the Pikes wouldn't see Claire and Margo again until the show started.

“We'll sit as close to the front as we can!” Mrs. Pike called as she pulled into the street.

The girls and I struggled into the high school building with our bags. Someone showed us to the auditorium, and we walked through a doorway labeled Stage Door.

Chaos. Pure chaos.

There were going to be fifteen contestants in the pageant, and most of them seemed to have arrived already. Backstage was a sea of little girls waiting to be told what to do. Some were rehearsing, some were checking their wardrobes, some were
patiently having their hair curled or braided or brushed.

Claire and Margo immediately panicked.

“Look at that girl!” exclaimed Margo in a loud whisper. “She's wearing
nail
polish.
Daw-
awn …”

“
That
girl has
make
up on!” Claire added, not even bothering to whisper.

“Hey, there's Myriah,” said Margo. She pointed across the room. “Look. She's tap dancing. And she's
good!
I mean, she's really goo — Oh, no! Oh, no, Dawn! Oh,
no
!”

“What! What?” I cried.

“Did you remember my banana?”

“
Yes
. It's in the bag with your painter's pants. Now will you two please calm d —” I stopped when someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Yes?” I said, turning around.

Behind me stood a stout woman with iron-gray hair piled high on her head. She was holding a clipboard. “Hello,” she said warmly. “I'm Patricia Bunting, the pageant coordinator.”

“Hi,” I replied, shaking her hand. “I'm Dawn. This is Claire Pike and this is Margo Pike.”

“Wonderful,” said Ms. Bunting. She handed me a list. “Here's the order in which the contestants will appear onstage in each portion of the
show. The order — youngest to oldest — will remain the same, so be sure Claire and Margo know whom to follow. As soon as everyone has arrived, I'll talk to the contestants. I'll explain how the pageant will run, and then I'll show them the stage. Mothers and big sisters will wait right over there,” she went on, indicating an area in which folding chairs had been set up.

Claire and Margo looked at me, and we smiled. Ms. Bunting thought I was their sister!

Ms. Bunting walked away, and I sat the girls down so we could study the list together. “Let's see,” I said. “Claire, you're near the beginning. You'll always go on stage right after Myriah. And Margo, you're sort of near the middle. You'll always go on right after Sabrina Bouvier.”

“Right after
who
?” exclaimed Margo.

“Shh,” I said. “A girl named Sabrina Bouvier.”

Margo looked frantically around the backstage area. Her eyes traveled over Myriah, Charlotte, Karen, and several other contestants, and landed on the girl who was wearing the makeup (and plenty of it, I might add).

“That's her,” said Margo fiercely. “I just bet that's her. Who else would have a name like Sabrina Bouvier?”

I didn't have an answer to that. Besides, I was trying to size up Claire and Margo's competition. There was Myriah, tapping away as Mary Anne watched her. Mary Anne looked exhausted but approving. No doubt about it, Myriah really was good. Her talent was true talent, not just some little act thrown together for the pageant. And there was Karen, looking awfully pretty. Kristy was nervously brushing her hair. And there was Charlotte, simply looking scared to death. She and Claudia were standing around awkwardly, almost as if they didn't even want to
be
there.

I caught Claudia's eye and we waved.

The girls waved to Charlotte and then ran over to her.

I followed them. “Hi,” I said to Claud. “How are you doing?”

“Nervous. I'll be glad when this is over. It was a bigger deal than I thought it would be. How about you?”

“I'm a little nervous.”

“I'm a lot nervous,” I heard Margo tell Charlotte.

“I wish I'd never said I'd do this,” Charlotte replied.

A new voice spoke up. “I can tell you how to get rid of the Pageant Jitters forever,” it said, sounding as if it were reciting something from a TV commercial.

The voice belonged to the girl with the makeup.

“You can?” said Claire, Margo, and Charlotte in unison.

“Certainly. It would be my pleasure.”

I glanced at Claudia. Who was this kid? She was about Margo's age, but she looked and acted twenty-five.

“How do you know how to do that?” Margo asked. “By the way, my name's Margo.”

“I'm Sabrina,” said the girl, and Margo shot me a look that plainly said, I told you so.

Sabrina curtsied daintily. “So
very
pleased to meet you,” she said in this funny, false voice. “This is my sixth pageant. That's how I know about the jitters.” She was showing the girls some relaxing breathing exercises when a woman wearing tons of jewelry and even more perfume approached us. Her perfume reached us before she did.

“Come along, Sabrina,” said the woman. “I want to try to introduce you to the judges.” Sabrina smiled sweetly at the other girls. “This is my mother. I really must run,” she said. “There's
always so much to do before a pageant. I do wish you the very best of luck.”

Charlotte and the Pikes stared after Sabrina as Mrs. Bouvier whisked her away.

“Do you know what that was?” Claudia whispered to me. “A pageant-head, that's what. A poor kid who gets roped into any beauty contest or pageant that comes along. Her whole life is one big smile.”

“She's not that pretty,” I pointed out.

“And maybe not very talented,” added Claudia. “But she knows pageants — or her mother does — and she knows what the judges like.”

I was about to say that Sabrina's life might be one big smile, but it must be awfully boring, when Ms. Bunting clapped her hands together loudly. It was time for her to talk to the excited contestants. The girls gathered around her, and the rest of us drifted toward the folding chairs.

I sat with Claudia, Mary Anne, and Kristy, but none of us said much. We were getting awfully nervous. A whole bunch of butterflies were flapping around in my stomach.

I watched the girls as Ms. Bunting spoke earnestly to them.

I watched Sabrina's mother and some other mothers. While most of the mothers chatted or
poked through their daughters' bags of clothing, Mrs. Bouvier glued her eyes on poor Sabrina and watched her intently.

Finally Ms. Bunting led the girls onto the stage. As soon as they were out of sight, the rest of us relaxed a little.

“Myriah looks good,” I said to Mary Anne after a few minutes.

“Thanks,” she answered. “She's rehearsed endlessly. She nearly had a heart attack this morning, though. She lost another tooth. It shook her up a little. I hope it won't break her concentra —”

Ms. Bunting and the girls returned and Ms. Bunting raised her voice. “The pageant will begin in exactly half an hour,” she announced. “It's time to get ready for the first event of the afternoon — the introduction to the judges and the audience.”

Claire and Margo ran to me.

“Time to get dressed! Time to get dressed!” cried Margo.

“I'm Popeye the sailor man!”
added Claire.

I produced the girls' bags, and they began to change their clothes.

In just a few short hours, one of the girls now getting dressed backstage would be crowned Little Miss Stoneybrook.