Clauda Kishi, Middle School Dropout (3 page)

At lunch that day, I sat with the other BSC members. Kristy was eating - and dissing - the hot lunch, which was supposed to be chicken chow mein over noodles but looked more like "garbage a la barf," as she put it. I was happy with my Doritos appetizer, my apple, my peanut-butter-and-jelly main entrée, and, most of all, with my dessert: a pack of Starbursts.
Mary Anne had a tuna sandwich she'd brought from home, and Stacey seemed satisfied with her carefully planned meal of a cheese sandwich, an apple, and two Frookies (cookies that are sweetened with fruit juice instead of sugar).
Abby was toying with her hot lunch and looking a little queasy after hearing what Kristy had called it.
Mal' and Jessi weren't there, since each grade at SMS eats at a different time.
"You know," said Stacey, who was polishing her apple on her jeans, "I think I'm really going to like math class 'this year." Now I felt queasy. Stacey is my best friend, and 'she's fairly normal in every other way.
But I couldn't believe she could just sit there and say such a thing. I raised my eyebrows at her.
"Really!" she insisted. "My teacher is so good. He makes math fun." She grinned at me and took a big bite of her shiny apple.
Oh, please.
"I feel the same way about social studies," said Kristy, putting down her fork. "Ms. An-'derson makes it so interesting. I mean, the work is hard, but I don't mind it." "I know what you mean," chimed in Mary Anne."It's like the teachers really expect more out of us this year. I mean, in seventh grade we had a fair amount of homework, but this year you really have to keep up. It's kind of cool. They're treating us more like adults, instead of like kids." "Exactly!" said Abby, beaming.
Great. If being treated like an adult means having tons of homework assigned every night, I'll take the Peter Pan route and avoid growing up. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My friends really seemed to be enjoying their time in this torture chamber we call SMS. I felt a twinge of nervousness. Was I the only one who was having a hard time keeping up? It sure sounded that way.
It was a big relief to head for art class after lunch. Art class is the bright spot inmy school day. It's the one place I feel at home. My attention never wanders when I'm there. I love the art room, with all its special sights and smells. It's lined with closets just bursting with raw materials: clay, drawing pads and pencils, tubes of paint. There are easels set up around the room, and drawing tables, and two potter's wheels. Student artwork decorates every square inch of the walls. Mr. Wong, my art teacher, is always coming up with great ideas for projects, and he never hesitates if someone wants to mix up, say, a huge batch of papier-mâché. "Go to it!" he'll say. "That's what this room is for. Remember, you can't make art without making a mess." I like his philosophy.
As I walked in the door, I glanced at a flier taped to the bulletin board and my heart skipped a beat. I read through it quickly, hardly believing my eyes. Serena McKay, who is only one of the best artists in the country, was going to be teaching a class at Stoneybrook Community College. A "master class," it was called, for "accomplished amateur artists." You had to apply for it by sending in samples of your work, and only fifteen people would be accepted. It would be an intensive class that met for just a few weeks. The idea was to learn how to prepare a piece of artwork for a show. At the end of the class, the student work would be hung ~in the college gallery, and judges would award prizes, just like in a real art show.
"You should definitely apply," said Mr. Wong, when he saw me reading the flier.
"But it's college!" I said. "I'll never get in." "You never know unless you try," said Mr. Wong.
Now, how could I argue with that?
Chapter 2. "Kristy! This is a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?" Dr. Johanssen waved her clipboard at Kristy. She was dressed in a white lab coat and wore a stethoscope around her neck.
"I'm here to visit Jackie Rodowsky," said Kristy. "Actually, it's kind of a sitting job. His mom likes him to have company as often as possible, and she can't always be here in the afternoons." On Thursday afternoon, while I was home agonizing over my application for that special art class, Kristy was at Stoneybrook Hospital. She would have gone to visit Jackie anyway, even if it weren't a paid job, because she felt really guilty about his being in the hospital in the first place.
Not that it was actually her fault.
To understand, first you have to know that the BSC has a pet nickname for Jackie Rodowsky. We call him the Walking Disaster. Jackie is a freckled, red-headed, seven-year-old with a nose for trouble. When he's around, life is never boring. Things happen. Oh, boy, do they happen. Vases break, knees are bumped, curtains come tumbling down. Never a dull moment! Anyway, shortly before the BSC broke up, Kristy was sitting for Jackie. He was in a wild mood, and wasn't listening to her. No matter what she said, he kept misbehaving. He didn't listen when, she said he wasn't allowed to climb the tree in the backyard, and while she was occupied with his brother Archie he climbed it anyway. Guess what? He fell out of the tree, of course. Fortunately, he wasn't hurt too badly. That's not what landed him in the hospital.
What happened was this: Jackie's fall out of the tree ended up being the last straw, in Kristy's mind. She felt as if the accident were her fault somehow. And since it was the last in a string of bad things that had happened in the BSC, she figured it was time for the club to break up.
Now, the BSC breakup didn't really have that much to do with Jackie Rodowsky, but somehow he came to believe that it was all his fault. He worried and worried about it, and finally he decided to ride his bike over to Kristy's (which is quite a trip) and apologize.
Unfortunately, he didn't tell his parents where he was going. Even worse, he didn't wear a helmet. And when his bike swerved and hit a tree, Jackie was badly hurt. He was knocked out, and when he came to, he was in the hospital with a lot of concerned doctors looking him over.
Luckily, Jackie's going to be fine. I guess he's a, tough little kid. But a head injury like that could have been very serious. As it is, he's been in the hospital for quite awhile, since the wound still needs attention and the doctors want to be absolutely sure that he's okay.
"I know Jackie will be thrilled to see you," Dr. Johanssen told Kristy, as they walked down the corridor together. "He keeps saying how bored he is. It's not easy for an active kid' like him' to be forced to stay in bed." Dr. Johanssen knows a lot about kids. For one thing, she's a pediatrician. For another, she's a mom. Her daughter Charlotte, who's nine, is one of the BSC's favorite sitting charges.
"Will he be able to go home soon?" Kristy asked hopefully.
"Very soon," said Dr. Johanssen. "I'm not handling his case, but from what I hear he should be back to normal in the near future." "That's great," said Kristy.
"Have fun with Jackie," Dr. Johanssen told Kristy, as they parted near the nurses' desk in the pediatrics wing. "Tell him to stay out of trouble," she added.
Kristy laughed. Telling Jackie to stay out of trouble is like telling a dog not to chase cats. She walked down the hall, grinning. Now that she knew Jackie was really going to be okay, Kristy felt a lot better.
"Knock, knock!" she called, as she peered into Jackie's room.
"Kristy!" Jackie shouted. "All right!" He sat up so quickly that he upset the checkerboard that sat on his bed. A blond boy of about eight was sitting in a chair next to Jackie's bed. They'd been in the middle of a game. The blond boy didn't look ill, and neither did Jackie - except for the big white bandage wound like a turban around his head.
"Shh, shh," said Kristy, a little alarmed. "Take it easy." She gestured around. "This is a hospital. There are sick kids in here, you know." "I know, I know," said Jackie, rolling his eyes. "They're all friends of mine now. This is John Andru, by the way." "Hi, John," said Kristy. "How are you?" "Bored!" exclaimed John. "This dumb old hospital is the boringest place I have ever been in. I can't wait to go home." He folded his arms across his chest.
Kristy didn't know what to say. She couldn't blame John for being bored. Any kid would be. She wondered why John was in the hospital.
"I had appendicitis," he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. "It happened in the middle of the night. I got this wicked bad stomachache - ooh, it hurt so much!" He held his stomach, remembering. "I had to wake up my mom and dad, and when they brought me here the doctors said I had to have an operation right away, or else I might die!" "Cool, huh?" Jackie asked Kristy. "Want to see his scar? It's awesome." John was already starting to pull up his shirt. "Uh, no, that's okay," said Kristy, who - surprisingly - has sort of a weak stomach when it comes to huge scars and blood and stuff like that. "Tell me about your other new friends, Jackie," she suggested.
"We can go see them, if you want," said Jackie. "I have to go in my wheelchair, but you can push me." "Gladly," said Kristy. "But don't you want to finish your checkers game first?" "That's about the five-hundredth game we've played today," said Jackie, rolling his eyes. "I think we've had enough checkers for awhile." "Definitely," John agreed.
"Okay, then, let's go," said Kristy, coming around to the side of Jackie's bed with the wheelchair. "Need some help climbing into this thing?" "I'm fine," Jackie insisted. "I don't know why they don't just let me walk everywhere. My legs work perfectly." "I guess they're being extra careful," said Kristy, watching anxiously as Jackie moved out of bed and into the wheelchair. Then they took off, Kristy pushing the 'wheelchair and John (who said he no longer had to ride in one) walking alongside.
"Turn in here," Jackie commanded, as Kristy was about to pass the room next to Jackie's. "Hey, Jessica, wake up!" he called.
A round-faced girl of about nine sat up in her bed. "I wasn't sleeping," she said. "I was just lying here thinking about potato chips, and pretzels, and tacos. . .
"All the stuff you can't eat," said Jackie, sympathetically. "Poor you. All you can have is ice cream and Jell-U and pudding." He grinned. "You don't know how lucky you have it! I'd switch with you in a minute." "You wouldn't say that if you could feel how sore my throat is," said Jessica. "It's no fun having your tonsils out." Jackie introduced Kristy, who offered to come back and read to Jessica for awhile after she'd visited with Jackie. "I know it's not the same as tacos," she said, "but maybe it'll take your mind off your throat." She had a feeling that Jessica's food cravings were caused more by boredom and loneliness than by hunger.
Next, Kristy and Jackie and John visited Ashley, who was seven and had just been diagnosed with diabetes. Kristy knew just how complicated Ashley's life was going to be from then on. But she was also able to tell her about Stacey and how diabetes doesn't have to mean the end of a normal life. Ashley looked small and scared in her hospital bed, and Kristy 'did her best to cheer her up.
After that, Jackie and John brought Kristy to Ian's room. Kristy told me later that Ian seemed like an older version of Jackie. He was a spunky, spirited ten-year-old who had had more than his share of accidents. "I've already broken my right arm, my left big toe, and my collarbone!" he told Kristy, proudly. This time he was in the hospital with a broken leg.
"Just like you," Kristy told me later, reminding me (as if I needed help remembering) of the time I'd been stuck in Stoneybrook Hospital for a whole week. I'd broken my leg badly, and not only did I have to have a cast,' but I had to be in traction, as well. That's when they rig up this pulley thing to your leg and hoist it up in the air. It's not comfortable, I can tell you.
While I was in the hospital I had plenty of time to think. And worry. I began to wonder if baby-sitting was such a smart thing for me to do. After all, what if I'd broken my arm instead of my leg, and ended up unable to draw or paint or sculpt? As it turned out, I decided that baby-sitting was worth it, but I never want to have to spend a week in the hospital again.
Anyway, Kristy spent the afternoon hanging out with Jackie and his new friends, and by the end of her day at Stoneybrook Hospital she had come up with a really good idea.
It was simple. The kids in the hospital were bored and lonely. They needed distractions, and they needed to feel as if somebody cared about them. Meanwhile, Kristy and the rest of us in the BSC know lots of kids the same age as those in the hospital, kids who share ,the same interests in sports and movies and pets and games. Kids who would love to know they were helping to make a sick kid's day a little happier. Why not pair them up? The kids we sit for could write letters, create cards, and in general make sure that the kids in the hospital knew someone was thinking of them.
That's how Hospital Buddies was born. Kristy even came up with the name that afternoon, and that wasn't all. She asked for -and received - permission to start the program right away. It looked as if Kristy was back on track with her great ideas.
this is me! I mean - this is her. I mean, I'm her. Um, Claudia Kishi here!" I can never remember what it is you're supposed to say when you answer the phone and somebody asks for you. My mother has told me more than once, but I always forget. Then I sound like a jerk when I answer the phone and somebody says, "Claudia Kishi, please." I was so busy trying to remember what to say that I barely listened to the woman when she said who was calling.
"This is Sandra Katz. I'm with the art department at Stoneybrook Community College." "This is she!" I blurted out, having finally remembered the correct phrase. "I mean -what? You're calling from the college?" "That's right," said the woman on the other end, and I swear I could hear a smile in her voice. "I have some good news for you, Claudia." I sucked in a breath. Could it be?
"You've been accepted into Serena McKay's master class. She was 'extremely impressed with the level of your work." "No way!" I burst out. "I mean - you're kidding! I mean - really? Really?" "It's true," replied Sandra Katz with a little laugh.
I couldn't believe it. I'd sent in the abstract self-portrait I'd been working on, but not for one second did I believe I'd actually be accepted into the class. I'd really only applied because Mr. Wong said I should. "Wow," I said. "Cool. I mean - that's great! That's the best news I've heard in a long time." "Classes will be on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at six," said Sandra Katz. "Be sure to be on time. Ms. McKay wants to make every minute count." Thursday. This was Monday, so that was only a few days away. I felt a flutter in my stomach; butterflies. Then, suddenly, 'the butterflies turned to lead. I realized that I hadn't told my parents a thing about this class. I. hadn't mentioned applying for it. And I hadn't asked for permission to take it~ I thought about all the trouble I'd been having in school. My parents knew I was having a hard time keeping up. There was np way they were going to let me take Serena McKay's class.