Kristy's Great Idea Read Free Page B

over whenever you want to,” I said.
    The Pikes live just a few doors away, so Mary Anne showed up in ten minutes. She was pulling Claire and Margo in a red wagon.
    â€œHi-hi!” Jamie greeted them cheerfully.
    â€œHi-hi!” Claire, the four-year-old, replied.
    David Michael and Margo eyed each other suspiciously. They hadn’t played together much, and David Michael was wary of any little girl, especially one who wasn’t in his class at school.
    We took the kids out back to Jamie’s swings. When they were playing happily, Mary Anne said, “So what about the baby-sitting club?”
    â€œWell,” I replied, “I thought we could get together with a couple of other girls who baby-sit and form a club—sort of like a company—”
    We were interrupted by a thump and a wail.
    Jamie had fallen off one of the swings.
    â€œWahhh!”
he cried.
    I ran to him and checked him over. No bumps, no skinned knees.
    â€œWahhh!”
    â€œWhere does it hurt?” I asked him.
    He pointed to his tummy, then let his hand drift to his knee and finally up to his head.
    â€œEverywhere?” I suggested.
    He nodded miserably.
    â€œMaybe we better go,” said Mary Anne, rounding up Claire and Margo.
    â€œOkay,” I replied. “Listen, why don’t we tell Claudia the idea? Let’s go over to her house when we’re done sitting. She’ll be back from her art class then.”
    â€œOkay. See you.”
    Inside, I gave Jamie a cookie, and he and David Michael played with the G.I. Joes and then watched
Sesame Street
on TV. Jamie’s accident was long forgotten by the time his mother came home.
    Mrs. Newton paid me and I ran to my house, leaving David Michael with Sam, and then ran across the street to Claudia Kishi’s.
    Recently, I haven’t felt quite as comfortable visiting Claudia as I used to. This year, she hadto go and start growing up faster than us. She’s wearing a bra, and the way she talks, you’d think boys had just been invented.
    She acts like all the guys in the seventh grade aren’t the same goony boys they were last year. Last year, the boys were saying, “Want some ABC gum?” and then handing us the gum out of their mouths, saying, “It’s Already-Been-Chewed, get it?” and laughing hysterically. Last year, the boys were giving us noogies on our arms and throwing spitballs at us. Last year, the boys were pulling our chairs out from under us when we stood up to answer questions.
This
year (if you listen to Claudia), the boys are heroes. Personally, I don’t see any change.
    I rang the Kishis’ bell. Claudia came to the door. She was wearing short, very baggy lavender plaid overalls, a white lacy blouse, a black fedora, and red high-top sneakers without socks. Her long black hair was carefully arranged in four braids. I felt extremely blah compared to her.
    I was so used to seeing Claudia in outfits like that that I didn’t bat an eye. What I did notice was that she was wearing makeup. There was blue stuff on her eyelids, gold stuff above her eyes, and magenta stuff on her cheeks.
    â€œClaudia!” I gasped. “Your face! You look like”—I couldn’t stop myself in time—“you got made up for the circus…. I mean … it’s so
colorful
.…”
    â€œThanks a lot.”
    â€œNo, honestly, Claud. You don’t
need
makeup. You’ve got such a beautiful face….”
    â€œNice try,” said Claudia.
    Claudia’s parents are originally from Japan. They came to the United States when they were very young. Claudia has silky jet-black hair, dark eyes, and creamy skin without so much as a trace of a pimple. She’s absolutely gorgeous. But she has this wild streak in her that makes her buy belts made of feathers and wear knee socks with palm trees on them. Makeup was something new, though.
    â€œAre you going to wear
that
”—I pointed to