Claudia and Mean Janine (6 page)

One evening, when Mom and Dad came home from work, Mom was grinning. She looked like somebody who knew a secret.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “Oh, you started supper! Thank you. That's wonderful.”

“You've been acting very responsibly lately,” Dad added.

Responsibility is sort of a touchy subject with my parents and me. For as long as I can remember, I've heard, “If you'd just do your homework when it's assigned …” or, “If you'd be on time for once …” or, “If you'd just think ahead the way Janine does….”

And now Dad was telling me I was acting responsibly. Well, it was true that I'd started dinner several times recently, and I'd spent a lot of time with Mimi in the hospital. On the other hand, I'd given Mimi the stroke in the first place. I'd lost my temper and been rude to
her. That certainly wasn't very responsible.

“Hey, Mom, how come you're smiling?” I asked. “Something happened, didn't it?”

“I'll say,” she replied. “Where's your sister?”

“Guess.”

“Working at her computer.”

“Well, close. She's upstairs studying, or at least she was earlier. Do you want me to get her?”

“Please. Dad and I will finish getting dinner ready.”

I ran upstairs. Janine's door was closed, so I knocked on it.

“Come in!” she called.

“Thanks for helping me with dinner,” I greeted her sarcastically.

Janine frowned. “You didn't tell me you were starting dinner. I would have helped if I'd known.”

“Well, you have a watch, don't you? It's six o'clock. Couldn't you have guessed?” But I felt bad. It was true. I hadn't asked Janine for help, and I didn't make dinner every night, so why should she have known?

“Have you come into my bedroom merely to torment me?” asked Janine. “Or do you have some other purpose?”

“Some other purpose,” I mumbled.

Janine was seated at her desk. Three fat textbooks were open in front of her. A half-filled sheet of lined paper was in her hand. At her feet were several balls of crumpled paper. She glanced at the paper in her hand, as if she couldn't bear to keep her eyes off it for very long.

“Well?” said Janine.

“Mom said she has good news. She wants us to come downstairs right away.”

“Very well.”

Janine placed bookmarks in her texts and slid the paper into a folder. Then she followed me to the kitchen.

Mom and Dad were just dishing up the supper I'd started, which was frozen carrots (I mean, formerly frozen carrots), a lettuce salad, and baked chicken.

“Claudia says you have some news,” Janine said, slipping into her chair.

“Yes, we do,” replied Mom. She waited until the four of us were seated. Then she went on. “As you know, at first Mimi couldn't move at all, though she has been able to move her left side a little bit recently. Well, today, using her left hand, she actually fed herself part of her lunch,
and
she tried to speak. Several times.”

“Oh, boy!” I cried. “That's great! Isn't it?”

“It was good enough to get her out of intensive care,” said Dad, smiling.

“Where is she now?” asked Janine. She was smiling, too. In fact, we were all smiling. We probably looked sort of goofy.

“She's in a regular room,” Dad replied. “A private one.”

“Can we visit her tonight?” I asked.

“
May
we?” Janine, Mom, and Dad all corrected me at once.

“Sheesh,”
I said. “
May
we visit her?”

“We certainly may,” said Mom.

With that, dinner was eaten in a jiffy. Janine had looked busy before, but we didn't hear a peep from her about having to finish any work. She helped me pick a bouquet of flowers from our back garden for Mimi, and then the four of us were off to the hospital.

Mom and Dad showed Janine and me to a different wing on the same floor as the intensive care unit where Mimi had been. This time, we could all go in to see her at once.

Mimi looked much better. There was no needle stuck in her wrist, and most of the machines were gone. Also, she was sort of sitting up (actually, the folding bed was making her sit up), and someone had washed and fixed her hair.

When we filed into the room, Mimi tried to smile and got about halfway there. Then she raised her left hand in greeting.

“Hi, Mimi!” I cried. “You can wave! That's great!” I rushed to one side of the bed and kissed her cheek.

Janine stood on the other side of the bed, while Mom and Dad sat in chairs.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked Mimi.

She blinked her eyes once.

“Good,” I said.

“Mom said that you are partially able to feed yourself,” Janine spoke up. In answer, Mimi raised her left hand again and wiggled the fingers.

I glanced at Mom and Dad, wondering whether it would be all right to say anything about the fact that Mimi had tried to speak. I wanted to tell her how great that was, but before I could say anything, Mimi made a gurgling sound in her throat.

Janine and I both leaned forward quickly.

“What did you say?” I asked.

More gurglings. Then a sort of “mmm” sound.

I looked helplessly at Mom, who got to her feet and came over to the side of the bed.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” said Mom. “We couldn't quite catch that.”

“Maybe she could write it down,” I suggested.

“I don't know,” said Mom. “She's not left-handed.”

“I think we ought to attempt it,” said Janine. “Perhaps it would work.”

“All right,” said Mom. She looked at Mimi. “Mother, do you think you could write down what you want to say?”

Mimi frowned slightly, then blinked once.

“Here,” said my father, standing up. “I've got a pad and pencil.”

“I think she'll need something bigger,” I said.

Everyone looked at me. “Why do you think that?” asked Dad curiously.

“I just—just do.” I've had enough trouble in school to know what will be easy, and what will be difficult.

“I'll see what I can find,” said Dad.

He headed for the nurses' station and returned with a couple of pieces of notebook paper. Janine propped Mimi's arm up on the little table that slid across the bed. She put Dad's pencil in her hand and the paper on the table, holding it in place for Mimi.

Mimi appeared to be concentrating very hard. After several moments, she began to write. It took forever. When she finally stopped, this is what was on her paper:

We all stared at it.

“Mom,” I whispered, pulling her away from the bed, “something's wrong. I know Mimi's right-handed, but why is everything all mixed around and upside down?”

Mom shook her head slightly and put a finger on my lips. She turned back to Mimi. Dad and Janine were still puzzling over the message.

“I think the first word is
happy,”
Janine was saying.

“If I'm not mistaken,” Mom broke in, “she's saying she's happy to see you girls.
Kodomo
is Japanese for
child
or
children.”

“Why didn't she just say
children?
Or use our names?” I asked.

“I don't know, honey,” replied Mom.

“Well, what's going on in here?” came a hearty voice. Standing in the doorway to Mimi's room was one of her doctors.

“Girls, you remember Dr. Marcus, don't you?” asked Mom. “Dr. Marcus, this is Janine, and this is Claudia.”

Dr. Marcus stepped into the room and shook hands with Janine and me. Then he went to
Mimi's side. “I hear you've been making lots of progress today,” he said.

Mimi blinked once and waved her left hand.

The rest of us stood back while Dr. Marcus took a look at Mimi. When he was done, he went into the hall and my parents joined him for a brief conference. They took Mimi's note with them. Janine and I stayed behind, talking to Mimi. I told her I was turning into a cook, but that I wasn't nearly as good as she was.

When we were home that evening, Dad told us what the doctor had said.

“Mimi is making average progress.”

“Just average?” I asked in disappointment.

“Average is fine.”

Not when it's a C in school, I thought.

“She's going to start having therapy,” added Mom.

“What sort of therapy?” Janine wanted to know.

“All sorts,” replied Mom. “Physical, speech, and occupational. Occupational will help her relearn basic skills such as eating, dressing, and brushing her teeth. When she's well enough, they'll help her with cooking or sewing or whatever. But they'll start small—with anything
that's giving her trouble. Right now her brain is just sort of mixed-up. The doctor thinks she'll make plenty of improvement, but it will take time.”

“But—but it's like she's a little kid!” I sputtered.

“In a way, that's right,” replied Dad. “Only it won't, for instance, take her five or six years to be able to read and write again. Her brain already knows how. It's just having trouble sending the proper messages to the rest of her body.”

“The hospital is going to provide her with some therapy every day,” said Mom. “But Dr. Marcus said that the more stimulation she gets, the faster she'll improve. Your father and I realized that if we each took a couple of hours off from work every afternoon, one or the other of us would be here from about two o'clock, when she'll return from therapy, until six.”

“Well …” Janine said slowly.

But I interrupted her. “I'll spend the mornings with her! I can switch to Saturday art classes.” It was the least I could do, considering I'd nearly killed her.

“Oh, that would be
wonderful,”
said Mom enthusiastically. “Just what she needs.”

Janine looked a little disappointed. “Oh,” she
said, “I suppose it
would
be an exercise in futility to attempt to rearrange my course schedule. But what about your club's play group, Claudia?”

I paused. Good question. Then I put my nose in the air. “What's a silly old play group compared to Mimi?” I said loftily. But for some reason, I didn't feel nearly as good about my decision as I sounded.

Wednesday
Today's play group was over hours ago and I'm still laughing about what went on. Now this is an example of something great that probably could never have happened in New York City. It started when David Michael brought Louie to the play group. Just to set things off on the wrong foot, it turns out that Jenny is afraid (and I mean terrified) of dogs. Remember that for the future, you guys. Then David Michael decided we needed to give Louie a bath. That's when the trouble really began. When the morning was over, Louie was the only one who was
both clean and dry. Thank goodness Jenny was wearing her smock.

Claudia—we miss you!

It was nice of Stacey to say that. I missed the play group, too. But Mimi was more important. Luckily, the other club members agreed with me. They'd been disappointed when I'd said I'd have to drop out of the play group. But they'd understood. They all wanted Mimi to get well as much as I did.

Anyway, Stacey called to tell me about the Louie-washing. When she got to certain points in the story, she would start laughing again, and laugh so hard she could barely speak.

The reason Louie went to the McGills' was that Mrs. Thomas made him go. The Thomases were moving the next day, and Louie was in the way. Anyway, Mrs. Thomas sent David Michael to the play group with Louie in tow. And she sent over five dollars for each of them. The money was accompanied by a note that said:

When David Michael came over, it was about nine-thirty, and Jenny, Mallory, Claire, Margo and Nicky, Suzi and Buddy, Charlotte, Nina and Eleanor, and Jamie had already arrived. Louie was kind of wound up, so he galumphed into Stacey's backyard, barking happily.

“Ohhhhhaughhhhh!” shrieked Jenny, as Louie bounded over to the art table and stuck his wet nose in her face.

“Uh-oh,” said Stacey. “David Michael, move him away from the art stuff, okay?”

“Okay,” said David Michael. “Here,” he added, handing Kristy the money and note from their mother. Then he tugged on Louie's collar and hauled him to another part of the yard.

“What's wrong?” Stacey asked Jenny, picking her up.

Jenny was wearing her smock. She had barely taken it off, even at home, since the time Andrew the monster had told her to wear it every day. Apparently, her mother was somewhat upset about that, because with the smock on, she could
hardly show off Jenny's gorgeous wardrobe.

“I don't like him,” Jenny wailed.

“Louie won't hurt you. He's a nice old dog—a collie. See all his fluffy fur? Isn't he pretty?”

“No,” said Jenny, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose. She buried her face against Stacey.

Stacey had to admit that Louie wasn't looking his best. He needed to be brushed, and he had spaghetti sauce on his nose and feet.

“Well,” she said lamely, “he's nice, anyway.” She set Jenny back on the bench at the picnic table.

Jenny raised her head and looked around nervously. “Where's that dog now?” she asked.

“Over there. See? Jamie's petting him. Jamie doesn't mind old Louie.”

“He's dirty,” said Jenny. “He's a messy-face.”

“Well, you're protected. You've got your smock on.”

“Monster smock,” whispered Jenny.

Stacey sighed. She left Jenny with Mallory and wandered over to Jamie and David Michael. Kristy joined them.

“How do you think Louie's going to like his new neighborhood?” Stacey asked Kristy.

“Oh, I think he'll like it all right. It's too bad he's not a purebred shih tzu or Pomeranian, though. Or a purebred anything. He'd fit in better
with all those rich, snobby dogs. I bet those dogs don't even have doghouses in their backyards. I bet they have little dog mansions.”

Stacey laughed. Then she said, “I thought Louie was a purebred collie.”

“Nope,” replied Kristy. “One of his grandfathers was a sheepdog.”

“How would anyone ever know that?” asked Stacey.

“Rich people find out all sorts of things you wish they didn't know,” said Kristy.

“Will they know he got into the spaghetti this morning?” asked David Michael.

“Anyone would know that,” Stacey replied. “He looks, smells, and feels like spaghetti sauce.”

“Well, then,” said David Michael, “do you have a tub?”

“A tub?” asked Stacey. “What for?”

“We'll have to give him a bath.”

Stacey looked at Kristy.

Kristy began to smile. “It's not a bad idea,” she said.

“And,” added David Michael, “we have to fix him up.”

“Huh?” said Kristy.

“You know, fluff his fur, put some ribbons on him, find his plaid leash. I don't want any of
those rich people or rich dogs making fun of him tomorrow,” David Michael said fiercely.

Stacey began to giggle. “We'll beautify him,” she said. “What do you think, Kristy? We do have a tub in the garage. It might be fun.”

Kristy looked around the McGills' backyard, smiling. “The yard is fenced in. Everyone's in old clothes. Jenny's got her smock on. If we just tell the kids to take their shoes off …”

Ten minutes later, Mallory, the four members of the Baby-sitters Club, and the eleven kids had taken their shoes off and lined them up on the benches at the picnic tables. Even Jenny had consented to remove her shoes, but only after Kristy told her that Andrew would want it that way. Stacey had found the tub and told her mother what they were going to do. Now, the tub was being filled by the hose while David Michael removed Louie's collar.

“What kind of soap do you use?” Stacey asked.

“Johnson's Baby Shampoo,” replied David Michael.

“It makes his fur shiny and fluffy,” added Kristy.

“I don't think we have any baby shampoo,” said Stacey. “I'm not sure my mom will let me use up shampoo on a dog, anyway.”

In the end, they used a regular bar of soap.

When the tub was filled and the soap was floating in the water, Kristy called out, “Oh, Lou-ie!”

Louie looked around, saw the tub of water, and fled to a corner of the yard.

“Oh, Lou-ie!” cried David Michael.

“Oh, Lou-ie!” cried most of the rest of the kids.

David Michael, Buddy, and Charlotte began stalking Louie around the yard.

“You shouldn't have taken his collar off so soon,” Charlotte pointed out.

“I know,” said David Michael, “but we'll get him.”

And they did. The three of them ambushed him from behind a fir tree. Then they surrounded him, joined by Suzi and Margo, and hustled him over to the tub.

“Okay, in you go, boy,” said Kristy. She and David Michael heaved him into the water. They looked as if they were used to doing so.

SP-LASH!
A sort of tidal wave washed over one side, soaking Jamie and Claire, who laughed delightedly.

Four kids pounced on poor Louie and began wetting him down. Nina dove for the soap and fell in the tub. After Dawn fished her out, the kids
crowded around, each wanting a turn to soap Louie. During all of this, the only sound Louie made was a pitiful whine when Kristy and David Michael tossed him in the water.

When Louie was good and soapy, Mary Anne asked, “Is it time for the hose?”

“I think so,” said Kristy. She helped Louie out of the tub. He stood, dripping, on the lawn, waiting for what was to come.

“He shrank!” cried Nina. “What happened? Oh, he
shrank!”

“No, he didn't,” said Dawn patiently. “He's just wet. You'll see.”

Mary Anne approached with the hose.

“Shouldn't someone hold him?” asked Dawn.

“Nah,” said David Michael. “He knows the only way to get the soap off is to let us rinse him.”

And at that moment, Louie streaked across the yard in a soapy flash. Nine children ran after him. (Jenny was cowering on a lawn chair, and little Eleanor was playing with her toes, unaware of what was going on.)

“Tackle him!” yelled Buddy.

Nicky leaped for him, but Louie slipped out of his grasp. He was running around the McGills' backyard in a big circle.

“Go that way!” cried Charlotte, pointing.

Half the kids turned around and ran in the other direction. Louie saw them coming.
He
turned around and ran into the rest of the kids.

“Gotcha!” said Margo. She, Nicky, Suzi, and Jamie fell on Louie in a slippery heap.

“Hold him!” shouted David Michael. “Here comes the water!” David Michael twisted the nozzle and a spray of water shot out. It scored a direct hit on Louie and the children.

By the time Louie was rinsed off, dried off, and calmed down, he looked beautiful. (“He's fat again,” said Nina, with relief.) But the kids were soaked, and so were their clothes.

“Thank goodness it's a warm day,” said Stacey. “They can dry off in the sun while they beautify Louie.”

When the morning was over, Louie was a canine masterpiece. Stacey had French-braided his fur. Charlotte had tied a ribbon at the end of each braid. Margo and Mallory had painted red nail polish on his claws. David Michael had run home long enough to find his plaid leash.

The children inspected him critically. “Does he have any clothes?” asked Nicky, “A sweater or something?”

“No,” said Kristy, “But I think he's dressed up enough. Now, if he can just stay this way until tomorrow …”

The children began to go home. David Michael was the last to leave. He led Louie proudly out of the McGills' yard on the plaid leash.

It was then that Kristy turned to the other club members. “You don't think Louie looks too much like a girl, do you?” she whispered.

Nobody said a word.

“Oh, well,” Kristy went on. “If anybody asks tomorrow, I'll just say his name is Louella. They'll never know.”