"Babysitters Club 032 Kristy And The Secret Of Susan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Babysitters Club)

"I bet Mal could help Ben feel right at home here in the USA," Stacey pressed.
Mal couldn't speak. She stared at the floor. The rest of us grinned at each other. And Stacey couldn't let up on Mallory.
"Come on, Mal. Admit it," she said. "You've got a crush on Ben."
Mal gasped. And then she was saved by the
bell. My own mother called needing a sitter on an evening when I wouldn't be home. Mary Anne lined Stacey up for the job.
Then Stacey immediately said, "Mal? Come on. Out with it. You know you've got a crush on Ben."
"Well . . . well, maybe I -I do," Mal spluttered.
"He is cute," said Stacey.
Mallory twisted her head back and looked up at Stacey. "He's adorable," she corrected her. "He's even got cute glasses."
Everyone laughed.
Mallory got to her feet then and stood at Claudia's window. The Hobarts were outside, as usual. This time, James was on a skateboard, Mathew was riding his bike, and Ben was helping Johnny balance on another skateboard.
"Ben is an awfully good brother," said Mal. "And he's polite and funny."
"Is he thrifty, honest, clean, hard-working, and considerate of old ladies?" asked Claudia with a smile.
Mal turned away from the window, looking as if she were in the middle of a wonderful dream. "Yes," she replied.
"Then I think you should, you know, go after him," said Dawn.
"Me? Go after a boy?" asked Mal.
"Sure. Why not?"
"Well, okay," said Mal quickly. "I think I will."
Chapter 7.
On Friday, Charlie dropped me off at Susan's as usual. I ran up her driveway and along the Felders' front walk, and rang their doorbell. I could hear piano music and knew Susan was playing away. She didn't stop, though, when the bell rang, and she was still playing when her mother opened the door. Mrs. Felder looked tired.
"Hi," I said brightly.
"Hi, Kristy," replied Mrs. Felder. "Boy, am I glad to see you. I really need a break. This has not been one of Susan's better days. She won't leave the piano without a struggle, and trying to get her to eat lunch was like - well, you'd have thought I was asking her to eat hot peppers. She never did eat anything."
"Gosh, I'm sorry," I said.
"Anyway, pry her away from the piano if you can," Mrs. Felder went on, as I stepped
inside. "I'd love for Susan to get some fresh air today, but if you can't do that, don't worry about it."
"Okay," I replied uncertainly, thinking of the plans Mal and I had made involving the Hobart boys.
I must have sounded worried, because Mrs. Felder quickly assured me, "Really. There's nothing to be concerned about. Susan is just being stubborn today. I promise. She doesn't get violent. But she's strong, and she's great at passive resistance. If she doesn't want to eat, she simply clamps her mouth shut."
"Why didn't she want her lunch today?" I asked.
Mrs. Felder shrugged. "Lots of autistic children have eating and sleeping problems," she told me. "Susan is one of them."
I nodded. "All right. Well, I'll try to get Susan outdoors. And if she'll eat something, is that okay? Or would you rather she waited until dinner?"
"No, a snack would be fine. Try a cookie, anything. I want some food in her."
Mrs. Felder left then, as if she couldn't escape fast enough.
I watched Susan at the piano for awhile. She played intently, her head cocked to the side,
staring into space. She never looked at the keys. And of course, no music was in front of her, since she memorized everything.
"Susan," I said after awhile.
No response. Not even a flicker of her eyes.
"Susan! Susan . . . SUSAN!"
The music continued. I didn't know what she was playing, because it was something classical, and what I know about classical music could fit on a mosquito's nose.
"Susan!" I called again. I walked to the piano and stood next to her. I actually waved my hand in front of her face, as if she were a sleepwalker.
Nothing.
Then ever so carefully and gently I laid my hands on Susan's. She tried to keep playing. I tightened my grip. Susan couldn't move her fingers anymore. She had to stop playing. And you know what? For a second, or maybe even just a fraction of a second, she looked at me. I mean, she looked right into my eyes with those big brown eyes of hers. Then she lost herself in her world again. Where does her mind go? I wondered.
With my hands still on Susan's, I tried to pull her away from the piano. She wouldn't budge. I pulled harder. I could see what Mrs.
Felder meant about passive resistance. But I wasn't about to give up. I've learned plenty from my younger brothers and sisters.
Since Susan was sort of small for her age, I just moved behind her, picked her up, and carried her into the kitchen. She struggled a little, but not much.
"Okay, Susan. Time for a snack. Anything you want," I said.
Still holding one of her hands, I opened the refrigerator door. "Is there anything here you'd like?"
Susan was gazing out the window, flapping her free hand. Well, at this rate, I'd never get her to the Hobarts'. I closed the refrigerator, spotted a baggie full of homemade oatmeal cookies on the counter, grabbed a couple of them, and took Susan and the cookies outdoors.
On the way to the Hobarts', I handed her a cookie.
Susan must have been starving after her day of playing and not eating, because she took the cookie and ate it hungrily. She ate the other one, too, before we were even in the Hobarts' yard.
Since getting Susan away from the piano had taken so long, Mal, Claire, and Margo