"BSC087 - Claudia Kishi, Live From WSTO! - Martin, Ann M" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

Saved by the phone. I leaned over the radio, blocking Kristy, and picked up the receiver. "Hello, Baby-sitters Club!" I said.
"Yes, hello, dear. This is Ginger Wilder, and I was wondering if someone was free on Ч "
"And now we have for you the winner of our Host of the Month contest . . . ontest ... on-test ..." the announcer intoned (with lots of reverb).
"Aaaagh! Mrs. Wilder, can I call you back?" I said.
"Oh, my. Is something wrong?" Mrs. Wilder asked.
"About five minutes, okay? Sorry!"
"Fine. I'll be h Ч "
Click.
I hung up. I cannot believe how rude I was. Around me were six dropped jaws and twelve bewildered eyes.
I turned up the radio. "We have read them all," the announcer said. "And they were ter-rrrrri/ic! But we believe we have a winner. The first place essay for the WSTO Ho-o-o-o-st of the Month contest was written by . . ."
A drumroll began. I wanted to die. I was sitting there with my stomach inside out, and they were playing a drumrolll
"Would you mind telling us what is going on here?" Kristy said testily.
"Sssshhhh!" I hissed.
"Claaaaaaaaudia Kishiiiiiiiiii!" blared the announcer.
I did not react. I did not even smile. I couldn't. My body had frozen and my heart had stopped.
No. It was a joke. He was kidding. Or he was wrong. He read the wrong name. That had to be it.
"Claudia is an eighth-grader at Stoneybrook Middle School who likes art, reading mysteries, and fine dining . . ."
"Fine dining?" Kristy murmured.
"Aaaaaaaaaaagh!" I shrieked. "I won! I won!"
I jumped up and started falaping around the room.
Everyone else was staring at the radio as if it had suddenly grown horns.
"So, Claudia," the announcer went on, "if you're within the sound of my voice right now, please call five-five-five-WSTO. To repeat, that's Ч "
I was already on the W.
The phone rang on the other end Ч once, twice, three times.
I thought I would faint.
I caught Mary Anne's glance. She was grinning at me. Tears were forming in her eyes.
Finally I heard a male voice say, "WSTO, Radio Stoneybrook."
"Huck Ч heck Ч hum . . ."
Lovely. I'd won the contest of my dreams, and a frog had jumped down my throat.
"Excuse me, could you speak louder?" the voice asked.
"I'm Caudia Klishi!" I stammered.
"Yes, what can I do for you?"
"Claudia Kishi! I'm Claudia Kishi! I won the Host Contest!"
"Oh! Hey, congratulations! That was some essay!"
"Thanks."
"Listen, the station manager, Mr. Bullock, would like to tell you about the job in person. Say, tomorrow after school? Four-thirty or so?"
"Sure!"
He gave me directions. I grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled them down on a candy wrapper.
After blabbering a good-bye, I calmly, quietly hung up.
"Ya-hoooo!" Kristy whooped.
The room exploded. Mary Anne and Dawn threw their arms around me. Jessi and Mal jumped up and down, squealing.
"You're a star!" Dawn said.
"How come you didn't tell us you entered?" Kristy asked.
"I wanted it to be a surprise!" I explained.
For the rest of the meeting we talked about nothing else. I celebrated by digging out a box of Hostess chocolate cupcakes. (We almost forgot to call Mrs. Wilder back.)
I could not wait to tell my family the news.
Chapter 4.
You know who's really, really great? My sister, Janine. I mean it.
Here's what happened when I broke the news at dinner: Mom and Dad smiled. Then Mom asked if the show would interfere with my schoolwork. Dad wanted to know if I would be paid.
Janine? She immediately ran into the kitchen. When she returned, she had a bottle of ginger ale and four wine glasses.