"Martin, Ann M - BSC049 - Claudia And The Genius On Elm St." - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

Rosie rolled her eyes, giving me that I-can't-believe-she-doesn't-know look. "Sheet music," she said. She held it up to me.
"Oh," I said. "Is that your audition song?"
"Mm-hm." She pressed it open on the table. Then she took a bite of tuna salad and began humming. Soon her body was moving in rhythm, as if she were practicing.
I waited awhile, then said, "I thought you knew it just great the other day." With a big, complimentary smile, I added, "I can't even imagine why you'd need to practice Ч I mean, rehearse."
Rosie swallowed her tuna salad and said, "You don't know, Claudia. When you go to an audition, you're up against dozens of other kids with just as much talent as you. Not only do you have to be perfect, but you have to bring a special something to it. Something that sets you apart. And the only way you can do that is by rehearsing."
Rosie said that speech as if she had memorized it. She probably had, too. I was sure
some agent or director had told her that. Maybe even Ginger Wilder.
"It's the same way with art," I said. Then I thought of a joke Stacey's father once told us in New York City. "Hey, Rosie, how do you get to Carnegie Hall?" I asked.
Rosie scrunched up her brow. "Well, you take the train to Ч "
"Practice!" I said.
"Huh?"
"Practice," I repeated. "That's how you get to Carnegie Hall. You practice." (For a moment I thought I might be using the wrong punch line. Was I supposed to say "rehearse"?)
Rosie gave me her famous stare. Then she put on this huge, fake smile and said, "Ha, ha, ha. Very funny."
And that was when I figured out why her smile looked familiar. In my mind I could see that same smile, but on a slightly younger girl, with one tooth missing. The girl had spilled a glass of chocolate milk, and her mom was going crazy over the stain on their rug.
"Rosie," I said, "were you in a TV commercial for a carpet cleaner?"
"Up 'n' Out Cleaner," Rosie said with a nod. "My dad says if s my college tuition."
I tried to figure that one out. "I don't get it."
"Residuals," Rosie whined. "You know . . . you get a check for every time the commercial airs, and it gets put in a trust fund. Then, when it's time to go to college, you have tons of money."
"Oh," I said.
Suddenly I wasn't hungry. Rosie was the girl on that dumb commercial! Not only did she have talent and brains, but she was rich . . . and famous. For spilling chocolate milk and smiling!
Rosie had already done more in her life than I probably ever would. She had even set aside money for college.
With a sigh, Rosie closed the music and got up. "I have to do science homework before my rehearsal." She took her plate to the sink. "Can you help me? It's a lot of work."
Maybe I could have helped her. But I didn't even want to try. The first words out of my mouth were, "I'll call my sister, Janine. She's a geЧ she's really smart in science."
Rosie shrugged. "If you want. I think I'll do it on the front steps. It's stuffy in here."
As she walked toward the front door, I called home.
Fortunately Janine answered. "Kishi residence."
"Hi, Janine, ifs me," I said.
"Hi, me," answered Janine. That's her idea of humor.
"Remember that favor we talked about yesterday?" I asked.
"Yup," Janine replied. "What's the address, 477 Elm?"
"Yeah."
"I'll be right over."
Thank goodness for Janine. Sometimes it really pays to have a brain for a sister.
I took my backpack and headed for the porch slo-o-o-o-wty (I hoped Janine would arrive soon and I wouldn't be stuck answering questions).
Rosie was sitting on the stoop, hunched over a textbook. She had put on a pair of tortoise-shell glasses that made her look even smarter than usual.
An old wicker chair was off to one side. I sat in it, pulled out my sketch pad, and began drawing.
Rosie didn't even look at me. Obviously she had given up thinking I knew anything.
Janine showed up around four-fifteen. I hopped out of the chair and said, "Rosie, this is my sister, Janine."
"I know," said Rosie. (I knew she'd say that.)
"Hi," Janine said shyly.
"Hi," replied Rosie. "You're good in science?"
"Pretty good," said Janine.
That was an understatement! "She's won all kinds of awards," I blurted out.
"Yeah?" said Rosie.
Janine sat down next to her. "Sort of. What do you need help in?"
For the next forty minutes or so, I felt as if I were in a foreign country. Finally I returned to my chair. I couldn't understand half of what was being said. Janine, in her glasses, was explaining things about animal migration and habitats. Rosie, in her glasses, was nodding and asking intelligent-sounding questions.
And Claudia Kishi, with no glasses, was drawing half a Twinkie. I felt about as useful as an oar on a speedboat.
You'd think even geniuses would get tired of talking about homework after awhile. Not those two. No joking around, no chatting, no fun at all.
A little before five o'clock, I heard Rosie say, "That's the last question."
I looked up from my Twinkie. Janine was still sitting up straight, with her hands folded in her lap. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked.