"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club 004 - Mary Anne Saves the Day" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

"Gee," I said slowly, "I don't know."
"Well, how old is he?"
"Let's see. He's forty-one. . . . No, he's forty-two. Forty-two. That's right."
"Really? So's my mom!"
"You're kidding! I bet they did know each other. Let's go ask my father."
We were racing down the hall and had just reached the head of .the stairs when Dad appeared at the bottom. "Mary Anne," he said, "I've got to go into the office for several hours. I'll be back this afternoon. You may heat up that casserole for lunch. Dawn is welcome to stay, all right?"
"Okay. Thanks, Dad. See you later."
Dawn nudged me with her elbow. I knew she wanted me to ask Dad about Mrs. Schafer, but it wasn't the right time. Dad was in a
hurry, and he doesn't like to be bothered with questions when he's rushing off somewhere.
As soon as he left, Dawn said, slightly accusingly, "Why didn't you ask him?"
"It wasn't a good time. Believe me. Besides, I have another idea. His yearbooks are in the den. Let's go look at them. I used to go through them all the time when I was little, but I bet I haven't opened one since I was nine."
"Oh goody, yearbooks!" said Dawn.
In the den, we stood before a bookcase with a row of heavy old yearbooks in it.
"Why are there so many?" asked Dawn.
"They're my mother's and my father's Ч high school and college. So there are sixteen in all. Now let's see. Here are the Stoneybrook High yearbooks. These are Dad's, since my mother grew up in Maryland. Which one should we look at first?"
"His senior yearbook," Dawn answered immediately. "It'll have the biggest pictures. What year is this? Oh, this is the year my mom graduated, too! So they were in the same class. I bet they did know each other."
Dawn pulled the book off the shelf, and I blew the dust from the cover. "Yiick," I said. We stopped for a moment to look at the book. The year Dad had graduated was printed across the cover in large, white raised numbers.
We opened it gingerly, as if it would fall apart.
"Here are the seniors," said Dawn, turning to the front of the book. We peered at row after row of black and white photos, the students looking funny and old-fashioned. Under each picture was a little paragraph, words that meant nothing to Dawn and me. Inside jokes, I guessed. I wondered if the people who had composed them would know what they meant twenty-five years later. Under one boy's photo was written: "Thumpers . . . Apple Corps . . . Arnie and Gertrude . . . S.A.B." Under a girl's was written: " '61 White Phantom Chevy . . . 'Broc' junior homeroom . . . 'Rebel Rousers' & George." And one boy had written something that Dawn and I decided must be a code: E.S.R., A.T., DUDE, FIBES, G.F.R. ... ALRIGHT.
"He spelled 'all right' all wrong," Dawn remarked.
Then we started laughing. "Look at that girl's hair!" I shrieked. "It looks like she blew it up with a bicycle pump!"
Dawn rolled over on the floor, giggling. "It's called a bouffant or a pompadour or something."
"My dad has tons of old records," I said, pulling albums off of a shelf and showing them
to Dawn. "They're all girl singers. He's got Connie Francis, Shelley Fabares, and Brenda Lee, and here are some groups Ч the Shirelles, the Marvelettes, and Martha Reeves and the Vandellas. Look at that girl in the yearbook Ч her hair looks just like Shelley Fabares' hair on this album!"
Dawn started laughing again. "Now let's find your dad," she said at last.
The seniors were in alphabetical order. We flipped through until we reached the S's.
"There he is!" I cried, jabbing at the picture in the upper lefthand corner of a page. "There he is! Oh, wow, I forgot how weird he looks! He doesn't look like my father at all. He looks . . . like an alien!"
"He was only seventeen, I guess, but somehow he looks a lot older," Dawn pointed out.
"He had a crewcut! Let's see what's under his picture. . . . This is weird. It says: 'To S.E.P. : Don't walk in front of me Ч I may not follow. Don't walk behind me Ч I may not lead. Walk beside me Ч and just be my friend. Ч Camus.' Who's Camus?" I asked.
"Beats me," Dawn replied, "but S.E.P. Ч those were my mother's initials before she got married."
Dawn and I looked at each other with wide eyes.
"Quick!" exclaimed Dawn. "Turn to the P's! We're looking for Sharon Porter."
Frantically, we flipped the pages back.
"Stop! We're in the M's!"
We went forward a few pages.
"There she is!" shouted Dawn. "Sharon Emerson Porter. That's all it says under her picture. Just her name. No quotes or silly stuff."
"But she signed Dad's yearbook," I said, looking at the scrawly message in blue ink that covered Sharon Porter's face.
We leaned over.
" 'Dearest Richie/ " Dawn read.
"Richie!" I cried. "No one calls him Richie."
Mystified, Dawn read on." Tour years weren't enough. Let's start over. How can we part? We have one more summer. Hold on to it, Richie. (Love is blind.) Always and forever, Sharon.' "
"I guess they did know each other," said Dawn at last.
"I'll say," I said. "I'll say."
Ill
Chapter 11.
Dawn and I practically suffered dual heart attacks after reading what was written in my dad's yearbook. We agreed not to mention our discovery to our parents, although we weren't sure why we wanted to keep the secret.
We spent the rest of the day hashing it over. Then on Sunday we went through Dawn's mother's yearbook. The book was hard to find, since it was still packed away. We finally located it at the bottom of a carton labeled
KITCHEN.
"Kitchen?" I said to Dawn.
She shrugged. "Don't ask."