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

"Maybe I am shy," I said loudly, edging toward the door. "And maybe I am quiet, but you guys cannot step all over me. You want to know what I think? I think you, Stacey, are a conceited snob; and you, Claudia, are a stuck-up job-hog; and you, Kristin Amanda Thomas, are the biggest, bossiest know-it-all in the world, and I don't care if I never see you again!"
I let myself out of Claudia's room, slamming the door behind me so hard that the walls shook. Then I ran down the stairs. Behind me, I could hear Claudia, Stacey, and Kristy yelling at each other. As I reached the Kishis' front hall, Claudia's door slammed again. Two more pairs of legs thundered down the stairs.
I ran home, half hoping that either Kristy or Stacey would call after me. But neither one did.
Chapter 2.
The last thing I wanted to do after our big fight was eat dinner with Dad, but he expects us to have a proper meal in the evening. Sometimes he fixes it, sometimes I do, but we always sit down in the kitchen and eat dinner at 6:30.
Luckily, Dad was still at work when I got home from Claudia's that night. I was crying, and in no mood to speak to anybody. I slammed angrily around the kitchen. I took a pan of leftover pot roast out of the refrigerator, slammed the fridge shut, stuck the pan in the oven, and slammed the oven shut. Then I got out plates and glasses, knives and forks, and slammed two cabinets and a drawer. I banged the things down on the table one at a time. Eight bangs.
Then I went upstairs to wash my face. By
the time Dad got home I looked a lot better and felt a little better.
"Mary Anne?" he called.
"Coming," I answered. I headed down the stairs, my hair neatly combed, my blouse tucked carefully into my skirt, my kneesocks pulled up and straightened. Dad says it's important to look nice at mealtime.
"Hi," I said.
"Hello, Mary Anne." He leaned over so I could kiss his cheek. "Is dinner started?"
"Yes." (Dad hates when people say yeah. He also hates shut up, hey, gross, retarded, and a long list of other words that creep into my vocabulary whenever I'm not around him.) "I'm heating up the pot roast."
"That's fine," said Dad. "Let's just toss a salad. That will make a nice dinner."
Dad and I got out lettuce, tomatoes, a cucumber, and some carrots. We chopped and tossed silently. In no time, a crisp salad was sitting in a glass bowl in the center of the kitchen table. My father took the pot roast out of the oven and served up two portions.
We sat down and bowed our heads while Dad said grace. At the end, just before the "Amen," he asked God to watch over Alma. (Alma is my mother.) He does that before
every meal, as far as I know, and sometimes I think he overdoes things. After all, my mother has been dead for almost eleven years. I bless her at night before I go to sleep, and it seems to me that that ought to be enough.
"Well, how was your day, Mary Anne?"
"Fine," I replied.
"How did you do on your spelling test?"
I took a bite of salad, even though I wasn't a bit hungry. "Fine. I got a ninety-nine. It was Ч "
"Mary Anne, please don't speak with your mouth full."
I swallowed. "I got a ninety-nine," I repeated. "It was the highest grade in the class."
"That's wonderful. I'm very proud of you. Your studying paid off."
I nodded.
"Did you have a meeting of your club this afternoon?" he asked.
"Yeah . . . yes."
Kristy, Claudia, and Stacey are all surprised that Dad allows me to be in the club and to do so much baby-sitting. What they don't know is that the only reason he likes our business is that he thinks it teaches me responsibility and how to plan ahead, save money, and that sort of thing.
"What went on? Anything special?" Dad attempted a smile.
I shook my head. There was no way I was going to tell him about the fight we'd had.
"Well," said Dad, trying hard to make conversation, "my case went . . . went very well today. Quite smoothly, really. I feel certain that we're going to win."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I didn't know what case he was talking about, but I had a feeling I should have known. He'd probably told me about it. "That's great, Dad."
"Yes. Thank you."
We ate in silence for several minutes.
"This case is interesting because it demonstrates the extreme importance of honesty in business dealings," he said finally. "Always remember that, Mary Anne. Be scrupulously honest and fair. It will serve you in good stead."
"All right, Dad."
We ate in silence again, and it dawned on me that Dad and I sat across from each other at that table twice a day each weekday and three times a day on the weekends. If a meal averaged half an hour, that meant we spent over four hundred hours a year eating together, trying to make conversation Ч and we barely
knew what to say to each other. He might as well have been a stranger I just happened to share food with sixteen times a week.
I pushed my pot roast around my plate.
"You're not eating, Mary Anne/' my father said. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Yes, fine."
"Are you sure? You weren't filling up on snacks at the Kishis', were you?"
"No, Dad, I sw Ч I promise. I guess I'm just not very hungry."
"Well, try to eat your vegetables, at least. Then you may start your homework."
Dad made starting my homework sound like some kind of reward.
I forced down as much as I could manage. Then my father turned the radio on and listened to classical music while we cleaned up the kitchen. At last I escaped to my bedroom.
I sat down at my desk and opened my math book. A clean sheet of paper lay before me, along with two sharpened pencils and a pink eraser. But I couldn't concentrate. Before I had made so much as a mark on the paper, I got up and flopped down on my bed.
I remembered calling my friends: a conceited snob; a stuck-up job-hog; and the biggest, bossiest know-it-all in the world. I sincerely
wished I hadn't said those things.
Then I remembered being called a baby and being told to shut up. I sincerely wished Stacey and Kristy hadn't said those things.