"Martin, Ann M - Baby-sitters Club Mystery 022 - Stacey and the Haunted Masquerade" - читать интересную книгу автора (Martin Ann M)

for a decorations committee. And it's not, really. But for me, it was a symbolic step. See, lately I've been feeling as if I need something new in my life. I mean, I'm thrilled to be part of the BSC again, don't get me wrong. But lately I've wanted to be more active at school.
I need the chance to prove myself, to have fun, to be involved. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that working on the Halloween dance was the perfect opportunity.
It wasn't hard to figure out which committee to join. The tickets committee sounded totally boring, and being on the refreshments committee wouldn't be my thing either. The decorations committee would be fun, creative, and active, just what I was looking for.
I felt even better about my decision when I walked into school that morning and saw the sign-up sheets posted on the main bulletin board. The decorations committee definitely had the best faculty advisor. Claud has Mrs. Hall for English, and I hear she's pretty decent.
The first bell rang as I was standing there looking at the bulletin board. I needed to run for my locker if I was going to make it to homeroom on time. I skidded through the halls, feeling psyched. I couldn't wait to return at the end of the day and find out who else
had signed up for the committee.
I thought about ideas for decorations during homeroom (Ms. Levine had to call my name three times before I finally answered) and through all my morning classes. I was full of creative plans. For example, I thought we should steer away from the typical orange-and-black color scheme. Why be traditional? Why not use, say, red and purple?
ItТs funny. Everybody (including me) is used to thinking of Claudia as the artist, the talented one. But I can be creative, too. ItТs true that I can't draw or paint the way she can, but I know I have a strong sense of style. During social studies class, I suddenly remembered something that happened when I was in sixth grade, when I lived in Manhattan. My mom had a friend who was an interior designer, and one day she saw my room. She was very impressed when she found out that I had done all my own decorating (at that time I was into an Art Deco look), and she told my mom that I had a "good eye," and that I could be a designer like her when I grew up.
Maybe being on the decorating committee was going to be the start of a whole new direction for me!
I was still thinking about decorating ideas when I walked into English class, my second-to-last class of the day. I took my seat and
started to sketch out some plans for a fake gallows, which I thought would make a great set for the stage where the band would be playing. Mr. Fiske was taking attendance, so I didn't really need to pay attention yet. I was lost in my drawing when I felt somebody nudge me, and I turned just in time to see Amanda Martin toss a folded-up note onto my desk. I opened it and read it.
New guy? I hadn't noticed any new guy. But when I glanced around, I spotted him immediately. He was sitting right next to me, and when I looked at him he gave me a big smile. He was cute (but not nearly as cute as Robert), with straight blond hair and brown eyes. He wore a blue denim shirt and khakis, and he was leaning his chair back on two legs, looking totally mellow. I was impressed. I doubt I ever appeared that relaxed when I was new at SMS.
I turned Amanda's note over and wrote on the other side.
I tossed her the note just as Mr. Fiske was finishing up attendance. Amanda opened it,
read it, looked at me, and shrugged. I looked back at the new boy, and he smiled at me again. This time, he even added a wink. I felt myself blushing.
Just then, Mr. Fiske put down his attendance book and sat on the corner of his desk. "People, may I have your attention?" he asked.
"I can tell you want attention just by looking at your tie," cracked Rick Chow, who was sitting in the front row. Everybody laughed, including Mr. Fiske. He's the kind of teacher you can joke with.
"Like it?" he asked, looking down at his tie. Mr. Fiske is known for his silly ties, and this one was no exception. It was bright yellow, and it was covered with red punctuation marks: exclamation points, question marks, commas, you name it. Just the thing for an English teacher.
"Very tasteful," called out the new boy. "Simple, yet elegant."
Everybody cracked up again.
"Why, thank you, Gary," said Mr. Fiske. "You may be new in town, but obviously you've already spotted the best-dressed teacher at SMS." He gave the new boy a little bow. "Class, I'd like you to welcome Cary Retlin. Cary just moved here from Ч " he checked a card on his desk " Ч Oak Hill,
Illinois. Welcome to SMS, Gary."
Cary smiled. "Thanks," he said. "This seems like a cool school." He was still leaning back in his chair.
"Cool enough," said Mr. Fiske. "Now, for today we're going to do a little free reading while I meet with each of you privately to go over last week's quiz. Gary, if you need a book there are plenty on the shelves over there." He waved toward the back of the room.
Free reading time in Mr. Fiske's class is generally an excuse to hang out. Some kids really do read, but most of us use the time to trade gossip or talk about what movies we saw over the weekend. Mr. Fiske doesn't mind too much, as long as he knows we keep up with our reading at home.
I pulled out my book, but I couldn't concentrate with everybody around me talking. I noticed that Cary was already engaged in a whispered discussion about sports with some of the guys. He seemed completely at ease, talking and laughing and cracking jokes.
Mr. Fiske called me up to his desk and reviewed my quiz with me. I'd done pretty well Ч I missed only two questions Ч so it didn't take long. -As I returned to my seat, I saw that Cary was tipped back in his chair again. The kids around him were laughing as he read out
loud in a funny voice from the book he'd chosen.
Suddenly, just as I passed by him, Gary's chair tipped too far over, and dumped him onto the floor. The room was silent for a second as the other kids stopped talking and laughing, out of surprise. I let out a loud giggle. I just couldn't help myself. Cary glanced up at me, and an odd expression crossed his face, an expression I couldn't quite read. Was he angry? Were his feelings hurt?
I stopped giggling and held out my hand to help him up. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm fine," he said. By then he was grinning again. He turned to face the rest of the class. "And the judges are holding up their score-cards," he said, pretending to speak into a microphone. "Retlin is receiving some pretty high marks for that dive! Eight point six, eight point seven, eight point four, and Ч this is amazing! Ч nine point seven from the Canadian judge! Retlin is in first place!" Cary held his hands over his head and acknowledged pretend cheers from a pretend audience. "Thank you, thank you."
"Mr. Retlin," said Mr. Fiske, in a warning tone.
Cary sat down, but not before he'd given me another smile and a wink. I shook my
head, as if to dear it. This guy was a real live wire. English class was definitely going to be more interesting from now on.
Later, after math class, I made a dash for the bulletin board. I couldn't wait to see who else had signed up for the decorating committee. As I moved closer to the sign-up sheets, I could see that a few names were listed after mine. I walked up to the board and started reading. "Ride Chow, Todd Long, Grace Blume Ч " So far, the list looked fine. My friends and I didn't used to like Grace much, but lately we've discovered that she can be okay. I peered closer at the last name on the list, which was written quickly and sloppily. And when I'd deciphered it, my heart sank. Cokie Mason. Great.
Cokie (who is Grace Blume's best friend) is probably my least favorite person at SMS. She's petty, small-minded, devious, and totally unscrupulous. (ThatТs one of Mr. Fiske's vocabulary words. It means "without scruples." Cokie wouldn't know a scruple if it bit her.) I know that description makes her sound more like a soap opera character than an eighth-grade girl, but itТs true. Cokie will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and the BSC has been "Cokified" more than once. Believe it or not, one time she even went so far as to try to steal Logan away from sweet, sensitive,
wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Mary Anne. (I could have smacked her for that.)
I turned away from the bulletin board, trying to fight my disappointment. I had been looking forward to the first meeting of the decorating committee, but now I wasn't so eager. Still, I had to make the best of it, and not let Cokie ruin things for me. After all, why give her the satisfaction?
Chapter 4.
"Welcome! I am the Gatekeeper!"
"Nice to meet you, Gatekeeper," said Abby, shaking Nicky's hand. "Still looking for that Keymaster, are you?"
"How did you know?" asked Nicky, Mallory's eight-year-old brother. He dropped the deep voice he'd put on when he answered Abby's knock at the Pikes' front door. He'd been imitating a character from Ghostbusters.
"I'm a CPG," said Abby matter-of-factly.
"A what?" asked Nicky.
"A CPG," repeated Abby. "A Certified Public Ghostbuster. I'd show you my badge, but I left it at home."
Nicky's eyes grew round. Then he turned and ran toward the living room. "Hey, guys! Guys!" he shouted. "Guess what?"
Abby turned to Mal, who had answered the door along with Nicky, and grinned. Mal grinned back. "He's impressed," she said. "They just watched Ghostbusters Ч again. I can't believe they're not tired of it yet." Then she turned and called out, "Hey, everybody! Come say hi to Abby."
It was a rainy, gloomy Saturday afternoon, which meant that the Pike home was crammed with bored kids who had been stuck inside all morning. Abby and Mal were sitting while Mr. and Mrs. Pike went to a wedding.
Now, Abby had already met the Pikes, but just barely. ThatТs why, Mal told us later, she was so impressed by the way Abby remembered all their names, plus something about each one of them.
"Hey, Jordan," she said, as one of Mal's ten-year-old brothers (there are three: they're identical triplets) barreled into the front hall. "How are the piano lessons going?"