Claudia and Mean Janine (3 page)

On Sunday evening, the night before the first session of the Baby-sitters Club's play group, my parents went out to dinner. They left Mimi and Janine and me on our own, which we don't mind at all. Mimi usually fixes a special meal—not a Japanese meal, but one that we like and don't get to eat very often.

As soon as Mom and Dad had left, Mimi and I went into the kitchen.

“What shall I fix tonight, my Claudia?” Mimi asked.

“Mmm,” I said thoughtfully. “We could have spaghetti and meatballs, or we could have breakfast-at-dinner, or—”

“Or I could prepare tiny pizzas.”

I laughed. “Mini-pizzas, Mimi,” I said. “They're called mini-pizzas.”

“That I will never be able to say,” replied
Mimi, “for Minnie is the mouse. It does not make sense.”

“Mouse pizzas!” I exclaimed.

It was Mimi's turn to laugh. “I have an idea,” she said. “Would you like a special breakfast-at-dinner? I could prepare waffles in the waffle iron.”

(Mimi pronounces
iron
the way it's spelled: eye-ron.)

“Oh, yum! We haven't done that in months! Do we have toppings?” I asked.

“We have butter and syrup and whipped cream and fresh strawberries.”

“Oh, boy!”

“Would you please ask your sister if she wants waffles, my Claudia?”

“Okay,” I replied. I knew Janine would want waffles. She always goes along with whatever the rest of us have decided.

I found Janine in her room. She was in front of her computer, naturally. A future physicist has to work hard.

“Do you want waffles for dinner?” I asked her abruptly. “That's what Mimi and I chose.”

Janine looked up from the keyboard. “You already chose waffles?” she repeated. (I'd
just said so, hadn't I?) “Sure. Waffles are fine. How come you didn't ask me what I wanted?”

“I'm asking you now.”

“They're fine,” Janine said again. Sighing, she turned back to the computer.

I stuck my tongue out at her and ran downstairs.

“Waffles are fine!” I told Mimi.

“Very good. Would you set the kitchen table, please? I will start making the batter.”

We went to work. I love to help Mimi in the kitchen. I don't know why Janine doesn't. Of course, we hardly ever remember to ask her.

Soon the table was set. I poured glasses of orange juice and spooned out little bowls of leftover fruit salad. Then I called Janine to the table.

Mimi had put the waffle eye-ron by her plate. She would make the waffles right at the table. The eye-ron was big and old-fashioned. I loved to watch Mimi work it. She would turn it on, then test it with water to see if it was hot enough. If the drops of water bounced off the skillet, it was ready. Then Mimi would brush it with butter, pour on some batter, and close the lid.
Hissss!
Somehow she always knew just when to lift the lid for a perfect golden brown waffle.

Mimi started cooking and we started eating.

When we'd each eaten one waffle, Mimi began again.

“Boy,” I said, as the eye-ron hissed, “do I ever have a big day tomorrow.”

Janine looked up with interest. “What are you going to do?”

“First of all,” I said, “our play group starts in the morning.”

“I trust you are prepared for it, both financially and phy—”

“We're all set,” I said, cutting Janine off.

“Tell us again how your play group will work, my Claudia,” said Mimi.

“Well,” I said, “it's kind of like a nursery school, and kind of like a day camp. It will run from nine till twelve-thirty on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. Anyone who wants to bring their kids by for the morning is welcome to. We won't have an attendance list or anything. We just plan to keep things … um …”

“Flexible?” suggested Janine.

“Loose,” I said, frowning at her.

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” I went on, “we've told the Newtons, the Pikes, the Barretts, and all our regular customers about the play group. And we'll have arts and crafts and story time and stuff. I think
everyone will have fun.”

“And, Janine, what do you plan to do tomorrow?” asked Mimi.

Janine took a large bite of waffle. “The usual,” she replied. “School.”

“You are enjoying your computer studies?”

“Oh, immensely,” said Janine. “Programming is so logical. And once you master the basics, it can be … um …”

“Boring?” I suggested.

“Thrilling.” Janine gave me a dirty look.

“What are you doing tomorrow, Mimi?” I asked.

“I am not certain, my Claudia. I was invited to a tea, but I have been a little tired. I will see how I feel tomorrow.”

“Mimi, you should rest more,” I said.

“Yes, you should,” added Janine. “You work awfully hard. And you
look
tired.”

“Do not worry about me,” said Mimi. “Who would like another waffle?”

“Me!” I replied.

“I,”
said Janine.

“Well, it's not like she didn't know what I meant,” I said. “Me, I, what's the difference?”

“The difference is that in the case of an indirect—”

“Girls, that is enough for now,” said Mimi gently. “What would you like to do after our breakfast-at-dinner? ”

“Watch TV,” I said.

“Well, I was going to do some more work,” said Janine, “but maybe—I mean, if you both want to, we could play The Trivia Game.”

“You are willing to play with us?” Mimi asked Janine, looking as surprised as I felt.

“Yes,” she said. “If you
want
to,” she repeated hesitantly.

“I would like to play,” said Mimi. “How about you, my Claudia?”

I absolutely hate The Trivia Game. I'm no good at it, and Janine knows it, which may be why she asked us to play. I'm not a good student, and I don't care about history or geography or science. What I like are mysteries and art. There are questions in The Trivia Game about art and literature—about paintings and books and stuff—but they're really difficult. I bet hardly any of them are about Nancy Drew.

However, I knew Mimi would want me to play, so I agreed to.

We cleaned up the mess from our breakfast-at-dinner and set up the game on the kitchen table. Janine chose a blue playing piece, Mimi chose
yellow, and I chose red. We rolled the dice. I got to go first.

I managed to land on a space for a literature question.

Janine pulled a card from the box. “‘The McWhirter twins originated the idea for what book?'” she asked. “Hey, you know this one, Claudia! It's easy.”

“It is not. And I do not. Know it, I mean.”

“Yes, you do. You have this book in your room. You really like it.”

Well, now I was feeling stupid. See why I hate this game?

“The Phantom of Pine Hill,”
I said sarcastically.

“No!” cried Janine. “Be serious. Come on!”

“Janine, tell Claudia the answer, please,” said Mimi. “She does not know it.”

“It's
The Guinness Book of World Records,
silly.”

“It's
The Guinness Book of World Records,
silly,” I mimicked her.

Janine ignored me. “My turn!” She rolled the dice and landed on a geography space.

Mimi read her a question. “‘The equator passes through what three South American countries?'”

“Ecuador, Brazil, and Colombia,” replied Janine without even thinking. And also managing to say them with a perfect Spanish accent.

What did she do—memorize all five thousand game questions?

Janine rolled again. And again and again and again. She answered one question after another and was halfway to winning before it was Mimi's turn.

Mimi got three right in a row.

My turn again. Unfortunately, I landed on a history spot. That's my worst subject of all.

“‘Who was known as the Little Corporal?'” asked Janine.

I hadn't the vaguest idea. “Kermit the Frog,” I replied.

Janine made a face at me. “No. Napoleon Bonaparte.” She didn't even check the answer on the back of the card.

“You're making that up!” I accused her. “Show me the card!”

Janine showed me. “See? It
was
Napoleon Bonaparte.”

(Who was Napoleon Bone-apart?)

Janine's turn. She went around and around the board, and then managed to land in the special space for her final question.

“Goody. We get to choose the category,” I said to Mimi. “Let's give her sports.”

“All right,” said Mimi, smiling.

I pulled out the next card. “‘What was Babe Ruth's actual name?'”

“Oh, easy,” said Janine. “It was George Herman. That's it. I won!”

“Cheater!” I cried. “You looked! You must have looked!”

“I did not,” Janine retorted. “I just knew it.”

“Nerd!”

Janine slammed the board shut and walked off in a huff.

“Claudia,” said Mimi, “that was not nice. It was not called for.”

“But, Mimi!” I couldn't think of anything to say. Mimi was right. Janine hadn't cheated and I knew it. Janine would never cheat. “Mimi … Oh, you just take Janine's side because she's smarter than I am. Mom and Dad love her more because she's smarter, and I bet you do, too!”

Mimi closed her eyes. “I am very tired, Claudia. I think I will go to bed now.”

“But it's only eight o'clock,” I said.

“Good night, Claudia.”

Mimi rose and walked slowly toward her bedroom. She closed her door.

I felt terrible. I sat at the kitchen table and stared at the folded-up game board and the scattered playing pieces. Mimi was hardly ever cross with me.

After a while, Janine came back. “Where's Mimi?” she asked.

“She went to bed already.”

“Oh. Well, I wanted to say that in case you're wondering, I won't tell Mom and Dad about
The Phantom of Pine Hill.”

“Huh?”

“You made a mistake earlier.”

“While we were playing the game? Yeah, you're right. I made lots of them.”

“What I mean is that when I asked you about the book the McWhirter twins originated, and said that you have a copy of it in your room, you answered the question with,
‘The Phantom of Pine Hill.'
Now, you know that Mom and Dad
don't permit you the Nancy Drew serial, so you are probably regretting the fact that you accidentally admitted that a book from that serial is in your room. I just wanted to assure you that I will not report this to Mom and Dad. I'm also assuming that Mimi knows about Nancy Drew and has agreed to a pact of silence. Is that correct?”

I wasn't entirely sure what Janine was saying. I had a lot of food hidden in my room, but no cereal. And until Janine brought it up, I hadn't even realized what I'd said about Nancy Drew. However, I decided that “thanks” might be a safe answer.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You're welcome. Am I right about Mimi? She knows about Nancy Drew?”

I sighed. “You're right. But you're wrong about the cereal.”

Janine looked confused. Then she sat down across from me and shook her head. “Goodness,” she said.

“What?”

“I—sometimes I wish I were as close to Mimi as you are.”

“Well, maybe if you'd leave your computer alone for fifteen minutes, you'd be closer to all of
us. You act like you're married to that thing. Does it make a nice husband?”

Janine rolled her eyes. “That's ridiculous!”

“Oh, so now I'm stupid
and
ridiculous!” I shouted.

Janine opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, we heard a heavy thud. It sounded as if it had come from the first floor, not too far away. Over at Kristy's, that thud could have been her collie, Louie, letting himself inside, or one of her brothers fooling around. But we don't have any pets, and the only other person at home was Mimi.

My eyes met Janine's.

Without a word, as if we were acting as one person, we leaped up from the table and dashed out of the kitchen and through the dining room and living room to Mimi's closed door.

Janine knocked on it.

Right up until that moment, I didn't think anything was
really
wrong. I was sure we would hear Mimi answer, “Come in,” maybe sounding a little cross.

But there was no answer.

“Maybe she's asleep already,” I suggested.

“Maybe.” Janine opened the door a crack, just wide enough for us to see that Mimi's light was on.

“Mimi?” Janine said.

Still no answer.

Janine opened the door all the way.

I screamed.

Janine gasped.

Mimi was lying on the floor in a heap. Before she fell, she must have been getting undressed to go to bed, because she was wearing only her blouse, her slip, and her stockings. Her shoes were lined up neatly next to the closet door.

“She's been murdered!” I shrieked.

“No she hasn't,” said Janine. “But I think she had a heart attack or something.”

“Is she dead?” I asked.

We both knelt next to Mimi. She looked so little, all crumpled on the floor. Her eyes were shut, and she was as white as a sheet.

Janine took her wrist in one hand. “I can feel her pulse! Claudia, call nine-one-one.”

There was a phone on Mimi's nightstand. I lunged for it and called the paramedics. “My grandmother had a heart attack!” I blurted out as soon as someone picked up the phone.

“Tell them she's unconscious,” said Janine.

“She's unconscious,” I said. “Please hurry.” I gave the person our name, address, and phone number, and hung up.

“What should we do?” I wailed.

Janine bit her lip. She was still holding Mimi's hand, patting it gently. “I don't think we're supposed to move her,” she said, “but we should keep her warm. Let's cover her with her bathrobe and try to put her slippers on. Then I'll stay in here, and you go wait outside so you can show the paramedics where to come.”

“Okay,” I replied. I got Mimi's robe and fuzzy slippers out of her closet. Janine put the slippers on while I covered Mimi. Then I ran outside and stood impatiently on our front stoop.

I heard the siren long before I saw the ambulance. At last, the ambulance screeched into our driveway, and the attendants hopped out and wheeled a stretcher up the walk in what seemed like two seconds.

“Hurry!” I said. “She's inside. I'll show you where.”

I banged through the front door with the attendants at my heels.

“Thank goodness,” said Janine when she saw us, but she stayed where she was, sitting with Mimi, until the attendants lifted Mimi onto the stretcher.

“What happened?” one asked me.

“I'm not sure,” I replied. “She said she was
tired and wanted to go to bed early. So she came in here, and a little while later we heard a thump. My sister and I ran in and found her lying on the floor. We didn't move her,” I added, “and we tried to keep her warm.”

“You did just fine,” said the man.

“What do you think is wrong?” Janine asked him. She glanced worriedly at Mimi's small, still form on the stretcher as the attendants checked her vital signs. “I guessed a heart attack, but perhaps she fell. Or it's possible that she has a head injury.”

“I don't think so. There's no sign of trauma to the head,” the attendant said. “But don't worry. She's breathing fine, which is a good sign. We'll find out soon enough what's wrong.”

While we'd been talking, the paramedics had been wheeling the stretcher toward the front door, and we'd been trailing along behind. They whisked Mimi outside and down the front walk.

“One of you want to come with us?” asked the attendant. “By the way, where are your parents?”

“They've gone out for the evening,” Janine replied. “They should be home soon. Claudia, perhaps I should ride with Mimi and you should remain behind to wait for Mom and Dad. If they don't pick up their phones, you should call them
at Chez Maurice.” She turned to the attendant. “When they reach the hospital, should they go to the emergency room?”

“Yes,” he replied. “If she's not there any longer, the receptionist will know where she's been taken.”

“All right, Claudia?” Janine asked me. “Try the emergency room first.” She acted like I was three years old or something.

“Okay, okay.”

The next thing I knew, the ambulance was gone. I felt like sitting down right on the front walk and crying. Instead, I went inside, left messages on their voicemail, looked up the number for the Chez Maurice restaurant, and dialed it. I must have dialed too fast, though, because the voice that answered said, “Hello, the Arnolds' residence.” I hung up and tried again. This time, a perky voice said,
“Bonsoir,
Chez Maurice.”

“H-hello?” I said. “My name is Claudia Kishi and my parents are having dinner there—I mean, at your restaurant. There's an emergency and I have to talk to them.”

“I am
très
sorry, but zey have just left.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “The Kishis? I mean, the Kishi party?”

“Certainement.”

I hoped that was French for
certainly.

“Okay. Thanks,” I said.

“Bonne nuit.”

I walked all around our house, thinking. I decided that it would take Mom and Dad only about fifteen minutes to get home, unless they decided to go somewhere else first. I wandered into Mimi's room, and hung up her skirt and put her shoes in the closet. It occurred to me that she would probably have to stay in the hospital at least overnight, so I found her smallest suitcase and opened it on her bed.

Suddenly, I had something to do. I moved quickly, tossing in her nightgown, toothbrush, toothpaste, a Japanese book she was reading, her glasses, and a few other things. To remind her of home, I added the special haiku poem written in Japanese that hangs over her bed.

Then I locked the house and sat down on the front stoop with Mimi's suitcase in my lap. I looked across the street. Both Kristy's and Mary Anne's houses were dark. I knew that if they'd been home, they would have come over as soon as the ambulance had driven up.

I waited and waited. All I could think about was my argument with Mimi. I had been mean to her and then she'd had a heart attack. I wondered
if you really could give a person a heart attack.

At last, I spotted my parents' car down the street. I raced to the end of our driveway and waved frantically to them. When Dad slowed down, I flew into the car, explaining what had happened. Mom grew silent. She didn't say a word as Dad careened through the streets of Stoneybrook.

We reached the hospital in record time. The nurse in the emergency room directed us to the intensive care unit. We took the slowest elevator in the entire world to the fourth floor. When we stepped out, we found Janine in the hall. She was pacing back and forth, wringing her hands, and she'd been crying.

“They won't tell me a thing!” she exclaimed as my parents rushed up to her.

Dad found a nurse and talked quietly with her. Then the four of us sat in a lounge at the end of the hall. My mother couldn't speak. Every time she started to say something, tears filled her eyes and she choked up. Dad held her hand and kept trying to tell her that everything would be okay.

“I've never seen Mom so upset,” I whispered nervously to Janine.

“Well, Mimi's her mother,” she replied. “We'd
be pretty upset if Mom had to be rushed to the hospital.”

I nodded. At times like this, Janine didn't seem so bad after all.

A little while later, a doctor came to the lounge. “It was a stroke,” he told us. “A serious one. She's in critical but stable condition. At the moment, she's not able to move or speak, but I've seen people make remarkable recoveries following strokes. We won't know much more for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. She's not awake now, and there's nothing you can do for her, so I suggest that you go home, try to get some rest, and come back in the morning.”

With heavy hearts, we turned around and went home.