Dawn's Wicked Stepsister, Page 4

  “And I’ll be the patient,” said Claire. “I was just in a very, very terrible car accident. I am all bloody and I think my leg is broken. My head, too.”

  (Claudia succeeded in not laughing.)

  “Okay. I’ll get you to the hospital in a jiffy,” said Nicky. He slid Claire across the floor. “Ambulance coming!” he yelled.

  Vanessa and Margo ran to their patient.

  “Check her blood pressure,” Vanessa instructed the nurse. Then she added, just like on the TV shows, “I can’t find a pulse!”

  “It’s in her wrist, dummy,” hissed Margo.

  Claire continued to lie on the floor. Her eyes looked closed, but Claud could tell she was peeking, trying to watch what was going on.

  “What happened to the victim?” Vanessa asked Nicky.

  “Car accident, ma’am. She was riding her bike and she ran into a truck.”

  “I did not!” Claire whispered loudly. “The truck ran into me.”

  Vanessa was giving Claire an injection with the toy syringe when Claud first heard Mallory’s bell ringing upstairs.

  Ding, ding, ding!

  “Oh,” said Claud, “Mal’s calling. I better go see what she wants.”

  Claudia dashed up to Mallory and Vanessa’s room. The door was open, but only a crack.

  “Mal?” called Claud.

  “Claudia?” Mal replied. “Don’t come in. Mom said for you to stay away from me. Just in case.”

  “I know. Do you need something?”

  “A soda,” Mal replied grumpily. “I’m thirsty. And bored.”

  “Sorry,” Claud told her honestly. “I’ll have Vanessa bring you a drink, but I can’t come in and talk to you or anything. Don’t you have a book to read?”

  “I read two today.”

  “How about writing in your journal?”

  “I’ve written ten pages.”

  “Is the portable TV in there?”

  “Yes, but there’s nothing on except reruns and boring talk shows.”

  Claud sighed. She was out of suggestions. “I’ll have Vanessa get your drink. What do you want?”

  “Ginger ale,” said Mal in a tiny, pathetic voice.

  So Claud interrupted the hospital game to ask Vanessa to take the ginger ale to her sick sister. While Vanessa was gone, Margo, still wearing the nurse’s cap, said, “Okay, now I’m a mother and Claire is my little boy —”

  “Boy?” cried Claire.

  “Yes, boy. And he’s just fallen down the stairs.”

  Claire immediately crumpled to the floor.

  “And I’m the doctor,” said Nicky, grabbing for the stethoscope, which Vanessa had left on the floor.

  “Oh! Oh, doctor!” cried Margo immediately. She tried to pick Claire up, but she wasn’t strong enough, so she dragged her over to Nicky by the legs. “My little boy fell down the stairs! Oh, no! Help! What am I going to do?”

  Before Nicky could answer, Vanessa made an announcement from the head of the stairs. “Mallory is itchy,” she said. “She wants to take a baking-soda bath.”

  “I’ll go talk to her,” said Claudia, and she ran up the stairs again. “Mal?” she called through the crack in the door. She thought it was awfully frustrating not to be able to see Mallory.

  “Can I take a baking-soda bath?” asked Mal. “It helped a lot last night. You can’t believe how much I itch. I feel like I have poison ivy.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Claudia. “That must be awful. I remember when I —”

  “Can I please take a bath?” Mal interrupted her.

  “I think you should wait until your mom gets home.”

  “I knew you were going to say that.”

  If she knew it, Claud thought, then why did she ask? But she reminded herself that Mallory felt really lousy. “Why don’t you play with your Kid-Kit?” she teased.

  At last she got a laugh out of Mal. “Maybe I’ll read some more after all,” she said.

  “Or how about a nap?” suggested Claud. “I’m serious. You might feel better.”

  “Okay.”

  Claud returned to the game in the rec room. Nicky was now the patient. He had fallen off a building in New York City and had broken every bone in his body. “Doctor, doctor,” he mumbled, “will I ever play the violin again?”

  “I think so,” replied Dr. Vanessa. “Yes, I think so.”

  “That’s funny,” said Nicky. “I could never play before!” He convulsed in laughter.

  “Patient,” said Vanessa, “you cut that out. You can’t do that with broken bones.”

  Nicky couldn’t stop laughing at his joke. The three girls looked at each other helplessly.

  Finally Claire said, “I’ll be the doctor now.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m the doctor!” cried Vanessa.

  “It’s my turn!”

  “No way!”

  “I’m telling Mallory!”

  “No, you’re not,” Claudia broke in. “Mallory’s trying to take a nap.”

  “I am not,” called Mallory from upstairs. “I can’t sleep. I’m thirsty again.”

  So Vanessa brought Mal some more ginger ale. Claire was just about to come down with appendicitis when the back door opened and in walked Mrs. Pike, followed by the very pale triplets.

  “Mommy!” Claire cried. “I have appendicitis and Nicky fell off a skyscraper.”

  “Oh, I hope not,” said Mrs. Pike, and she looked so distressed that Claudia asked worriedly, “What’s wrong?”

  “The doctor thinks the boys have pneumonia,” replied Mrs. Pike.

  “All of them?” asked Claudia. “I didn’t know it was catching.”

  “Usually it isn’t, but they’ve got some viral form. They’ll have to be kept isolated in their bedroom. Claudia, don’t you get too close to them.”

  “No,” said Claudia, backing away.

  “Oh, dear. How am I going to keep them quiet until they’re well?”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” spoke up Jordan, who had sunk into a chair. “I don’t think I can move.” But he did. He managed to follow his brothers upstairs.

  “Four sick kids,” moaned Mrs. Pike. “I guess I should be used to it. Once, all eight of them had a stomach virus at the same time.”

  “Ew,” said Claudia. And then she remembered poor Mal. “Oh, by the way,” she added. “Mallory is dying to take another baking-soda bath. She really itches.”

  “Okay.” Mrs. Pike nodded wearily.

  “Can I stay and help you with anything?” asked Claudia.

  “Oh, that would be wonderful,” replied Mrs. Pike, looking relieved.

  “I can stay until five-fifteen,” said Claud. “Then I’ll have to leave for our BSC meeting.”

  “Great. Can you watch Vanessa, Margo, Claire, and Nicky while I go take care of the others? I’ll get the triplets settled and help Mallory with her bath.”

  No sooner had Mrs. Pike dashed upstairs than Claire began talking again. “Now this time,” she said, “Margo has been caught in a hurricane. And a tornado. And Vanessa is her mother, who’s looking for her. I’m the doctor, waiting at the hospital…. ”

  The game was still going on when Claudia left.

  I used to like weekends better than weekdays — for the obvious reasons. I could sleep late, I didn’t have to go to school, I had free time, I could go shopping. Ever since the wedding, though, I’ve liked the weekdays better. You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. Because on the weekends everyone is around all the time (well, usually), and Richard and Mary Anne are driving me crazy.

  I have never seen anyone as neat as Richard. And he’s not just neat, he has these systems for everything. For instance, he has organized all our books into categories, such as fiction, nonfiction, poetry, plays, and reference. And within each category, the books are arranged alphabetically according to the author’s last name. And Richard’s clothes are arranged not only by type but by color. In his closet hang (from left to right) his white shirts, his yellow shirts, then his blue shirts,
from lighter to darker.

  And little changes have crept into our house. For the first time ever, there are dividers in the kitchen drawers, so we have a place for the spoons, a place for the forks, etc. Even our refrigerator is organized. Richard put all these special holders in it so that we have certain spots for eggs, for cans of seltzer, you name it.

  Now, I happen to like being organized (within reason), but my mother is an incurable slob, which can cause problems. I am now going to describe a typical Saturday at my house:

  Richard wakes up around six o’clock. He gets up early no matter what day it is. He starts brewing coffee in his coffee-maker. While the coffee’s going, he gets the newspaper. He reads it in this order: business news, international news, national news, and local news. He sets the rest of the paper aside.

  He does his reading while he drinks his coffee. He always makes exactly one and a half cups. That’s the perfect amount for him. No one else in the house drinks coffee. Then he washes out the coffeepot, puts his mug in the dishwasher, and starts breakfast.

  The rest of us come downstairs all bleary-eyed anywhere from eight o’clock until ten o’clock. Mom always sleeps the latest and Richard always says to her, “I’d just about given up on you. I hope your breakfast still tastes okay.”

  If he knows she’s going to get up so late, why does he start cooking so early?

  But Mom just kisses him and tells him that she’s sure breakfast will be okay, and that anything he’s cooked is fine with her. (Which isn’t true, because she never eats the bacon, and she doesn’t like waffles or pancakes.)

  After breakfast, Mom strews the newspaper all over the living room while she reads it, and Richard tidies it up and puts the sections back together — in order. (What’s the point? We’re just going to get rid of it.) Then Mom goes upstairs and showers and dresses. She leaves her nightgown on the floor and wet towels all over the bathroom. Richard comes along and picks everything up.

  At this point, Mom sometimes gets mad. “I can clean up after myself!” she protests.

  “But you never do,” replies Richard.

  Once Mom is dressed, we either do something together as a family or go our separate ways. Mom likes movies, shopping, or going to a park for a picnic. Richard likes driving to Stamford and visiting museums, taking in a matinee (of a play, not a movie), or going out for a fancy meal. I like going our separate ways. I would much rather baby-sit than go to an art museum.

  Then comes dinner. If we don’t eat out, then Mom cooks. She is trying to convert Richard and Mary Anne to our vegetarian, health-food way of eating. She is not having much luck.

  Mary Anne tries to kid about it. She says, “Where’s the beef?”

  Richard is more direct. He comes right out and says, “Can’t we have a little meat sometimes? Mary Anne and I are used to it.”

  “Have it at lunch during the week,” was Mom’s answer once. “Then I won’t have to look at it.”

  In all honesty, I think Mom can go a little overboard. That was a rude comment. She didn’t have to talk to Richard like that.

  So anyway, with Mom cooking, we end up eating our usual brown rice and vegetables, or tofu salad or something. After dinner, Mom wanders off to watch TV unless she and Richard are going out. Richard waits until he can’t stand it any longer. Then he makes Mary Anne and me help him clean up the kitchen.

  This really is not fair. Not that Mary Anne and I have to help him, but that he has to clean up the kitchen again (because, of course, he cleaned it up after breakfast).

  The problem here is not that Mom would never clean up the kitchen, but that she might not get to it until the next day. She’s just loose about those things and Richard is rigid about them.

  I can’t imagine why I didn’t see these problems before they got married.

  * * *

  One Saturday — the Saturday after the Pike Plague had started — our usual day began. I dragged my eyes open at nine o’clock. Mary Anne’s bed was empty. (One part of it was full of cat fur. Tigger sleeps with her every night in the same spot, and he sheds.)

  I lay in my bed and enjoyed the peace and quiet. I could tell that the weather was nice because I could see sunshine peeking around the window shades. The day stretched ahead of me. I didn’t have a thing to do. I mean — nothing I’d planned to do. My homework was finished and I didn’t have a baby-sitting job. I rolled out of bed, took my time in the bathroom, and then padded barefoot into the kitchen.

  There were Mary Anne and her dad seated at the table, eating breakfast. In a corner by the refrigerator, Tigger was eating his breakfast. (It smelled awful.)

  “Morning,” I said, feeling like a stranger in my own kitchen, even though both Richard and Mary Anne smiled at me, and Richard served me breakfast right away.

  “Guess what we’ve decided today is going to be,” said Richard, smiling.

  Uh-oh. What?

  “What?” I asked.

  “Spring-cleaning day!” announced Mary Anne.

  I just looked at them. Finally I said, “In my whole life, I have never spring cleaned.”

  “Well, there’s no time like the present to start,” said Richard. He is always coming out with sayings like that.

  Wait’ll Mom hears about this, I thought, but all I said was, “I think Mom wanted to go to Washington Mall today.”

  “Oh, well. She can go tomorrow,” said Richard. “The stores are open on Sunday.”

  I almost said that there was no time like the present, but I didn’t.

  When Mom finally came downstairs, Richard kissed her gently (I like it when they look so much in love, even though it’s embarrassing), and then he said (what else?), “I’d just about given up on you. I hope your breakfast still tastes okay.”

  I don’t now whether it did or not, but Mom ate everything except the bacon. She never eats it and Richard always serves it to her.

  Then Richard broke the news to Mom about spring cleaning. She took it well, since she is so laid-back.

  The cleaning began. I could tell that Mom’s mind was a million miles away. She just sort of drifted through the house with a dust rag, wiping stuff from tables onto the floor.

  Mary Anne followed her around with the Dustbuster.

  “That is so rude,” I told her.

  “Well, your mother isn’t cleaning. She’s just moving the mess to the floor. She’s brushed flower petals, cat fur, and kitty litter onto the floor and left it there.”

  “She doesn’t realize what she’s doing,” I replied. “And furthermore, the cat fur and kitty litter wouldn’t be there if Tigger weren’t.”

  “No, the kitty litter wouldn’t be there if Dad and I weren’t. Tigger went to the bathroom outside at our old house. But he’s afraid to go outside here. So he uses the litter box.”

  “Hmphh.”

  Just to get back at Mary Anne, I tiptoed upstairs to our parents’ bedroom. I opened the sock drawer in Richard’s bureau. There were neatly matched rows of socks — in alphabetical order by color. I switched a pair of brown socks with a pair of gray ones.

  I knew it would drive Richard crazy.

  Then I glanced around the bedroom. It looked like it was being shared by Felix Unger and Oscar Madison, the Odd Couple. So I straightened up Mom’s messy half of the room. On Richard’s neat half, I “accidentally” dropped a tissue.

  By six o’clock that night, the house was spic-and-span. The tissue was even gone from the bedroom floor. However, Richard had discovered that his socks were out of order. It had driven him crazy because he thought it was his fault. So as you can imagine, what with Mary Anne and the Dustbuster and Richard and his socks, no one was in a very good mood, despite the clean house.

  Except for Mom. Ever cheerful, she said, “Let’s order in Chinese food. Then those of you who want meat can have it, and the rest of us can eat vegetarian.”

  So that was exactly what we did. And we actually had a nice dinner. We ate on trays in front of the TV. We even agreed on a movie to watch on
the VCR. The trouble arose when we had finished eating. Mom wanted to watch the rest of the movie and then clean up. (I think Mary Anne did, too.) But Richard wanted to stop the movie, clean up, and then watch the rest of the movie. Personally, I thought that was a good idea, because it’s best to get leftover food in the fridge as soon as possible, but I felt I had to stick up for Mom.

  “The dishes can wait, can’t they?” I asked.

  After a pause, Mary Anne said, “I think we should clean up.”

  “Then clean up,” I snapped.

  (Mom was oblivious to this. She was engrossed in the movie.)

  So Richard and Mary Anne cleaned up the kitchen while Mom and I watched TV. About a half an hour later, Mary Anne stuck her head in the room and announced, “I’m going over to Kristy’s. Thanks for a lovely day, Dawn. You won’t have to see me again until tomorrow because I’m spending the ni —”

  She was interrupted by a gagging sound. It even attracted Mom’s attention.

  Tigger was throwing up on our Oriental rug.

  “Oh, no!” cried Mary Anne. She rushed Tigger into the kitchen in case he got sick again. Then she returned with some paper towels to clean up the mess. She found my mother in a pretty bad mood.

  “Look what your cat did!”

  Even I hadn’t expected Mom the slob to say that. She’d never cared about our rugs before.

  Mary Anne was so nervous about Tigger and my mother that she stayed home after all. I couldn’t blame her.

  What a day, what a day.

  Almost a week later — on Friday night — Mary Anne and I were still arguing about everything, and Mallory and the triplets were still sick. The doctor had said that Mal had a worse case of the pox than before since she was older. And the triplets were just plain in bad shape.

  Anyway, we were holding yet another meeting without Mallory, and scrambling around, trying to fill all the job offers that came in. We’d had to call on both Logan and Shannon for help. As the meeting came to a close and the phone stopped ringing, Stacey said, “So what’s everyone wearing tonight?”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “For the dance,” said Mary Anne.

  Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about it. Everyone in the club, except for Jessi and me, was going. Jessi wasn’t going because the dance was only for eighth-graders, and I wasn’t going because I hadn’t been invited.