Graduation Day, Page 4

  The only good thing about my not being able to graduate was that now my mother and Samantha wouldn’t have a fistfight in front of all of SMS.

  To Whom It May Concern:

  I’m not sure exactly who will be opening this time capsule seven years from now. It should be Byron, Jordan, and Adam Pike, along with other people from the neighborhood. But you never know.

  Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kristin Amanda Thomas. As I write this I am thirteen years old. What I have decided to include in the capsule is the attached flier. It is one of the original fliers announcing the formation of the Baby-sitters Club about two years ago. The reason I have chosen it is because without the BSC, this time capsule probably wouldn’t be here.

  My friends and I started the BSC at the beginning of seventh grade. Since then we have been baby-sitting for lots of the kids around here and also working on fun projects with them, projects like the time capsule. One of the best things about the BSC, for me, has been that it has made me feel so connected to my neighbors, and it has brought friendship and lots of good times. Also, lots of funny times.

  Among other things, the BSC members have helped the kids around here put on a talent show, and make baskets to take to the elderly people living in Stoneybrook Manor. We have helped out with a Little Miss Stoneybrook pageant and a baby parade. We have run a summer play group, organized carnivals, and thrown parties. We have solved mysteries and taken trips. Who can forget such things as the kids’ performance of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, or when they put on the BSC Follies? My friends and I have baby-sat, dog-sat, and even goat-sat! These have been two of the best years of my life. Well, to be honest, the Babysitters Club IS my life.

  I hope that when you are reading this, our neighborhood still feels like a community, because that is so important and wonderful.

  Maybe this flier and letter will give some of you an idea — and you’ll start your own Baby-sitters Club. Feel free to use the name. And if you want to consult me on anything, just look up Thomas in the phone book. I bet we’ll still be listed.

  I threw my paper down in disgust. What was it about this letter? It was the hardest thing in the world to write. Maybe I should just scrap it. There was no real reason for me to write it. It wasn’t an assignment. I wasn’t going to get graded on it. It wouldn’t have any effect on whether I passed and went on to SHS.

  But I didn’t want to be the only one of my friends who didn’t write a letter, who didn’t have an envelope to open at the end of my high school years. Everyone (and by “everyone,” I mean Kristy) would be saying, “Did you get your letter, Claud? Did it come yet?”

  And I would have to say no.

  Which I didn’t want to do.

  Hmm. I could just mail myself a blank piece of paper or even an empty envelope. Who would know? We were supposed to give Mr. Kingbridge our envelopes all sealed up. The only way to know I had mailed myself a blank piece of paper would be if someone opened the letter before I did, and I believe that is called mail fraud, which is a federal offense.

  But how humiliating. When I opened the letter in four years and saw the lame way out I had taken I would be SO embarrassed. It would be a horrible reminder of what a pathetic student I can be.

  And speaking of being a pathetic student … I looked at the growing stack of papers, books, and notebooks I should have been going through in order to finish studying for my finals. An uneasy feeling crept over me, and I remembered the papers that had been handed back to my classmates and me in science earlier in the day. During this last quarter of the year each of us had had to write a paper on a topic of our choice. The paper was worth twenty-five percent of our final grade. My topic had been “Plants: Can They Really Hear Music?” I had actually performed an experiment, one that had driven certain members of my family nearly crazy. I had grown bean plants in three separate jars. One jar of beans had been placed next to a radio that played nothing but the local classical music station. Another had heard only rock music, and the third had heard no music at all. I had written up my experiment very officially, describing everything, including how the plants looked each day. I had been certain to use professional experimental terms, such as control group (that was for the beans that heard no music at all). The result? All the beans grew pretty much the same way. I decided music didn’t have any effect on plants.

  I had been proud of my experiment, but I had felt … uncertain … when I had handed in my paper. Which was why I hadn’t looked at it yet to find out my grade. I decided to do that now. I opened my science notebook and pulled out the folder in which I had handed in my paper. I had drawn a lovely portrait of the three jars of beans on the front of the folder, which I had hoped might add a little something to the project in case anything was lacking.

  Now, very slowly, I opened the folder. Written at the top of the first page in red ink was a … D+.

  For a moment, I just stared at it. This large cold lump was forming in my stomach. I tried to ignore it. I tried to get mad at my teacher. What was the stupid point of giving someone a D plus? As if the plus would make the D sound any better. Give me a break. A D is a D.

  And I was now seriously close to failing science.

  I panicked. What should I do? I didn’t want to tell my parents what was going on. I had already been in so much trouble. And what if they decided that the best thing for me to do was to repeat eighth grade? I just couldn’t let that happen. My friends absolutely could not go on to high school without me. That would be way more humiliating than when I had to repeat seventh grade.

  I grabbed the phone and dialed Stacey’s number. She answered on the first ring.

  “Stacey, it’s me, and I’m in terrible trouble,” I said in a rush.

  “What? What is it? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

  “Not that kind of trouble,” I replied. “But I really think I’m going to flunk science.”

  “Claud, do not call a person and say you are in terrible trouble unless you mean —”

  “I won’t, I won’t.” I didn’t even let her finish speaking. “I’m sorry. But listen, this is really serious.” I explained what had happened. “What am I going to do?”

  Stacey thought for a moment. “I’ll tutor you in science too,” she said finally. “I’m not as good in science as I am in math, but I’m doing fine, so I think I can help you. We’ll just buckle down and start working, okay?”

  “Really? Oh, Stacey, that would be great. I don’t know how to thank you. I —”

  “I’ll be right over,” Stacey interrupted me.

  I sighed. Just like the old days.

  I turned back to my books and felt a teeny bit better.

  By Anastasia Elizabeth McGill

  Hello to all you people of the future. My name is Stacey McGill, and I moved to Stoneybrook when I was twelve years old. Until then I had lived in New York City. I love Stoneybrook. In fact, when my parents got divorced, I was given the choice of living with my dad in New York or with my mom here. I chose here. It was a really difficult decision, of course, since I love both of my parents, and since I had grown up in NYC. But the truth is, I’d already felt that Stoneybrook was my home. Why? The piece of paper I have attached to this one should help explain.

  Take a look at the heading on the paper:

  STARS OF TOMORROW

  Talent Show

  I don’t know if anyone opening this time capsule will remember that show, but I sure do. It took place in the Pikes’ backyard, and half the neighborhood was in the show. (The rest of the neighborhood turned out to watch it.) As you can see from the list of acts that Vanessa announced to the audience, Sean Addison played his tuba, Buddy Barrett showed off Pow the basset hound’s tricks, and Nicky Pike performed on stilts to “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Those were just some of the acts. I remember that the Pike triplets built a stage for the event and sold tickets to the show at the entrance to their yard. It was quite a day.

  Why have I included this in the time capsule? Because it is j
ust so … Stoneybrook. Things like this go on in our neighborhood all the time. Maybe that doesn’t mean much to most people, but it does to me. When I was growing up, I lived in a high-rise apartment building. I had a few friends in the building, of course, and I knew some of the people who lived and worked on our block. I guess the block was my neighborhood. But nothing like the talent show ever happened there.

  This neighborhood, our community here in Stoneybrook, is very special, at least to me. The people here have become some of my closest friends, and I know that when I’m grown up I’ll find happy memories when I look back on this time. I hope that seven years from now Stoneybrook won’t have changed much, and that the kids who open the time capsule will be creating their own happy memories.

  Well. Everyone has told me how much trouble they’re having with their letters, but for some reason I didn’t think I would have trouble with mine. I just assumed that when I sat down with my notebook, the words and thoughts would flow. But it is SO WEIRD to try to write to myself in the future.

  What things have been important in my life? The fact that I never knew my mother, that I grew up in the tiny world of Dad and me, that we lost everything in a fire? These things are important — I know that — but there’s so much more to my life right now.

  I guess I think of my life in terms of the people in it. Maybe you could even say that my life is defined by the people in it. I don’t know. Mr. Kingbridge told us to talk about defining moments. I think that’s what he said, anyway. I’m having trouble remembering his exact words. Well, I do remember that he said to write a letter that I would find meaningful and interesting when I read it in four years. So I suppose I can write whatever I feel like writing about.

  Maybe I’ll just select several people who are important to me and write a paragraph or two about each of them. This won’t be a conventional letter, but so what. Now … who should I write about? Or is it “whom” should I write about? Oh, brother. If I get hung up on stuff like that, this letter will not be finished on time. All right. The important people in my life are Dad, Dawn, Sharon, my grandparents, Jeff, Kristy, Claudia, Jessi, Stacey, Abby, Mal, Kristy’s mom, Karen, Andrew … Hmm. That’s quite a list. And I haven’t mentioned people who are no longer alive who have been very important to me — Mom and Mimi.

  Then, of course, there’s Logan.

  Okay, let me focus on the others for the moment.

  Kristy. I don’t know why I’ve decided to start with Kristy. She’s not a family member, but she is, well, hard to ignore. Kristy and I have known each other since we were babies. When I think of Kristy, I think of a person who has always been a part of my life.

  I paused. I put down my pen. I read the paragraph I’d just written about Kristy. It was nice enough, but why was I telling myself about Kristy? I had a strong suspicion that four years from now Kristy and I would still be best friends (I think we always will be), and when I opened my letter I would wonder why I had written about our early years together.

  I stood up. I cracked my knuckles. I looked around my brand-new bedroom. I sought inspiration from the scene outside my window, from the wall, from the floor. Nothing came to me. I remembered once when I had been in a session with my therapist and I couldn’t find the words to talk about something or other. Finally my therapist told me I was “blocked.” That was how I felt now. Blocked. What was preventing me from writing my letter? I didn’t even seem able to write a rough draft of it.

  My eyes settled on a photo of Logan that was on the bureau. Logan had given me the photo shortly after the fire, when I realized that along with everything else that had been lost, our albums and pictures were gone. Then my mind settled on Logan as well.

  In my life, Logan is unfinished business. He should be finished business. When I told him it was time for us to stop seeing each other I meant it. I really meant it. I was tired of Logan and tired of so many things about our relationship. I had thought, For heaven’s sake, Logan and I are only thirteen years old. We shouldn’t be so tied to each other. We should see other people. Who could expect us to be together forever? We’d already broken up once. And I had felt it was time for us to break up again. Permanently. Before we got to high school, so we could be free to go out with other people when we were there.

  And yet, now that we weren’t speaking, now that Logan did occasionally see other girls, why did my decision seem … not quite right? I remembered all the things that had been wrong with our relationship — and suddenly they seemed fixable.

  Which was why I headed into Dad and Sharon’s room and sat in the armchair next to the telephone table. I picked up the phone. I set it back in the cradle. I picked up the phone again and dialed the first three digits of Logan’s number. I set the phone back in the cradle. I picked up the phone once more and dialed five digits before I hung up. Six digits. Then the complete number. When I heard Logan’s sister, Kerry, say hello, I hung up again.

  With a huge sigh, I returned to my room. I pulled a fresh sheet of paper out of my notebook and wrote, Dear Logan. Then I crumpled it up and threw it away. Finally I headed downstairs to start dinner for Dad and Sharon.

  I had made a decision.

  I needed to talk to Logan.

  Okay. I managed to do it. I have finally written the letter to myself, and I think it is okay. No, it’s good. I think I’ll be pleased and interested when I read it in four years. It paints a pretty accurate picture of my life now, and it includes my thoughts for the future. (They may be fairly entertaining when I read about them later.) Anyway, here is my finished letter:

  Dear Stacey,

  Greetings! This is a voice from the past — your voice. It is June as I write this, almost the end of school, which this year means the end of eighth grade, and graduation from SMS. In the fall I’ll be a freshman at SHS. I’m scared and nervous, but just a little. Mostly I’m excited. I feel ready for bigger things.

  Here are the bare facts about my life right now (to give you something to compare your life to). Mom and Dad have been divorced for awhile and have settled into their lives in Stoneybrook and New York City. Mom has been on a couple of dates, but absolutely none that was serious. I don’t think she’s in any rush to be in another relationship. She’s going to concentrate on her career instead. At the moment she is planning to open her own store, which is so exciting. I hope she really can go ahead with it and that in four years it will be a big success. It will be so cool to see newspaper ads for it and things like that.

  Dad is another story. He is still a workaholic, AND he is already in another relationship. In fact, he and Samantha are going to get married soon. Maybe when you read this in four years you’ll be a big sister! I know Samantha wants to have children and I bet Dad does too. After all, he had a pretty nice kid the first time around. In four years I would really like to have a little sister and a little brother, one of each.

  Currently, my closest friends are Claudia, Mary Anne, and Kristy, the other members of the Baby-sitters Club. I used to feel that Claud was my best friend, but I can’t say that anymore. Our fight really changed things. I would do anything for Claud — absolutely — but I don’t feel quite the same way about her that I did even a few months ago. And Mary Anne and Kristy are fabulous, but (and maybe this will make you laugh in four years) I suspect that by the time we graduate they may not be my closest friends anymore. I think we’ll have other really close friends, friends we’ll make in SHS. No doubt about it, though, the BSC (the club itself as well as the people in it) has been one of the most important things in my life the last couple of years. I think I will always look back on it that way.

  The most important boy in my life at the moment is Ethan. Four years from now? Hard to predict. I bet we’ll still know each other, but will we still see each other as (potential) boyfriend and girlfriend? I just can’t say. Ethan will have been in college for a couple of years already, so we’ll be in pretty different places in our lives.

  Some of the things that I think have helped me to be t
he person I am today (the defining events Mr. Kingbridge talked about) are my diabetes, and Mom and Dad’s relationship, including the divorce. I see myself as a pretty strong person, and I expect to be even stronger in four years. I think I’m strong because of facing and dealing with these situations. The diabetes has shown me that I can’t always be in control, but it has given me a sense of control. I mean, when I was first diagnosed with diabetes I had to understand that sometimes things just happen that we can’t control. But then I learned how to follow a diet and regulate my insulin, and that gave me back a feeling of control — one that I don’t take for granted.

  In a way, the divorce has done the same thing. I didn’t have any control over Mom and Dad’s marriage, but once it fell apart, I regained my feeling of control by deciding where I wanted to live and by making a place for myself in both Mom’s life and Dad’s. This balance of control — I think it plays a huge role in my life. I feel pretty secure, pretty sure of myself. If I make mistakes I can fix them. Sometimes things do just happen, but I can make other things happen.

  What do I hope to be doing in four years? Well, going off to college, of course. I think I’d like to go someplace far away, so that everything about college is different — different faces, a different part of the country. I want to have a taste of being really independent. I don’t know what I want to study in college, though. Maybe something involving math? Or business? (I bet you’re laughing at this now. I bet you’re on your way to Connecticut College to study history or something.)

  Well, Stacey-of-the-Future, as you read this I hope you remember that you were pretty happy when you were 13 years old, even while facing some difficulties. It hasn’t always been easy, but overall, it’s been good.

  Love, Stacey

  As I reread my letter one last time, I told myself that everything in it was true. And I tried to hold on to those positive thoughts about taking charge as my mind skipped ahead to graduation. Sure enough, both Dad and Samantha intended to be here for it. Dad would never miss it, of course, but Samantha had said that she wouldn’t miss it either. They were going to drive to Stoneybrook on the day of graduation, spend the night in a hotel just outside of town, and drive back to NYC the next day. This wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t bad either. With any luck, they wouldn’t even see Mom. They’d sit rows and rows away from her, and hopefully she would be seated with the Thomas/Brewers or the Kishis, and she’d be so caught up in the ceremony that she wouldn’t even think about Dad and his fiancée.