Part 2 (2/2)

”Rocky's kind of funny-looking,” mused Karen. ”I'd probably have to dress her up or something.” Kristy pictured Rocky in Karen's dress-up clothes - her ”lovely lady” clothes, as she calls them. High heels, a big hat... or maybe a wedding veil. Kristy tried not to laugh out loud.

”But if I entered Emily Junior, she'd probably be the only rat there. Maybe she'd win a prize just for that,” Karen continued. ”The only thing is that I'd probably have to give her a bath, and I don't know how much she'd like that,” she added. ”I just can't decide.” ”What about Boo-Boo?” asked David Michael. ”Doesn't anybody want to enter Boo-Boo?” Everybody laughed. Why? Because Boo-Boo is not just any cat. Boo-Boo is the oldest, fattest, and meanest cat you've ever seen.

”He's too nasty,” said Karen. ”He'd probably hiss at the judges.” ”Yeah,” said Andrew. ”And how could we even pick him up to carry him to the show? -He's too fat.” Obviously, Boo-Boo was out of the question as a pet-show contestant.

”But what about Emily Mich.e.l.le?” asked David Michael. ”She doesn't have a pet to enter.” ”Pet!” said Emily Mich.e.l.le, smiling and clapping her hands.

David Michael started to laugh all of a sudden.

”What's so funny?” asked Karen.

”What if Emily enters Boo-Boo?” he said.

Kristy thought of Emily trying to lug Boo-Boo to the pet show. ”That cat is almost bigger than she is!” she said, laughing.

Karen and Andrew cracked up, too. Then Karen got serious. ”But Emily's too young to enter a pet, right?” she asked Kristy.

”I think so,” said Kristy. ”She doesn't really understand what we're talking about.” It was true. Emily Mich.e.l.le was playing happily with her Tonka truck, totally absorbed in s.h.i.+fting a little pile of pebbles from one area to another.

”Rrrr . . .” said Emily, making a pretty good truck noise.

As the afternoon wore on, some of the other kids in Kristy's neighborhood came over to play. Hannie and Linny Papadakis were the first to arrive. They'd brought their little sister, Sari, to play with Emily. They're just about the same age, even though Sari's more advanced in some ways than Emily. Emily is having a hard time learning certain games - maybe because she had a very hard time for the first year or so of her life in Vietnam.

Hannie (she's seven, and in the same cla.s.s at school as Karen) and Linny (he's eight, and he's David Michael's best friend) were just as excited about the pet show as everybody else. It was all they could talk about.

It was the same with Scott and Timmy Hsu, who live down the street, and Max and Amanda Delaney. They all gathered on Kristy's front lawn, and n.o.body wanted to talk about anything but the pet show.

Karen and Amanda are friends, even though Amanda can be kind of stuck-up. (Which is why Hannie can't stand her.) Max, who's six, is always trying to be friends with the other kids, but it seems that David Michael and Linny would rather avoid him.

Scott and Timmy Hsu are good kids, and everybody likes them. In fact, Hannie and Scott are married! (Well, they're pretend mar- tied. Karen just got married, too, to a boy in her cla.s.s.) Anyway, with all these kids, some of whom like each other and some of whom might be looking for a fight, Kristy thought it would be a good idea to forget the pet show for awhile and organize a game.

”How about freeze tag?” she yelled over the commotion.

”Yeah!” cried David Michael. ”I'm It!” Everybody scattered, and David Michael started trying to tag them. Emily was the only one who didn't quite ”get” the rules of the game. Whenever David Michael Ragged her, she collapsed in a heap on the ground, giggling and shrieking as if he were tickling her to death.

”She won't stop wiggling!” complained David Michael to Kristy. ”She's supposed to freeze.” Kristy told David Michael that Emily was just too young. ”C'mon, Emily-bird,” she said, scooping her up. ”You and I will watch from the porch.” The game went on for some time, until the older kids, at least, had had a chance to be It. Then everybody flopped down on the gra.s.s, panting. Kristy brought out paper cups and a pitcher of lemonade and pa.s.sed out some to all the kids.

Then they began talking about the pet show again. Karen was the one who brought it up. ”Which one of you is going to enter Priscilla?” she asked Amanda and Max. (Priscilla is the Delaneys' cat.) Karen's always got her nose in everyone's business. She's kind of like a young Kristy. She's full of energy and good ideas, and sometimes she gets herself into trouble by saying things before she's really thought them out.

Like this time.

For a moment, neither Max nor Amanda answered her question. Then they both spoke up at once.

”Me!” said Max.

”I am!” said Amanda.

”She's my cat!” they both said, in perfect unison.

”Uh-oh,” said Kristy to herself. ”Trouble.” ”Priscilla will be the most beautiful cat in the show,” said Amanda. ”n.o.body else around here owns a purebred white Persian that cost four hundred dollars.” Amanda has a habit of pointing out how much everything costs. I guess she is kind of stuck-up sometimes - but she's basically a good kid. ”And I intend to get first prize with her,” she finished.

Before Max could argue with his sister, Hannie jumped into the battle. ”What do you mean, Priscilla is the most beautiful cat around? Pat the cat is prettier than that old dust mop any day! And smarter, too.” Pat the cat is Hannie's kitten. All the Papadakises' pets have funny rhyming names. There's Pat the cat, Noodle the poodle, and Myrtle the turtle.

”Dust mop!” repeated Amanda, outraged. ”How dare you - ” ”And she's a dumb dust mop, too,” said Hannie. ”She can't even do any tricks.” ”So what?” asked Amanda. ”She's a cat, not a dog. Cats aren't supposed to do tricks.” ”Pat the cat can do tricks,” said Hannie. ”She can dance around on her hind legs.” She smiled meanly at Amanda. ”The judges are going to love her,” she said.

Kristy thought it was time to change the subject - or at least to get the focus of the conversation off cats.

”Who are you going to enter, Linny?” she asked.

He smiled at her. Linny can be a little shy, but he's great if you draw him out. ”I'm going to enter Myrtle,” he said. ”I'm going to paint her sh.e.l.l so she looks really cool.” ”Great!” said Kristy. Then she looked over at Scott and Timmy. They looked a little downcast. ”What about you guys?” she asked.

”We don't have any pets,” said Timmy.

”So I guess we can't enter the show.”.

Before Kristy could begin to comfort them, Karen spoke up. ”You can borrow Boo-Boo!” she said. ”He might not win, but at least you'd have a pet to enter.” Timmy's eyes lit up.

”And you can borrow Noodle, Scott!” said Hannie. ”After all, you are my husband. Noodle's kind of like your pet, too, right?” Kristy looked seriously at Hannie and Karen. ”Are you guys sure about that?” she asked. ”Lending your pet to somebody is kind of a big deal.” She didn't want to see any more fights spring up.

”Hmmm . . .” said Karen. ”Maybe you're right. Forget it, Timmy. What if Boo-Boo did win a prize? Then I'd be mad.” ”I didn't think of that,” said Hannie. ”I take it back, Scott. You can't have Noodle after all.” Scott looked stunned. ”I thought you said that he was my pet, too!” he said. ”Does this mean we're getting a divorce?” ”I don't know,” said Hannie. ”Maybe. But anyway, you have to find your own pet.” Kristy groaned. It looked like the honeymoon was over for those two. And it looked like her latest idea might end up being more trouble than it was worth. The pet show was supposed to be fun - but the kids seemed to be taking it a little too seriously.

Chapter 7.

”Hey, Princess,” said Lisa. ”How's it going?” I smiled. ”Fine,” I said. ”I'm really up for today, aren't you?” Lisa nodded.

”You'd better be up,” said Hilary, overhearing me. ”You haven't been doing too well so far. Sleeping Beauty's sleeping on the job.” I ignored her. I knew that none of the things that had happened at the first and second rehearsal had been my fault. But today would be different. Today, things would go smoothly.

It was the day of the third rehearsal, and it was time to change out of my school clothes. I pulled on my new pink tights and my new black leotard. Over the tights I pulled on my new (blue) leg warmers. I put on my new baggy sweat s.h.i.+rt.

”Woo, new outfit!” said Lisa. ”Nice!” ”Thanks!” I said.

How did I get all that brand-new stuff? I used my hard-earned baby-sitting money, that's how. And I hated having to do it. Sure, it's nice to have new things - I retired my older things to serve as spares right away. Still, it doesn't really seem fair. I'm trying to save that money for other things. But there was no way I could get by with just one of everything - I'd learned that lesson well enough. So I bit the bullet and laid out the money.

I'd even stretched my cash to buy one other thing - something that I hoped would prevent anyone from taking my stuff ever again. It was a new dance bag. The old one had been big enough, and it was still in pretty good shape. But the new one. has something that the old one didn't have. The new one has a zipper at either end, and the zipper tabs meet in the middle. Guess what. There's this tiny padlock that I can use to lock the zippers together.

Can you believe I actually have to lock up a grimy old leotard and a ratty pair of leg warmers? As my parents would say, ”What is the world coming to?” By the time I'd finished putting up my hair, everybody else was in the studio. Good. For some reason, I didn't want them to see me locking up my bag. I closed the bag, took out the tiny key, and made sure the little padlock was locked tight. Then I put the key on the thin gold chain I was wearing around my neck.

Mme Noelle doesn't really approve of wearing jewelry in cla.s.s, so I usually don't. But she says it's okay as long as it doesn't get in the way. I tucked the necklace under my leotard and checked in the mirror. It hardly showed, so Madame probably wouldn't even notice it.

Once rehearsal started, I forgot about the key. For a change, nothing bad was happening to me, and I was free to concentrate on practicing my steps. Mme Noelle was giving me approving looks.

”Beautiful!” she said, as I bouree'd across the floor. ”But smile, Mademoiselle Romsey. Relax and enjoy it!” Oh, sure. Have you ever tiptoed across a whole floor, moving nothing but your legs in the tiniest, controlled movements? I tried to smile, but my feet were killing me. A ballet dancer's feet are almost always killing her.

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