Part 2 (1/2)

”Order!” barked Kristy.

I managed to zap myself back into reality.

Dawn held up the BSC's ”treasury,” a ma-nila envelope. ”Dues day!” Everyone muttered and grunted and reached for money. (No complaining from me, though. I don't mind dues. Mainly because they help pay my phone bill.) ”And now, from the sixties,” the WSTO deejay was saying, ”an old, moldy, good, and goldy! Here are the Beatles with - ” ”Claudia, could you turn that thing off?” Kristy said.

”I love the Beatles!” I blurted out. (Okay, I was exaggerating.) ”Since when?” Kristy asked.

”Well, uh, okay, I'll lower it.” I turned the k.n.o.b (slightly) and changed the subject. ”Um, anybody want Skittles?” ”Me! Me!” a chorus of voices answered.

”Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the Beatles wailed.

I dug the Skittles out of my sock drawer. No one seemed to mind the song much. Soon it was business as usual - munch, gab, gab, munch. I kept quiet, my ears tuned to the radio.

The phone must have rung, because I noticed Kristy s.n.a.t.c.hing up the receiver. ”h.e.l.lo, Baby-sitters Club,” she said. ”Okay. We'll call you right back.” Then she hung up and announced, ”We need two sitters for the Barrett/ DeWitt kids on Sat.u.r.day.” Mary Anne looked in the record book. ”Let's see, Dawn's free, and so are you, Kristy.” Kristy called Mrs. DeWitt back. ”It'll be me and Dawn, Mrs. DeWitt. . . . Okay, 'bye.” Kristy hung up. The radio droned on: ”We have a three-mile backup on Route Ninety-Five. . . .” Kristy yawned. Jessi and Mal were playing Hangman on the floor. Mary Anne was scribbling in the notebook. Dawn and Shannon were looking at a magazine.

And I was listening to: ”... allow at least a half hour leaving Stamford to the east ...” Kristy reached for the radio. ”This is giving me a headache.” ”No, don't!” I snapped.

Rrrrrrinnnng! Saved by the phone. I leaned over the radio, blocking Kristy, and picked up the receiver. ”h.e.l.lo, Baby-sitters Club!” I said.

”Yes, h.e.l.lo, dear. This is Ginger Wilder, and I was wondering if someone was free on - ” ”And now we have for you the winner of our Host of the Month contest . . . ontest ... on-test ...” the announcer intoned (with lots of reverb).

”Aaaagh! Mrs. Wilder, can I call you back?” I said.

”Oh, my. Is something wrong?” Mrs. Wilder asked.

”About five minutes, okay? Sorry!” ”Fine. I'll be h - ” Click.

I hung up. I cannot believe how rude I was. Around me were six dropped jaws and twelve bewildered eyes.

I turned up the radio. ”We have read them all,” the announcer said. ”And they were ter-rrrrri/ic! But we believe we have a winner. The first place essay for the WSTO Ho-o-o-o-st of the Month contest was written by . . .” A drumroll began. I wanted to die. I was sitting there with my stomach inside out, and they were playing a drumrolll ”Would you mind telling us what is going on here?” Kristy said testily.

”Sssshhhh!” I hissed.

”Claaaaaaaaudia Kis.h.i.+!” blared the announcer.

I did not react. I did not even smile. I couldn't. My body had frozen and my heart had stopped.

No. It was a joke. He was kidding. Or he was wrong. He read the wrong name. That had to be it.

”Claudia is an eighth-grader at Stoneybrook Middle School who likes art, reading mysteries, and fine dining . . .” ”Fine dining?” Kristy murmured.

”Aaaaaaaaaaagh!” I shrieked. ”I won! I won!” I jumped up and started falaping around the room.

Everyone else was staring at the radio as if it had suddenly grown horns.

”So, Claudia,” the announcer went on, ”if you're within the sound of my voice right now, please call five-five-five-WSTO. To repeat, that's - ” I was already on the W.

The phone rang on the other end - once, twice, three times.

I thought I would faint.

I caught Mary Anne's glance. She was grinning at me. Tears were forming in her eyes.

Finally I heard a male voice say, ”WSTO, Radio Stoneybrook.” ”Huck - heck - hum . . .” Lovely. I'd won the contest of my dreams, and a frog had jumped down my throat.

”Excuse me, could you speak louder?” the voice asked.

”I'm Caudia Klis.h.i.+!” I stammered.

”Yes, what can I do for you?” ”Claudia Kis.h.i.+! I'm Claudia Kis.h.i.+! I won the Host Contest!” ”Oh! Hey, congratulations! That was some essay!” ”Thanks.” ”Listen, the station manager, Mr. Bullock, would like to tell you about the job in person. Say, tomorrow after school? Four-thirty or so?” ”Sure!” He gave me directions. I grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled them down on a candy wrapper.

After blabbering a good-bye, I calmly, quietly hung up.

”Ya-hoooo!” Kristy whooped.

The room exploded. Mary Anne and Dawn threw their arms around me. Jessi and Mal jumped up and down, squealing.

”You're a star!” Dawn said.

”How come you didn't tell us you entered?” Kristy asked.

”I wanted it to be a surprise!” I explained.

For the rest of the meeting we talked about nothing else. I celebrated by digging out a box of Hostess chocolate cupcakes. (We almost forgot to call Mrs. Wilder back.) I could not wait to tell my family the news.

Chapter 4.

You know who's really, really great? My sister, Janine. I mean it.

Here's what happened when I broke the news at dinner: Mom and Dad smiled. Then Mom asked if the show would interfere with my schoolwork. Dad wanted to know if I would be paid.

Janine? She immediately ran into the kitchen. When she returned, she had a bottle of ginger ale and four wine gla.s.ses.

”A toast to Claudia, the first media celebrity in the family!” she announced.

”Hear, hear!” Dad said.

Janine was the first to clink gla.s.ses with me. She was wearing this huge grin.

I almost cried.

Between dinner and bedtime, every single BSC member called. Dawn gave me a list of songs to play (ecology-oriented, of course). Kristy told me her brother, Charlie, had agreed to drive me to the radio station the next day. Then she asked about seven hundred questions about the show. Shannon, Jessi, Mal, and Mary Anne each had questions of their own. 1 must have said ”I don't know” a hundred times.

This distressed me. Was I supposed to know? Was Mr. Bullock really expecting me to come to the meeting with suggestions? Of course he was! I had written in my essay that I had good ideas flying around my brain. I had exaggerated. A lot.

Now what? Should I bring tapes to the interview? A list of talk-show-type topics? A list of people to interview? Or was this supposed to be a call-in show?