Part 11 (2/2)

I wondered if there was a future in knowing the contents of every single Nancy Drew book ever written. That was my only other talent.

I plopped myself down in a seat next to the window. Mr. Clarke sat beside me. I waited for him to deliver the bad news and wondered if I could make it back to Stacey's before I began to cry.

”You worked very hard today,” Mr. Clarke began.

Was this some kind of trick?

”Yes,” I said cautiously.

”May I see what you worked on?”

As the doors to the bus closed and we eased out of the parking lot, I opened my pad and showed Mr. Clarke the three-and-a-half-hour drawing.

He looked at it for a long time. (During that time, I thought, Nurse? Cab driver? Professional baby-sitter?) At last he said, ”Now this is what I've been waiting for, Claudia.”

”What?”

”I knew you could do it. I knew you could settle down, concentrate, and show some discipline. This is one of the finest pieces of work I've ever seen. And from such a young student, no less.”

I must have looked completely confused, because Mr. Clarke went on, ”I'm sorry I've been so hard on you, Claudia. I know you've been upset. But you are one of the most gifted artists I've had the pleasure of working with.”

”Really?” Mr. Clarke sure had an odd way of letting people know he was pleased.

”Yes.” He nodded. ”You are also distracti-ble and undisciplined.”

”Oh.” I paused. Then I asked, ”Is Mallory Pike disciplined and - and - ”

”Focused?” Mr. Clarke finished for me. He lowered his voice. ”I suppose so. She certainly concentrates. And she tries very hard. But you are talented. However, to be a success, you have to be disciplined, too. Put you and Mallory together and we'd have one great artist. If you continue to work as you work now, your talent will go to waste. But you can de- velop discipline. Talent cannot be developed.”

I thought about Mal. She wanted to learn to ill.u.s.trate. She wanted to draw cute bunnies and mice. Maybe she could do that. But if I didn't concentrate and learn to become disciplined, I would not become an artist. Was that why Mac pushed me so hard? Because I had potential?

I checked it out. ”You pushed me because I have potential?” I asked.

Mac nodded. ”Great potential.”

”Thank goodness. I didn't really want to be a cab driver.”

”Excuse me?”

”Nothing.”

The bus rolled on. We were in midtown Manhattan again.

”How much longer will you be attending my cla.s.ses?” asked Mac.

”Just tomorrow. Then I go back to Connecticut.”

”Do you have a good teacher there?”

”Not as good as you.”

Mac smiled. ”Thank you. Will you promise to study hard?”

”Yes.” What else could I say? The one and only McKenzie ”Mac” Clarke had just told me I had enormous talent. I felt like throwing my arms around him, but of course I didn't.

A few minutes later, we filed off the bus.

”See you tomorrow!” I called to Mac. ”Hey, Mal! Wait for me!”

I had to wait longer than I'd expected. Mal said she needed something from the cla.s.sroom. She returned looking subdued. But as we rode back to Stacey's, I couldn't stop grinning. I knew that lots of hard work lay ahead of me, but so what? I could do anything.

”Claudia?” said Mal tentatively, as we flew along a side street. ”I don't think this serious art stuff is really for me. I'm glad I tried it, but I'm going back to my animals and mushrooms and raindrops. My kind of art.”

”Mal, I'm sorry,” was my reply. (I meant for being so mean.) She must have understood because she said simply, ”That's okay.”

Kristy.

Chapter 19.

You'd think that with all the Sonny signs we'd put up, and that with the millions of people who must have walked by them everyday, I'd have received more than one call from someone wanting a dog.

That one call came on Monday evening. Laine's father answered the phone. Then he said, ”Kristy, this man saw one of your signs. He wants to talk to you about Sonny. He sounds pretty interested.”

”Oh!” I said. I wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or sad. I needed to find a good home for Sonny, but in the back of my mind I was hoping it would be at our house in Connecticut.

I took the phone from Mr. c.u.mmings. ”h.e.l.lo?” I said.

”h.e.l.lo?” answered a voice. ”I'm calling about the collie. I saw a sign ...” The voice trailed off.

”Is he your collie? Did you lose him?”

”No. I'm looking for a pet for my children.”

”Well, Sonny is very good-natured,” I a.s.sured the man. ”He's gentle and he loves to play. And even though he's a stray, he's healthy. I took him to the vet. No mange or anything.”

”How old is he?” asked the man.

”Three.”

”Three months?”

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