Clauda Kishi, Middle School Dropout by Ann M. Martin

friends to the opening, but I hadn't even mentioned it to them, and nobody had remembered to ask about it. Same with my parents and Janine, who were busy with errands and weekend activities. If I went to the opening, I'd have to go alone.
It was tempting to think about going back to sleep - until I thought of Serena McKay.
She had been so nice to me, and so supportive. After the show, I'd probably never see her again. It wasn't right to stay away. I wanted to see her one last time and thank her for everything.
I forced myself off the bed. I marched over to my closet and pulled out the first thing I put my hands on: a long black jumper with red embroidery around the neckline. I put that on over a white turtleneck, added a pair of dangly earrings with red glass beads, and twisted my hair into a casual knot. "Good enough," I said, checking myself in the mirror. For once, I didn't much care how I looked. All I was going to do was check out the show quickly, congratulate the prize winners, say thanks to Serena McKay, and head back home.
Once the show was over, that was the' end of art class. I'd have nothing to look forward to. Just months and months of being a seventh-grader. It was going to be a long, long year.
I ate breakfast by myself, since Janine and my parents had already left the house. Then I threw on a jacket and headed to the college.
On the way, I started to feel a tiny bit excited about seeing my work hung in a real art show. I've had my own art shows (the best one was the junk-food painting show, fea'turing portraits of Twinkies and Ring-Dings), but this wasdifferent. Lots of people who really knew something about art would be coming to this show, including the arts reporter from the Stoneybrook News.
I felt even more excited when I arrived at the college and saw a big yellow banner with red letters. It was strung across the main entrance, and it advertised our show. People were streaming in. As I entered the building, I followed the crowd that was heading for the show.
"Hey!" I heard someone call. I turned to see a man from my class, the one with the goatee. He was passing in the opposite direction, across the crowded hail. He gave me a smile and the thumbs-up sign, and I smiled back. The crowd pushed me along, so I didn't stop to talk.
As I entered the gallery, I looked around for Serena McKay. She was nowhere in sight, but I did spot some of the other students from my class. Everyone waved and smiled at me. "There she is!" I heard someone say, as they pointed in my direction. I turned around, expecting to see Serena behind me, but nobody was there. .
I decided to take one more look at all the artwork, even though I'd seen it just the other day. Somehow all the drawings and paintings looked different now, when the gallery was fully lit and thronged with people. They looked more official, more like pieces of art in a museum. I started with the paintings hung in the first small room of the gallery, figuring I'd work my way back to where my piece was hung, in the third room.
As I was rounding a corner, I nearly bumped into Dr. Johanssen. "Why, hello, Claudia," she greeted me with a smile.
"Hi, Dr. Johanssen," I said. It was nice to see her there. I hadn't expected to see anyone I knew at the show.
"Congratulations," she said.
"Thanks!" I answered, feeling like a real artist. I wasn't sure what she was congratulating me for, exactly. Maybe that's just what people say to you at openings.
I went on gazing at the artwork in the second room. The room was full of people, all of whom were laughing, talking, and sipping cider from plastic champagne glasses. They moved from painting to painting, looking thoughtfully at each one. It was interesting to hear their comments.
"I like the sense of space in this one," said a man dressed in black to a woman dressed in white. ' She nodded. "It has an elegant, almost O'Keeffe-iike sensibility," she added, standing back to take a better look. I rolled my eyes. Just then, I felt a hand on