of objects rearranged in interesting ways? Well, that was the idea, anyway. Cool, huh?
I am obsessed with art. Painting, sculpture, drawing, jewelry-making — I like to create in any medium. Including clothes. (This makes me Chief Oddball in my family. For my parents, tasseled loafers are daring.) Janine shook her head, chuckling. "Was that why you wore your jacket to breakfast this morning? To cover that up so we wouldn't have indigestion?" "I was cold." (Well, it was sort of true.) Janine just shook her head and walked to her room.
Later I could hear the usual furious clacking of the computer keyboard coming from Janine's room. I tried to slip quietly by her open door, to avoid another comment.
"Hm. Frankenstein's jumpsuit," I heard as I entered my bedroom.
Janine is disgustingly smart. Even if she lent me, like, one quarter of her IQ points, I'd be brilliant and she'd still have enough left over to be a genius. She is a high school sophomore, but she takes college courses. And her taste in fashion runs to white blouses and gray pleated skirts.
Needless to say, my parents think she's perfect.
I've tried to be a high achiever like her. But 1) I can't spell, 2) computers hate me (and vice versa), and 3) my eyes cross when I read anything more complicated than a Nancy Drew mystery.
Where did my artistic side come from? Prob- ably my mom's mom, Mimi. She understood me better than anyone else. Mimi's English wasn't great (she immigrated to this country from Japan), but it didn't matter. We were on the same wavelength. She lived with us my whole life and I loved her soooo much. When she died I was devastated.
Actually, one other person inherited the crazy, creative genes in my family—my aunt Peaches, Mimi's other daughter. (Her real name is Miyoshi. Her husband, my uncle Russ, gave her the nickname. Why? No one knows.) When Peaches was pregnant, she and Russ bought a house in Stoneybrook. While they waited for the occupants to move out, they lived with us for a month. It was a wild and mostly fun time, but it ended sadly. You see, Peaches had a miscarriage.
Russ and Peaches moved into their new house anyway, and they're still planning to have another baby. Now Peaches works full-time. I really miss her.
Now our house is pretty quiet. Dull, if you want to know the truth. Except during Babysitters Club meetings, which are held in my room.
But you know what? With Stacey McGill gone, even those are less fun.
No, Stacey didn't move away. She quit (or was fired, depending on who's telling the story, but more about that later).
Mimi, Peaches, Stacey. My three soulmates. Without them in my life, I was feeling a little bummed.
Not that I don't love my other BSC friends. I do. I'm lucky to have them. But you know how it is. You need that one extra-special person in your life.
Sigh.
Time for a pick-me-up. A definite Twinkie moment. I opened my desk drawer and peeked under a stack of looseleaf papers.
Only one box of Milk Duds and two Snickers bars.
I rummaged under my bed, where I discovered three bags of pretzels and some Charleston Chews. I opened a few shoe boxes in my closet, which contained M&M's and Raisinets and Yankee Doodles and Doritos.
I finally found a Twinkie among my art supplies. I ripped open the wrapper and ate.
I felt much better.
Why do I hide my junk food? Because of my parents, also known as the Nutrition Police. They disapprove of unhealthy food, which is probably why I love it so much. Besides, I'm in pretty good shape, and I eat my dinner every night without complaining, so what's the diff?
As I chewed, I changed clothes. That after- noon I had a short sitting job at the Pikes'. They have eight kids (one of whom is a BSC member, thank goodness), so there's already enough deconstruction in that house.
Besides, I didn't want to catch a snide remark on the way out.
Dressed in jeans and a button-down men's shirt over a stretch top, I walked to the Pikes'. I brought a Kid-Kit with me. (Well, sort of.) Kid-Kits are
I am obsessed with art. Painting, sculpture, drawing, jewelry-making — I like to create in any medium. Including clothes. (This makes me Chief Oddball in my family. For my parents, tasseled loafers are daring.) Janine shook her head, chuckling. "Was that why you wore your jacket to breakfast this morning? To cover that up so we wouldn't have indigestion?" "I was cold." (Well, it was sort of true.) Janine just shook her head and walked to her room.
Later I could hear the usual furious clacking of the computer keyboard coming from Janine's room. I tried to slip quietly by her open door, to avoid another comment.
"Hm. Frankenstein's jumpsuit," I heard as I entered my bedroom.
Janine is disgustingly smart. Even if she lent me, like, one quarter of her IQ points, I'd be brilliant and she'd still have enough left over to be a genius. She is a high school sophomore, but she takes college courses. And her taste in fashion runs to white blouses and gray pleated skirts.
Needless to say, my parents think she's perfect.
I've tried to be a high achiever like her. But 1) I can't spell, 2) computers hate me (and vice versa), and 3) my eyes cross when I read anything more complicated than a Nancy Drew mystery.
Where did my artistic side come from? Prob- ably my mom's mom, Mimi. She understood me better than anyone else. Mimi's English wasn't great (she immigrated to this country from Japan), but it didn't matter. We were on the same wavelength. She lived with us my whole life and I loved her soooo much. When she died I was devastated.
Actually, one other person inherited the crazy, creative genes in my family—my aunt Peaches, Mimi's other daughter. (Her real name is Miyoshi. Her husband, my uncle Russ, gave her the nickname. Why? No one knows.) When Peaches was pregnant, she and Russ bought a house in Stoneybrook. While they waited for the occupants to move out, they lived with us for a month. It was a wild and mostly fun time, but it ended sadly. You see, Peaches had a miscarriage.
Russ and Peaches moved into their new house anyway, and they're still planning to have another baby. Now Peaches works full-time. I really miss her.
Now our house is pretty quiet. Dull, if you want to know the truth. Except during Babysitters Club meetings, which are held in my room.
But you know what? With Stacey McGill gone, even those are less fun.
No, Stacey didn't move away. She quit (or was fired, depending on who's telling the story, but more about that later).
Mimi, Peaches, Stacey. My three soulmates. Without them in my life, I was feeling a little bummed.
Not that I don't love my other BSC friends. I do. I'm lucky to have them. But you know how it is. You need that one extra-special person in your life.
Sigh.
Time for a pick-me-up. A definite Twinkie moment. I opened my desk drawer and peeked under a stack of looseleaf papers.
Only one box of Milk Duds and two Snickers bars.
I rummaged under my bed, where I discovered three bags of pretzels and some Charleston Chews. I opened a few shoe boxes in my closet, which contained M&M's and Raisinets and Yankee Doodles and Doritos.
I finally found a Twinkie among my art supplies. I ripped open the wrapper and ate.
I felt much better.
Why do I hide my junk food? Because of my parents, also known as the Nutrition Police. They disapprove of unhealthy food, which is probably why I love it so much. Besides, I'm in pretty good shape, and I eat my dinner every night without complaining, so what's the diff?
As I chewed, I changed clothes. That after- noon I had a short sitting job at the Pikes'. They have eight kids (one of whom is a BSC member, thank goodness), so there's already enough deconstruction in that house.
Besides, I didn't want to catch a snide remark on the way out.
Dressed in jeans and a button-down men's shirt over a stretch top, I walked to the Pikes'. I brought a Kid-Kit with me. (Well, sort of.) Kid-Kits are
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