Kristy and the Secret of Susan by Anne Martin Read Free Book Online

"I'd love for Susan to get some fresh air today, but if you can't do that, don't worry about it." "Okay," I replied uncertainly, thinking of the plans Mal and I had made involving the Hobart boys.
I must have sounded worried, because Mrs. Felder quickly assured me, "Really. There's nothing to be concerned about. Susan is just being stubborn today. I promise. She doesn't get violent. But she's strong, and she's great at passive resistance. If she doesn't want to eat, she simply clamps her mouth shut." "Why didn't she want her lunch today?" I asked.
Mrs. Felder shrugged. "Lots of autistic children have eating and sleeping problems," she told me. "Susan is one of them." I nodded. "All right. Well, I'll try to get Susan outdoors. And if she'll eat something, is that okay? Or would you rather she waited until dinner?" "No, a snack would be fine. Try a cookie, anything. I want some food in her." Mrs. Felder left then, as if she couldn't escape fast enough.
I watched Susan at the piano for awhile. She played intently, her head cocked to the side, staring into space. She never looked at the keys. And of course, no music was in front of her, since she memorized everything.
"Susan," I said after awhile.
No response. Not even a flicker of her eyes.
"Susan! Susan . . . SUSAN!" The music continued. I didn't know what she was playing, because it was something classical, and what I know about classical music could fit on a mosquito's nose.
"Susan!" I called again. I walked to the piano and stood next to her. I actually waved my hand in front of her face, as if she were a sleepwalker.
Nothing.
Then ever so carefully and gently I laid my hands on Susan's. She tried to keep playing. I tightened my grip. Susan couldn't move her fingers anymore. She had to stop playing. And you know what? For a second, or maybe even just a fraction of a second, she looked at me. I mean, she looked right into my eyes with those big brown eyes of hers. Then she lost herself in her world again. Where does her mind go? I wondered.
With my hands still on Susan's, I tried to pull her away from the piano. She wouldn't budge. I pulled harder. I could see what Mrs.
Felder meant about passive resistance. But I wasn't about to give up. I've learned plenty from my younger brothers and sisters.
Since Susan was sort of small for her age, I just moved behind her, picked her up, and carried her into the kitchen. She struggled a little, but not much.
"Okay, Susan. Time for a snack. Anything you want," I said.
Still holding one of her hands, I opened the refrigerator door. "Is there anything here you'd like?" Susan was gazing out the window, flapping her free hand. Well, at this rate, I'd never get her to the Hobarts'. I closed the refrigerator, spotted a baggie full of homemade oatmeal cookies on the counter, grabbed a couple of them, and took Susan and the cookies outdoors.
On the way to the Hobarts', I handed her a cookie.
Susan must have been starving after her day of playing and not eating, because she took the cookie and ate it hungrily. She ate the other one, too, before we were even in the Hobarts' yard.
Since getting Susan away from the piano had taken so long, Mal, Claire, and Margo were already at the Hobarts'. Everyone was in the backyard. Mal and Ben were sitting on the stoop, lost in conversation, and the younger kids were playing tag.
"Hi!" I called, as Susan and I entered the yard.
"Hi," said some of the kids tentatively. None of them had met Susan before, and she did look a little odd, staring above the heads of the children, clicking her tongue, and flapping her hands.
Silence followed.
Mal looked up and saw what was going on. She and Ben joined us. "Everybody," said Mal, "this is Susan. She's eight, just like you, James. She can't talk, but I think she'd like to play with us. Oh, and Ben, James, Mathew, and Johnny, this is my friend Kristy. She's the president of the Baby-sitters Club." "Hi," I said.
"Hullo," replied the boys cheerfully.
Claire stepped over to