New York, New York!

New York, New York! by Ann M. Martin Read Free Book Online

Book: New York, New York! by Ann M. Martin Read Free Book Online
Authors: Ann M. Martin
"It would be wonderful. Forget about those guys. If you want to be a dancer, then be a dancer." Quint smiled. "Thanks," he said, but he was shaking his head. Then he looked at me, frowning. "Well, maybe. Hey, can I have your phone number?" I blanked out. I couldn't remember Laine's number, but Quint didn't mind. Instead, he wrote down his number and address, and handed the slip of paper to me.
I spent the rest of the afternoon as aware of Quint as I was of the ballet.
Would I find the courage to call him?
I wasn't sure at all.
Mallory.
Chapter 8.
To be perfectly honest, the day was not as good as I made it sound in the notes I wrote for Claudia. But I didn't think I could say what the problem was. That's because the problem was Claudia.
Monday started off okay. When Claud and I had finally found Falny and our classroom, we were nervous about school and meeting Mac. But we were excited, too. We kept pointing at things and giggling.
Then Mac began the morning class.
We were working on perspective and some other thing. In the middle of the classroom was this big jumble of boxes. We were supposed to draw them. It was a tough assignment, and not at all what I'd thought I'd be doing at Falny. I wanted to improve my drawing so that I could illustrate my stories better. I needed to learn to draw bunnies and mice and fat mushrooms and cute little bugs. I needed to learn to draw cats wearing clothes. That kind of thing. But if Mac thought drawing boxes would help, then I would do it. The only problem was that it was really hard. I hadn't taken art classes the way Claud had. I wasn't used to assignments like this. I was glad the class lasted for several hours, because that was how long I needed to sketch those boxes. I worked very slowly. I erased things and started over. I was really embarrassed by how awful my paper looked.
Especially when I glanced over at Claudia's work and noticed two things about it. 1. It was good. 2. She could sketch quickly, like those artists on TV. When I saw Mac heading our way, I wanted to cry. But guess what. Mac did not tell Claud her work was good. He told her to start over again and to slow down. Then he said that my work was good! At first Claud just looked hurt. But when Mac came back to us and said the same things again, Claud looked like she wanted to kill me. Honest.
Well, I could understand. Claud was supposed to be the artist. But Mac never said anything nice to her. And he said plenty of nice things to me.
"Teacher's pet," Claudia would whisper when Mac was out of earshot.
"I can't help it," I'd reply.
I wished Mac would make at least one nice comment to Claud, just to even up things a little.
The afternoon was no better. We had to draw all those darn boxes again. They'd been moved around so that they were in a new arrangement. How boring. The worst part, though, was that Claud couldn't seem to do anything right. By the end of the class, she was barely speaking to me.
I tried to be cheerful. "Isn't Falny great?" I said.
"Ha!" was Claud's reply.
We stepped outside to hail a cab to Stacey's apartment. I copied what I thought I had seen Stacey do in this situation. I stood halfway out in the street, waved my arms and yelled, "TAXI!" Someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me to the sidewalk.
I gasped.
"What's the matter with you, Claud?" I exclaimed. "You scared me to death. I thought you were a mugger." "You look like a tourist," said Claudia.
"I am a tourist." "But you don't have to let everyone in New York know that." Claud hailed a cab for us. We rode to Mr. McGill's in silence.
A couple of hours later, we were ready to leave for Chinatown. Stacey's father, Laine, I, and the other members of the BSC were jammed into Mr. McGill's living room, sipping sodas and planning the evening.
"We can take the subway there," said Mr. McGill. "But we'll take cabs back." "Separate ones, I hope," muttered Claudia.
I stuck my tongue out at her. (She did not see this because she wouldn't look at me. She was

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