earlier.
“Oh, those are just—” Rebecca starts, trying to close the pad.
“Why, that's me,” says Ms. Harriman. “And there's Winifred. And Margaret. Goodness, Rebecca, you have a gift. Have you had any formal training?”
“N-no. I mean, just some art classes at school.”
“My dear, there is someone I
must
introduce you to. What are you doing Saturday afternoon?”
“Um … babysitting, probably. My brother and sister.”
“Well, I'll tell you what,” Ms. Harriman says, moving to a small table arranged with stationery and a gold-tipped fountain pen. She writes down an address and hands it to Rebecca. “This is the address of a gallery in Chelsea, owned by a very good friend. I would love for her to see your work and for you to talk to her. She loves to help budding young artists, and I'm sure she'll have some good advice for you. I'm meeting her there at two-thirty—please try to make it. Bring your sketchbook and anything else you've done.”
Now we are all gathered around Rebecca, staring and making her completely squirmy. She backs away. “I—I'll try, but I—”
“Jeez, Becca,
I'll
watch your brother and sister for you, if that's the problem. You have to go.”
“I'll be there.”
“Wonderful!” Ms. Harriman smiles. “Saturday, then.”
The second the red door to Ms. Harriman's closes behind us, Leigh Ann and I are both right in Margaret's face.
“Did you see her?” Leigh Ann asks.
“See who? What are you talking about?”
“Winifred,” I say. “The housekeeper—”
“—spying on us!” Leigh Ann exclaims.
“Spying? Are you sure?”
“Completely,” I say. “It was totally obvious. She was hiding behind one of those pillars, but we could see her in the mirror.”
Margaret is skeptical. “Rebecca, did you see anything?”
“Rebecca couldn't see her where she was sitting.”
“You're sure she was eavesdropping and not just waiting for Ms. Harriman to ask for more tea or something?”
Leigh Ann and I look at each other, shaking our heads emphatically.
“Definitely snooping,” I say.
“Well, that makes two interesting … occurrences involving Winifred,” Margaret says. “We will have to keep our eyes and ears open.”
Hmmmmm. A twist on the old “the butler did it” theory. The
housekeeper
did it? (Did
what?
)
In which “the boy” makes his first
appearance and I make a bold move
Well, I've made it this far without mentioning “the boy,” which must be some kind of a record for a seventh-grade girl. Sooner or later, I guess I have to introduce him. For now, let me just say that “the boy” is Rafael Arocho, and he is seriously
hot
. Raf (rhymes with “laugh”) started out at St. Andrew's School, which is the boys' school right next door to St. Veronica's, but when his family moved across town at the end of sixth grade, he transferred to St. Thomas Aquinas, a boys' school on the Upper West Side. Rebecca and I have known him since kindergarten, and Margaret has known him since the third grade, when she moved to the city. Kids from the two schools were always being thrown together for assemblies, Christmas pageants, and other important events, so we got to know Raf and the other St. Andrew's boys pretty well. Up until fifth grade, we hated him; he was totally obnoxious, a typical boy. In the sixth grade, though, everything changed—hestopped acting like a
total
idiot and we started to appreciate some of his other qualities, if you know what I mean. And you do, right?
Here's how he enters the story: Margaret has just called to tell me she is on her way over when my phone rings again. It is Raf. After the usual complaining about how much homework the teachers are giving us, the subject changes to the upcoming dance at his school. The ones at St. Thomas Aquinas are rumored to be pretty entertaining.
“I'm going, but Margaret can't—her parents won't let her go to dances yet. Besides, she has Polish school on Saturday mornings, and she usually
“Oh, those are just—” Rebecca starts, trying to close the pad.
“Why, that's me,” says Ms. Harriman. “And there's Winifred. And Margaret. Goodness, Rebecca, you have a gift. Have you had any formal training?”
“N-no. I mean, just some art classes at school.”
“My dear, there is someone I
must
introduce you to. What are you doing Saturday afternoon?”
“Um … babysitting, probably. My brother and sister.”
“Well, I'll tell you what,” Ms. Harriman says, moving to a small table arranged with stationery and a gold-tipped fountain pen. She writes down an address and hands it to Rebecca. “This is the address of a gallery in Chelsea, owned by a very good friend. I would love for her to see your work and for you to talk to her. She loves to help budding young artists, and I'm sure she'll have some good advice for you. I'm meeting her there at two-thirty—please try to make it. Bring your sketchbook and anything else you've done.”
Now we are all gathered around Rebecca, staring and making her completely squirmy. She backs away. “I—I'll try, but I—”
“Jeez, Becca,
I'll
watch your brother and sister for you, if that's the problem. You have to go.”
“I'll be there.”
“Wonderful!” Ms. Harriman smiles. “Saturday, then.”
The second the red door to Ms. Harriman's closes behind us, Leigh Ann and I are both right in Margaret's face.
“Did you see her?” Leigh Ann asks.
“See who? What are you talking about?”
“Winifred,” I say. “The housekeeper—”
“—spying on us!” Leigh Ann exclaims.
“Spying? Are you sure?”
“Completely,” I say. “It was totally obvious. She was hiding behind one of those pillars, but we could see her in the mirror.”
Margaret is skeptical. “Rebecca, did you see anything?”
“Rebecca couldn't see her where she was sitting.”
“You're sure she was eavesdropping and not just waiting for Ms. Harriman to ask for more tea or something?”
Leigh Ann and I look at each other, shaking our heads emphatically.
“Definitely snooping,” I say.
“Well, that makes two interesting … occurrences involving Winifred,” Margaret says. “We will have to keep our eyes and ears open.”
Hmmmmm. A twist on the old “the butler did it” theory. The
housekeeper
did it? (Did
what?
)
In which “the boy” makes his first
appearance and I make a bold move
Well, I've made it this far without mentioning “the boy,” which must be some kind of a record for a seventh-grade girl. Sooner or later, I guess I have to introduce him. For now, let me just say that “the boy” is Rafael Arocho, and he is seriously
hot
. Raf (rhymes with “laugh”) started out at St. Andrew's School, which is the boys' school right next door to St. Veronica's, but when his family moved across town at the end of sixth grade, he transferred to St. Thomas Aquinas, a boys' school on the Upper West Side. Rebecca and I have known him since kindergarten, and Margaret has known him since the third grade, when she moved to the city. Kids from the two schools were always being thrown together for assemblies, Christmas pageants, and other important events, so we got to know Raf and the other St. Andrew's boys pretty well. Up until fifth grade, we hated him; he was totally obnoxious, a typical boy. In the sixth grade, though, everything changed—hestopped acting like a
total
idiot and we started to appreciate some of his other qualities, if you know what I mean. And you do, right?
Here's how he enters the story: Margaret has just called to tell me she is on her way over when my phone rings again. It is Raf. After the usual complaining about how much homework the teachers are giving us, the subject changes to the upcoming dance at his school. The ones at St. Thomas Aquinas are rumored to be pretty entertaining.
“I'm going, but Margaret can't—her parents won't let her go to dances yet. Besides, she has Polish school on Saturday mornings, and she usually
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