Ann Martin - Claudia And The Genius On Elm St.

Claudia and the Genius onElm Street

Ann M. Martin

Chapter 1.

"Honey, watch where you're going with that. Don't spill it on the who-o-o-oa!"

It was a Friday afternoon, and I was staring at the TV, bored stiff with this commercial that had come on for about the twentieth time. In it, some girl spills a huge glass of chocolate milk on a living room carpet (white, of course). Her mom gets hysterical, then sprays the stain with some carpet cleaner. Out of the can rushes a team of hungry cartoon gremlins. Ta-da! The gremlins eat the stain and the mom hugs the girl, who smiles cutely with one front tooth missing. Happy music plays in the background.

So realistic. I mean, does anyone ask how the gremlins got in the spray can? Wouldn't the mom and daughter run away screaming if they really saw those disgusting things? And what happens to the gremlins after they fin-

ish? Do they hang out in the house forever? Ew.

All I wanted to do was watch this documentary about the artist Andy Warhol. (I'm really into art, and I figured the show might inspire me.)

I know what you're thinking. I should have taped the show so I could zap through the commercials. Well, I did tape it. Or at least I thought I did.

It wasn't until4:10 on Friday afternoon that I realized I'd goofed. There I was, walking through our living room. My sister, Janine the genius, was reading the newspaper. She looked up at me and said, "You know, that special you wanted to watch already started "

"I know," I said, nodding confidently. "I'm taping it "

That's when I looked at the VCR. and saw that it wasn't lit up. I quickly turned it on and saw1:00:00 on the display, which meant I'd already taped an hour of something.

"What happened?" Janine said.

"I don't know," I answered. I rewound part of the tape and played it. It was this weird movie about aliens attacking a hippie commune or something. "I programmed it from four to five, but "

"A.M. or P.M.?" Janine asked innocently.

Duh.

There I stood, Claudia Kishi, the Dunce of the Kishi family. I had taped the Late Late Late Show.

Which is why I ended up watching the Andy Warhol documentary right then and there, complete with commercials.

It was worth it, though. At least I thought so. Warhol would paint an ordinary object, like a Campbell's soup can, in a way that made you want to look at it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. He also made wild-colored silkscreen portraits of legendary movie stars, like Marilyn Monroe and James Dean and Elvis Presley.

Well, Janine sat through about thirty seconds of this before she announced, "I don't understand how you can call that stuff art." Then she walked off, probably to study advanced calculus or physics or something else just as fun-filled.

Janine is only a junior in high school, but they ran out of classes hard enough for her, so she's taking courses at a local college. Me? I'm thirteen, and in eighth grade atStoney-brookMiddle School , inStoneybrook,Connecticut . I have a hard enough time with normal classes. The first time I heard Janine mention "calculus" I thought she was talking about a Roman emperor. Then she showed

me her book. You know what the strangest thing was? Calculus is supposed to be a kind of math but there were hardly any numbers! It was mostly a bunch of squiggles and letters. Janine tried to explain it to me, but I suddenly felt like I'd taken a sleeping pill. Boring!

As you can gather, my sister and I could hardly be more different. We do both have dark hair and almond-shaped eyes (our family is Japanese-American), but that's about it. I'm into wild clothes and different hairstyles. That afternoon, for instance, I was wearing a man's paisley vest I'd found at a yard sale, over a striped button-down shirt with tuxedo-stripe black Spandex stirrup pants, held up with pink-flecked black suspenders. My hair was pulled straight back with a paisley comb, and I was wearing electric-pink ankle boots. The boots really set .off the formality of the rest of the outfit, sort of like the punchline of a joke. I think you can tell a lot about people from the way they dress. If you saw me, you might think: artistic, fun-loving, good sense of humor. At least I hope you'd think that.

If you saw Janine, you'd think: smart, very smart, unbelievably smart. Her hair is always in a page boy, and she'd be perfectly happy wearing a whiteOxford blouse and a gray pleated skirt every day. Janine's main accessory is a book cradled in her right arm. Exactly

the way you'd expect someone with a 1961.Q. to dress.

That's right, 196. "Normal" is 100, "bright" is 120, and "genius" is 150. So what does that make Janine? It scares me just to think of it.

I used to be kind of resentful of my sister. I thought she could do no wrong in my parents' eyes. (My dad's an investment banker and my mom's a librarian, so they're both into Achievement and Applying Yourself.) For a long time only my grandmother Mimi understood my interests. Mimi lived with us, but when she died I felt so ... alone in my family. Now things have changed. Janine and I get along pretty well, and my parents are beginning to realize that I'm serious about my art (and good at it). And since Mimi's gone, I have a picture of her on my bedroom wall for inspiration. Actually it's a photo of Mimi when she was my age, and it's amazing how much she looks like me.

Somehow I can't imagine that Mimi ever had a room like mine, though. It's . . . well, multipurpose. For one thing, if s the place where I sleep. (No kidding.) For another, it's my studio. I have supplies stashed everywhere brushes, palettes, an easel, paints, charcoal pencils, plaster of paris, old newspapers for papier-mlch, and a box of small beads and objects for jewelry making. My walls might as

well be called "the Claudia Kishi gallery."

That's what you notice the moment you walk into my room. What you don't notice is all the hidden stuff junk food and Nancy Drew mysteries! Those are my secret passions. They're stuffed under my mattress, tucked away in corners and drawers, folded into sweaters in my closet. Why? Well, my parents don't approve of junk food, and they don't like the Nancy Drew books because they think I should be reading "literature." Actually I have nothing against literature. I liked The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I even liked Oliver Twist, despite the fact that it took forever to read (and weighed about a hundred pounds). But to me, reading is kind of like food. You can't eat filet mignon all the time. It's nice to have some ice cream and cake. Nancy Drew mysteries are my ice cream and cake.

Oh, I should mention something before you think I'm a complete pig I give away a lot of my junk food. You see, my room is also the official meeting place for a club my friends and I belong to, the Baby-sitters Club. And there's nothing like having Doritos or Snickers bars or M&M's to pass around when you're waiting for business. I'll tell you more about the BSC later. Back to Andy Warhol. As I mentioned, I was

watching the show for inspiration. I had been feeling a little bored and empty, like something about my artwork was missing. Not that I wasn't busy. I've always spent my spare time doodling, painting, making jewelry, making collages, sculpting . . . but that's what was wrong. I felt like I was doing too much, and not really digging into anything.

I needed a new project, something I could spend time on and be proud of.

So there were Andy Warhol's paintings: cans ofCampbell 's soup and Del Monte peaches, bottles of Heinz ketchup, boxes of Brillo soap pads . . .

Suddenly I sat up. Can you picture those old cartoons in which a character gets an idea, and you hear a BOIING! and see a lightbulb above his head? Well, that's how I felt.

All I could think about were Milky Way bars and Ring Dings and Oreos. No, I wasn't hungry. Not at all.