Ann Martin - Shannon's Story

Shannon's Story

Ann M. Martin

Chapter 1.

"A sardine chocolate cake," I said.

My sister Maria made a gagging noise and went off into a storm of giggles. When she'd managed to get control of herself, she answered, "A broccoli milkshake with chopped onions."

"Euuuuuw," I said, grabbing my throat and making a face.

Maria began to giggle again.

We both looked at Tiffany. But she didn't seem to be listening. She just stared out the window as our school bus pulled to a stop in front of our house.

The three of us got out, Maria with a hop, Tiffany with her head down, and me last, with a wave to the driver. As the bus pulled away, I paused to look up and down our street. The day was bright and quiet and still, and you could feel spring just waiting to happen in Stoneybrook, where we live. My sisters Maria

and Tiffany and I had been playing an old game of ours on the bus ride home fromSto-neybrookDay School : Gross Food.

At least, Maria, who is eight, and I had been playing. Tiffany hadn't said anything at all.

I looked over at Tiffany as she walked beside me. Her head was still down and she was holding her backpack across her chest. Maybe now that she was eleven, Tiffany thought she was too old for the Gross Food game. Maybe she thought her older sister (that's me) shouldn't be playing it either. Maybe I'd embarrassed her and that's why she was ignoring us.

Or maybe she hadn't even noticed what Maria and I had been doing. It was hard to tell with Tiffany these days. She'd gotten very quiet lately, even quieter than usual.

"Marshmallow and spinach pie," said Maria.

I smiled. "Hmm," I said. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"Shannon!" shrieked Maria in delighted disgust.

"I'm raising spinach in my garden," said Tiffany softly.

I looked back at Tiffany in surprise. She had been listening after all.

"You are?" I said.

Tiffany nodded. She'd just started a garden in the very back corner of the backyard and

was spending hours there these days.

"Is it hard?" I asked.

"No. Spinach grows well in cool weather, like early spring and in the fall," answered Tiffany. After a moment, she added, "Broccoli, too. And cabbage. And peas."

Maria, bouncing happily on her toes, said, "I wish you could grow chocolate in your garden, Tiff."

Tiffany smiled, but she didn't answer.

"Maybe it's a good thing you can't," I said. "Chocolate is really bad for dogs, but they love it. Astrid would probably come out and eat any chocolate right up!"

"I'm glad I'm not a dog," Maria said. "I'd hate not to get to eat chocolate." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "I'm hungry."

"How about some nice pepper ice cream with garlic sauce?" I teased.

Maria kept her face straight with an effort. "I can't," she said as we pushed open the door of our house. "I have swim practice, thank you."

"We're home," I called.

Maria bounded off to her room to get her swimming gear. As silently as a fish in water, Tiffany slipped away. I had a feeling she would be changing out of her school uniform and into gardening clothes.

I headed for my room.

"Shannon?" My mother's voice came from the den.

I stopped and looked in. My mother was sitting on the couch holding a book. "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Same as always/' I said.

"No new teachers? New friends? New news? What about your club meeting?"

"The Baby-sitters Club meets on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Mom," I said. "Today is Thursday."

"Oh. Right." My mom nodded and smiled. I smiled back.

Some people think my mother and I look alike, but I think she and Tiffany look more alike. All three of us have thick, blonde hair and blue eyes and high cheekbones. But my mom and Tiffany wear their hair short and I wear mine long. And they both have these incredible dark eyelashes. I have to wear black mascara every day to make my eyelashes as dark as theirs. It's funny how families look alike in such mixed-up ways. My face is longer, shaped more like my father's. He's not very tall, and I'm not going to be really tall either, I can tell. But Mom is tall, and so is Tiffany and so is Maria. Maria, however, has the same dark coloring as my father and his brown eyes. If you looked at us altogether,

though, you'd know we are related, that we're a family.

"An anchovy cheese slush!" cried Maria, skidding down the hall outside the den.

"Maria, slow down!" said my mother. Hearing my mother say that was funny, because she moves at hyper-speed a lot herself, just the way Maria does.

"Can't," said Maria breathlessly. "I've got to go to swim practice."

Just at that moment, a car horn sounded outside. "That's my ride!" exclaimed Maria.

"A peanut butter and ketchup sandwich," I called after Maria as she bolted for the door.

"Euuuuuw," she said. The door slammed behind her, cutting her off.

"The Gross Food game," said my mother. "How about chocolate-grapefruit sundae?"

"I don't know, Mom. Sometimes I think chocolate goes with everything."

My mom laughed a little. "That's true. Well, then ... a ... a ..."

I laughed a little, too. "I think Maria might be the family champion at this. I'd better go start on my homework."

"Shannon? I was thinking of taking Astrid for a walk. Do you want to come along?"

I stopped and turned around.

"I really have to get my homework done,"

I said. "Thanks anyway. I'll take Astrid later if you want."

My mother looked disappointed for a moment. Then she said, "Maybe Tiffany will want to go."

"Well, if she doesn't, I'll make it an extra-long walk for Astrid," I promised. "As soon as I get the math out of the way."

"If you change your mind," my mother said.

"I'll let you know," I finished. I walked down the hall and up the stairs to my room.

Putting my books down on my desk, I looked out the window. Tiffany was already hard at work on her garden, with Astrid sitting nearby, watching attentively. Tiffany had changed out of the SDS uniform and was wearing faded jeans, sneakers, a big, grubby sweat shirt, and some old gloves that looked too large for her. Probably my father's, I thought. He'd been a serious gardener for awhile, back when I'd been just a kid, but he hadn't done anything outside in the yard for a long time except cook at a Fourth of July barbecue my parents had had last summer.

I smiled, remembering that: my father in his barbecue apron with a tall, silly chef's hat on his head, chasing Astrid, who had managed to grab two hot dogs off the end of the fork as he was lifting them from the grill onto a plate. He hadn't been able to catch her but it

had been a lot of fun. He and my mom had laughed and laughed and she'd told us the story of how she and Dad had cooked dinner for our grandparents, Dad's parents, when she and Dad had first gotten married, and Mom had dropped the pot roast in the middle of the kitchen.

"What did you do?" cried Tiffany.

My father had wriggled his eyebrows and said in a high voice like Julia Childs, "You're always alone in the kitchen."

"You ate it?" Maria had asked.

"We washed it first," said my mom and she and Dad had started laughing all over again.

The grill was in the garage now. I wondered if we'd have a cookout this Fourth of July.

As I watched, Tiffany knelt down, picked up a spade, and began to dig in her garden. She worked with slow, intense concentration. She was like my father that way.

Concentration. It was time I concentrated on my homework. I had a math test coming up the next week, and if I didn't study now, I'd have to work on it over the weekend. That was definitely not part of my game plan.

I pulled out my math book and sat down with a sigh.

I'm not crazy about math the way Maria is, but I do well in school and that's important to me. So I concentrated pretty intensely that