Anastasia Again! (12 page)

But right now she was headed, on her bike, for the building that she had noticed next door to the library. It was called the Senior Citizens Drop-in Center.

The door was open, and people looked up when she entered. It was probably pretty obvious, she realized, that she wasn't a Senior Citizen. Anastasia was not, in fact, a Senior Anything. She had dropped out of Girl Scouts as soon as she realized how awful she looked in a Girl Scout uniform, so she would never be a Senior Girl Scout. And she had given up on swimming lessons just after she passed Advanced Beginner, because it was such an effort not to sink. So she would never get her Senior Lifesaving badge.

Inside the door was a bulletin board, and Anastasia read announcements of painting classes, a trip to a flower show, a Great Books discussion group, lectures by a financial expert, and a course in gourmet cooking. There was also a notice of a lost cat named Boots, who was wearing a red flea collar; and there was a wedding announcement.
The people who had gotten married were named Ida and Harry, so Anastasia knew that they were Senior Citizens. No one young was named Ida or Harry.

Most of the people in the Senior Citizens Drop-in Center had gray hair, except for one woman whose hair was bright orange and one man who had no hair at all. Some of them were playing cards, although they stopped when Anastasia came in and looked over at her, still holding their cards. "I said 'Four spades,'" one woman said, but the others didn't answer her. Two men were playing Ping-Pong, and they stopped, too, and looked at Anastasia. They were all pretty friendly looking, but they seemed surprised to see her there.

A young woman came out of the back room, saw Anastasia, and smiled.

"Hi there. I'm Fran McCormick, the director. Can I help you? Are you looking for someone?"

Anastasia introduced herself, and Fran McCormick shook her hand.

"I have a friend," said Anastasia, "who is a Senior Citizen."

"Oh? What's her name? I know everybody pretty well," said Fran McCormick.

"Well, her name is Gertru ... Gertrude Stein. But you wouldn't know her. She never goes out of her house except sometimes to take my little brother for a walk."

Everyone was listening. Even the card players had put their cards down, although the lady who had said "four spades" looked a little impatient. One of the Ping-Pong players suddenly hit the ball across the net, and it went
past the other player, who wasn't paying attention. "Hah! Gotcha!" said the man who had hit the ball, smugly. Then he turned, too, to listen to Anastasia, and the little plastic ball rolled into a corner of the room.

Well. With so many people watching her now, Anastasia began to feel as if she was making a speech. She had never liked making speeches. When they had to give oral reports in school, she had never once gotten a grade better than a B-minus, because she became nervous and said "ah" too often.

"Well, ah, let me start over," she said, when she realized so many people were listening. "My friend Gertrude Stein lives next door to me, and she's a Senior Citizen. But she's lonely. She eats all by herself, so she only eats TV dinners, and except for me and my little brother, she doesn't have anyone to talk to, although she's
interesting
to talk to, and, ah, her goldfish is getting fat because she feeds him too much, and she does it just because it makes her feel good to feed somebody, even if it's only a goldfish..."

For a moment, Anastasia felt as if that had been a stupid thing to say. But then she noticed that the Senior Citizens were nodding, as if they understood. Probably some of them had goldfish, too.

"Well, why don't you send her down here to us?" asked the man who had hit the Ping-Pong ball.

"She wouldn't come. She'd be scared. Maybe it sounds stupid to be scared when you're all grown up, and even
old,
but..."

But they interrupted her, murmuring to each other and
nodding again. They all seemed to understand about being scared, even if you were old.

"... and she pretends she's not scared, by being grouchy," Anastasia went on. They all nodded again.

"Let's send her an invitation to the square dance!" called out one of the card players.

"She'd throw it away. She'd say 'junk mail,' and throw it away," Anastasia explained.

"What do you suggest that we could do for her?" asked Fran McCormick.

"Well, since you're called a Drop-in Center," began Anastasia, "I thought maybe some of you could drop in on her. I could give you the address. It's not very far away."

But they all began shaking their heads.

"Not uninvited," said a tiny white-haired lady wearing a pink pants suit. "Really, that just isn't done. I wouldn't want anyone to drop in on
me
unexpectedly!"

The others agreed. Anastasia was surprised. She
liked
having unexpected guests. But apparently the Senior Citizens disagreed.

She thought for a minute. "Well then,
here's
an idea. Why don't you drop in on
me?
I live right next door. And you wouldn't be unexpected, because I'm inviting you. I'll make Kool-Aid and everything. And then..."

Some of them were beginning to nod their heads. "And then you invite
her
over!" said the man with no hair.

"Right! And you can all make friends with her!"

"I'd come," said the orange-haired woman.

"Me too," called out some others.

"When?" asked someone.

"Well," said Anastasia, "she's getting a permanent on Saturday morning. The first time she's been to a beauty parlor in maybe thirty years."

"Saturday afternoon, then!" announced the bald man. "How many people could make it Saturday afternoon?"

Hands shot up, and Fran McCormick counted. Fourteen.

Anastasia wrote down her address. A thought nudged itself into the back of her head.

"By any chance," she asked the Senior Citizens, "are any of you named Edward Evans?"

But no one was. No one had ever heard of Edward Evans. Well, that would have been asking too much.

***

Pedaling home, Anastasia felt pretty good. She was sure her parents wouldn't mind. Her mother would help her make Kool-Aid. Her father would dream up some kind of entertainment, although she'd have to tell him tactfully not to conduct Verdi's Requiem for the Senior Citizens. But maybe he could read some of his poetry to them.

Then she thought of something and almost rode her bike into someone's shrubbery. Good grief. Saturday.

What on earth was she going to tell Robert and Jenny?

***

Chapter 2 was not very long, Anastasia realized, reading it over. Only one sentence. But she liked the way it ended, with a mysterious reference to the young girl's
Past and her Future. It was important to be very subtle in a mystery novel, so that readers wouldn't know exactly what was happening too early in the book. It was one of the troubles with Nancy Drew books, that they weren't subtle enough. Agatha Christie, now:
those
were subtle. In Agatha Christie books, you never knew who was bad and who was good. That was important.

"Chapter 3," she wrote. "In her new life, the young girl began to meet new people. A tall tennis player with blue eyes. An old woman who looked like a witch. A mysterious band of people who held regular meetings, and who were stricken with astonishment when the young girl showed up unexpectedly at their hide-out one day.

"At the same time, people from her past were still on her trail. The young man with the puzzling briefcase had found out where she lived, and she received a message that he was on his way. He was bringing with him an Irish woman with a chipped tooth."

There. Now she had a whole cast of characters, and the reader would not know yet who were villains and who were heroes.

Anastasia didn't know yet, either; but she would worry about that later.

"No, Absolutely not. I won't, under any circumstances." Anastasia's mother stood in her studio, with a paintbrush behind one ear and her hands planted firmly oil her hips.

Anastasia glowered. "Why
not?
"

"Because it's a lie, and I won't tell anyone a lie on your behalf. And on top of that, it's the
stupidest
lie I've ever heard."

Anastasia was astonished. She had thought it was a terrific idea. "What's so stupid? Look, all you have to do is call Jenny, and sound very sad, and tell her that she and Robert shouldn't come on Saturday because you just found out that I have leprosy and I've had to go to a leper colony very suddenly."

"That's ridiculous."

"Maybe it's not so ridiculous. Maybe I really do have leprosy, as a matter of fact. My ear lobes itch. They've been itching all afternoon. It's an early symptom."

"It's a symptom that you haven't washed your ears. With all that hair washing you've been doing lately, you'd think you'd remember to wash your ears."

"
Mom.
That's gross."

"Not as gross as lying to your friends. Why don't you want them to come, anyway?"

Anastasia groaned and flopped down in an old stuffed chair covered with painty rags. "Oh, it's complicated. I invited some other people over Saturday. Some new people I just met."

Her mother looked at her, smiled, took the paintbrush from behind her ear, and set it on the table. She sat down on the arm of the chair and stroked Anastasia's head.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so glad. Dad and I haven't wanted to say anything, but we've been worried about your making friends. Except for Steve, you haven't really met any other kids yet. That's wonderful, that now you have, and I'm delighted that you've invited them over."

Good grief. Anastasia felt, suddenly, the way she had when Robert Giannini told her about his retarded cousin: as if suddenly, before you knew it, it was too late to explain.

"No kidding, Anastasia, I'm really thrilled. And Robert and Jenny will fit right in, I'm sure. Listen, we can have a cookout or something. How many people are coming over?"

"Fourteen."

"Goodness, that's a lot for a cookout! But I guess we could manage hot dogs. And I could make a big potato salad..."

"Mom, really, just Kool-Aid will be fine. I told them it would just be for Kool-Aid."

"Well, whatever you think. But you know, we've been talking about getting a badminton set. We could get it before Saturday, and then..."

Anastasia pictured the Senior Citizens playing badminton. She pictured the ambulance pulling up, to cart away the ones with broken hips and heart attacks. She groaned.

"Mom, you know what I'd really like best? I'd really like it best if you and Dad would go off to a movie or something, Saturday afternoon."

Her mother stopped stroking her hair. Anastasia could tell that her feelings were hurt.

"You mean that you don't want Dad and me to be here and meet your new friends? All of a sudden you're embarrassed to have us old people around?"

"Oh, Mom," she groaned, "it's not that. It's ... Oh, for pete's sake, I need to think."

Anastasia pulled herself up out of the chair and started up to her room. In the hall, Sam was flicking a flashlight on and off. He'd been playing with it all day.

"Flash!" said Sam, shining the light at her and laughing.

"Knock it off, Sam," Anastasia muttered.

Sam's lower lip began to quiver as he decided whether or not to cry. Anastasia walked past him and headed up
the stairs to her room. Her ear lobes really did itch. She began to wish that she really
did
have leprosy. Good-by, cruel world. Life was just too confusing.

"Flash! Flash!" called Sam after her, blinking his light.

Anastasia slammed her door and decided to stay in her tower for a long time. Like the rest of her life.

***

But the phone rang. Whenever you decide to lock yourself in a tower for the rest of your life, for pete's sake, the phone always rings.

Anastasia's mother called from the first floor. "Anastasia?"

"What? Is it for me?"

"Come down here a minute, would you? I want to talk to you."

Anastasia clumped down the stairs. On the second floor, Sam swooped out of his bedroom, yelled "Flash!" and blinked his light at her.

"K
NOCK IT OFF,
S
AM!
"

Sam grinned and scooted off into a closet. She could see his flashlight blinking beneath the closed closet door.

"What do you want? Was the phone for me?" she asked her mother.

"Not really. But it was puzzling. It was someone named Fran McCormick..."

"Then it
was
for me!"

"Well, she said she didn't need to speak to you. She wanted to check with me to make sure that it was all right with me that all these people were coming over on Saturday. I must say, that was considerate of her. I can't remember that any of your
other
friends ever thought to ask my permission for anything."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her sure. I told her we were planning to make a big batch of Kool-Aid. But, Anastasia..."

"What?"

"Then she said that if it wasn't too much trouble, could we please use artificially sweetened Kool-Aid. Because Edna and Morris and Ernest have diabetes. That seems strange, Anastasia. I remember there was a child in your third-grade class who was diabetic, but for three kids out of a batch of fourteen to have diabetes? Well, that seems very peculiar to me. Where did you meet these kids?"