Claudia and the Bad Joke (12 page)

     
He paused. “Yes?”

     
“How safe are those gigantic buzz saws? The ones that look like they could slice through a redwood tree without any trouble?” I asked.

     
The man laughed. “Safe as anything. We haven’t lost a limb yet.”

     
As the nurse walked away, my mother turned

to me with raised eyebrows. “What did I tell you?” she said.

     
“You told me a grown-up thing,” I replied. “It’s like adults have a stock of jokes and sayings, and they pull one of them out whenever they’re trying to cover up for something. They all know which ones to say when. It must be something you learn when you’re about twenty-one.”

     
My mother and I were sitting in the fracture clinic in the hospital. It was a place I had come to know very well. After I left the hospital, I had to go to the clinic once every week or two to have my leg X-rayed and my cast checked. I never did get a walking cast, but now my big, nonwalking cast was about to come off for good. It seemed as if it had been part of my body (a very heavy part) forever. It was fully decorated there wasn’t a white patch on it — but I wouldn’t miss it a bit. If I could live through having it removed.

     
I was watching two other people have their casts taken off. One was an old woman (she looked older than Mimi) who’d broken her ankle. The other was a guy about Charlie Thomas’ age with a broken arm. A doctor was standing over each of them with a buzz saw. No kidding, the buzz saws had whirling metal disks, which made a tremendous noise, and

the disks were slicing through each cast like a pizza cutter slicing through a pie with everything on it. Now, as far as I know, there is nothing between the cast and your bare skin. How do those buzz saws know when to stop?

     
I watched both procedures. I felt more and more nervous. Nobody shed any blood, though. Still, when the nurse called my name, I said, “That’s okay. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to keep the cast. I don’t want it, but I’ll keep it.”

     
“Claudia,” said my mother.

     
The nurse chuckled. “On the table,” he commanded.

     
I got to my feet (well, my foot) slowly.

     
“Go on,” said Mom.

     
I hobbled over to the table and the nurse helped me lie down on it. Soon a doctor approached me. “Hi, there,” he said. “Claudia, right?”

     
“Right.”

     
There are about six doctors in the fracture clinic, and you never know which one will be treating you. This one was Dr. Rivera.

     
“Ready for the torture chamber?” he teased me.

     
I groaned. A comedian. “Oh, lord,” I said under my breath.

     
“If you prop yourself up on your elbows,” he said, “you can watch.”

     
Watch? Was he crazy? It would be like watching the dentist pull your tooth out. “No, thanks,” I said.

     
“You’re sure?”

     
“Very, very positive.” Now that I was lying there, waiting, I just wanted Dr. Rivera to get on with things. “Mom?” I called. My mother stepped over to me. She took my hand. I hadn’t asked her to, but that was just what I needed and she knew it.

     
“Okay, now,” said Dr. Rivera1 “you’re going to hear a loud noise,” (duh) “and feel some vibration and some pressure, but that’s all. I promise this won’t hurt a bit.”

     
Yeah, right. Having my leg cut off was going to be a picnic.

     
I closed my eyes.

     
BZZZZ. Dr. Rivera had turned on the buzz saw. All I could picture was a scene from this really old movie. A pretty young woman was tied to a moving belt in a factory where a huge saw cut trees into logs. The belt was inching closer to the saw... . The lady was going to be sliced right in half! But of course the hero came along just in time, stopped the machinery, and saved the woman whom he would

probably marry some — “AUGHHH!” I shouted.

     
“Claudia!” cried my mother, just as the doctor said firmly, “Hold still!”

     
“But I can feel it!” I cried. “It’s right next to my skin! The blade is hot. Another eighth of an inch and it’ll be too late!”

     
“The blade is just warm from friction,” Dr. Rivera assured me. “Don’t worry about it. Claudia, I’ve taken off hundreds of casts. I know exactly how deep to cut. But if you move, I might slip.”

     
Oh, thank you. Thank you so much for saying that, I thought.

BZZZZ. BZZZZ. The saw was moving a1on~g my leg. It was — “All done!” announced Dr. Rivera. And then

I did prop myself up, just in time to see him crack my cast open as if it were a lobster claw. The doctor hadn’t cut me. He really did know what he was doing.

     
“Now don’t move your leg at all, Claudia,” he said. He pulled the two halves of the cast away. “Want these for souvenirs?” he asked.

     
“Uh, no, that’s okay,” I replied. The doctor tossed them into a bin full of other sliced-off casts. “Well, can I go now?” I asked hopefully.

     
“Sorry, Claudia. I’m afraid you can’t just

hop off the table and walk out of the hospital. Your leg would never support you. We’ve still got a little work to do.” I took a close look at my leg and gasped. “What happened?” I cried. My leg looked as thin as a stick — and as limp as ~a dishrag.

     
“You haven’t used the muscles of this leg in a long time,” the doctor explained. “But you’ll be surprised at how fast it wifi look normal again.”

     
“How am I supposed to walk on it?” I exclaimed.

     
“Oh, you’re not. Not for awhile.”

     
Boy, what an ordeal this was. Dr. Rivera splinted my leg. He wrapped an ace bandage around it. Then he handed my crutches to me. “Come back in two days to see the physical therapist,” he told me. “And don’t walk on that leg before then, understand?”

     
I did, but I was disappointed. I’d thought the cast would come off and I’dbe as good as new. However, I felt a lot better just a little while later. That was because I got home just in time for a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club.

     
My friends were in rare form.

     
Dawn had discovered junk jewelry (real junk) and was busy making a necklace for herself out of paper clips and colored rubber bands. While she worked on it, Mary Anne sat behind

her (they were on the floor) and played with her hair.

     
“Your hair is longer than Claudia’s, you know,” she told her. “You should braid it or something.”

     
Jessi and Mallory were making origami swans out of notebook paper.

     
I just sat and watched. Mostly, I watched Kristy, who was watching everyone else. “Would you guys please come to order?” she finally cried.

     
“But Kristy,” said Mary Anne, not taking her eyes off Dawn’s hair, “we’ve taken care of business and no calls are coming in.”

Ring, ring.

     
“Oh, yeah?” said Kristy. She reached for the phone. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club. No, this isn’t Angelo’s House of Pizza. I just said it was the Baby — Sam, is that you?. . . It is! I am now going to hang up on you,” she announced. “You’re tying up our line.” Clunk.

     
I tried not to laugh.

     
“Don’t we have any business?” asked Kristy.

     
“I have some information,” Jessi spoke up. “When I sat for Betsy Sobak last Saturday, guess what I found in her room.”

     
“McBuzz’s?” I asked.

     
Jessi shook her head. “Nope. Something called Squirmy’s House of Tricks ‘n’ Jokes.”

     
“Another catalogue!” I exclaimed, dismayed. “Didn’t she learn anything?”

     
“Well, she might have,” said Jessi. ~‘She didn’t play a single joke on me.”

     
The phone rang again. This time I answered it. “Hi, Mrs. Barrett,” I said. “You need a sitter when?” I began to feel excited. "Okay, I’ll get right back to you.” I hung up. Then, “Guess what!” I screeched.

     
I sounded so excited that Jessi and Mallory dropped their swans, Dawn dropped her paper clips, and Mary Anne dropped Dawn’s hair.

     
“What?” they all said.

     
“Mrs. Barrett needs a sitter, but not until three weeks from Saturday. I’ll be able to sit then. I’m sure of it. Please, can I have the job? I know we’re not supposed to take a job just because we’ve answered the phone, but I haven’t baby-sat for so long, and I really miss kids.”

     
My friends grinned. And Kristy said, “The job is yours. Go ahead.”

     
I called Mrs. Barrett back while Mary Anne noted the job in our appointment book.

     
“Boy,” I said after I’d hung up, “does this ever feel great. I am so glad I’m still in the club!”

     
Ring, ring. Since I was so excited, I answered the phone again. “NO, this is NOT the Puppy

Parlor And I do NOT need my poodle clipped.” I said Then I added, “Good-bye, Sam,” and hung up.

     
Kristy looked thoughtful. “You know,” she said, “we have had a major problem with practical jokes lately. And Sam won’t quit goofcalling us, but .

     
“Yeah?” I prompted her.

     
“I still wouldn’t mind getting hit in the face with a pie!”

     
I sighed happily. Everything was back to normal.

ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.

     
Ann Martin’s Apple Paperbacks are Bummer Summer, Inside Out, Stage Fright, Me and Katie (the Pest), and all the other books in the Babysitters Club series.

     
She is a former editor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College. She likes ice cream, the beach, and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.

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