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. Rivera, “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 along 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 will 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’d be 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 dips, 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 goof-calling 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.
* * *
Dear Reader,
In Claudia and the Bad Joke, trouble starts when Betsy Sobak is carried away by the practical jokes she receives from McBuzz’s Mail Order. When I was young, I loved to order things through the mail — from the backs of cereal boxes, from comic books, and, best of all, from bubblegum wrappers. My prize possession was a piece of fool’s gold, which came in a little gray flannel sack. It cost twenty-five cents, but I thought it was very valuable. Back then, hardly any catalogues came in the mail.
But every fall, Sears Roebuck sent out its Christmas catalogue, The Wish Book. I pored through it, turning down the corners of pages on which I saw toys I wanted. Today, I still do most of my shopping through catalogues. I just love getting things in the mail, althoug
h it’s been a long time since I ordered a practical joke.
Happy reading,
Ann M. Martin
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ANN MATTHEWS MARTIN was born on August 12, 1955. She grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, with her parents and her younger sister, Jane.
There are currently over 176 million copies of The Baby-sitters Club in print. (If you stacked all of these books up, the pile would be 21,245 miles high.) In addition to The Baby-sitters Club, Ann is the author of two other series, Main Street and Family Tree. Her novels include Belle Teal, A Corner of the Universe (a Newbery Honor book), Here Today, A Dog’s Life, On Christmas Eve, Everything for a Dog, Ten Rules for Living with My Sister, and Ten Good and Bad Things About My Life (So Far). She is also the coauthor, with Laura Godwin, of the Doll People series.
Ann lives in upstate New York with her dog and her cats.
Copyright © 1988 by Ann M. Martin.
Cover art by Hodges Soileau
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC, THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First edition, 1996
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
e-ISBN 978-0-545-53516-8
Ann M. Martin, Claudia and the Bad Joke
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