Kristy and the Secret of Susan by Ann M. Martin

Author:Ann M. Martin [M. Martin, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2013-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

“Susan … Susan … Susan?”

Guess where I was. At the Felders’ again, of course. Susan’s mother had just left for the afternoon, and Susan was lost in her world of piano music.

For the life of me, I could not attract her attention.

I thought of putting my hands over hers, as I had done before, and stopping the music, but her mother had said she’d had a good day so far. She’d eaten breakfast and lunch, she’d behaved herself on a walk, and she had only just begun playing the piano.

Besides, for the first time since I’d started sitting for Susan I noticed a look of absolute rapture on her face as she played. She was still staring off into space, her head cocked, but she was smiling beautifully and she looked relaxed. (Usually she’s wound up tighter than a tick, as Watson would say.) So I let Susan play.

I was sitting in the living room with her, about to begin my homework, when the doorbell rang.

Maybe, I thought excitedly, it was James Hobart, coming to play with his new “mate.”

I dashed to the Felders’ front door, peeked out the window, and saw a boy there. He was not James. In fact, he was one of the kids who’d been teasing the Hobarts. He was the short Bob-or-Craig.

I opened the door, frowning, “Yes?” I said. Maybe he had a paper route and the Felders owed him money or something.

“Hi,” said the boy nervously. “Can I come in? I’m here to see Susan.”

“You are?” I could hardly believe it. Still, it was great! Another friend! “Come on in,” I told him.

“Thanks.” The boy stepped inside. “Where is she?”

I pointed to the piano.

“You mean she plays the piano, too?” he asked incredulously.

“Yup. She can play almost anything. Do you have a favorite song? She — she takes requests,” I added grandly, as if Susan were performing at a party or a wedding.

The boy stepped over to the piano. “Play ‘Way Down Upon the Swanee River,’” he said, clearly expecting Susan not to know the song.

Susan switched flawlessly from whatever she’d been playing to “Swanee River.” She played and played.

“Doesn’t she ever stop?” asked the boy.

“I don’t know,” I replied. I hadn’t heard Susan play anything but classical music up until now (her mother said it was her favorite) and all classical music seems long to me.

“Okay,” said the boy. “Okay. Hey, Susan, play ‘Monster Mash.’”

“Monster Mash”? That was a silly old rock-and-roll song. Susan would never kn —

But she did know it. She switched from “Swanee River” to “Monster Mash” without missing a beat.

“Wow,” said the boy, awed.

“Listen, what’s your name?” I asked the boy. “I mean, what is it really? Are you Bob or are you Craig? If you’re going to be Susan’s friend I should know, so I can tell her your name, and talk to her about you.”

“Oh,” said the boy, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Well … well, the truth is I’m Mel Tucker.”

“Mel,” I repeated, smiling.

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