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thing about it. Was I really so bad? Had I come to New York just to find out that I'm not talented as an artist after all? That couldn't be true.
I'm not good at anything else.
But all morning, Mr. Clarke kept looking at my drawings, pausing, and then telling me to do something differently — to work more slowly, to pay stricter attention to angles, and on and on and on. Then he would look at Mal's drawings, smile gently, and tell her she was doing fine. Fine? Those laboriously drawn boxes, her paper full of holes, eraser marks, and misshapen angles? I was sure my work was better than Mal's. But Mr. Clarke was the expert.
By the time we broke for lunch, I was ready to cry. Mal was on top of the world. What had gone wrong?
Jessi.
Chapter 7.
On Monday morning, I found myself left on my own. (Well, almost on my own.) My friends got going pretty early. In fact, by the time I woke up, I could hear voices in the living room. I looked over at Mallory's bed. It was empty. I wasn't the last one up, was I? How embarrassing to be such a lazybones at the home of people I barely knew. Especially considering that my friends think I'm an early riser because I'm always talking about waking up before anyone else in my family and practicing for dance class at the bane in our basement. Okay, so today I'd slept in instead. So what? It was nothing to get upset over. I planned to exercise most mornings.
Well, I was the only one making a big deal out of things. When I stepped into the living room later (dressed, of course), everyone just said, "Good morning," and "Hi, Jessi!" "Hi," I replied.
"Did you sleep well?" asked Laine's father.
"Oh/just fine. Thank you." I found out later that over at Stacey's, poor Dawn had lain awake almost all night, terrified (like the night before) by noises from the street and the thought of the fire escape outside the window. I, on the other hand, hadn't heard a thing. Of course, Laine's apartment does have central air-conditioning (and no outdoor fire escapes), so we'd been sleeping with the windows closed. I felt sort of like I was in a hotel.
My friends were discussing the plans for the day.
"Stacey and I are in charge of Rowena and Alistaire again," said Mary Anne. "We're going to be out most of the day. But if anyone wants to come with us, you're welcome to. We'll be seeing the sights." "I might go with you," said Laine.
"Claudia and I are going to Falny," spoke up Mal. "I'm so excited!" "What are you going to do?" I asked Kristy.
"I'm not sure yet," she replied. "Maybe go over to Stacey's and sit around with Dawn again. I'd really like to get out a little, but I feel awful for Dawn. Want to come with me, Jessi?" I paused. I knew I should be a good sport and go along with Kristy, but that wasn't, what I wanted to do. I wanted to go to Lincoln Center. I wanted to see a dance company perform.
Before I could decide how to answer, Kristy answered for me. "That's okay, Jessi." She smiled. "Baby-sitting for Dawn isn't my idea of a vacation, either." I relaxed. "Thanks, Kristy," I said. But about an hour later, I found myself alone in Laine's apartment. Mal had gone off to her art classes, Kristy was on her way over to Stacey's, Stacey had shown up here and she and Mary Anne and Laine were heading for the Harringtons', and both Mr. and Mrs. Cummings had left the apartment for meetings or appointments or something.
How was I going to get to Lincoln Center? I had promised my parents that I wouldn't walk around the city alone. At least not too much. Then I had an idea. Would it work? Only if I moved quickly.
In a flash I found my pocketbook, put on some shoes, ran out of Laine's apartment, re- membering to lock the door behind me (the Cummingses had given us our own keys), and dashed to the elevator. I knew what floor the Harringtons were staying on, but I'd forgotten the number of the apartment. It didn't matter. When the elevator doors opened, I found myself facing Mary Anne, Stacey, Laine, Rowena, and