Little Miss Stoneybrook...and Dawn by Ann M. Martin Page B

before sending the next one out.
    There were three little girls in front of Claire. Just as I heard Myriah greeting the audience, I saw Ms. Bunting send Claire onto the stage. I didn’t have a very good view of her, but I could hear her all right and this is what she said: “My name is Claire Pike and I’m five years old…. Oh, hi, Mommy! Hi, Daddy! Hi, Mallory! Hi —”
    The announcer prodded Claire toward Mrs. Peabody, but Claire forgot to greet her and walked right offstage.
    I groaned. Mary Anne, standing nearby, reached out and squeezed my hand. I looked at her gratefully.
    Margo did better than Claire. She remembered everything, but she was nowhere near as dazzling as Sabrina Bouvier, who had been onstage just before her. Sabrina looked as if she might have been born on a stage. She smiled glamorously at the audience and the judges, curtsied prettily, and shook Mrs. Peabody’s hand smoothly.
    Okay, I thought, after all the little girls had been introduced. So Sabrina was gracious and sophisticated. So what? She might not have any talent at all. Or maybe she’d be really, really stupid and not able to answer her question. I didn’t have much time to think about that, though. The talent show was beginning and I had to help Claire and Margo into their costumes.
    Backstage was a madhouse. All around us were cries of, “My socks! Where are my socks ?” or “Help! Fix my hair!” Here and there were little bursts of song. Not far away, I could hear Charlotte muttering something about giant blueberries and a girl named Violet.
    I managed to get Claire into her costume just as the first contestant was winding up herrendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which she was singing in a red, white, and blue sequined leotard. She had a terrible voice, like fingernails on a blackboard. (Claudia and I looked at each other and giggled.) Then I helped Margo with her painter’s pants and handed her the banana.
    The second contestant, who had sung a song which she’d written herself called “I Love My Dog,” ran offstage — and Myriah ran on. She was wearing a pink leotard, a pink tutu, and her tap shoes, and she was carrying a gigantic lollipop. She looked calmly at the audience. Then out came her voice, clear and loud: “On the goo-oo-ood ship Lollipop …” And her feet went tappety-tappety-tap. I was extremely impressed. She looked like she should be on TV or something. When she was done the audience applauded loudly. They even cheered and whistled. Myriah smiled toothlessly and ran off. She was a hit.
    â€œAnd now, Little Miss Claire Pike!” cried the announcer.
    â€œGo on, Claire,” said Ms. Bunting.
    â€œI don’t wanna,” whimpered Claire, but she went anyway.
    For a moment, she just stood on the stage in her sailor outfit. I thought maybe she had succumbedto stage fright, but at last she whispered, “I’m Popeye the sailor man.”
    â€œLouder!” I called to her.
    Claire raised her voice. She finished the song and danced the hornpipe. She looked totally uninspired. But then she began the song again, this time with the gestures. When she made her first face, the audience laughed. Claire hammed it up. The audience laughed harder. Claire hammed it up even more. We had a comedienne on our hands.
    Kristy flashed me the thumbs-up sign and I grinned.
    After Claire came a girl who played the piano (sort of), and a girl who tried to twirl a baton but kept dropping it. Then Karen Brewer, looking beautiful, ran onstage wearing the exact same outfit she had worn when she was the flower girl in her father’s wedding. What, I wondered, was Karen going to do? Sing a love song or something? No. She opened her mouth and let loose with, “The wheels on the bus go round and round.” She sang fifteen verses, most of which she must have made up herself, possibly right there on the stage. Verses like, “The