Free Jessi's Secret Language by Ann M. Martin Page B

something.”
    I’d been thinking about something I’d read recently. Someone, Helen Keller, I think, had noted that blindness only separates you from things , while deafness separates you from people . So I was about to disagree with Haley, but what she had just said caught my attention.
    â€œMatt’s never been in a theater?” I asked. “He’s never been to any kind of performance?” How awful.
    â€œWell, sometimes his school puts on plays in sign language,” said Haley.
    â€œBut imagine,” I murmured. “Never been to a ballet or a musical …”
    â€œWell, he couldn’t hear the music,” Haley pointed out.
    â€œI know,” I replied, remembering my conversation with Adele. I was also remembering Mme Noelle’s club. I was thinking about when we do warm-ups and Madame roams around the ballet studio saying, “And one and two and three and four ,” banging that club. When she walks by you, you can feel the vibrations of the club hitting the floor. You can also feel the vibrations of the piano music Madame’s assistant sometimes plays. If you stand with your hands resting on top of the piano you can feel soft and strong hums.
    I thought about Coppélia . I thought about how much more there was to a ballet than the music. There was plenty to see — the dancing and the costumes and the scenery. Plus, it was just plain exciting to be in a theater — to look at the rows and rows of red seats and watch the ushers showing people up and down the aisles and hold your breath when the lights go down and the curtain goes up.
    I was getting an idea. It was a really terrific idea, but I didn’t say anything about it to Haley then, just in case I couldn’t pull it off.
    Still, as soon as I got home that evening, I began working on the idea. I decided that the first thing to do was to have a talk with Mme Noelle.

My plan was working! It really was. I was very excited. I’d spoken to Mme Noelle, to Mrs. Braddock, and even to the head of my whole dance school. Nothing was settled, but everything was “in the works” (as Daddy would say).
    One Friday, I got to Claudia’s house for a club meeting a couple of minutes after five-thirty. I charged up the Kishis’ walk, skidded to a stop, rang their bell, heard Claudia yell, “Come in!” and charged up to her room. As usual, I was the last to arrive. I hadn’t even had time to change completely after ballet class, so I was wearing my leotard and a pair of jeans. My hair was still pulled back tightly, the way Madame says we must wear the hair during closs.
    â€œHi,” I said when I entered the headquarters of the Baby-sitters Club. Even though I was only two minutes late and everyone knew I had a tight schedule because of dance class, I felt a littlenervous. After all, Kristy could be sort of strict. Besides, Mal and I, as the newest and youngest club members, felt that we better not make any mistakes. We didn’t want to stir up trouble, and we felt we had to prove ourselves.
    â€œSorry I’m late,” I apologized.
    I checked out Claudia’s room. People were in their usual places: Kristy was in the director’s chair, Mary Anne, Dawn, and Claudia were sitting on the bed, and Mal was on the floor. She and I always end up down there. The room was a cluttered mess, but I could see that Mal had cleared a space for me next to her.
    Claudia’s room is always a mess — for two reasons. 1. She’s a pack rat. She’s a really good artist and likes to keep all kinds of stuff on hand — bottle caps, interesting pebbles, scraps of fabric, bits of this and bits of that, not to mention her paper and canvases and paints. She never knows what she might need for a sculpture or a collage. 2. Claudia is also a junk-food addict. She likes Ho-Ho’s, Yodels, pretzels, candy, gum, etc., but her parents don’t approve of this habit, so Claudia