"Yeah," Rosie said, grinning.

Mrs. Wilder looked at her watch. "Oh, dear! Come, Claudia, let me show you around the house. Then I've got to go."

I felt numb as I followed her. Math, science, tap dance, ballet, voice, violin — was there anything this girl didn't do? Was there anything we'd even be able to talk about? I wouldn't know Mozart if I fell over him in the street.

Somehow, I didn't think I'd be needing the Kid-Kit I'd brought along.

Mrs. Wilder gave me all the usual instructions. Being a trained baby-sitter, I made sure to ask about emergency phone numbers, spare keys, and a bunch of other things.

Then she left in a hurry, waving good-bye and blowing kisses to her daughter. And there I was, alone with Rosie Wilder, the genius of Elm Street.

"Well," I said cheerfully, "I didn't mean to interrupt your practicing, so — "

"I practice till four-fifteen," Rosie said, looking at a clock on the living room mantel. "Then

I have a snack, and I then do my homework."

"Okay, great," I said. "I'll just hang out. If you need me, give a holler!"

Rosie stared at me. "Why would I need you?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I meant, you know, if you — "

"Do you know the piece I was playing?"

"Piece?" It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. "Oh, the music! No, I don't. I don't play the piano."

"Then why would I need you?" Rosie asked again.

I took a deep breath. Keep smiling, Claudia, I said to myself. "You — you won't, I guess. I meant, I'll just go into the den and start my homework. Maybe we can, like, get to know each other when you have your snack."

That really excited Rosie. She turned her back, walked to the piano, and said, "Okay," so softly I could hardly hear her.