Since Susan was sort of small for her age, I just moved behind her, picked her up, and carried her into the kitchen. She struggled a little, but not much.

"Okay, Susan. Time for a snack. Anything you want," I said.

Still holding one of her hands, I opened the refrigerator door. "Is there anything here you'd like?" Susan was gazing out the window, flapping her free hand. Well, at this rate, I'd never get her to the Hobarts'. I closed the refrigerator, spotted a baggie full of homemade oatmeal cookies on the counter, grabbed a couple of them, and took Susan and the cookies outdoors.

On the way to the Hobarts', I handed her a cookie.

Susan must have been starving after her day of playing and not eating, because she took the cookie and ate it hungrily. She ate the other one, too, before we were even in the Hobarts' yard.

Since getting Susan away from the piano had taken so long, Mal, Claire, and Margo were already at the Hobarts'. Everyone was in the backyard. Mal and Ben were sitting on the stoop, lost in conversation, and the younger kids were playing tag.

"Hi!" I called, as Susan and I entered the yard.

"Hi," said some of the kids tentatively. None of them had met Susan before, and she did look a little odd, staring above the heads of the children, clicking her tongue, and flapping her hands.

Silence followed.

Mal looked up and saw what was going on. She and Ben joined us. "Everybody," said Mal, "this is Susan. She's eight, just like you, James. She can't talk, but I think she'd like to play with us. Oh, and Ben, James, Mathew, and Johnny, this is my friend Kristy. She's the president of the Baby-sitters Club." "Hi," I said.

"Hullo," replied the boys cheerfully.

Claire stepped over to Susan. "I'm Claire," she said. "I'm five." Flap, flap, flap. Click, click, click.

"I said," said Claire, "I'm Claire and I'm five." (Susan didn't answer, of course.) "She doesn't talk," Mal reminded Claire.