Read Online New York, New York! by Ann M. Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ann M. Martin
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daughter read Mustang, Wild Spirit of the West?" His daughter? How did Mal know Mr. Clarke had a daughter? Well . . . the two of them had spent a lot of time talking. Mostly about books.
I turned away from them. I gazed at the ads in our car. Most of them were for roach spray or little roach hotels.
At last, we pulled into a station and Mr. Clarke announced, "This is it, people. Everyone off. Follow me!" I made sure I was standing right behind him. But by the time we had shoved our way into the station, about five people were between Mr. Clarke and me. Darn. 1 had even lost Mal, but I didn't want her company just then anyway. So I straggled along behind my class.
However, I felt a little different when we reached Rockefeller Center. It was absolutely gorgeous. Tall office buildings rose to the sky. Mr. Clarke pointed out two beautiful statues. He showed Mal and me the outdoor restaurant, which is an ice-skating rink during the winter. He showed us Radio City Music Hall.
And then he said that the NBC television studios were located in one of the buildings. In those studios are filmed game shows, Sat- Mg/i£ Ln?e, Late Night with David Letter-man, the Today show, and many others.
Oh, I was dying. I was positive I would see a star. Maybe several stars.
". . . anything that might interest you. Okay, Miss Kishi?" Yikes. Mr. Clarke had been talking again and I hadn't been paying attention (again).
"Urn. Yes — " I glanced at Mallory. She nodded. "Yes. That's fine," I finished up.
Mr. Clarke looked away from me. "We'll stay in this area for about half an hour. Then we'll move on." The students began to scatter. I looked around and realized we were standing near the restaurant/skating rink. I leaned over a rail and peered at the people eating below me. But I found myself imagining skaters there instead. The tables and chairs and plates of food disappeared. In their place I could see a sheet of silvery ice. Children bundled up in snow-suits worked their way awkwardly around the rink. Older kids flew by them, their jackets open. Adults skated along leisurely, arm in arm.
"Claud?" asked Mal.
"Yeah?" I turned and found her at my el- bow, sketch pad and pencil in hand.
"What are you going to draw? Do you know yet?" "Urn . . . no." (I knew perfectly well what I was going to draw, but I planned to surprise Mr. Clarke. I didn't want anyone to copy me.) "Well, I'm going to draw the outdoor restaurant. From up here. I think that's called a bird's-eye view. Anyway, it makes the angles and dimensions really different." I watched Mal begin to work. Her angles and dimensions certainly were different. I stepped away from her, and began my own drawing of what was below me. I called it "Winter Fantasy." It was a picture of the way I envisioned the ice-skating rink in wintertime.
"Miss Kishi?" Mr. Clarke was behind me! I turned slowly until I was facing him.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing to my drawing.
"The skating rink," I replied.
Mr. Clarke waved his hand around, indicating Rockefeller Plaza. "I don't see a skating rink here," he replied.
"But you said there's one in the winter. This is how I imagine it." "That's very creative, Miss Kishi. But the C»M> ^ MjvMfl-f assignment is to draw what you see." As soon as Mr. Clarke moved on to the next student, I tore the sheet of paper off the pad, crumpled it up, and hurled it into a nearby trash can. Before I started a new sketch, I glanced at Mal's drawing. More of the same. Her perspective was way off. But had Mr. Clarke said anything to her? No.
I began a new drawing. Ten minutes later, Mr. Clarke checked on me again. I had completed a quick sketch of the restaurant. The whole thing.
Mr. Clarke sighed. "You're working too quickly again," he said.
When he turned away, I stuck my tongue out at him.
All right. He wanted me to work slowly? Then I would work slowly.
I worked so slowly that my eyes began to wander. And they landed on . . . Donna Brink-man, the star of Which Way's Up?, one of my favorite
I turned away from them. I gazed at the ads in our car. Most of them were for roach spray or little roach hotels.
At last, we pulled into a station and Mr. Clarke announced, "This is it, people. Everyone off. Follow me!" I made sure I was standing right behind him. But by the time we had shoved our way into the station, about five people were between Mr. Clarke and me. Darn. 1 had even lost Mal, but I didn't want her company just then anyway. So I straggled along behind my class.
However, I felt a little different when we reached Rockefeller Center. It was absolutely gorgeous. Tall office buildings rose to the sky. Mr. Clarke pointed out two beautiful statues. He showed Mal and me the outdoor restaurant, which is an ice-skating rink during the winter. He showed us Radio City Music Hall.
And then he said that the NBC television studios were located in one of the buildings. In those studios are filmed game shows, Sat- Mg/i£ Ln?e, Late Night with David Letter-man, the Today show, and many others.
Oh, I was dying. I was positive I would see a star. Maybe several stars.
". . . anything that might interest you. Okay, Miss Kishi?" Yikes. Mr. Clarke had been talking again and I hadn't been paying attention (again).
"Urn. Yes — " I glanced at Mallory. She nodded. "Yes. That's fine," I finished up.
Mr. Clarke looked away from me. "We'll stay in this area for about half an hour. Then we'll move on." The students began to scatter. I looked around and realized we were standing near the restaurant/skating rink. I leaned over a rail and peered at the people eating below me. But I found myself imagining skaters there instead. The tables and chairs and plates of food disappeared. In their place I could see a sheet of silvery ice. Children bundled up in snow-suits worked their way awkwardly around the rink. Older kids flew by them, their jackets open. Adults skated along leisurely, arm in arm.
"Claud?" asked Mal.
"Yeah?" I turned and found her at my el- bow, sketch pad and pencil in hand.
"What are you going to draw? Do you know yet?" "Urn . . . no." (I knew perfectly well what I was going to draw, but I planned to surprise Mr. Clarke. I didn't want anyone to copy me.) "Well, I'm going to draw the outdoor restaurant. From up here. I think that's called a bird's-eye view. Anyway, it makes the angles and dimensions really different." I watched Mal begin to work. Her angles and dimensions certainly were different. I stepped away from her, and began my own drawing of what was below me. I called it "Winter Fantasy." It was a picture of the way I envisioned the ice-skating rink in wintertime.
"Miss Kishi?" Mr. Clarke was behind me! I turned slowly until I was facing him.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing to my drawing.
"The skating rink," I replied.
Mr. Clarke waved his hand around, indicating Rockefeller Plaza. "I don't see a skating rink here," he replied.
"But you said there's one in the winter. This is how I imagine it." "That's very creative, Miss Kishi. But the C»M> ^ MjvMfl-f assignment is to draw what you see." As soon as Mr. Clarke moved on to the next student, I tore the sheet of paper off the pad, crumpled it up, and hurled it into a nearby trash can. Before I started a new sketch, I glanced at Mal's drawing. More of the same. Her perspective was way off. But had Mr. Clarke said anything to her? No.
I began a new drawing. Ten minutes later, Mr. Clarke checked on me again. I had completed a quick sketch of the restaurant. The whole thing.
Mr. Clarke sighed. "You're working too quickly again," he said.
When he turned away, I stuck my tongue out at him.
All right. He wanted me to work slowly? Then I would work slowly.
I worked so slowly that my eyes began to wander. And they landed on . . . Donna Brink-man, the star of Which Way's Up?, one of my favorite
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