Mary Anne and Miss Priss

by Ann M. Martin

  Shannon Kilbourne, who, like Logan, has been an associate BSC member, is taking Dawn’s place for the time being. (As associates, Logan and Shannon don’t regularly come to meetings, and they take sitting jobs when none of us are available.) Shannon lives in Kristy’s new neighborhood, and goes to Stoneybrook Day School, across town. When they first met, Kristy thought Shannon was a snob, but that was just a misunderstanding. They’re friends now. In fact, when Louie, Kristy’s collie, died, Shannon gave the Thomases one of her own dog’s puppies. David Michael named the puppy Shannon, which I thought was awfully sweet, but it does get confusing when Shannon the dog and Shannon the person are both over at Kristy’s house.

  Shannon has a ski jump nose, super high cheekbones, and these great big blue eyes. She’s a serious student, which is one reason she had never wanted to be a full BSC member. Her homework and school clubs have always come first. Luckily for us, she’s managed to clear her schedule enough to fill in for Dawn.

  That’s everybody except the junior officers — Mallory Pike (whom I’d just finished sitting with) and Jessica Ramsey. Mal and Jessi are best friends, partly because they have a lot in common and partly because they are so different. Here’s what they have in common: They’re eleven, in the sixth grade, and have pierced ears (they had them pierced at the same time). Both are horse crazy and spend a lot of time reading books about horses, especially those written by Marguerite Henry. Both are the oldest kids in their families.

  What’s different? Jessi is black, with long, long legs and big brown eyes, and Mal is white, with curly red-brown hair, glasses, and braces (which make her feel like an ugly duckling these days). There are eight kids in Mal’s family, while Jessi is one of three. She has a sister, Becca, who is eight-and-a-half, and a baby brother, Squirt (his real name is John Philip). Jessi is a talented ballerina and hopes to dance with a famous ballet company some day; Mallory dreams of being a famous writer and illustrator of children’s books.

  The Baby-sitters Club meets every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from five-thirty to six. That’s when clients call to schedule baby-sitting jobs. That was the essence of Kristy’s brilliant idea: to give parents one number at which they could reach many experienced sitters. I’m in charge of the record book, which means I have to keep track of everyone’s activities, and determine who is available to baby-sit. I know this sounds amazing, but I have never made a scheduling mistake (knock on wood). Stacey collects the dues, helps to pay Claud’s phone bills, and gives Kristy’s brother money for driving her to the meetings. Stacey also gives the rest of us cash when we need to buy new items for our Kid-Kits.

  Kid-Kits, another one of Kristy’s great ideas, are cardboard cartons filled with art supplies, and our old toys and games. Each of us decorated our box (with artistic advice from Claudia), and on rainy days, or sometimes just for fun, we take them with us to our sitting jobs. The kids love them, and they are great icebreakers.

  During each meeting we schedule jobs, talk about new projects to do with the kids, and write in the BSC notebook. Unlike the record book, the notebook is a kind of journal in which we record what’s going on with our clients. If a kid is having trouble in school, or her parents are divorcing, or he’s convinced a monster lives under his bed, it helps to know ahead of time.

  So, that’s the Baby-sitters Club and how it works. Now, back to my race with Kristy. She took the stairs four at a time and crossed the doorsill into Claud’s room one second before I did. She landed in her director’s chair just as Claud’s digital clock turned from five-twenty-nine to five-thirty.

  “I win!” Kristy said, raising one fist in victory.

  “Not fair,” I huffed, flopping onto Claud’s bed. “You got a head start.”

  Logan, who was attending the meetings this week, grinned at me. “When are you going to learn never to get into a race with Kristy? She can beat practically anybody in the eighth grade. Guys included.”

  Kristy blushed with pride and grinned. “Thanks, Logan. And on that note, I officially call this meeting to order. Any new business or announcements?”

  “I have some good news.” Claud held up a plastic bag. “I finally found this bag of potato chips that I hid in the back of my closet two months ago. Anybody want one?”

  Stacey, who was stretched out on the bed on her stomach, wrinkled her nose. “Ew! Gross! Two-month-old chips? They’ll be stale.”

  Claudia pulled the bag open and took a loud, crunchy bite of a chip. “Nope. They were vacuum sealed. Mmmmmm!”

  Shannon was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, next to Jessi. She waved her hand excitedly to get everyone’s attention. “I have some really big news. Astrid’s going to have puppies again!”

  “You’re kidding!” Kristy yelped.

  Astrid is Shannon’s Bernese mountain dog, and the mother of Kristy’s dog, which is why Kristy was so excited. In case you’re wondering, Bernese mountain dogs look sort of like St. Bernards except they’re black and white instead of brown and white.

  “Ooooh, I wish I could have one of the puppies,” Kristy said. “Wouldn’t that be neat? Two Bernies.”

  Stacey nodded. “I bet they’ll be darling. Tiny balls of fur.”

  Shannon giggled. “They don’t stay tiny for long. Before you know it they turn into big, teddy bears, and then huge loveable dogs.”

  “That shed and slobber all over you,” Logan added with a grin.

  “They do not slobber!” Kristy said indignantly.

  “They do, too!” Logan teased. “I’ve seen your dog walk around with big, long strings of drool that almost touch the ground.”

  “Ew! Gross!” Claudia said.

  Luckily for everyone, the phone rang before Logan could give us any more details about Shannon (the dog’s) slobber.

  “Baby-sitters Club, this is Stacey…. Oh, hi, Mrs. Prezzioso.”

  We waited patiently as Stacey wrote down the details of Mrs. Prezzioso’s call. When she hung up, Stacey was frowning.

  “Mrs. Prezzioso needs a sitter for Jenny every weekday afternoon, indefinitely.”

  “Every weekday?” I gasped.

  Stacey nodded, repeating, “Indefinitely.”

  The others sat in silence while I checked the schedule book. I shook my head. “It’s hard to schedule a job like this. I think everyone in the BSC is busy at least one day a week.”

  “And even if we’re not,” Stacey said, “I don’t think any of us wants to give up every single afternoon.”

  Kristy bit her lip. “No one has ever asked us to make this kind of commitment. It’s like taking on a permanent job.”

  I stared at the schedule book. “Jessi’s out, she has dance class three times a week,” I mumbled. “Kristy has Krushers practice and Claud needs time for the newspaper, plus she has art class. Stacey and Logan are busy this week and Shannon has a French club dinner.” I looked up at the group. “I’m the only one who could possibly do it — this week — but I don’t think I’m up for working five days. I could maybe do three days each week, though.”

  Then Kristy suggested, “Why don’t you pick three regular days, and we’ll fill in the remaining ones on a job-by-job basis?”

  I agreed to try it for a few weeks. I chose Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The last half of our meeting was really crazy. I tried to schedule everyone into the Tuesday and Friday slots. No one else was available for the first Tuesday so I decided to take that day, too. It was nearly six o’clock when I called Mrs. Prezzioso back to tell her the news. She was thrilled and couldn’t stop thanking me.

  “You girls are wonderful,” she said. (Oh, well. I knew she meant Logan, too.) “Simply wonderful. You’ve saved my life.”

  I didn’t think to ask Mrs. Prezzioso why she needed a sitter for every afternoon of the week, or why it was just for Jenny and not Andrea, the baby. I guess I figured I’d find out on Monday.

  Ding dong.

  As I waited for someone to answer the Prezziosos’ doorbell Monday afternoon, I thought
about the first time I’d baby-sat for Jenny. She’d acted so prim and proper and had been so fussy about the food she ate and the clothes she wore, that we’d often call her Miss Priss. She was three then, and an only child. Now Jenny’s four and has a baby sister, and she’s much more relaxed about her clothes. She even wears (gasp) pants sometimes.

  I heard the sound of tiny feet running to answer the door. Then a high voice asked, “Who is it, please?”

  Jenny’s mother has taught her never to open the door until she knows who is outside. I think that’s good advice.

  “Hi, Jenny,” I called. “It’s me, Mary Anne.”

  There was a short silence. Then Jenny said, “Mary Anne Spier?”

  I smiled to myself. How many Mary Annes could she know? “Yes,” I replied. “It’s Mary Anne Spier. Your baby-sitter.”

  I heard the lock turning. When the front door opened, I took one look at Jenny and nearly fainted. She was covered from head to toe in lace.

  Two pink lace bows perched in her dark brown hair. Her pink dress had a delicate lace collar, lacey puffed sleeves, and a big satin-and-lace sash around the waist. Even her socks were topped with lace. Jenny looked more like a doll — the kind you collect, not play with — than a real little girl. Miss Priss was back.

  I stammered, “J-Jenny, what’s the occasion? Are you going to a party or something?”

  Jenny blinked her blue eyes at me. “No. This is how I always dress.”

  Hmmmmm. Something wasn’t right. But before I could quiz Jenny any more about her appearance, Mrs. Prezzioso appeared at the top of the stairs. In her arms was baby Andrea, who looked like a miniature version of Jenny, although she didn’t have enough hair for bows. She wore a lace-covered bonnet instead.

  “You two look gorgeous,” I said. “Like something out of a magazine.”

  “Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Prezzioso replied as she swept down the stairs. “Sorry I can’t chat, but Andrea and I are in a very big hurry. I’ve left the number where you can reach me on the refrigerator.” Mrs. Prezzioso continued to give me instructions as she gathered her coat and opened the front door. “Take care, my angel,” she called, blowing Jenny a kiss. “Mommy will be back soon.”

  Jenny stood in the entryway and stared at the closed front door. Her chin quivered and for just a second, I thought she might cry.

  “Would you like to see what I’ve brought in my Kid-Kit?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

  “No, thank you,” Jenny said, quickly recovering. “I would like a drink of juice, please. I’m very thirsty.”

  Jenny and I headed for the kitchen and as we passed the gilded hall mirror, she paused to study her reflection. I watched her check the front and back view of her dress to make sure everything was in perfect order. Then she carefully smoothed a strand of hair back into place. Yes, she was definitely acting like the old Miss Priss.

  I poured Jenny a glass of apple juice while she sat primly at the dining room table. Unfortunately, when she took her first sip of juice, a drop of it fell onto her dress.

  “Oh, no!” She stared in horror at the little spot.

  “Here, Jenny.” I grabbed a towel from the kitchen and handed it to her. “We’ll just blot the juice with this. You’ll never know it was there.”

  Jenny leapt to her feet. “I can’t wear this dress. It’s ruined.”

  Before I could stop her, Jenny raced up the stairs. By the time I caught up with her, she’d removed all her clothes — socks, hair bows, and all. Too surprised to say anything, I watched as she changed into a pale blue dress with matching socks and ribbons.

  “You look very pretty,” I said as she finished tying the ribbons. “But I really don’t think you needed to change all of your clothes.”

  “Mommy likes for us to stay clean,” was Jenny’s reply. Then she did a very strange thing. She went into the bathroom and washed her hands, which didn’t look at all dirty to me. She scrubbed and scrubbed, being careful not to splash any water on herself. “There,” she murmured, when she’d dried her hands thoroughly. “Much better.”

  Downstairs, Jenny refused to drink any more juice, for fear that she might spill again. Instead she went into the living room and sat on a straight-backed chair with her hands folded in her lap.

  I stood in the doorway, waiting to see what would happen next. She just sat. “Jenny?” I finally said. “I thought we might play outside. Would you like that?”

  Jenny glanced out the picture window in the living room. The sun was shining brightly and it did look enticing. “Well, maybe. Just for a little while.”

  “Why don’t you change into your play clothes?” I had visions of a speck of something dirtying Jenny’s dress, followed by another frantic race for the closet. “That way we could go to the park.”

  “No. I don’t want play clothes,” Jenny said, folding her arms firmly across her chest. “They make me look ugly.”

  “That’s not true. You have some very nice pants.”

  She does, too. Unlike most kids, whose play clothes consist of old jeans and faded tees, Jenny wears outfits that match, and look brand new.

  Jenny shook her head. “I’m not going to change, so I may as well stay inside.”

  I looked longingly at the bright day outside and made a decision. “We could both use some sunshine,” I declared. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

  Before Jenny would step outside, she insisted on checking her appearance in the hall mirror again. “My hair looks messy,” she complained. “I think I should comb it first.”

  That was it. I grabbed her by the hand and practically dragged her through the front door. “Forget your hair. If it gets messed up on our walk you can fix it when we come back.”

  It was a perfect time to be outside. The trees were budding and the sun felt wonderfully warm on my face.

  Beep! Beep! a horn blew behind us on the sidewalk. It was Matthew Braddock riding his bike. Matt is deaf and communicates with Ameslan (that’s American Sign Language). Today he was leading Buddy Barrett and Nicky Pike in a bicycle parade down the sidewalk. We were in their way.

  “Watch where you’re going!” Jenny cried as the boys swerved around us. “You’re going to ruin my dress.” When the boys had passed she stood very still, inspecting every inch of her dress for a speck of dirt or a drop of mud.

  “Your dress is spotless,” I said gently.

  “Thank goodness,” Jenny replied with a big sigh.

  Presently, I spied Margo and Claire Pike playing with dolls in front of their house.

  “Hi, you guys,” I called. “What are you up to?”

  “We’re playing beach,” Claire answered. “See? The dirt is the sand. Our dolls are trying to get a tan.”

  Margo and Claire had created bikinis for the dolls by tying scraps of cloth around them. The dolls were lying on potholders. “These are their beach blankets,” Margo explained.

  I turned to Jenny. “Would you like to play dolls with Margo and Claire? It looks fun.”

  “It looks dirty,” Jenny said, wrinkling her nose. “Look! They’re sitting in the dirt like pigs.” She took a few steps away from the Pikes to make sure nothing soiled her pale blue socks.

  “We aren’t pigs,” Claire said to Margo.

  “Of course not,” Margo replied. “Just ignore her.”

  I didn’t blame Margo for responding that way. Jenny had sounded pretty mean.

  “We’ll see you guys later,” I said, taking Jenny by the hand and leading her down the sidewalk. The Pike kids didn’t even say good-bye.

  We reached Burnt Hill Road again and strolled over to my old street, where we spied Jamie Newton in his front yard, doing his best to master a hula hoop that was almost as big as he was. We watched him for a few minutes as, time after time, he spun the hoop and wriggled his hips frantically, trying without success to keep the plastic circle from dropping to the ground.

  “You’re spinning it too fast,” Jenny called. “Go slower.”

  Jamie, who is a
very sweet four-year-old, offered the hoop to Jenny. “Here,” he said. “You show me how to do it.”

  “Ew! No!” Jenny leapt backwards as if he had thrust a snake in her face. “Get it away from me!”

  I saw the puzzled look on Jamie’s face and tried to explain, though I didn’t really think he’d understand. “Jenny’s worried the hoop might smudge her outfit.”

  “Oh.” Jamie shrugged and, looping the hoop over his head, turned his back on Jenny. “Then I have the hula hoop all to myself.”

  I couldn’t get over it. In less than ten minutes, Jenny had alienated six of the neighborhood kids. Our walk was turning out to be a disaster.

  Making one last effort, I suggested we play on the swings at the school playground.

  Jenny would have nothing to do with the idea. “Those swings are dirty and I could tear my dress.”

  I took a deep breath. “Then I guess we better go home.”

  The moment we returned to the Prezzioso house, Jenny raced to the bathroom and washed her hands. Carefully, she squeezed the soap into her palm, and then slowly scrubbed her hands. She even checked under her fingernails. (Have you ever seen a four-year-old do that? I mean, without being told to?) Just when I thought she would reach for a towel, Jenny squirted more soap on her hands and started over again. If her mother hadn’t come home a few minutes later, I bet Jenny would have started a third round of washing.

  I said good-bye to Jenny, promising to see her the next day. On my way home, I realized that I’d forgotten to ask Mrs. Prezzioso why she needed a sitter every weekday. I made a mental note to ask the next time. Then I thought about Jenny’s strange behavior — changing her clothes for no reason, washing and rewashing her hands. It was a bit much, even for Jenny. What had gotten into her? The only thing I knew for certain was that baby-sitting for Jenny on a regular basis was going to be a real challenge.