I giggled thinking about it. “Well, he’s completely at home here now,” I said. “He spends his time lounging around the house, acting as if he owns the place.”
“I miss Tigger,” Dawn said, wistfully. “And I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” I could feel a lump forming in my throat (I told you I cry at the least little thing). “I really wish you were here now. I need some help with Jenny.”
“Miss Priss?” Dawn asked. I’d told her about Jenny the last time we’d talked, a couple of weeks earlier. But Dawn didn’t know things had changed in a big way.
“Now she’s become Miss Mess,” I said.
“Miss Mess? That’s hard to believe. How?”
It took almost fifteen minutes (which is my absolute limit on long distance phone calls) for me to describe Jenny’s transformation from the neatest, primmest little girl in Stoneybrook to the neighborhood slob — and why it had happened.
“What should I do about it?” I asked.
“I’m not sure if you can do anything,” Dawn said, “except let Jenny know you like her even though she isn’t a super model.”
“I’m trying to do that.”
“Have you talked to the BSC about this?”
“Not about the new Miss Mess. I thought I’d talk it over with you first.”
“Well, I’d bring it up on Friday,” Dawn suggested. “Think of all the other problems we’ve solved at meetings.”
Dawn was right. It was time for some BSC brainstorming.
“We’ll skip the announcements and get right down to business,” Kristy said, the moment Claud’s digital clock turned from five-twenty-nine to five-thirty. “Mary Anne is worried about Jenny Prezzioso and needs our advice. So I’m giving the floor to Mary Anne.”
When I had called Kristy earlier to see if we could set aside some time during the meeting to talk about Jenny, Kristy had said pretty much what Dawn had said. “That’s what we’re here for.”
So I reviewed the events of the past few weeks and then told everybody what had happened the day before. “Now Jenny has turned into Pig-Pen,” I finished up. “I’m not kidding. She’s a complete mess.”
Kristy leaned forward in the director’s chair. “So you think this started because Jenny felt Mrs. Prezzioso had abandoned her? I mean, Mrs. P. has been gone an awful lot, right?”
I nodded. “Every afternoon and quite a few mornings. She takes Andrea and leaves Jenny behind.”
Jessi shrugged. “I’d probably feel just like Jenny. Left out.”
“First she tried getting her mom’s attention by being perfect, because she thinks Andrea is perfect,” I said. “She’s been hearing people rave about Andrea constantly.”
“Andrea is a pretty wonderful baby,” Stacey said. “She hardly ever cries. She goes to sleep when you put her in her crib and when she’s awake, she smiles all the time like a perfect angel.” Stacey covered her mouth when she realized what she’d said. “Oops.”
“That’s okay,” I reassured her. “It’s easy to say that. But Andrea is just a baby. I’m sure things will change as she gets older and learns to say words like no and why. Right now, though, she really is getting all the attention — and all the jobs. I think that’s why Jenny turned into Miss Mess. Andrea is a big success and Jenny can’t even get one commercial. She thinks she’s a flop at age four.”
“Right,” Kristy said. “She feels awful. And now she wants to see if being a mess will make her parents notice her.”
“It’s hard not to notice her.” I laughed. “Yesterday she was covered from head to toe in mud, cranapple juice, and Popsicle goo.”
“Don’t the Prezziosos see what’s going on?” Stacey asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Yesterday Mrs. Prezzioso acted like everything was perfectly normal. Of course, she didn’t see Jenny’s redesigned dress. But it isn’t just Jenny’s clothes, it’s the way she’s acting.”
Claudia sighed. “Mary Anne, I think you better talk to Mrs. Prezzioso. If you don’t, who knows what Jenny will do next?”
“I agree with Claud,” Kristy said. “But how do you tell someone their kid is in trouble and it’s kind of their fault?”
“Be careful what you say,” Shannon warned me. “If the Prezziosos think you’re blaming them for Jenny’s behavior, they might get really upset.”
“And we don’t want to get a reputation for being too pushy,” Kristy added. “That could hurt the club.”
“Well, no one could ever accuse us of being pushy with the Pike kids,” Stacey said, moving on to another subject. “We’ve been completely hands-off.”
“Even with all the arguing at that last kickball game. It was a disaster,” Shannon said, rolling her eyes. “I think we could have intervened at least ten times, but we didn’t.”
Claudia laughed. “That took a lot of willpower.”
“The triplets are trying to prove they don’t need a baby-sitter,” I said. “But I’m not sure.”
Kristy adjusted her visor. “I think the triplets are right. They probably are too old for a baby-sitter.”
“But they’re not old enough to be baby-sitters,” Jessi pointed out.
“You can say that again,” Shannon said. “They don’t know how to handle kids. They boss their friends around without thinking about anybody’s feelings.”
“But then, when they should be bossy,” Claudia added, “like during some of those fights last week, they wimp out.”
“Well, something has to be done about them.” Shannon folded her arms across her chest. “Otherwise the kickball team will just collapse.”
“Half of the kids have already threatened to quit,” Jessi added. “Becca included.”
“I think we should call Mallory,” Kristy said, picking up the phone. “Maybe she has a solution.”
“I hope she’s home,” Claud said.
“I’m sure she’s home,” Jessi replied. “Her parents still won’t let her go anywhere after school.”
Jessi was right. Mallory was home. And not only was she home, she was baby-sitting. Again.
“Mom asked me to look after Vanessa, Margo, and Claire while she took the boys for their yearly check-up,” Mallory explained. “So once more I’m stuck sitting at home. I should change my title from the Pikes’ daughter to the Pikes’ nanny.”
Kristy got right to the point. “Mal, we’re worried about the triplets and the kickball team.”
“Me, too,” Mallory replied. “My brothers have a great idea but I’m afraid they’re going to blow it.”
“Is there any way you could talk to them?” Kristy asked. “I mean, just to give them some friendly advice?”
“It’s funny you should mention it,” Mal said. “I’ve been making a list of suggestions to give them about how to organize a team. And deal with the problems that come up.”
“Do you think they’ll read it?”
“If I present it to them right. I thought I’d tell them about the BSC, and how it was first formed. I’ll make a point of bringing up some of the problems we’ve faced with each other and our clients and how we went about solving them. Then I’ll ask if they’ve run into any troubles like that with their team.”
“Great,” Kristy said, with an approving nod. “Be sure and compliment them on what a good idea it was to form a neighborhood kickball team.”
“Don’t worry, I will. I’ll talk to them tomorrow afternoon, when Mom takes Vanessa and Margo to the dentist.”
“You’re baby-sitting again tomorrow?”
“I’m always baby-sitting,” Mallory grumbled. “Since my parents won’t let me do anything else, I’m always available.”
“That’s terrible,” Kristy murmured sympathetically.
“It’s weird, but I was looking at my calendar yesterday and I realized that I’m baby-sitting more now than before I got sick.”
“Do your parents know that?” Kristy asked.
“They should. They’re the ones who are hiring me.”
<
br /> “Mal, I think it’s time for you to talk to your parents.”
Mallory heaved a huge sigh. “I tell them I’m well but they don’t believe me.”
“Don’t talk about being well or sick,” Kristy suggested. “Talk about being overbooked. Show them your sitting schedule. Draw a chart.”
“They’d probably be shocked.”
“They should be,” Kristy said indignantly. “Then after you’ve shown them your chart, tell them you have to rejoin the BSC.”
“I wish,” Mallory murmured. “I sure miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too,” Kristy said, her voice softening. “It’s time you came home.”
The rest of us, who had been listening to Kristy’s side of the phone conversation, nodded to each other.
“Come back, Mallory!” Claudia shouted.
“We need you,” Stacey called.
“We miss you,” Jessi and I added.
“Tell everybody thanks,” Mallory said to Kristy. “And tell them I’m going to talk to my parents. I just need to come up with a surefire plan of attack.”
After Kristy had hung up, she filled us in on her discussion with Mallory. Hearing that Mallory had decided to talk to the triplets and her parents gave my courage a boost.
“I am going to talk to Mrs. Prezzioso,” I said suddenly.
“When?” Claud asked.
I took a deep breath. “Tomorrow. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
“What are you going to say?” Kristy asked.
“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I’ll have to think about that.”
I had huge butterflies in my stomach all day Thursday. In my head, I rehearsed what I might say to Mrs. Prezzioso. I knew the direct approach was always best but I didn’t want to be too pushy. Once I decided what I would say to Mrs. Prezzioso, I was faced with another problem. When would I tell her? Before or after my sitting job?
Mrs. Prezzioso was standing on the front porch looking very anxious when I arrived that afternoon. For half a second I thought I was late.
“Mary Anne, I’m so glad you’re early,” Mrs. Prezzioso said. “The agency just called and, if I hurry, I can squeeze in two auditions this afternoon.”
Now was definitely not a good time to have a heart-to-heart. I waved good-bye to her, and decided that later was the better choice anyway. The audition would be over and she would be more relaxed. Maybe I would be, too.
Boy, was I wrong. Looking after Jenny that day was anything but relaxing. All afternoon she went from room to room, making one mess after another.
The living room was her first target. I found her sitting in the center of the rug with a big mound of Clay-Mate in front of her.
“Jenny!” I gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Making cookies. What’s it look like?”
“It looks like a mess.” Hurriedly, I started peeling the clay off the rug. “You have to play with this on the kitchen table, Jenny. You know that.”
“I think it’s more fun on the floor.” Jenny picked up an oatmeal box — the round kind — she’d brought in from the kitchen and started to use it like a rolling pin, trying to flatten out the remaining clay. Unfortunately the lid wasn’t on tight.
“Jenny! Look out. There’s oatmeal pouring out of the box.” I grabbed the box before she could do any more damage. But the clay was already covered with pale white oat flakes. “Okay. Clay time is over. Why don’t you put the clay back in the container while I vacuum?”
Jenny reluctantly scooped the clay into its bucket. I ran the vacuum, and then picked the last bits of clay out of the rug by hand.
“There!” I said when I was done. “You can barely tell anything happened.” But I was talking to myself.
While I was cleaning, Jenny had wandered upstairs to her room. When I caught up with her, she was setting up a little easel by her bed. “I want to paint,” she said.
I knew that her mother kept the easel in the closet, along with a big plastic apron for Jenny and a plastic cloth for the floor. Jenny had ignored both of them. Before I could stop her, she opened a jar of red paint and promptly dropped it on the parquet floor.
“Don’t move an inch,” I ordered. “I’ll get a cloth to clean that up.”
At least she missed the rug, I thought as I raced down to the kitchen. I grabbed a sponge, a roll of paper towels, and some spray cleaner, and tossed the things in the pink plastic bucket under the sink. I had a feeling that this was going to be a very messy afternoon, and I’d better be prepared.
“Jenny, let’s pretend we’re Cinderella and her fairy godmother and we have to make sure this floor is sparkling clean if we want to go to the ball. I’ll wipe up the big globs of paint and you can sponge up the rest.”
Jenny took the sponge but made only a couple of half-hearted swipes at the floor. She wasn’t terribly interested in pretending to be Cinderella, and she definitely didn’t want to make anything look clean.
After I’d washed out the sponge and thrown away the paper towels, I laid the plastic mat under the easel. “Shall we work on your painting now?”
Jenny made a face. “Nope. I’m done with painting.” She skipped out of the room.
“Wait for me,” I called as I folded up the easel and put away the drop cloth. I grabbed my bucket and hurried after Jenny. She’d been out of my sight for two minutes. Plenty of time to get into more trouble. Messy trouble.
I found Jenny in the front entryway with a broom and a golf ball. She was trying to tap the golf ball into one of her father’s shoes. “Is this putting practice?” I asked.
She nodded seriously, eyeing her target. “Daddy does it all the time.”
Actually, Jenny’s golf stance, complete with broom and golf ball, made a cute picture. I was just starting to think that Miss Mess might actually be an improvement over Miss Priss, when she hauled off and swung the broom like a professional golfer. The broom clipped the vase of lilacs perched on the side table, and water and flowers flew everywhere.
“Oh, no!” I gasped. I leapt forward and managed to catch the vase before it could hit the floor and break into a thousand pieces.
Even Jenny looked mortified. She dropped the broom and turned pale. But once she realized that the vase hadn’t broken she left.
I couldn’t believe the way she was behaving. “Jenny! Would you please come back here?”
“Why?” she called from the kitchen.
“Because you knocked over these flowers and you need to pick them up. I’ve got paper towels and a sponge for the water, but I’m going to need help with the lilacs.”
“Oh, all right.” She stomped into the entryway and scooped the flowers into a clump on the floor. “There.”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “In the vase.”
Jenny dropped the flowers in the vase one by one, as if she were dropping stones into a bucket. When she was finished I said, “Thank you, Jenny. You were a very good helper.”
“I want to go outside.” Jenny walked to the back door without giving me another look.
It hadn’t rained for a couple of days but I imagined the sandbox was still pretty soggy. The thought of Jenny covered in mud again made me race to head her off at the pass.
“Hold it. Hold it,” I said, blocking the back door. “I’d love to go outside, too, but why don’t we go to the playground? Maybe some other kids will be there and you could swing.”
I thought a walk to Stoneybrook Elementary’s playground would be a safe way to keep Jenny clean. Wrong!
There must have been ten big puddles between her house and the school yard and Jenny sloshed through every one of them. Then she picked up a kickball lying at the edge of the playground and hugged it to her chest, smearing the front of her dress with dirt.
I sighed. “Jenny, why don’t we do a little kickball practice,” I suggested, eyeing the playing field. Since she was already dirty, we might as well have some fun.
Jenny brightened. “Okay. You be the pitcher,” she said, tossing me the
ball. “I’ll kick.”
I rolled the ball toward her. Jenny wound up and kicked the ball with all her might. Unfortunately, she missed the ball completely, and the force of her kick sent her sprawling backward onto the grass. Now she had a bright green grass stain on the back of her skirt.
“Are you okay?” I asked, rushing to help her stand.
Jenny held out her left wrist and winced. “I think I hurt my hand. Maybe I need a Band-Aid.”
I saw a few scrapes on her palm, but I was more concerned about bits of gravel and grass getting into them. “I don’t know if you need a Band-Aid, but we should wash this. We wouldn’t want it to get infected.”
Back we went to her house. This time Jenny avoided the puddles. I think she was too busy worrying about her hand.
“Jenny, why don’t you wait in the kitchen while I get the first aid kit from upstairs?”
“Okay.”
I trudged up the stairs to the linen closet where the Prezziosos stored their first aid kit. Normally I would have thought the afternoon’s events were funny, but not today. In the first place, every mess Jenny made, I had to clean up. And in the second place, I was still worrying about what I was going to say to Mrs. Prezzioso.
The only good thing about the afternoon was that it was almost over. I checked the clock in the upstairs hall. Mrs. Prezzioso was due home in ten minutes. That gave me just enough time to wash Jenny’s wound and wipe the worst of the mud stains off the front of her dress.
I carried the Band-Aids, hydrogen peroxide, and some cotton balls into the kitchen. But when I arrived, it looked as though a tornado had struck. A peanut butter tornado.
In the short time I’d been gone, Jenny had gotten a jar of peanut butter out of the cupboard, opened it, and started to make a sandwich. There was peanut butter everywhere. I’m not kidding. It was smeared on the counter and down the front of the refrigerator. The silverware drawer was open, and its handle was coated with the stuff. A trail of peanut butter globs led toward the dining room.
“Jenny Prezzioso!” I shouted. “You come in here this instant. I mean it. This instant.”
Mary Anne and Miss Priss Page 7
