For Aunt Adele and Uncle Paul
Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank
Dr. Claudia Werner for her
sensitive evaluation of the manuscript.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter from Ann M. Martin
About the Author
Scrapbook
Copyright
“Coffee’s ready!”
“Where’s my sweater?”
“Mom! I ironed my blouse last night and now it’s wrinkled! How did that happen?”
“I need two dollars!”
“I said, the coffee is ready!”
It was a pretty typical morning at my house. Summer or winter, my parents and sister and I are always rushing off in different directions. Since it was July and school was out, my sister Janine was off to advanced summer courses at Stoneybrook University, I was off to a drawing class, and Mom and Dad were just off to work as usual. The only one who wasn’t off to any place was Mimi, my grandmother.
On school mornings, I wake up slowly. Mimi has to prod me to get out of bed, prod me to get dressed, prod me to eat breakfast, and prod me to go out the front door. This is because I don’t like school.
In the summer, no one has to prod me. I like vacation and I love art classes. I love drawing and painting and crafts.
I am thirteen years old, which means I am now officially a teenager. Mom says that doesn’t mean much, because I’ve always been a teenager. By that, I think she means that I can be difficult to live with. I’m smart, but I don’t like school or homework. My family is conservative, but I’m wild. I like loud clothes. I like to dance. I can be a real pain sometimes.
On the other hand, Janine, who is sixteen, has never been a teenager, according to my mother. Janine is smart and likes school. Actually, that’s not quite right. She’s super-smart (a genius), and she doesn’t just go to school. She goes, as I mentioned, to college. Well, she takes college courses, but she’s still a high school student. She’ll be a junior at Stoneybrook High this fall. Anyway, she never gives anybody a lick of trouble. She studies, studies, studies. My parents think she’s wonderful. They brag to our relatives about how she’s only sixteen and can handle college work. They expect her to become something really important, like a physicist.
Janine wears clothes that are blah, blah, blah. When she outgrows them and passes them along to me, I pass them right along to Kristy Thomas or Mary Anne Spier, who live across the street. They don’t care too much about clothes, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in Janine’s things. I’d rather have to pay for all new clothes with the money I earn baby-sitting than wear Janine’s free but yucky button-down shirts, gray kilts, and crew-neck sweaters.
Do you get the feeling that Janine and I are different from each other?
To be frank, my sister and I have next to nothing in common. I’m outgoing and have a lot of friends; Janine sticks to herself and has almost no friends. (That’s what happens when your parents want you to be a physicist.) I’ve already had two semi-boyfriends; Janine, quite possibly, doesn’t know what boys are. I have lots of interests: reading mysteries, baby-sitting, painting, and drawing; all Janine cares about is her computer.
I can hardly even talk to Janine. She uses such big words, it’s like talking to Webster’s Dictionary. Sometimes she teases me about not being as smart as she is. Mom says she does that because underneath, she wishes she were a little like me, with friends and interests and stuff, and feels left out of our family. Mom also says that I’m not fair to Janine sometimes—that inside, Janine is sensitive and loving, and creative in her own way, but that I don’t see those things because I won’t look beyond the big words. Also, I wouldn’t admit this to just anybody, but I have a feeling I’m a big disappointment to my parents. Brains are important to them, and I want to be an artist, not a scientist. I’ve tried to tell them you have to be smart to be a good artist, but they’re not convinced. So, okay, I’m a teeny-weeny bit jealous of my sister. She can always make our parents happy.
Anyway, on that busy Wednesday morning, I finished dressing in my favorite art class outfit—black jeans, a giant bright blue T-shirt, and a snake bracelet that I wore above my elbow—and ran downstairs. I was the second one into the kitchen.
Mimi greeted me in her gentle way. “Good morning, my Claudia,” she said softly. I hardly notice Mimi’s accent anymore, but she does have one. Our family is Japanese, and Mimi, who is Mom’s mother, didn’t come to the United States until she was in her thirties. I’m surprised she speaks English as well as she does, I mean, considering that for half her life she spoke only Japanese.
“Morning, Mimi!” I replied.
Mimi was fixing breakfast. (She was not, however, the person who’d been yelling about the coffee earlier. That was my father. Every morning, he comes downstairs as soon as he stumbles out of bed, and gets the coffee going pronto for himself and Mom. They practically can’t see without a little caffeine in their bodies. Mimi and I drink herbal tea.)
I sat down at my place at the kitchen table. A few moments later, Mom joined me, then Janine, and then my father. Mimi served up the scrambled eggs she’d made, and sat down next to me.
“This is lovely, Mother,” said my mom to Mimi. “Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“Me, neither!” I added.
“And I do not know what I would do if I did not have you to take care of,” said Mimi earnestly.
Mimi has been living with us since before I was born. My grandfather, Mimi’s husband, died not long after my mom and dad got married.
“And what is everybody going to do today?” asked Mimi.
“The usual,” replied my father cheerfully. “Oh, but I’ll be a little late tonight,” he added. “We have a five-thirty meeting this afternoon. It may go on for a while.” Dad is a partner in an investment business in Stamford, Connecticut, which is not far from Stoneybrook.
“The usual for me, too,” said Mom. Mom is the head librarian at the local public library. This has been a big boon to Janine, who needs books the way most people need food and water. It has not been much help to me, since the only books I read are mysteries. My favorites are Nancy Drews, which the library doesn’t have, and which I have to hide from my parents. They think Nancy Drews aren’t worthwhile.
“I,” said Janine, “have one class this morning and two this afternoon. I believe I’ll spend the day on campus. I can work at the computer library between classes.”
“What a thrill,” I murmured. Janine tried to make everything she did sound important and wonderful.
“Claudia,” warned my mother.
Janine looked hurt. “Well, what are you going to do today?” she asked me. “Reinvent the wheel?”
“Ha-ha.” Janine can’t even make a joke. “No,” I said. “I’m going to drawing class this morning.
After lunch I’m going to baby-sit for Jamie Newton for a couple of hours. Then Stacey and I are going shopping, and then I have a meeting of the Babysitters Club.”
“Oh,” said Janine in a small voice. She looked a little wistful.
The Baby-sitters Club is something Kristy Thomas (from across the street) thought up. She
and I and three other girls have this club that is really a business. Kristy is our president. We earn money baby-sitting for the families in our neighborhood. Three afternoons a week we hold half-hour meetings in my bedroom. (I have a phone.) Our clients call us during those times to tell us when they need baby-sitters. Then Mary Anne Spier checks the calendar in our Babysitters Club Record Book to see who’s available, and we call the parent back to say which one of us will be sitting. The parents like this arrangement because they only have to make one phone call to reach five girls, so they’re pretty much guaranteed a sitter. It saves them time.
I’m the vice president of the club.
Mary Anne is the secretary She’s in charge of our record book, where we keep track of our clients, their addresses and phone numbers, our appointments, and stuff like that. Mary Anne is perfect for the job. She’s well-organized and smart, and she has the neatest handwriting of anyone in the club. I’ve lived across the street from Mary Anne for as long as I can remember, and although I like her, I still feel I don’t know her very well. Mary Anne’s on the shy side, and she and Kristy have always been best friends.
Our club treasurer is Stacey McGill. She keeps track of the money we make. Stacey moved to Stoneybrook about a year ago, and she and I got to be really good friends. We’re very much alike. Stacey’s from New York, where it’s okay to be wild. I don’t think anyone from New York could ever be blah.
Then there’s Dawn Schafer. Dawn joined the Baby-sitters Club a few months after Kristy, Mary Anne, Stacey, and I started it. She’s also a newcomer to Connecticut. She and her mom and brother moved here from California after her parents got divorced. (Her mom grew up in Stoneybrook.) Dawn and Mary Anne quickly became good friends, and Mary Anne was the one who got Dawn into the club.
For the longest time, Dawn wasn’t an officer of the club because the rest of us were filling the four main posts. Then Kristy made her the official alternate officer, which means that she can take over for anyone who has to miss a meeting.
At first, Kristy was pretty jealous of the friendship between Mary Anne and Dawn, but she likes Dawn all right now. Besides, Kristy’s had plenty to think about. Our club president was just in a wedding—her own mother’s! Kristy’s parents got divorced several years ago, and Kristy and her mom, her two big brothers Sam and Charlie, and her little brother David Michael had done okay on their own. But when Mrs. Thomas met this man, Watson Brewer, the two of them fell in love and finally got married. Kristy was the bridesmaid.
I went to the wedding. It was wonderful. Kristy wore a long dress, and shoes with heels, and flowers in her hair. It was very romantic. The one bad thing about the marriage is that the Thomases have to move. They’re not going far—just into Watson’s house, which is across town—but it will cause some problems for the Baby-sitters Club. For instance, Kristy has to travel three miles to get to our meetings. We’re hoping her brother Charlie will be able to drive her, even if we have to pay him.
I was shaken out of my daydreaming by the sound of dishes clattering in the sink. Breakfast was over. Mom and Dad were clearing the table.
Janine was swallowing the last of her orange juice. Quickly, I finished my scrambled eggs.
“So,” said Janine, out of the blue, “may I ask how your agency plans to function once your founder is residing in a different district?”
“You may,” I replied, stalling. I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Oh, I understand,” said Janine. “You want to play games. Well, I’ll comply. All right, how does your agency plan to function once your founder is residing in a different district?”
“Huh?”
“I said—”
“Janine, talk in English, will you?”
“I am!” Janine looked hurt again. “I can’t help it if this is the manner in which I speak.”
“And I can’t help it if I don’t understand you.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Janine. She sighed. It might have been a sad sigh, it might have been an exasperated one. I couldn’t tell. “I was simply trying to uphold my end of a meaningful conversation with my sibling.”
“You were trying to what?”
“Talk to you!” exploded Janine.
“Well, why didn’t you just say so?”
“I did.” Janine stood up. “Very well. Have fun drawing and baby-sitting and shopping.” How did Janine always manage to make me feel that I couldn’t do anything worthwhile?
“And you have fun talking to machines!” I yelled after her as she left the kitchen.
Janine mumbled something that sounded like, “At least they communicate with me.” Now, what was that supposed to mean?
It was another happy morning at the Kishis’.
As I left the house a little while later, Mimi put her arms around me and said, “Have fun today, my Claudia.”
“I will,” I replied, giving her a kiss.
Janine watched us from the front yard. Then she looked away. When her ride came along, she got into the car without even waving to us.
I’m the first to admit it—I’m a junk-food addict. I like candy. I like cookies. I like things with funny names such as Ho Hos, Ring Dings, Ding Dongs, and Twinkies. I stock up on the stuff I like and stash it around my room. Since my Nancy Drew books are also hidden, I have to know a lot of good hiding places. If anyone were to search my room, they’d find cupcakes in the desk drawer, licorice in my pencil case, The Clue of the Tapping Heels and The Message in the Hollow Oak under my mattress, M&M’s in my jewelry box, and The Clue in the Crossword Cipher at the bottom of a box of art supplies.
To get ready for our Baby-sitters Club meeting that day, I got out the M&M’s. I also got a box of pretzels from the kitchen. They were for Stacey and Dawn. Stacey’s diabetic and can’t eat candy, and Dawn’s into health food. I don’t think pretzels are particularly healthy, but I suppose they’re better than M&M’s. I also set out our record book, and another book that Kristy insists we keep up-to-date—our Baby-sitters Club Notebook, which is a sort of diary. We’re supposed to record every single baby-sitting job in it, and then read it about once a week so we know what’s going on at the homes where the other club members have baby-sat.
At five-fifteen, my friends started to show up. Stacey was first. She walked proudly into my room, looking smug.
“I didn’t know you were going to get your hair cut!” I exclaimed when I saw her.
“I decided not to say anything,” Stacey replied. “I wasn’t sure how I’d look. Do you like it?”
“I love it!”
Stacey sat on my bed. Her blonde hair was now cut to just above her shoulders. It made her look older.
“Gosh,” I said, “maybe I should get my hair cut.”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Stacey. “Your hair is amazing. How long did it take you to grow it to that length?”
“Years,” I admitted.
“It’s so beautiful. Don’t you dare touch it!”
“Touch what?” asked a voice. Dawn was standing in my doorway.
“Speaking of long hair …” said Stacey.
“Hi, you guys.” Dawn came in and eased herself onto the floor. She had to swing her hair out before she sat down. That’s how long her hair is. And it’s white-blonde.
When Dawn and I stand next to each other, we look kind of like a photograph and its negative.
“Her hair,” Stacey said, answering Dawn’s question. “Just because I got mine cut, Claudia—”
“Aughh!” shrieked Dawn. “I didn’t even notice. Oh, Stace, it looks fantastic!”
“Thanks,” said Stacey, grinning.
A few moments later, Kristy and Mary Anne showed up. Mary Anne joined Dawn on the floor. We’d all been leaving my director’s chair for Kristy. She likes to sit in it and take charge. Sometimes she wears a visor, or sticks a pencil over one ear. Anything to make her stand out as our president.
“Okay, baby-sitters,” said Kristy, after she and Mary Anne had oohed and aahed over Sta
cey’s haircut. “Business first. Stacey, what’s in the treasury?”
Stacey had brought a rumpled manila envelope along with her. “Give me your dues first, you guys,” she said.
We each forked over a dollar.
Stacey put the money on the bed and emptied the contents of the envelope over it. She announced the total after one pretty quick glance at the bills and change, which is why she’s our treasurer.
“Not bad,” said Kristy. “Well, I have two interesting pieces of news, speaking of the money. One is that Mom said Charlie can now drive me and David Michael around town.”
“Yay!” cheered the rest of us.
“The other is that I asked him about driving me to the meetings and to sitting jobs in this neighborhood after we move to Watson’s.”
“Yes?” I said eagerly. The whole future of the club depended on whether Kristy could get to the meetings.
“I offered to pay him two dollars for each trip he had to make—that means four dollars for every meeting.”
Mary Anne, Stacey, Dawn, and I were practically biting our nails. We had discussed the amount of Kristy’s offer endlessly. Would Charlie laugh at two dollars? Would he even want the job of driving Kristy all over town? It was important to us because we had decided to pay Charlie out of the club dues. We didn’t think it was right to ask the president of her own club to pay for car rides when no one else had to.
“And,” Kristy went on, “he said two dollars is too” (I groaned) “much!” she cried. “He said a dollar each way is plenty!”
“All right!”
“So we don’t have to worry. The problem is solved. And cheaply!”
The phone rang then, and I picked it up. “Hello. Baby-sitters Club.”
“Hello, this is Dr. Johanssen.”
“Oh, hi,” I said. “It’s Claudia.”
“Oh, Claudia. I need a sitter for Friday evening next week. Mr. Johanssen and I are going to a cocktail party. We’ll need someone from six until about eight.”
“Okay, I’ll call you right back.”
I got off the phone. “That was Charlotte’s mother,” I told the members of the club. “She needs someone from six to eight, a week from Friday.”
Claudia and Mean Janine Page 1
