The Truth About Stacey

by Ann M. Martin

“Stacey, how come you baby-sit for me?”

  “Because I like to,” I replied. “You’re one of my favorite kids.”

  Charlotte smiled vaguely. Then she asked, “Why do you really sit?”

  “Because I like kids. And when I moved here, I wanted to meet people.”

  “What about the money?”

  Money? What had made Charlotte think about that? “Well, of course the money’s nice. I like to earn money.”

  “I thought so.”

  “But I like you, too. I wouldn’t baby-sit for just anybody. And I’ll tell you something. If your mom and dad called me and said, ‘We need you to sit for Charlotte tonight, but we’re broke and we can’t pay you,’ I’d come anyway.”

  “You would?”

  “Yes. I told you I like you.”

  “Some baby-sitters only sit because they want money. They don’t care about the kids.”

  “Which baby-sitters?” I asked.

  “Mmnns,” mumbled Charlotte.

  “What?”

  “My new ones,” she said quietly.

  “Who are your new ones?”

  “Michelle Patterson, Leslie somebody, and Cathy Morris.”

  “They all told you that?”

  “No. Ellie Morris told me.”

  “Who’s Ellie Morris?”

  “Cathy’s sister. She’s in my class. She hates me.”

  Aha, I thought.

  Charlotte looked at me sadly. “Ellie said, ‘Oh, Charlotte, you are the teacher’s pet, teacher’s pet,’ and I said, ‘I am not,’ and she said, ‘Are, too, and you don’t have any friends.’ And I said, ‘I have baby-sitters. They’re my friends.’ And she said, ‘They are not. My sister Cathy doesn’t like you.’ And I said, ‘Then how come she sits for me?’ And she said, ‘Because your parents pay her a lot of money, stupid.’”

  I was beginning to put the pieces together. Charlotte didn’t have friends her own age; that much I knew. Apparently, she thought her babysitters were her friends, though. Then Ellie had burst her bubble. Yet Charlotte had been asking for me. If I had come over just to visit (not to babysit), it would have proved I truly was a friend. No wonder she was upset.

  “Hey, Char,” I said, “remember when we gave Jamie Newton the Big Brother Party? I invited you. I wasn’t baby-sitting for you then.”

  “Yeah …” said Charlotte slowly.

  “Also, what do Michelle and Leslie and Cathy do when they baby-sit for you?”

  “Watch TV. Talk on the phone. Once Leslie brought her boyfriend over.” I raised my eyebrows. “Cathy always does her homework, but she won’t help me with mine. She says, ‘I’m busy now.’ “

  “What do I do when I baby-sit?”

  “Well, you bring the Kid-Kit. We read stories and take walks and play games.”

  “That’s being a friend, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Suddenly, Charlotte gave me a fierce hug.

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m sorry I was mad.”

  “That’s all right.” I made a mental note to help Charlotte make some friends—some seven-year-old friends—in the neighborhood. One of the Pikes was seven, I thought. Then I told her what I had told Jamie that afternoon—that if she didn’t like her new sitters, she should talk to her parents. In particular, she should mention that Leslie had invited her boyfriend over.

  By the time Dr. Johanssen returned, Charlotte seemed like her old self.

  And Charlotte’s mother was very helpful. “It’s funny,” she said when I asked about a doctor. “You know what I was going to tell you? I was going to tell you about this very sensible doctor in New York. I guess we were thinking along the same lines.”

  I asked about the doctor’s office and whether he had a lot of diplomas. He seemed to fit the bill. “Do you think I could get an appointment with him on Saturday afternoon?” I asked. “That’s just three days away.”

  “I’ll pull a few strings,” said Dr. Johanssen. “And I better explain things to your parents.”

  “Oh, no. Please don’t!” I cried. “It has to be a surprise. Otherwise it’ll never work.”

  “Well, how about if I write a note to your parents? You can give it to them over the weekend—before you see the doctor.”

  “All right,” I said at last. That wasn’t quite what I had planned on, but I was willing to compromise. I didn’t want Dr. Johanssen to get in any trouble. “That’s great,” I said, and thanked her.

  I ran home feeling excited.

  My plan was underway.

  Thursday, December 11

  Surprise! Today, Stacey called an emergency club meeting for lunchtime. That was unexpected for two reasons. First of all, Kristy had said no more club business in school. Second, Kristy calls emergency meetings at the drop of a hat, but no other member has ever called one. Stacey called one, though, and it was a good thing she did, because what she told us got the club ready for the final battle in the war against the Baby-sitters Agency.

  I read what Mary Anne wrote in our notebook about battles and wars, and I think she was being overly dramatic. However, she was right—it was good that we held that meeting. It started us thinking about some important things.

  Finding a place to hold the meeting turned out to be a problem. Kristy acted as if the school were bugged or something.

  “How about at a separate table in the cafeteria?” Claudia suggested.

  “Are you kidding? Never!” said Kristy. “Someone’s sure to overhear us.”

  “Is there an empty classroom we could sit in?” asked Mary Anne.

  Kristy rejected the idea. “It’s too easy for someone to stand outside the door and eavesdrop.”

  “I guess the girls’ room would—”

  “No way. You just hide in one of the stalls and stand on the toilet. No one knows you’re there. You could hear everything.”

  “Well, what about the playground?” I said. “We’ll go off by ourselves, but we’ll stand out in the open. That way no one can sneak up on us, and we can move away if anyone comes too close.”

  That was what we decided to do. We ate lunch quickly and gathered on the playground. Since no one was using the baseball diamond, we stood in the middle of it. It had snowed the night before and there were about three inches covering the ground. My feet were blocks of ice before we even started talking. (In New York City, three inches of snow wouldn’t bother to stick. The flakes would melt as soon as they touched the pavement.)

  “Okay, Stacey,” said Kristy. “So why did you call this meeting?”

  “Because we’ve got a problem.”

  “Another one?”

  “A big one. But it might end up working out well for us,” I said.

  “That would be a switch,” Claudia commented.

  “What happened,” I began, tucking my mittened hands under my arms in an effort to thaw out my fingers, which were as cold as my toes, “was that I baby-sat twice yesterday. Remember, I told you at the meeting that I had sat for Jamie and he was upset about his new sitters?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Well, I forgot to tell you that I told Jamie to tell his mother if he doesn’t like the sitters. I mean, we can’t say anything to the parents, but the kids we sit for can.”

  “Oh, good idea,” remarked Kristy.

  “And in the evening I sat for Charlotte, and she was upset, too. So I told her to talk to her parents. I think that from now on, we should watch for signs that the kids we take care of aren’t happy with the Baby-sitters Agency. Then we should encourage them to speak up. They have the right.”

  The other club members agreed with that wholeheartedly.

  We also agreed that agency sitters were inferior to club sitters. We were quality, and they were … well, they were not. But we weren’t prepared for what we saw on our way home from school that afternoon.

  The weather was awful. The sky was gray, and the air was still cold and windy. It was a raw day. The unplowed streets had turned to beds of icy slush. We were all freezing cold and my t
eeth were chattering. As we rounded the corner to the street that Kristy, Claudia, and Mary Anne live on, we almost bumped into Jamie Newton. He was standing by himself on the narrow strip of grass that runs between the sidewalk and the street.

  “Hi-hi!” Jamie called.

  “Jamie!” Kristy exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Playing,” he replied.

  “Well, you’re much too near the street. Aren’t you supposed to be in your backyard?”

  She looked at the rest of us as if to say, what is wrong with Mrs. Newton?

  “And where are your mittens, Jamie?” I added. “And your hat? It’s freezing out here. Is your mother very busy with Lucy today?”

  Jamie shook his head. “She’s at a meeting. Lucy is asleep.”

  A car came whizzing down the street then. It sprayed us with slush. I shivered, trying not to think about what might have happened if Jamie had been playing in the street.

  “Jamie,” Mary Anne said suddenly, “do you have a baby-sitter today?”

  “Yup.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Barb—no, Cathy.”

  “Cathy Morris?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Does she know you’re out here?” Kristy asked.

  Jamie shrugged. “She said I could play outside.”

  I turned to the club members. “What do you think we should do?” I asked them.

  “I’m not sure,” Kristy answered slowly.

  “Look,” I said, kneeling down to Jamie’s level. “Can you do two special things? Just for us?”

  “Yes,” he replied solemnly.

  “Good boy. The first thing is to go inside and find your hat and mittens. If you can’t reach them, ask Cathy for help. But don’t go outdoors without them, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “The second thing is to play out back if you want to be outdoors. It’s dangerous here by the street. Play on your swing, okay?”

  “Yes.”

  We watched Jamie run across his lawn and through his front door before we went on our way.

  “Wow,” said Kristy. “This is serious. That baby-sitter, whoever the so-called agency found for the Newtons, lets three-year-olds play outside on their own. Do you know what could have happened to Jamie?”

  “He could have been hit by a car,” said Claudia.

  “He could have wandered off,” said Mary Anne. “You know, the brook’s not frozen over yet. What if he fell in?”

  “There are worse things,” I added. “What about all the missing kids these days? Someone could have driven by and just scooped him into a car. On a day like this” (I waved my hand around to indicate the disgusting weather) “there probably wouldn’t be anyone around to see it happen. The person wouldn’t even have to bother trying to lure Jamie into the car. He could just—kidnap him.”

  “That’s awful,” exclaimed Kristy.

  “I know.”

  “Well, I think now we have to do something about the agency. Something more than just telling kids to talk to their parents. The question,” Kristy said gravely, “is what? Maybe we should talk to our own parents. My mom usually knows what to do.”

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” said Claudia. “If I knew where Mrs. Newton was I’d call her right now and tell her about Jamie. Then I’d call everyone else I could think of.”

  We had reached Kristy’s house and were standing in front of it, shivering and talking.

  “No,” I said. “I know what Kristy means. If we start calling parents who use the agency, they’ll just think we’re poor sports, and that we’re trying to make the agency look bad because they’re taking our business away.”

  “Oh,” said Claudia. “Right.”

  “Well, let’s just go home,” Mary Anne suggested. “Maybe we should talk to our parents. The important thing is that Jamie’s safe for now.”

  “All right,” Kristy agreed uncertainly.

  Claudia, Kristy, and Mary Anne went into their houses, and I walked the rest of the way home. I found my mother in the kitchen, reading the paper and having a cup of coffee. “Hi, sweetie,” she greeted me. “How was school?”

  “Fine…. Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  I had hung up my coat and was pouring myself a glass of milk. I sat down next to her at the table. “If you knew that someone was doing something that could put someone else in danger, what would you do about it?”

  Mom looked at me thoughtfully. “I think I need a little more information,” she said.

  “Well, what if the someone who would be in danger was a little kid, and the someone putting him in danger was someone his parents trusted, but if you told, you would look bad?”

  “Stacey Elizabeth,” my mother said sharply. “You’re not talking about child abuse, are you?”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

  I could see the relief in Mom’s eyes. “And,” she asked, “are you talking about any of the girls in your baby-sitting club?”

  “No. I swear. I mean, the person causing the trouble isn’t in the club.”

  “All right. Well, what do you mean about making someone look bad?”

  “Making someone look like a poor sport or a tattletale. What’s that expression Dad uses?”

  “Sour grapes?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “This is just my opinion,” said Mom, “because you haven’t given me the facts. But offhand, I’d say the person who’s going to tell something should risk ‘looking bad’ if a child really is in danger. There doesn’t seem to me to be any question about it. Even if it’s a difficult thing to do.”

  I nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

  I ran upstairs to my parents’ bedroom and phoned Kristy.

  “I called my mother at work,” she told me, “and she said the same thing your mom did, only I told her the whole story. Mary Anne hasn’t gotten hold of her father, but Claudia talked to Mimi and she said the same thing, too.” (Claudia discusses all her problems with Mimi. She and Mimi are very close.)

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Well …” Kristy gulped. “I just saw Mrs. Newton’s car drive by. She’s home. I guess it’s now or never.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we met on the Newtons’ front steps. Nobody wanted to ring the doorbell. After a lot of shuffling around, Claudia finally did it.

  Jamie answered the door. “Hi-hi, again,” he said. “Mommy’s home now!” He sounded absolutely delighted.

  “Good,” said Claudia. “Your mommy is just the person we want to see.”

  Mrs. Newton ushered us into the living room. “You look very serious,” she said. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Actually, yes,” said Kristy. She glanced at Jamie, who was trying to climb into his mother’s lap. “Could we talk to you alone?”

  “Well … certainly.” Mrs. Newton looked surprised. I couldn’t blame her. “Jamie,” she said, “go see if Sesame Street is on, honey. Okay?”

  Jamie left the room.

  “We don’t exactly know how to tell you this,” Kristy began awkwardly, “but I guess we should begin with what happened this afternoon.” She glanced at us.

  Mrs. Newton nodded patiently.

  “Well, um, we were walking home from school, and when we got to your house we found Jamie playing outdoors.”

  “By himself,” Mary Anne added.

  “Near the street,” Claudia added.

  “With no hat or mittens,” I added.

  “He told us Cathy Morris was baby-sitting for him,” Kristy continued. “But she was indoors. We don’t think she knew where Jamie was…. We felt you really ought to know.”

  Mrs. Newton didn’t say a word. She looked horrified.

  “We’re sorry to be such tattletales,” I said nervously, “but we—”

  “No, no. Oh, girls, I appreciate your telling me. I’m sure it was hard to do. I’m just—I can’t believe—I mean, that was so irresponsible.”

  I decided to go ahead
and tell all. “I knew yesterday that Jamie hasn’t liked his new baby-sitters, but we didn’t want you to think we were bad-mouthing our competition. Jamie told me that most of his new sitters just talk on the phone or watch TV. He thought I wasn’t going to pay any attention to him, either. And one of the sitters smokes, and burned a hole in the chair downstairs. Charlotte Johanssen has been upset, too. We had a long talk about it last night. She says one of her sitters invites her boyfriend over.”

  “Well,” said Mrs. Newton briskly, “I certainly won’t use the agency anymore, although we did find one seventeen-year-old sitter we like very much. I’ll continue to call him on his own, but not the others. I have to admit that Jamie hasn’t seemed very happy lately, but I blamed it on sibling rivalry—the new baby. Anyway, I’ll phone Peggy Johanssen and a few other parents. They’ll want to know what you told me. And then I’ll call Michelle and Liz, both of them. And Cathy Morris, of course. I wish I knew which one was the smoker.”

  “Mrs. Newton,” Kristy said suddenly, “I know you’ll want to call Cathy about this afternoon yourself, but could you let us talk to Liz and Michelle? We have a score to settle with them.”

  We settled the score first thing the next morning. We marched off to school and planted ourselves outside Liz and Michelle’s homeroom.

  The girls arrived early.

  “Well,” said Liz. “Like, look who it is. The Baby Club.”

  “Like, ha-ha,” Kristy replied.

  I giggled. Michelle scowled.

  “Have you finally come crawling?” Liz asked. “When your club fails, you can always work for us, you know.”

  “No way,” said Kristy. “We’re here to talk to you about an important business matter.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “And what is so important?”

  “What is so important,” said Kristy, “is that yesterday Cathy Morris was baby-sitting for a three-year-old boy and she let him go outdoors by himself.”

  “So?”

  “So?! We found him playing near the street—with no hat or mittens. We had to send him inside. If we hadn’t come along, he might have been hit by a car. Three-year-olds cannot play outside by themselves. And good baby-sitters ought to know that.”

  “So we won’t give Cathy any more jobs,” Michelle spoke up. “She doesn’t really like babysitting anyway.”