This book is for the mascots of the Lunch Club: Kathryn and Michael, Christian and Callie
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Also Available
Copyright
“Well, are you ready?” I asked.
“Am I ready? I’m going to beat the pants off you!” replied Claudia.
We were on the phone, and we had challenged each other to a sailing race, which would be held the next day.
“No, you’re not. I did tons of sailing with Dad and Jeff when I lived in California. And we go sailing almost every time I visit them now.”
My parents are divorced. Mom and I live here in Stoneybrook, and Dad and Jeff live in California. Why? That’s a long story. To make it short, let me just say that Mom grew up in Stoneybrook, but she met my father in California, where he’d grown up. After the divorce, it seemed natural for Mom to return to Connecticut with Jeff and me. But Jeff never adjusted to things here, so he went back to Dad and California, where he’d always been happy. I visit them whenever I can.
“Well, I sail every summer when we go away on vacation,” said Claudia. “Face it. You and I are pretty evenly matched. We’ve been taking lessons from the same instructors for two months now.”
“You’re right. Tomorrow will be a close race…. But I’m still going to beat you!” I replied.
“I wish the instructors would let us race to Greenpoint without counselors along,” said Claudia. “I don’t want the counselors anymore.” (Greenpoint is an island off the coast where the community center often holds special events.)
“I don’t want the counselors, either. They’re nice, but having them along is kind of a drag. It’s like going clothes shopping with your parents.”
“Besides, we’ve sailed to Greenpoint a million times.” (That was an exaggeration, naturally.)
“I know,” I said.
“I guess they’re afraid we’ll go off course. There are an awful lot of teeny, tiny islands all up and down the coast.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” (Claud knows Connecticut much better than I do, since she grew up here and I’m a recent transplant.) “Some of them are so small that people own them. Imagine owning an island. They look like pinpricks from up in an airplane. There must be hundreds of them.” (This time, I knew Claud was not exaggerating.)
“Wow,” I said.
“Anyway, get ready for Greenpoint,” said Claud. “I’m going to bed now. I want to rest up for the big race.”
Rest up. Ha! Claud just wanted a chance to go to bed early. She likes to get under the covers with a good Nancy Drew mystery. And, possibly, a candy bar.
I, on the other hand, was going to exercise, bulk up on some pasta, and get a normal amount of sleep. That was the way to win the race — wasn’t it?
* * *
The next morning — Saturday — I woke up at seven-thirty. I exercised some more. Then I ate a healthy breakfast. I felt fit. I knew I was ready for the race. And I was pretty sure I could beat Claudia.
“You’ve got great racing weather,” said Mary Anne.
Mary Anne is not just my best friend. She’s my stepsister, too. My mom isn’t single anymore. After we moved to Connecticut, Mom fell in love with — get this — her high-school sweetheart. He happened to be the father of the first friend I made in Stoneybrook — Mary Anne Spier. And not long ago, Mom and Richard (that’s Mary Anne’s father, who was a widower) got married. Isn’t that romantic? Then Richard, Mary Anne, and Tigger (Mary Anne’s kitten) moved into our house.
“We have perfect weather,” I said to Mary Anne. “Just perfect.”
“Your mom and my dad and I are going to see you off,” Mary Anne went on. “We’ll be there for the finish, too. But I think I’ll come home in between.”
I could understand why. Mary Anne has super-sensitive skin. She gets as red as a lobster after about half an hour in the sun. No kidding. And Greenpoint Island, the place Claudia and I were going to race to and from, is almost three miles out in Long Island Sound. No way could Mary Anne stand around in the sun for a six-mile race.
“That’s okay,” I told her. As I mentioned before, Mary Anne and I understand each other.
* * *
Two hours later, Richard was driving our family to the community center.
“You know,” said Mary Anne, “I really hope you win.”
I almost replied, “Duh.” Why wouldn’t she want her own sister to win? But instead I just said, “Thanks.”
“I wouldn’t mind if Claud won, though,” she went on.
“You what?”
(Richard glanced at us in the rearview mirror.)
“Well, it’s just — you know.” (Mary Anne lowered her voice.) “Claudia’s report card.” We get report cards several times a year.
“What about it?” I asked.
“It wasn’t very good. I think she’s feeling pretty bad about herself right now. If she won the race, she might feel better.”
“That’s true,” I said slowly, thinking it over.
“At least her parents didn’t make her drop out of the Baby-sitters Club,” Mary Anne pointed out. (They’re always threatening to do that. The BSC is a business that my friends and I run. We baby-sit for families in our neighborhoods.)
“Yeah.”
We drove the rest of the way to the community center in silence. When we reached it, the first person I saw was Claudia, and did she ever look ready to race — and win.
“Good luck!” called Mom and Richard and Mary Anne. They joined a bunch of other people who were standing on the dock. Claudia’s parents and sister were there, and so were the rest of our friends in the BSC, as well as Logan Bruno, who is Mary Anne’s steady boyfriend (and also an adjunct member of the club), plus a few interested kids and some people from the center.
The race started off well (for me) since I was ahead. I had dressed properly for sailing — loose, comfortable clothing that I could move around in, and that wouldn’t get caught in anything. Claudia, on the other hand, couldn’t help dressing up just a little. She is a real clotheshorse, and I guess she wanted to look good, since she knew we’d have an audience. So she’d put on a tank top and baggy drawstring pants. Over the top, she was wearing a button-down shirt of her father’s. The sleeves were rolled up, but none of the buttons were buttoned. She was also wearing big earrings that she had made herself. Claudia is quite artistic. So the thing is, she looked good but, as it turned out, she was not dressed for sailing.
As soon as we were on the water and had picked up some speed, her shirt started blowing around. She was busier peeling the shirt off her face than she was steering the boat or doing anything else. Then one of her huge earrings got caught on a sail and she had to struggle to set it free. With the wind blowing around me, I couldn’t hear anything from her boat, but I could see her lips moving and I bet she was saying some things she isn’t supposed to say. Anyway, the counselor t
ook her earrings off for her, and Claudia buttoned up her shirt. Still, I reached Greenpoint before she did.
I lost no time turning round and heading back, but this time the wind had changed direction, and I had trouble steering.
Uh-oh, I thought. Claudia’s going to catch up. Sure enough, the closer we got to the community center, the closer Claudia got to me. By the time the race was over …
“Tie! It’s a tie!” yelled Kristy Thomas from her place in the crowd.
Everyone agreed with her. Personally, I thought I was about an inch ahead of Claud at the end, but who am I to argue with twenty people, most of whom are my friends?
The only good thing that came of the race was that the head sailing instructor said Claud and I didn’t need counselors with us anymore. “No sailing alone,” she cautioned, “but you don’t need counselors.”
“Thank you,” said Claud and I politely, even though we both wanted to cheer.
Then Claudia challenged me to a rematch. Of course, I accepted. If only I’d known what would happen when we raced again.
“It was just my earrings,” complained Claud.
“And your shirt,” Dawn couldn’t help pointing out.
Claudia made a face. She is the vice-president of the Baby-sitters Club. Her job is … well, she’s VP because she has her own phone and personal, private phone number, so her room is the perfect place to hold our Monday, Wednesday, and Friday club meetings.
What is the Baby-sitters Club? Well, it’s really a business. It’s a group of girls (the seven that Dawn mentioned) who get together three times a week and arrange sitting jobs. Our clients know we meet at these times because we do a lot of advertising. They call us during meetings to line up baby-sitters for their children.
Another reason Claud is the VP is that we invade her room three times a week. She provides us with snacks, if needed. Claudia is as addicted to junk food as she is to Nancy Drew books, but since her parents don’t approve of either habit, she has to hide both the food and the books all over her room. Claud lives with her parents and her older sister, Janine, who is a true genius. Too bad for Claud. She loves her sister, but it’s not easy living with a genius when you’re a poor student, even if you are smart. I wished Claud had gotten a better report card. I almost wished she’d win the rematch. Then she would feel better about herself. Sometimes Claudia thinks she’s not good at anything except art and baby-sitting.
“Can we please get back to the matter at hand?” asked Kristy, sounding agitated. (She meant the meeting.) Kristy is the president of the BSC, since it was her idea, and she’s always getting lots of other ideas for keeping the club running — and running well. She tries to conduct the meetings in a businesslike manner, but that day she actually seemed cross. And I knew it wasn’t because of us. Dawn is my best friend, and Kristy is my other best friend. I know her like the back of my hand. Something was wrong. Was it her family? Kristy lives in a big, mixed-up family with a stepfather, a stepbrother, a stepsister, an adopted sister, her grandmother, her mother and her brothers, not to mention two pets.
“Kristy?” I said tentatively. (I hate confrontations and I cry easily.) “Is anything wrong?”
“Oh …” Kristy sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. It’s the Krushers.” (The Krushers are the kids on a softball team that Kristy organized and coaches.) “They’re upset. We lost to the Bashers again. The kids are getting a little discouraged. They think they’ll never win a game. What they don’t see is that they’re getting better all the time. Maybe they’ll win next Monday. We’ve got another game then.”
We had a three-day weekend coming up, which we were all looking forward to as if we’d never had a vacation in our lives.
“Well, we’ll come cheer the Krushers on,” spoke up Stacey, our treasurer. It’s her job to collect club dues and handle money; to make sure we have enough in the treasury to help Claud pay her monthly phone bill, for instance. Stacey is Claudia’s best friend, and it’s easy to see why. The two of them are chic, sophisticated, and trendy. Stacey grew up in New York City. (She’s so lucky. As soon as I’m old enough, I plan to move there.) But now she lives in Stoneybrook. Her parents got divorced recently, and her father still lives in the Big Apple, so Stacey gets to go to the city and visit him any weekend she wants. Lately she hasn’t been going in as often as usual, though. Stacey has diabetes and hasn’t been feeling great. I think her visits have turned into command performances. Her father says, “Come,” and Stacey goes, whether she wants to or not.
“Thanks, Stacey,” said Kristy, and at that moment, the phone rang. “Oh, goody. A job call!” she went on, her eyes brightening.
“I’ll get it,” said Dawn. Dawn is our alternate officer, which means she’s like a substitute teacher. She knows what’s involved in being any officer of the club, and can handle that job if one of us has to miss a meeting. That doesn’t give her much to do most of the time, though, so since Dawn likes to be busy, she answers the phone a lot.
“Hello, Baby-sitters Club,” she said.
I got out the record book. I’m the club secretary and it’s my duty to arrange sitting jobs, and also to know everybody’s schedule — when Kristy has a Krushers’ practice or Mallory has an orthodontist appointment or Jessi has a ballet class.
“Tuesday afternoon?” Dawn was saying. “I’ll get right back to you, Mrs. Prezzioso.”
“Uh-oh,” I said, as Dawn hung up and everyone else began groaning — and hoping they were busy on Tuesday.
Jenny Prezzioso is a brat. (I’m sorry, but she is.) I’m really the only one who can tolerate her. Unfortunately, I wasn’t free on Tuesday. But Mallory was. “It’s your job,” I told her.
“Swell,” replied Mal sarcastically.
“Hey, junior officer,” said Kristy. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“I know, I know.”
Mallory Pike and Jessi Ramsey are our junior officers because they’re younger than the rest of us. They’re eleven and in sixth grade, while we’re thirteen and in eighth grade. (By the way, we all attend Stoneybrook Middle School, or SMS.) Mal and Jessi joined the club to give us a hand with afternoon jobs, since they’re not allowed to baby-sit at night unless they’re sitting for their own families.
Although Mal and Jessi come from different backgrounds and have very different families, they’re best friends — and they do have some things in common. Here are the differences: Mallory is white, has seven younger brothers and sisters, wants to be a children’s book author, and grew up in Stoneybrook. Jessi is black, has just one younger sister and a baby brother, is a talented dancer, and recently moved to Connecticut from New Jersey. Here are the similarities: Both Mal and Jessi like to read, especially horse stories, and both feel that their parents treat them like babies. However, their parents are loosening up a little. They allowed their daughters to get their ears pierced, Mal’s parents let her get a new haircut, and — get this — Jessi’s parents were letting her sit for Becca and Squirt (her sister and brother) all by herself for the entire upcoming long weekend. What a breakthrough.
Mallory reluctantly agreed to sit for Jenny Prezzioso on Tuesday. When that was arranged and the phone didn’t ring for awhile, Claudia brought up the rematch again. It was sort of an obsession with her.
“How about this Saturday?” she suggested. “This time I am going to win. What a way to start off the weekend.”
“This Saturday,” Dawn repeated slowly. “I don’t know. Jeff’s going to be visiting. The kid gets a four-day weekend at his school. I don’t want to miss being — Hey, wait! Maybe Jeff could come with me! We don’t need counselors anymore, but we’re not allowed to sail alone.”
“Well, then, I’ve got to get a crew member, too,” said Claud. She looked at Mal. “How about it?”
I knew she was choosing Mallory because, except for her sister Margo, who gets seasick, the Pike family loves boating and they spend a lot of time on the water.
“I’d like to,” Mal replied, looking flattered,
“but Mom and Dad have activities planned for the weekend.”
Jessi spoke up shyly. “I think Becca would die to go with you,” she said. “She’s hardly ever been on a boat, but she’d think it was really exciting. She’s — she’s been a little jealous recently because of my dancing. She’d like to find something athletic — and different — that she could be good at. What do you think? She learns quickly.”
“I think I’d love to have Becca along,” Claud answered.
So Dawn called her mother to get permission to hold the rematch on Saturday and to ask if Jeff could sail with her. Then Jessi called her parents and, even though they were frantically making last-minute plans for their weekend away, they said that Becca could go sailing with Claudia.
It was settled. My friends were going to hold their rematch on Saturday — and they had found crew members.
On Monday, Mom had approved of Jeff as my crew member, but I thought I better clear it with him personally. What if he arrived on Friday and didn’t want to go sailing for some reason? Then I’d have to scramble around for a new crew member. And if I couldn’t find one, then we’d have to reschedule the match, and Becca would be disappointed, and Claud would be upset. I wasn’t really worrying. I was just examining all angles.
I was looking at the big picture.
So on Monday night, I called Jeff. The three-hour time difference between the East Coast and the West Coast is such a pain. I usually wait until ten o’clock P.M. my time, knowing Jeff and Dad will probably be home at seven o’clock their time. I also usually interrupt their dinner.
Tuesday was no exception.
At ten on the nose, I picked up the phone and dialed my dad’s house. Jeff answered. (He loves to answer the phone.) Usually, he answers it normally, but that night he said in a deep voice, “Hello, Marcel’s Dry Cleaning.”
Baby-Sitters' Island Adventure Page 1
