Kristy and the Missing Child

by Ann M. Martin

  I think Dawn is pretty happy these days, with Mary Anne and her father settled in at the old Schafer house (and I mean old — it even has a secret passageway that might be haunted!). But there’s one thing that’s hard for her, and that’s how much she misses her brother Jeff. He just never adjusted to Stoneybrook, and he missed his dad like crazy, so it was decided that he should go back to California to live. Poor Dawn. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if David Michael lived 3,000 miles away!

  Claudia, Stacey, Mary Anne, Dawn, and I are all thirteen and in the eighth grade. But the two other members of our club are younger. Jessi Ramsey and Mallory Pike are both eleven and in the sixth grade. They’re best friends. They are also our junior officers, which basically means that they aren’t allowed to sit at night for anyone except their own families. This rule was made by their parents, but it’s one rule that we can all live with. Jessi and Mal get plenty of afternoon business, so they’re happy. And since they take those jobs they free the rest of us for nighttime sitting. So we’re happy, too.

  Mal is someone we used to sit for. She’s the oldest in a family of eight kids! She’s a terrific sitter, since she’s had so much practice. She has curly red hair, glasses, and braces. She’d love to wear contacts, but her parents say she’s too young. Mal loves to read, and she also loves to write. Someday she wants to write and illustrate kids’ books!

  Jessi also loves to read, but she has other ambitions. She wants to be a ballet dancer, and she’s already well on her way. She takes a zillion dance classes, and she’s extremely talented. Jessi’s family is much smaller than Mal’s; she has one younger sister and a baby brother. The Ramseys are one of the few black families in Stoneybrook, by the way. When Jessi first moved here, that fact made her life a little rough. Not everybody was ready to accept her family — just because of their color. But now the Ramseys are part of the community.

  There are two other club members I haven’t told you about: our associate members. They don’t come to meetings, but they’re ready and willing to take on jobs we can’t cover. One of them is Shannon Kilbourne, a girl from my neighborhood. The other is a boy named Logan Bruno. Remember I told you that Mary Anne is the only club member with a steady boyfriend? Well, Logan’s the one. He’s a great guy.

  I’d been thinking so hard about the BSC and its members that I was in kind of a fog. But suddenly I heard a wild honking and screeching coming from all around me. I looked up to see that Jessi, Mal, Claudia, Stacey, and Dawn had joined me and Mary Anne on the lawn — and each of them was blowing on a blade of grass! They sounded like some kind of crazy orchestra. I cracked up. Then I held up my hands and started to conduct them. When they finished their “symphony,” we rolled around laughing for a few minutes until I glanced at my watch and realized it was nearly five-thirty.

  We raced upstairs, just in time to hear the phone in Claud’s room ring. I grabbed it. “Baby-sitter’s Club!” I said, panting. “Can I help you?”

  That was the first of many calls that afternoon, but between calls, we managed to talk a lot. Mary Anne told us about her awful home-ec class. I told everybody about the big practice game the Krushers would be having the next day, against Bart’s Bashers. (Bart is this guy I like. He’s the coach of my team’s main rivals. I wouldn’t exactly call him my boyfriend, but, well, you know.) We also talked a lot about the Awards Night that was going to take place soon. It’s a tradition at SMS for eighth-graders to put on a program for themselves, and give out silly awards to each other. We were really looking forward to it.

  “I just hope I don’t get voted ‘Most Often Seen Daydreaming,’ or something,” said Mary Anne. “I would die if I had to go up on stage to accept a prize.”

  “I’d love to win ‘Coolest Dresser,’ but I bet you’ll get that one,” said Stacey to Claud.

  “You never know,” I said. “That’s what’s great about Awards Night. You just never know who will win what.” Still, we spent a lot of the meeting trying to guess. And before I knew it, it was 6:00 and time to wrap things up. Another BSC meeting had come and gone.

  “I can’t believe how heavy this stuff gets after five blocks,” I said. “Are you okay, David Michael?” I looked down at my little brother. He was lugging a big duffel bag that clanked as it bumped along the sidewalk. It clanked because it was filled with softball bats. We were on our way to the first Krushers–Bashers practice game of the season. It was kind of a gray, overcast day, but the rain hadn’t started yet. I was hoping it would wait a while.

  “No problem,” said David Michael, panting a little. “I can handle this stuff as long as I don’t have to carry that!” He pointed at the duffel bag I was carrying. It was even bigger than his, and it was filled with all kinds of equipment — bases, softballs, mitts, and a catcher’s mask. There were even a few miscellaneous objects in there, like a purple hairbow that belonged to Hannie Papadakis (I’d picked it up near home plate after our last practice), a G.I. Joe action figure that I thought belonged to Buddy Barrett, and a pair of sneakers that said Claire Pike on them, in red Magic Marker. Honestly, the kids on my team would forget their heads if they weren’t screwed on. I am always picking up after them.

  “It’s not that heavy,” I said to David Michael. “Besides, I’m not exactly carrying it.” I was kind of jerking it along the sidewalk. I stopped to rest for a second. It’s a pretty long walk from our house to Stoneybrook Elementary, where we hold our practices. And it feels even longer when I have to bring all that stuff along. If Watson is home he usually drives me. He’s a big help with all kinds of Krushers’ stuff — sometimes I teasingly call him my “assistant manager.” But that day he had an important meeting, so I was on my own. I sure was glad to have David Michael’s help.

  “So Jake is getting to be pretty good, huh?” David Michael asked as we started to walk again. I’d told him how Jake and I had practiced his pitching.

  “He is,” I said. “I’m definitely going to start using him more in games. I think he’s ready.”

  “That’s great,” said David Michael. He sounded just a little envious. David Michael has been known as kind of a klutz, but he’s been really trying hard lately to overcome that image. I think he dreams of being a really good athlete.

  “You’re getting really good, too,” I said. “You were part of that great double play during our last practice.” Kids — especially the kind of kids who are Krushers — need a lot of encouragement if they’re going to improve. I’ve discovered that there’s no such thing as too much praise, at least not when it comes to the kids on my team.

  “Yeah,” said David Michael. He sounded unconvinced.

  “Come on, your timing was great,” I said. “Not everybody could have done what you did. Hey! Look at that!” I pointed across the street, at a construction site where a few houses were being built. I thought it might be best to get David Michael’s attention focused on something other than his softball skills, or lack of them.

  “Wow!” he said. “Last week that was just an empty lot. I can’t believe how fast those houses are going up.” He walked a little slower for a few minutes as he watched a work crew climb around on the skeleton-like frame of one house. He’d forgotten about softball for the moment.

  Have you ever noticed how boys — no matter what age they are — can stand and watch heavy machinery or trucks, or even just a bunch of guys with hammers, for hours at a time? They never seem to get tired of it. Me, I’m bored within thirty seconds. I pulled David Michael along. “We’re going to be late,” I said.

  Mallory was the first person I saw when we walked onto the school playground. “Hey, Mal,” I said as I dropped my duffel bag to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sitting for Charlotte, and she and Vanessa had planned to be here to cheer for you,” she said. “So we all came over.”

  “Hi, Kristy!” yelled Charlotte and Vanessa. They said it in unison, as if it were a cheer. I laughed.

  “Hi, you two,” I said. “I’m glad you c
ould come.” They were wearing their cheerleader outfits: denim skirts, sneakers, knee socks, and, of course, “Kristy’s Krushers” T-shirts. Vanessa is one of Mallory’s younger sisters. She isn’t into sports at all, but she wanted to be part of our team somehow. That’s why she’s a cheerleader. She’s made up some pretty good cheers, too. Vanessa’s ambition is to be a poet, and she’s good at rhymes. Charlotte Johanssen is a girl we sit for fairly often. I was shocked when she agreed to be a cheerleader, since she’d always been extremely shy. But she’s coming out of her shell, and she seems to love jumping around and yelling along with the others.

  I looked over at the ball field and saw that most of my players were already there. Mallory followed my gaze. “The other team isn’t here yet,” she said, sounding worried. “Does that mean the game is cancelled?”

  “No,” I said. “I told my kids to be here a half hour early. I wanted them to have a chance to warm up before the Bashers arrive.” I looked up at the sky and frowned. “I just hope the rain holds off. I’d hate to have to reschedule this game. The Krushers are really up for it.

  “Okay, gang,” I yelled to the kids who were milling around on the field. “Let’s get started!” They ran to me. As they gathered around I looked at their eager faces, and a feeling of pride washed over me. A lot of my players have come a long way since the team started. Jamie Newton, for example. He’s only four years old, so it wasn’t a surprise that he was kind of afraid of the ball when we began. And don’t get me wrong, he still is. But he’s a lot better about it. At least now he doesn’t flinch every time it comes his way.

  And Claire, Mallory’s youngest sister. She’s five. She used to throw the most horrendous tantrums whenever things didn’t go her way, when she struck out, for example. But now she just stamps her foot and pouts for a second, and then she’s over it.

  “Hi, Kristy,” yelled Jake Kuhn. He was standing near the back of the crowd, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it neatly on its way down. “Do you need me to pitch today?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Probably not right away,” I said, “since Nicky is here.” Nicky Pike, one of Mallory’s little brothers (this team would be a lot smaller without the Pike family!), is our regular pitcher, and he looked ready to go. “But you’ll pitch soon, I promise.” I bent over and started to pull equipment out of the bags, but then I realized something. Where were Laurel and Patsy? They usually arrive along with Jake. I stood up again. “Hey, Jake,” I said. “Where are your sisters?”

  “Don’t you remember?” he asked. “They had to go to the dentist.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. Mrs. Kuhn had told me that the day before. I’d totally forgotten. “Okay, ready for drills?” I asked, passing out gloves and bats and balls. “Everybody out in the field!”

  I hit balls to the kids for about ten minutes, making sure that everybody had a chance to field at least one grounder and one fly ball. Then I pitched for batting practice. Everybody got five swings, although more often than not they’d end up pleading for: “One more, please, Kristy?” I was pitching to Buddy Barrett when Mary Anne arrived with Matt and Haley Braddock.

  “Sorry we’re late,” she called. “I’m sitting for these guys today, and it took us a while to get out of the house. Matt couldn’t find his T-shirt, and Haley couldn’t find her knee socks.”

  “I’m just glad you made it,” I said. And I was. Matt’s one of our best players, even though he’s deaf. The rest of the team has learned how to communicate with him, using some basic sign language. And his sister Haley’s arrival meant that our full cheerleading squad was on hand.

  I finished up batting practice by pitching to Gabbie Perkins, who’s two and a half. We use a Wiffle ball when she’s at bat, and the pitcher has to stand about five yards away from her. Bart has been very understanding about this, although some of the kids on his team used to tease us for having a baby on our team. They used to tease us about a lot of stuff, in fact. They even used to call Jake Kuhn “fatso”! I looked over at him and realized that he wasn’t pudgy anymore. Anyway, the Bashers have learned some manners since we first started playing together, and now our games are usually very civilized.

  Just as I threw the last pitch to Gabbie (she swung hard but missed it), Bart strode onto the field with his Bashers marching behind him. They like to make a grand entrance. “Hi, Bart,” I said, smiling. Being around him still makes me feel a little nervous, but I’m getting used to it. At least I’m getting used to feeling as if I have butterflies in my stomach, rubber bands for legs, and a slight fever whenever I’m near him. “We’re ready to play ball,” I said. “How about you?”

  “Ready,” he answered. “As long as the weather cooperates.” We both glanced at the sky. It was still heavy and gray, but no rain was falling yet.

  “Let’s start,” I said. “At least we can play a few innings before the rain comes.” The Krushers took the field, and the game began.

  Within three innings, the score was ten to nothing. The Bashers, as usual, were winning by a mile. But you know what? It didn’t matter. I could tell that my team felt good just being out there playing. They know that the Bashers are hard to beat; after all, most of Bart’s kids are older than most of mine. The Krushers don’t always expect to win. All I ask of them, and all they ask of themselves, is to play their best. Anyway, it was just a practice game.

  So it didn’t matter much when Claire wasted a big hit by getting so excited that she ran the bases backward. Or when Nicky let loose with a wild pitch that ended up in the third baseman’s glove. Or when Matt got carried away and tried to steal when I had clearly signed him to “hold up.”

  We knew we’d do better next time.

  When the game was over (I don’t even want to tell you the final score), Bart offered to help me and David Michael carry the equipment home. He lives near me, so we often end up walking home together from games. “Sure,” I said. “But let me just talk to Jake for a minute, first.” I’d noticed that Jake looked a little down, so I made sure to tell him that he’d be pitching in a game really soon. He looked happier after that. Then I asked him who was walking him home.

  “No one,” he said. “Mom’s with Laurel and Patsy. She said I could walk home by myself.”

  “You’d better run home,” said Bart, who had overheard. He pointed to the sky, which was darker than ever. “It’s going to pour any minute.”

  “Okay, ’bye!” said Jake, and he trotted off toward his house. We watched him go, then turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  Bart took the equipment bag that David Michael was lugging. “Here, let me carry that,” he said. “We’d better walk home really fast, or else we’re going to get soaked.”

  David Michael looked at him gratefully. So did I. Bart is such a thoughtful guy. You might think that I’d be insulted that he didn’t offer to take my bag, but Bart knows me too well to offer that. He knows I’m not some sweet little thing who’s afraid to use her muscles. I would have been insulted if he had offered to carry it.

  We started out walking, and Bart set a pretty fast pace. I hurried to keep up with him, and David Michael trotted between us. “Good game today,” I said to Bart. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I thought both teams did well. You were looking great at first base, David Michael,” he added.

  “Really?” said David Michael. His face lit up.

  “Absolutely,” answered Bart. “You must be getting some really good coaching somewhere,” he added. He smiled at me over David Michael’s head. It was a special, private kind of a smile.

  “Uh, so, when should we schedule another game?” I asked quickly. My face suddenly felt hot, and I hoped Bart couldn’t tell that I was blushing.

  “Next week would be fine,” said Bart. “Or whenever you’re ready. We can talk about it.”

  I nodded, and switched my duffel bag to my other shoulder. I looked up at the sky. I couldn’t believe that the rain hadn’t started yet.

  “Wow!
” said Bart, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Awesome.” He was looking at the construction site.

  “I know,” said David Michael. “Isn’t that crane the coolest?”

  “I wish I knew how to drive one of those front-end loaders,” said Bart dreamily.

  Front-end loaders? What were they? All those huge machines look alike to me. I rolled my eyes. “Hey, guys,” I said, snapping my fingers in front of Bart’s face. “We were on our way home, remember? And it’s about to —”

  Before I could finish my sentence (I was going to say “pour”), the rain started to come down in buckets. I was soaked within about two seconds.

  “Oh, no!” yelled David Michael. “We aren’t even halfway home yet!”

  We started to run, dodging the puddles that had already appeared. I was dragging the equipment bag behind me, and it bumped along wildly.

  Bart shook his wet hair out of his eyes. “Need a hand?” he called.

  “What I need is an umbrella!” I yelled. “I’m drenched!”

  Bart gave me a devilish grin. “Then you won’t care if I do this!” he said, jumping into a puddle next to me so that it splashed all over my legs. I gave a yell, but you know what? I didn’t care. I was already saturated, so a little more water didn’t make any difference. I laughed.

  “Bart Taylor,” I said menacingly, “you are going to get it!” I chased after him and jumped into a huge puddle, sending the spray all over him.

  “Why, you little …” he said, grinning. His face was wet all over, and he looked, all of a sudden, like a ten-year-old kid. He ran to me then and put his hand on my shoulder. His face came nearer to mine. Oh my lord! Was he going to —