Aloha, Baby-Sitters!

by Ann M. Martin

  Actually, I take back what I said about Abby being nonmusical. At Friday’s meeting, she was being way too musical.

  “Da-da-da-da-daaaaaa-daaaaa!” Now she was singing the theme to Hawaii Five-O, pretending to row Claudia’s bed.

  Fortunately, the clock clicked to 5:30. “This meeting will come to order!” I announced.

  “EEEEE!” Abby screeched, lurching backward.

  “What was that?” asked Claudia.

  “The brakes,” Abby replied.

  “Canoes don’t have brakes,” Stacey said.

  “Ahem. I have some new business.” I pulled a T-shirt out of a plastic bag I’d brought. “I had these specially made for all of us at the Washington Mall.”

  I held up the shirt and showed off the print on the front and back:

  THE BABY-SITTERS CLUB

  Call KL5-3231

  “Cool,” Stacey said.

  “We’re supposed to wear them in Hawaii?” Claudia asked.

  “A new fashion statement on the beaches of Waikiki,” Abby remarked.

  “It’s just so you can remember who you are,” I said in my best Mufasa imitation.

  I handed them out, and everyone put one on.

  “Hey, I have some new business.” Claudia reached into her night-table drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. “An official reading of the itinerary. Ahem. We land on … um, Oahu island.” Claudia pronounced the name Oh-hoo.

  “It’s Oh-AH-hoo,” Jessi corrected her.

  “Right,” Claudia said. “Then five glorious days in Honolulu, with trips to Waikiki Beach, Pearl Harbor, and Manoa Valley. Then the trip splits. One small group, including Stacey, will fly to the island of, um …”

  “Maui,” Stacey said, pronouncing it MOW-ee, with an ow as in pow.

  “There, they will explore a park with a totally unpronounceable name, but I’m not going there so I won’t even try. The rest of us will spend four days in Windward … Ohio, or however you say it, followed by a day-long trip to the North Shore —”

  “Where the best surfers are,” Dawn informed us.

  “Then back to Honolulu and a flight home!” Claudia finished.

  “Very cool,” Abby said.

  “We’ll miss you guys a lot,” Mallory spoke up.

  “Us, too,” Stacey replied.

  “I wish you were coming,” Jessi said softly.

  She and Mal threw their arms around each other, sniffling away.

  Mary Anne gave me a hangdog look. Her eyes were starting to water, too.

  “Hey, we’ll be seeing each other at the airport,” I said.

  But the Spier Waterworks were flowing, so I gave Mary Anne a hug. I’m much less emotional about things like this. I only cry at really serious stuff.

  I hope Mary Anne didn’t feel the tears drip onto the back of her new BSC T-shirt.

  Take my advice. Do not ever, ever wake up at four o’clock in the morning unless you absolutely have to. It may not be the world’s most horrible experience, but it’s close.

  I guess my alarm went off. I wouldn’t know. I was in the Outer Limits of Sleep.

  I was dreaming about Don Ho. Remember him? He’s the singer in those TV reruns of Hawaii Five-O. I’d been watching that, plus Magnum P.I., on the nighttime oldies channel. I kind of prefer Tom Selleck to Don Ho, but I was having a chat with old Don in my dream.

  And his voice started sounding a lot like my mom’s.

  “Good morning!” chirped Don.

  Morning? It was the middle of the night. I grumbled and turned over.

  “Time to wake up!”

  My eyes sprang open.

  Don Ho was my mom.

  She’d turned on a lamp in my room, but it was pitch-black outside.

  “It’s tibe?” I asked.

  Oh, great. My allergies were checking in.

  Mom smiled and nodded. “Can I fix you breakfast?”

  “Nahh, I’ll do it.”

  “Okay, see you downstairs.”

  I creaked upward. My nose was stuffed. My eyes were swollen. I felt as if I’d just been through a Cuisinart. My clock said 4:01. I’ve gone to bed that late before. This was definitely not a wake-up time. I came this close to plopping back down to my favorite position.

  Then I thought about Don. And that made me think about Hawaii. Where, in a few short hours, I would be.

  Zzzzoom. I was up, dressed, and downstairs.

  My sister, Anna, was sitting with Mom at the breakfast table, eating a bowl of cereal. Anna looked soggier than her Wheat Chex. “Bordig!” I said. “What are you doig up?”

  “I just wanted to see you off,” Anna replied. (Don’t I have a sweet sister?)

  “Thagks!” I gave her a hug and headed for the cupboard.

  As I poured myself some cereal, Mom began the questioning:

  “Did you pack your inhalers?” she asked.

  “Yes, Bob,” I replied. “Last dight.”

  “Enough decongestant for ten days?”

  “Yup. But if I rud out, I thigk they have stores in Hawaii.”

  “A bathing suit?”

  “Yes, Bob.”

  “Beach towels?”

  “Yes, Bob.”

  Somehow I managed to shovel in some Chex during the grilling.

  Anna and I chatted for awhile afterward. She reminded me to send postcards and take pictures. I brought out travel brochures and showed her where we were going, for the ten thousandth time. Mom hovered over us, frowning. She kept steering the conversation around to sun poisoning, tidal waves, and diarrhea, but mostly we ignored her.

  When breakfast was over, I ran upstairs to finish packing. Okay, maybe not finish. Continue.

  Well, I guess start would be the best word.

  Cut Arnold Schwarzenegger out of the movie poster for Terminator. Replace him with a picture of me, cross out the title, and call it Procrastinator.

  It’s a documentary of my life.

  I opened my suitcase. I went to my dresser and removed the contents of Drawer Number One, and shoved it into the suitcase. All underwear and bathing suits. About three-quarters of Drawer Number Two (summer shirts) made it, and the same with Drawer Number Three (shorts, skirts). Then I human-vacuumed the bottom of my closet for shoes and dumped them in, too.

  Don’t worry. I eyeballed all of it for design coordination. Everything matched, more or less.

  Next stop, the bathroom. I picked up my brush and performed my morning wrestling match with my hair. Then I washed up, brushed my teeth, and threw all of the appropriate stuff into my travel kit.

  I ran back to my room and quickly went through Abby’s Five Phases of Packing: Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining, and Mourning. Shock that the suitcase won’t close, denial that I have too much stuff, anger at the fact that I didn’t pack earlier, bargaining with the objects to make room for one another, and mourning for the clothes I must leave behind.

  “Are you ready yet?” my mom called from downstairs.

  I glanced at the clock. Four-forty-five. The buses were supposed to leave from SMS at five o’clock sharp.

  “Albost!” I lied.

  I did a fast check of the room. Quickly I stuffed a book and a magazine into the gaps of the suitcase and closed it.

  Dragging the zipper across it was a feat of strength only a true Procrastinator could accomplish. Finally, with the suitcase closed, I tried to lift it.

  Ugh. Not in this lifetime.

  “Help!” I called out.

  You should have seen Anna and me trying to maneuver the beast down the stairs. We were laughing so hard I thought we’d keel over. I don’t know how we managed to take it out of the house and lift it into the back of Mom’s minivan.

  Mom drove us to SMS. There, in small pools of streetlamp light, kids and parents were hugging and talking in hushed voices. Dim light shone from the buses’ cargo holds, which were already crowded with luggage.

  The neighborhood houses were dark and still. Crickets still chirped, and a cool breeze made goose bumps ris
e on my arms.

  “Eerie, huh?” Anna remarked.

  We parked at the end of the block, behind a line of cars. Luckily, Stacey and Robert spotted us and helped drag the beast to the bus.

  “Now,” Mom said as I hugged her good-bye, “are you sure you have —”

  “Yes, Bob!” Anna and I said together. (Anna does an expert imitation of my allergy-speak.)

  Mary Anne, Logan, and Dawn were already on the bus, yammering away. For some reason, Logan was not sitting next to Mary Anne, so I did. Stacey and Robert slid into the seats across the aisle from us.

  Jessi bounced onto the bus a few minutes later. You should have seen her leaping down the aisle.

  Claudia arrived last (surprise, surprise). We peered through the window as her family tried to load two enormous suitcases into the jammed cargo hold. It was like watching a pair of tardy hippos crowding onto Noah’s ark.

  Claud and Jessi sat behind Stacey and Robert. We all started talking at once.

  We didn’t stop until we reached the New York State border. The sun was up. That somehow reminded us of how tired we should be, and we all fell asleep.

  We awoke to the voice of Mr. Kingbridge, the SMS assistant principal. “Rise and shine, troops, we’re here!”

  “Hawaii?” Jessi exclaimed groggily.

  When I opened my eyes, I half-expected to see palm trees.

  “I don’t think so,” Claudia said. “This is a tour bus, not the Magic School Bus.”

  We were in front of the airline terminal at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City. As the bus doors opened, we scrambled out onto the sidewalk.

  I could not believe the number of people traveling at 6:45 A.M. We had to wait in a long line at the check-in counter.

  But when we were done, we still had an hour left, so we had breakfast. Again.

  I was just finishing up a Danish when a voice blared over a loudspeaker: “Now boarding flight two-fourteen to Los Angeles Airport, at gate five.”

  I took a leisurely sip of orange juice.

  Mrs. Hall, an English teacher who was sitting at our table, stood up. “That’s us!”

  I nearly choked. “Huh?” I said. “Los Angeles? Did they change the trip on us?”

  Dawn rolled her eyes. “We lay over there, then we change planes to Hawaii.”

  Duh.

  I pulled some money out of my pocket, but Mrs. Hall said, “Put it back. Mr. Kingbridge is paying.”

  We all gave him a “Two-four-six-eight-who-do-we-appreciate” cheer. He blushed like crazy.

  Then we left the coffee shop and barged through the airport, parting the crowds of rushing people. As we lined up to go through the metal detector, Alan Gray, the Head Goon of the eighth grade, cut in front of us.

  “He’ll never make it,” Claudia muttered. “His pinhead will set off the alarm.”

  Guess what? He did set it off! It was just because of something in his pocket, but we burst into giggles anyway.

  We giggled all the way onto the plane. When the flight attendant demonstrated the emergency stuff, it was as if we were at a comedy show. We just could not stop. I don’t know why.

  We settled down somewhere over Pennsylvania, when the flight attendants brought us our third breakfast. I couldn’t believe how hungry I was. I actually ate it.

  All the SMS kids and chaperones were basically in the same area of the plane. I had a window seat, next to Claudia. (Mary Anne, to my surprise, still was not sitting next to Logan.) But once the seat-belt sign was off, no one stayed put. The cabin became one big party. I switched seats with Dawn to talk to Jessi. Mary Anne switched seats with Jessi to talk to me. Kids I barely knew were strolling up and down the aisle, being friendlier than they ever had been in school.

  Especially some blonde girl I didn’t know, who was flirting with Robert Brewster. I glanced over at Stacey, but she was sitting with Jessi, facing away from Robert. I decided not to worry about it. Everyone was feeling kind of open and excited.

  Well, except Alan Gray, who was just feeling dorky. He was holding up a rubbery omelette and pretending it was alive.

  When the flight attendant announced that it was in-flight movie time, we scrambled back to our seats.

  The movie? Fine. The rest of the flight? Fast. I was in the middle of a long conversation with Claud when a voice announced, “We are now beginning our descent to the Los Angeles area….”

  I was shocked. The flight sure hadn’t seemed five hours long.

  How was L.A.? Well, I did not see one movie star in the airport, but I did see someone with a pet iguana. We were there long enough to (1) hear a lecture on behavior from Mr. Kingbridge and (2) set our watches back three hours. (That meant we’d left New York at eight o’clock and were in L.A. at ten o’clock. Not bad, huh? Sometimes it takes me that long just to get out of bed.)

  You know what was the nicest part of the layover? Dawn’s brother, stepmother, and father were there to meet her. She was sooooo surprised.

  Before we knew it, we were trudging onto another plane. Once again, we sat together. Once again, we made noise and disturbed our fellow passengers. But this flight had a boring movie, and the “lunch” almost made me lose my lunch.

  I don’t know about you, but I’ve always pictured California and Hawaii in about the same area. Boy, was I wrong. We were in the air five more hours. I had another snooze.

  All that travel time was worth it, though. As our plane came down over the island of Oahu, I shrieked. You could see miles and miles of beaches and gorgeous green mountains. It looked like paradise.

  And I was ready for the time of my life.

  Sorry about my handwriting. I wrote that on the bus from Honolulu International Airport, so it was a little shaky.

  Poor Logan. He seemed really excited as we left the plane, but his face kind of sagged inside the terminal. I figured he was tired. We all were. We’d been awake for fifteen hours and traveling for eleven of them. Our bodies were telling us it was eight at night, but the airport clocks all said two o’clock in the afternoon.

  On the way to the baggage claim area, I was gabbing away with my BSC friends. Logan was looking around, not meeting my eyes.

  Was he mad at me?

  I was feeling nervous. Logan’s my boyfriend, and we’d had a long talk before we left. You see, our friends had been giving us grief lately. They’d complained that Logan and I were spending too much time together. Part of me thought they should mind their own business. But part of me thought they were right. It’s not fair to neglect your best friends. So Logan and I decided on an experiment. We’d spend our vacation TBI — together but independent. Each of us would mainly hang out with our own friends. We wouldn’t make it a big deal. We wouldn’t avoid each other. We’d just feel free to be apart.

  I thought things had been going well so far. We’d sat apart on the bus from Stoneybrook to New York and on both plane rides. That hadn’t been too bad. We’d managed to chat a little.

  But right now Logan did not look happy. Something was wrong. Was it something I said? Did I give off the wrong signal? Was TBI working too well?

  “Logan,” I said softly, “is everything okay?”

  He glanced at me quickly, then looked away. “Well, I thought … nahhh, never mind.”

  Great. Here we were in the world’s most beautiful spot, and Logan wanted to break up. Just my luck.

  I wanted to cry. “Go ahead,” I said. “Ask.”

  “Well … aren’t we all supposed to get leis when we land? You know, like they did on The Brady Bunch?”

  “Leis?”

  Logan blushed. “I know, I know. Dumb question. It’s just a TV show, right?”

  “Right.” I smiled and nodded.

  Boy, did I feel stupid for worrying.

  “Okay, kids, listen up,” Mr. Kingbridge called out as we all gathered near the luggage conveyor belt. “For the purpose of traveling from here to the hotel in an orderly way, I will assign ten of you to each teacher. You will not have
to stay in these groups throughout the trip. Each morning at breakfast we will post a few different itineraries, and you must sign up for one each day …”

  “Can I book the beach group in advance?” Abby murmured to me.

  Mr. Kingbridge went on for awhile about safety precautions — never leaving your camera or your money unattended on a beach blanket, making sure to lock up valuables in the hotel safe, stuff like that — then assigned all-boy and all-girl groups. I was in the same one as Abby, Stacey, Claudia, Dawn, and Jessi.

  “How old-fashioned,” Claudia remarked. “Separating the boys and girls.”

  Stacey shrugged. “So? That’s okay with me.”

  That was not what I’d expect her to say. For so long, it’s been impossible to tear Stacey and Robert apart. She was ecstatic when Robert’s parents had agreed to let him go on the trip.

  But now Robert was at the other end of the conveyor belt with his friends and a girl named Sue Archer.

  Hmmm. Were Stacey and Robert having their own TBI?

  As Stacey leaned toward the belt to pick up her luggage, I glanced at Claudia. She raised one eyebrow. She’d noticed, too.

  I have to confess something. On our flight from L.A. to Honolulu, Claudia had spotted Stacey and Robert arguing in the little area near the bathrooms. Claud figured Stacey was jealous of Robert’s friends.

  Maybe Sue had something to do with this, too.

  “Oops, SOS!” Abby called out. “Come on, guys!”

  Poor Stacey was valiantly trying to pull two humongous suitcases and a backpack off the belt. Abby, Claudia, and I ran to help her.

  Next, Claudia’s two Wonder Cases came rolling toward us. Honestly, they were so heavy I don’t know why the belt didn’t just grind to a halt.

  Stacey, Abby, and Jessi wrestled one of them to the ground. If I hadn’t rushed to help Claudia with the other, she might have been pulled onto the belt herself.

  We were very lucky that Mr. De Young was assigned to our group. He’s the boys’ gym teacher, and he’s built a little like Jean-Claude Van Damme. With his help, we managed to move all our luggage out of the terminal and onto a minibus emblazoned with the name of our hotel, the Honolulu Surf.

  As we rolled away from the airport, I began to see why everyone loves Hawaii.