Stacey's Choice

by Ann M. Martin

  “We could call ourselves the Bad Boys,” said Adam with a grin, as he settled himself on the floor near Jake.

  “Absolutely not,” replied Mal.

  “How about Rap, Rap, Rap?” suggested Jordan. “Since there are three of us.”

  “Do we really have to have a name?” asked Byron. “Everybody who’s going to sell their stuff is going to perform, right? Not just us triplets.”

  “Wrong!” cried Haley. “I’m not going to perform. I’ll write songs or make costumes or something.”

  “Well, anyway, Adam and Jordan and I are not the only ones who’ll be singing. Other people will, too. I don’t think we need a name.”

  “Okay,” said Haley. “Then —” She stopped speaking when she realized Matt was trying to get her attention. He had scooted around so he was sitting in front of her, and now he was signing wildly. “Oh,” she said to the others after a moment, “Matt doesn’t know what ‘rap’ means. Now how am I going to explain it to him? You guys keep planning.”

  Haley turned her full attention to her brother, and they signed back and forth while the other kids continued discussing ideas.

  “What about costumes?” asked Jake. “Haley said she’d work on costumes. But what are our costumes?”

  “Don’t you think you better plan your songs and skits first?” asked Mal. “Then you’ll know what costumes you need.”

  The kids broke into pairs and small groups and divided up the junk they were going to sell. Buddy, always concerned about Matt, tapped Haley on the shoulder. “Is Matt going to be in the show?” he asked. “We can’t leave him out.”

  “Sure he’s going to be in it!” answered Haley. “Matt is terrific at pantomine. I’ll write some special skits just for him. You can narrate them and Matt can pantomine them.”

  “Oh, okay.” Buddy looked relieved.

  Mal let the kids work on their own during the rest of the afternoon. Outside the sky had darkened and a wind had sprung up. The rappers were content to stay inside. While they rhymed words, examined products, and wrote skits, Mal held Marnie in her lap and read to her.

  They read The Runaway Bunny while the triplets recited, “You got a tie? It’s all awry? Then you should try …”

  They read Babar’s Little Girl while Haley coached Matt. “Okay, now look really sad…. No, sadder…. Yeah, almost crying. Now get down on your knees and beg for that crow’s feet stuff.”

  They looked at the pictures in Good Dog, Carl while Vanessa said to Margo, “This will be a song with motions. You know, like ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’ Only the song will be about a girl who falls asleep and dreams she gets a slice ’n’ dice for her birthday.”

  Surprisingly, the kids worked out nearly fifteen songs and skits by the time Mrs. Barrett returned. They decided to take their show on the road on Saturday.

  On Friday, my mother ventured out of the house twice. The first time was to bring in the newspaper. She did that while I was in school, so she was dressed — for the first time in a week and a half — when I came home in the afternoon. The second time was to walk through the yards to visit Mrs. Pike. She stayed for nearly an hour. When she came home, which was at the same time I came home from the BSC meeting, she said she felt fine, although she did go to bed awfully early that evening. But on Saturday morning she was up before I was. And later, when I headed for a sitting job with Matt and Haley, Mom said she was going to drive to the grocery store. I knew she would be okay.

  I arrived at the Braddocks’ house at ten-thirty, and found the kids in a state of great excitement. It was the day of the road show.

  I had a very bad feeling about it.

  “I hope everybody does a good job,” said Haley worriedly.

  “I hope I earn my money back,” signed Matt.

  Mr. and Mrs. Braddock were going to be away until four o’clock that afternoon. They were visiting Mr. Braddock’s mother at a nursing home in New Haven, and wanted to spend most of the day with her.

  Why did I have a bad feeling about the road show? Not because I thought the kids were badly prepared. Not because I thought they would do a poor job. Nothing like that. Actually, I thought the show was going to be quite good, a lot of fun. It’s just that I knew no one would want to buy the junk the kids were selling. I was afraid they’d worked hard and gotten their hopes up for nothing. The day would end and they’d feel tired and discouraged — and maybe embarrassed — and they would still be stuck with the stuff they’d ordered. And no yo-yos. I didn’t feel I should say this to Haley and Matt, though.

  “When does the road show start?” I asked the kids after their parents had left. (While I spoke, Haley signed to Matt.)

  “Well, we’re supposed to meet at eleven o’clock at Buddy’s,” Haley replied. “All of us. I guess the show will start as soon as we’re ready.”

  “I’m coming along with you guys today,” I pointed out. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, no. It’ll be fun!” exclaimed Haley. Then, “Wait a sec.” She turned to Matt, who was signing to us. “Oh, right!” she cried. “Matt says to remember our costumes. Let’s see, we need our Halloween wigs.”

  “And props,” Matt was signing. “The bucket and pail.”

  Matt and Haley gathered their things together. Fifteen minutes later, Haley said, “Okay, we’re ready.”

  “Where’s the stuff you’re selling?” I asked.

  “Oops.”

  Matt and Haley loaded their collection of gadgets and bottles and jars into their old red wagon in a messy heap.

  “Um, don’t you think a display would look, oh, more enticing?” I suggested. (The kids could not afford to be sloppy.)

  Haley considered this.

  Matt signed, “Get a towel.”

  The Braddocks lined up their products on an old blue towel spread in the wagon. Then we left their house and headed for Buddy’s.

  The scene in the Barretts’ front yard was pretty interesting: Buddy and his wagon, Jake and Laurel and their wagon, all the Pikes and two wagons (Mal was coming along to help keep an eye on the kids), and now Matt and Haley and their wagon.

  Buddy took charge. “Did everybody remember their props and costumes?”

  “Yes!”

  “Did everybody remember their wagons?” (The answer to this question was obvious, but Buddy liked being in charge.)

  “Yes!”

  “Did everybody remember their stuff to sell?”

  “Yes!”

  Then another voice shouted, “Did everybody remember their sisters?”

  Buddy turned around. Standing on the front porch steps were Suzi Barrett and Patsy Kuhn. Apparently there had been some disagreement over whether they could take part in the show.

  “I bought half of our stuff!” Suzi said indignantly to Buddy. “And I even helped write a song about bust development.”

  (Vanessa coughed loudly.)

  “And I bought half of our stuff!” shouted Patsy.

  “You did not!” Laurel shouted back. “You gave us three quarters.”

  “You guys are just too little to come with us,” said Buddy. “We might go really, really far today.”

  “How far?”

  “To Jessi Ramsey’s house.”

  “That isn’t far. Anyway, Claire gets to go.”

  “Her big sister is coming with her,” said Buddy, eyeing Mal.

  “How about if I’m everybody’s big sister today? I’ll be in charge of Claire, Patsy, and Suzi,” offered Mal. “If they get tired, I’ll take them home.”

  Buddy kicked at a pebble on the lawn.

  “I did make up that song,” said Suzi.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” said Buddy. Then he brightened. “All right, everybody. Let’s get the show on the road. We will start right here!”

  “I’ll be the doorbell-ringer!” shouted Margo, sounding hysterical.

  “Calm down!” whispered Mal loudly.

  Margo calmed down enough to ring the Barretts’ bell. Presently, Mrs. Barrett opened the
door. She was wearing blue jeans and a sweat shirt. An apron was tied around her waist. Marnie, whimpering, was pressing her face into her mother’s leg. Mrs. Barrett looked as though the last thing she needed just then was to be interrupted by a bunch of kids selling freckler-remover and bust-developers.

  Buddy, holding the handle of his wagon, was standing nearest his mother. He glanced over his shoulder at the other kids, then back at Mrs. Barrett. Finally he picked up the stamp-licker from among the things in the wagon. He held it toward his mother. “Is your tongue dry?” he asked. “Do you write lots of letters? Then this is for you…. Just a dollar-fifty,” he added when his mother didn’t respond.

  “Buddy, I —” Mrs. Barrett began to say.

  “Doose?” asked Marnie.

  “Just a minute, sweetie.”

  The triplets came to Buddy’s rescue. “Don’t get sick, don’t take a lick. If you gotta write a letter, then this is better. It’s Stix, yeah, yeah. You gotta try Stix…. Why dontcha try Stix?” The triplets let their voices fade away dramatically.

  By the time they had finished, Mrs. Barrett was grinning. “That was great!” she exclaimed. She handed each of the triplets a dime.

  Buddy’s eyes widened. “Suzi, come here!” he hissed. “Let’s do our Mother’s Helper play, okay?”

  One of the many items Buddy had sent away for was a gadget called Mother’s Helper. The ad had said it could pick up dust as well as any vacuum cleaner — and it cost just sixty-nine cents. Mother’s Helper was an ordinary dustcloth, as far as I could see.

  Suzi, glad to be needed after all, joined her brother by their wagon. She picked up a broom. She tied an apron around her waist. Then she sagged against Buddy. She nearly slid to the ground.

  Buddy adopted an announcer’s voice. Speaking into an imaginary microphone, he said, “Does everyday housework make you feel tired and run-down?” He looked at Suzi for a moment, then nudged her.

  “Oh!” cried Suzi. “Um, goodness, I am so tired. How will I finish my everyday housework and go to the office?”

  “You could try Mother’s Helper,” said Buddy brightly. “It takes the work out of housework.” Buddy glanced at his mother to see if she appreciated the creativity of that line. “Just slip Mother’s Helper onto your hand —” (Suzi did so) “— and cleaning becomes a snap.” Buddy waited a moment, then had to nudge his sister again.

  “Oh! Um — goodness, I feel so much better. With Mother’s Helper I can finish my housework in half the time, and it doesn’t even feel like work!”

  Buddy and Suzi took bows, indicating that their performance was over.

  Their mother clapped her hands. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed. She handed dimes to Buddy and Suzi.

  Buddy held the Mother’s Helper toward Mrs. Barrett. “Just sixty-nine cents,” he reminded her hopefully.

  “Well,” she replied.

  The triplets handed her Buddy’s stamp-licker. “Just a dollar-fifty,” said Byron. “Cheap at twice the price.”

  “Well…. I guess not,” Mrs. Barrett admitted. “But I loved the show.”

  “You did?” said Buddy. “Honest?”

  Mrs. Barrett nodded. “It really is wonderful.”

  “Let’s go to my house!” said Vanessa, a gleam in her eye.

  So the road show organized itself into a caravan of red wagons. The kids walked along the sidewalk to the Pikes’ yard and up their driveway. Margo rang the bell.

  “I hope someone’s home,” Mal whispered to me. “Most of us Pikes are out here with the show.”

  But a moment later, both of her parents had opened the door. (I suspected they’d been watching us from a window.)

  “Heavenly days!” exclaimed Mal’s father, as if he knew nothing whatsoever about the road show.

  Mal put her head in her hands. “I can’t believe he just said that,” she muttered, and I replied, “My father says ‘I swan.’ ”

  “What have we here?” asked Mrs. Pike.

  Immediately, the triplets were in action. Byron held up a small glass jar and he and his brothers chanted, “Get, get, get Wrinkle-Away. Yo, yo, get Wrinkle-Away.”

  I stifled a giggle.

  When the rap song ended, Mr. Pike was grinning. He gave each of the triplets a quarter. Inspired, Matt and Nicky performed a commercial for Lawn Buddy, a product hailed as “the answer to all your gardening problems.”

  Mrs. Pike gave each of them a quarter.

  But nobody actually wanted to buy the Wrinkle-Away or the Lawn Buddy.

  All morning long, this happened. We trooped from one house to the next. The kids gave memorable performances, for which they earned money. But they could not unload any of the products.

  We stopped at Mary Anne and Dawn’s house. Dawn’s mom rewarded the kids for their inaccurate but humorous play about “bust development.” As we were leaving, Dawn decided to join our caravan.

  We went to Bradford Court where, before we could even approach the Kishis’ house, we attracted an audience right on the sidewalk. We were surrounded by kids — including the Perkins girls, the Hobart boys, Jamie Newton, and several other clients of the BSC.

  Of course, they didn’t want to buy anything — until Jake brought out his vial of moondust. Before he could even perform his elaborately choreographed Moondust Walk, James Hobart cried, “I’ll buy that! I’ll pay three dollars for it!”

  “Sold!” said Jake.

  Buddy held up his moondust. Myriah Perkins bought it.

  “I want moondust!” exclaimed Jamie Newton.

  Margo sold him hers.

  “I want moondust, too!” cried a kid I didn’t even know.

  We all looked at Suzi.

  “Where’s your moondust?” Buddy asked his sister.

  “Hiding,” she replied. “It isn’t for sale. I am one of twenty special people. I am keeping my moondust.”

  And that was the end of that.

  Not long after lunch, the youngest children — Claire, Suzi, and Patsy — grew whiny, so Mallory took them home. The older kids continued their traveling road show. They kept going until I told Matt and Haley it was time for them to go home, too. Their parents would be back soon. So the show came to an end. The kids were stuck with most of their products but they had earned enough money for plenty of yo-yos. They decided to take the show to a different neighborhood the next weekend.

  “Claud, what’s that?” I asked. I pointed to my friend’s dressing table.

  “That? It’s just lipstick,” she replied.

  “No, what’s next to it? That little pink tube?”

  Claudia blushed. “Well, it’s this stuff to get rid of crow’s feet. I bought it from Haley Braddock.”

  “You don’t have crow’s feet!”

  “Well, actually, I think I might. Look right here.”

  I peered at Claud’s face. It was as smooth as glass. “Not a wrinkle in sight. Claud, you’re only thirteen…. Hey, what’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s Wrinkle-Away.”

  “Claudia! I suppose you bought it from the Pikes?”

  “Yeah. The traveling road show came through the neighborhood again yesterday and I couldn’t resist. Anyway, I’d been looking in the mirror the other day and I noticed that when I smile I do get wrinkles around my eyes. Real wrinkles. Or crow’s feet. I wasn’t sure which. See? Watch this.”

  Claudia smiled (not very convincingly) and I could see what she meant. “Those are called laugh lines,” I informed her. “Even babies get them. Your skin has to go somewhere when you smile. It’s, like, a law of physics.”

  “I didn’t know you could apply physics to cosmetology.”

  “Don’t change the subject, Claud.”

  “Well, I don’t want to look old, so when that road show came by again — right to our door this time — and I heard that song about crow’s feet and that play about Wrinkle-Away, I decided not to resist anymore. I just couldn’t. I felt I was putting my face in danger.”

  It was a Friday afternoon. The BSC meeting woul
dn’t start for about half an hour, and Claud and I had no sitting jobs or other plans. So we were just hanging out in her room.

  “It’s nice to have you here,” Claud said several moments later.

  “What?”

  “Well, when your mom was sick you were so busy we only saw each other in school and at meetings. You didn’t have time to relax. You couldn’t come over just to visit.”

  “Yeah. Those weeks were kind of rough.”

  “But they’re over now.”

  “Yup.”

  My mother had fully recovered. The surest sign of this was that our house was back to normal. Not just clean, but orderly. I may never understand Mom’s knack for keeping things running smoothly. Maybe it’s a talent that develops with age. Or with parenthood. At any rate, I was a kid again, concentrating on school and baby-sitting. And Mom was my mom again, looking for a job, temping, and holding our little family together. Mrs. Pike still dropped by for visits, but the Mom-sitting chart (which I had located behind my desk where it had fallen) had been thrown away. My mother wasn’t even taking medicine anymore.

  By 5:20, the other members of the BSC had arrived for the meeting. Kristy, the last to show up, since she’s at the mercy of Charlie’s schedule, was grinning at me. She continued to grin at me as she settled into the director’s chair.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked her.

  “Nothing…. This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will now come to order.”

  “Kristy! You keep smiling at me,” I exclaimed. Honestly, sometimes she can be so immature. Or at least frustrating.

  Kristy stuck a pencil over her ear. “I just found out Sam’s plans for Saturday night,” she said. (Sometimes Kristy does this annoying thing where she only tells, like, half a story so her listeners are forced to ask her questions.)

  Mary Anne played right into her hand. “Saturday night?”

  “Sam has a date,” said Kristy.

  “With?” prompted Jessi.

  Kristy looked at me.

  Suddenly everyone was punching my arms and crying, “Ooh, Stacey!”

  Now I was grinning. “He finally called,” I admitted. “I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid it would jinx our da — our night. I mean, when Mom was sick, and I couldn’t walk home with Sam that time, and we barely talked on the phone, I thought I’d blown it. But tomorrow night we’re going to a movie.”