Baby-Sitters Club 028

by Ann M. Martin

  "Me," I replied. "I like to look good for myself." Dawn grinned. "You're the most important person to look good for," she informed us. "I always dress to please myself." "Speaking of that," said Kristy, "you know what Alan Gray wore to school last Wednesday?" "Oh, lord," moaned Claud, burying her face in her hands, apparently remembering.

  "What? What?" I asked.

  "A hat with an alligator on top of it, and when he pulled this string, the alligator's mouth opened and closed, and its tail waved back and forth." We were laughing again. That's another thing I love about these friends. We laugh a lot. We've done our share of crying together and being scared together, but mostly when I think of us as a group, I think of the laughter.

  "How is old Alan Gray?" I asked. Alan is the bane of Kristy's existence. He'd like her for his girlfriend, but he's so immature. Besides, Kristy likes Bart Taylor, the coach of Bart's Bashers.

  "Don't ask," was Kristy's reply.

  "Okay. Let me try another question. How's Emily?" Immediately, Kristy softened. She just loves her new little sister, I can tell.

  "I've got pictures!" exclaimed Kristy. "I almost forgot. I brought them over just for you. I can't believe I nearly left them in my knapsack all night." The seven BSC members crowded together on Claudia's bed.

  "See? There's Emily all dressed up to go see Watson's parents. And there she is playing peek-a-boo with Nannie." (Nannie is Kristy's grandmother, her mother's mother, who lives at the Brewer mansion and helps take care of the kids and the house.) "Oh," Kristy went on, "and there's Emily dressing up in my clothes. Look, my Kristy's Krushers T-shirt is like a dress on her!" Kristy had about a hundred photos of Emily Michelle. Well, not really, but it took us awhile to look through them. When we were done, we changed into our nightgowns, spread sleeping bags on the floor of Claud's room, crawled inside them, and began to gossip. Every now and then, somebody would get up, go into the bathroom, brush her teeth, return to her sleeping bag, and drift off to sleep.

  At last, only Claud and I were awake. The lights were off in her room, but each of us knew the other wasn't asleep yet.

  "Stace?" whispered Claud.

  "Yeah?" "Remember how awful it was when you first found out you were moving back to New York?" "Yeah." "We tried to figure out a way for you to stay here." "Yeah." "And I said you were my first and only best friend." "I remember." "Well, you still are. You always will be. Whether you live here or in New York or - or in Nepal." "Nepal!?" We put our hands over our mouths to muffle our giggling. "Thanks, Claud," I said. "You know what? I feel like you're my sister." I fell asleep happy - and guilty. Because for all the fun I was having, and as close as I felt to Claud and my other friends, I couldn't wait to get back to New York the next day.

  New York, I admitted to myself, was Home.

  Chapter 11.

  Back to New York City, back Home. I was in school again. I hung around with Laine. I stepped gingerly around our group of friends at school. I baby-sat for Grace and Henry. I watched Mom and Dad read the real estate pages of the paper.

  And I missed Stoneybrook. How could that be? New York was Home, but all I could think of was Connecticut, Claud, and the BSC.

  One night Dad came home late to announce that he'd found an apartment. Mom and I were in the kitchen. Supper was over and we were drinking tea. I was doing math homework (my easiest subject), and Mom was making a list of pros and cons about the house in Stoneybrook. She couldn't make up her mind about it, and I wasn't being much help. I had decided to stop saying anything about where I wanted to live or whom I wanted to live with.

  This was a feeble effort at keeping Mom and Dad together. I thought maybe I could be uncooperative enough to make them rethink the stupid divorce thing.

  I was wrong.

  Dad strode into the kitchen, smiling. "I found a place, Stacey," he said, as if Mom weren't sitting just three feet away from him. "You'll love it, I know. It's in an older, smaller building, it has lots of charm, and just like I promised, there are two bedrooms - one for me, one for you. Here take a look at the ad." Dad handed me a miniscule piece of paper that he'd cut out of The New York Times.

  1 frowned at it. Wb fp. So exp. Pre-war bldg. Brk wls. I looked at Dad. "Woodbug fup? So expee? Pre-war bulldog? Bark wools? Where are you going to live? In Wonderland?" Dad laughed. "No. That means a wood-burning fireplace, southern exposure - in other words, lots of sunlight - and a pre-war building with several brick walls. Believe me, you've never seen anything like it." "And you've already taken it?" asked Mom in a strange voice.

  "Yup. Well, I've paid two months' rent. I just have to sign a few papers tomorrow." "Where's the apartment, Dad?" I asked.

  "The East Sixties. East Sixty-fifth Street, to be exact." "But I've never lived on the East Side," I said.

  "Well, you can experience it now," Dad replied.

  A horrible expression crossed Mom's face. Mine, too, but for a different reason.

  "You want to live with your father, Stacey?" cried Mom, at the same time I said, "You mean you're really, really going through with it? You guys are really getting divorced?" For a moment, no one knew what to say. Then we all began talking at once.

  Dad said, "You knew our decision was final, Anastasia." Mom said, "I thought you'd want to go back to Stoneybrook, Stacey." I said, "I thought I could live wherever I wanted. You said that was up to me. Besides, I didn't say I was going to live with Dad, just that I've never lived on the East Side." Then Dad said, "East Sixty-fifth Street is just inches away from Bloomingdale's." And Mom said, "Don't bribe her. That's not fair." And I said, "I thought this was just a phase you two were going through." And Mom said, "Take your insulin, Stacey." And Dad said, "Don't hound her." And I said, "I hate you both," and ran to my room and slammed the door.

  The next day was Saturday. Dad went to a real estate office to sign some papers, and then to a gigantic hardware store that carries everything from nuts and bolts to refrigerator magnets. He said he needed some things for his new pad.

  His new pad. He actually said that.

  I stayed at home with Mom, feeling horribly guilty about those words that had slipped out of my mouth the night before: "I've never lived on the East Side." I sat in the kitchen with her again while she looked at the paper. I was trying to write an English composition (the teacher had said to write about what you know, so I was writing about parents who can't keep their marriage vows), but concentrating was difficult with Mom on the phone every two seconds.

  It was especially difficult when I heard her say, "Hello, Ms. Keller?" Right away, my ears perked up.

  "This is Mrs. McGill," Mom went on. "Yes. . . . Right. . . . Well, I know it's been a week, and I'm calling to say that I just can't make up my mind about the house. It is a lovely old place, but it will probably be expensive to keep up, and . . . Well, I know. ... I know. So I wanted to tell you that I guess you better start showing the house again. If I decide I want it, I'll call to find out if it's still available, and if it isn't, I'll understand. . . . Okay. . . . Yes. ... All right. Thank you. Good-bye." "What did Ms. Keller say?" I asked.

  "That the house'll probably be snapped up in a second." "Oh." My mother returned to the paper.

  "Mom?" "Yes, honey?" "How come you can't make up your mind about the house in Stoneybrook?" "I guess because it's too big for one person. If I knew what you wanted to do - I mean, where you wanted to live - " "So get a smaller house," I said. "One with just two bedrooms. The old house has four." "I didn't see any nice smaller houses." "Oh, yeah." I remembered the refrigerator and the reindeer.

  "I think I'll look on Long Island," said Mom, rattling the paper as she turned pages.

  Long Island? When I visited her there, I wouldn't know anybody. She had to move to Stoneybrook, I thought.

  I flipped to the back of my composition book and tore out a fresh page. Then I made a list of pros and cons. One list was for staying in New York. The other list was for leaving New York and going back to Connecticut. Here is what my page looked like: I took
a look at my list. I didn't have to look at it very long to see the decision I was going to make.

  "Mom?" I said. "Can you call Ms. Keller back right now?" "Sure. But why?" "Just to make sure no one snapped up the house in the last fifteen minutes." Mom gave me a questioning look but dialed the phone anyway. She spoke briefly to Ms. Keller, then cupped her hand over the phone and raised her eyebrows at me.

  I took a deep breath. "Ask her if you and I can move into it." Mom's eyes filled with tears, and in a wavery voice, she told Ms. Keller that she'd take the house after all. Then they began talking business, and I tuned out. All I could think of was what I would tell my father when he came home.

  Dad returned late that afternoon. He'd been putting shelf paper in the kitchen cabinets of his new pad.

  "Dad," I said, "I have to talk to you. In private. Can we go to my room?" "Of course, honey." Dad followed me to my room and sat next to me on the bed. How, I wondered, could I possibly say what I had to say? My father and I love each other, and now I was going to hurt him. He had stayed with me during hospital visits. He had helped me learn to give myself insulin injections. He had bought me dolls and dresses and taken me to my first Broadway play - Annie.

  "Dad," I began, already knowing I was going to cry, "I made a decision today. I'm going to Stoneybrook with Mom. She took the house we found last week." My father just nodded. I don't know whether he'd expected the news or not.

  "You said it was up to me," I whispered.

  Dad nodded again. His Adam's apple was moving up and down.

  "I knew it. I knew I'd hurt you," I said.

  "Oh, Stacey. I'm, well, I guess I am a little hurt," Dad told me. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. But I'm not angry. I'm just going to miss you an awful lot. That's all." "I'll visit," I promised him, wiping away the tears that were dripping down my cheeks. "Every other weekend. Or maybe all summer. We'll work something out." "I know we will." I handed Dad a Kleenex and took one for myself. Then we hugged each other and cried and cried.

  Chapter 12.

  "Hey, Mom!" I shouted. "We need more packing cartons!" "Run to Gristede's," Mom called from the living room. "See if they have any. Sometimes they have the ones with tops." Run to Gristede's. Run to Gristede's. If I had a dollar for every time I'd been to that grocery store asking for cartons, I'd never need to baby-sit again in my life.

  It was two weeks after I'd made my decision. The three of us would be moving in just one week. I felt as if all I'd done during the past two years was pack. And it wasn't over. When Mom and I reached Stoneybrook, we'd have to unpack.

  I thought about that as I put on my jacket and left our apartment, heading for Gristede's.

  "Have fun and be careful!" called Mom.

  "You, too!" I replied.

  The elevator and I plummeted to the lobby, and I walked outside. I'd given Laine the news about our move not long after I'd told Dad. Laine had cried, too, which had made me start crying again.

  "You can't move," she'd wailed. "What'll I do without you?" "The same things you did when I moved to Stoneybrook the first time. Write to me. Call me. We'll run up huge phone bills." "It won't be the same." "I know. But you have Allison and Jean and everyone." "They're not you." I sighed. "I'm going to miss you, too," I said, "in case you'd forgotten." That was when the tears started.

  So I decided to give myself a break. I called someone who would be happy to hear the news. Claudia.

  "Oh, my lord. Oh, my lord!" she shrieked. "You're really coming back?" And then Claud began to cry.

  They were tears of happiness, of course, but nevertheless, they were more tears, and I couldn't help crying again, too. At that rate, I thought, my whole head would dry up.

  At Gristede's, I stepped up to the manager's office and peered through her little window. I'd been in the store so often looking for boxes that the manager, Miss Antonio, and I knew each other, although we did not like each other. I found Miss Antonio trying on a new hat. Three of the cashiers were crowded into the booth with her, giving her advice on how to wear it.

  "Ahem." I drummed my fingers on the ledge under the window.

  "Turn it around a little," one of the cashiers suggested to Miss Antonio. (Her name tag read "Anita.") "Like this?" Miss Antonio swung the brim around.

  "No, more like this," said Anita, adjusting the hat.

  "Ahem," I said again.

  "And tilt it up," added Anita.

  Miss Antonio tilted it.

  I banged my fist on the bell at the window. DING, DING, DING! Miss Antonio and her friends looked up in annoyance.

  "Oh, it's you," said Miss Antonio. "There are some boxes in the back. You can go get 'em yourself." "Thank you so much for your attention and courtesy," I replied.

  The next time we needed cartons, Mom could get them.

  I found five cartons (without lids, unfortunately), nested them inside one another, and walked them home. On the way, I passed Judy. I could see that she was not in one of her good moods, but I stopped and said, "Hey, Judy, next week I'm moving to Connecticut with my mom." Judy stared at me for a moment. Then she shrieked, "The heads of corporations are liars! Do you hear me?" (They could hear her in Toledo.) "They're corrupting our country with their plastic and their Campbell's soup and . . ." Judy's voice trailed after me as I headed for home.

  When I reached my apartment, I could hear Mom and Dad arguing. Even so, I yelled over their noise, "I was careful and I had a ton of fun. Next time one of you can go have fun with Miss Antonio. Be sure to admire her hat." Mom and Dad probably thought I was crazy, but they went right back to their arguing without asking me what I was talking about. So I left three of the cartons in the living room and took the others to my bedroom.

  I closed the door.

  But I could still hear Mom say, "The crystal vase? You can't have the crystal vase. That was a present from Donna and Stewart. Donna's one of my best friends." "And Stew is one of my best friends," Dad countered loudly.

  It wasn't easy dividing up a houseful of furniture and memories. Mom and Dad had been fighting constantly over who got what. The biggest fights were over items of sentimental value, such as photograph albums and wedding gifts. Naturally, they both wanted all those things.

  I turned on my tape deck and put the headphones on to drown out the arguing. I concentrated on my own packing. Most of my things were going to Connecticut, of course, but I was sending a few things to Dad's apartment. I didn't want a totally bare room there, and besides, the less I had to pack when I visited him, the better. Some clothes, some makeup, some books, some tapes, my Walkman, some posters, and a few other things were going to Dad's. The rest was going to our new house in Stoneybrook.

  I looked around my half-empty room.

  I lifted the headphones tentatively - just in time to hear Mom say, "You may not have that painting. I bought it myself!" "With my money!" shouted Dad.

  I put the headphones back on in a hurry.

  Then I burst into tears for about the zillionth time.

  Thursday night. I was baby-sitting for Henry and Grace. It would be my last time. Forty-eight hours from then I would be back in Stoneybrook.

  I knew that Mr. and Mrs. Walker had explained to Henry and Grace that I was moving, but I wasn't sure that they understood what that meant.

  Sure enough, as soon as the Walkers left and Grace had stopped crying, Henry said, "Mommy and Daddy said you can't baby-sit us anymore." I nodded. "That's right." "How come?" It was seven-thirty. Henry and Grace were in their pajamas (Grace's had feet, Henry's didn't), and they were ready for bed. I sat the kids down on the living room couch, one on either side of me, and tried to explain. "See," I began, putting an arm around each of them, "my mom and dad don't want to live together anymore, so they're each moving to a new home. I decided to live with my mom, and she's going to live in a faraway place called Connecticut." "Why don't your mommy and daddy want to live together anymore?" asked Grace.

  "Because they fight all the time," I told her. "They stopped being in
love with each other." Henry looked alarmed. "Tonight our mommy and daddy had a fight," he said. "Mommy went, 'Where on earth are our keys? You never put them away in the same place.' And Daddy went, 'I just told you they're on the bookshelf.' And Mommy went, 'Well, I guess I didn't hear you.' " "Oh, but Henry, that was just a little argument," I assured him. "People argue all the time. My parents' fights were big. They were huge. Mom and Dad didn't even want to be in the same room together. So they're getting a divorce. Your parents are not getting a divorce." "Yeah," said Grace. "This morning Mommy said to Daddy, 'I love you,' and Daddy said, 'I love you, too.' Then they kissed." I smiled. "That's nice. You guys don't have a thing to worry about." I walked the kids into Grace's bedroom, where we read Millions of Cats. Then I tucked her in, said good night to her, and walked Henry to his bedroom, where we read Outside Over There.

  "I'll see you on Saturday before we leave," I told him. "Your family's coming to my apartment to say good-bye. Okay?" "Okay." " 'Night, Henry." " 'Night, Stacey. I love you." "I love you, too." I sat in the Walkers' living room with my math book open in front of me. Would Henry and Grace find a new sitter that they liked? Would they find one they liked as much as me? Part of me hoped so - and part of me didn't, because I wanted to be somebody's special baby-sitter. But I knew I'd be sitting for Charlotte Johanssen soon again anyway. So I felt better.

  Chapter 13.

  On Saturday morning I woke up with a jolt. Usually I only wake up with a jolt when the alarm clock rings. This time, no alarm went off - except for the one in my brain, which was shouting, "MOVING DAY!" Oh, no. Please. Not that, I thought. I turned onto my stomach, put the pillow over my head, and tried to drown out reality. Moving was bad enough, but that day was also the true beginning of my parents' divorce. I would officially become a divorced kid. I would join the ranks of Dawn and Kristy, of Keith, Shayla, and Caitlin.

  "Stace!" called my father from the hallway. "Up and at 'em!" When had he come over? What time was it? Later than I thought, apparently. Dad had been sleeping at his new pad ever since his new bed had arrived. But he'd promised to come over early that last morning to help with the movers and to see me off. (I noticed he'd said see me off, not MS off. I guessed Mom didn't count too much anymore.) "Okay!" I called to Dad.