"Maybe we could buy it back," said Mom, with a grin.
"Yeah! For the same price we sold it - twenty-dollar couches, that sort of thing." "Actually," said Mom, "you've got a point. We could buy things at other people's yard sales. We'll never have enough money for all new furniture." "Are you sure we can afford to decorate my room?" "I'm positive. That's special. Your dad and I talked it over and set aside money for it. You can fix up your room in New York, too." This all sounded kind of like a pay-off - for letting my parents get a divorce. But of course I couldn't say that.
"So how's school?" asked Mom. It was Friday afternoon. I had been back at Stoneybrook Middle School for five days. I had to admit that I felt as if I'd never been away. I hadn't been lying when I'd written on my list of New York versus Stoneybrook that I liked SMS better than my private school in New York. The kids in Stoneybrook are just as cliquey as the ones in the city, but they aren't nearly as snobby. I'm not saying that all kids who go to private schools are snobs (because then I'd be calling myself a snob!), but that an awful lot of the ones at my old school were snobs.
"School's great," I admitted to Mom.
"And math?" I'm an excellent math student, and when I'd returned to SMS, the teachers had put me into the high-school level algebra class. It was hard - but fun.
"Math is fine. It's - it's no problem. Get it?" I said. "No problem?" Mom just shook her head.
"Well, I better go," I said. "I'm sitting for Charlotte this afternoon, and then I have a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club. I'll be home a little after six, okay?" "Okay." I put on my jacket and headed for the door.
I opened the door.
I waited.
" 'Bye!" I called.
" 'Bye!" said Mom.
I waited again.
Nothing.
Mom had not said, "Have fun and be careful," once since we'd re-arrived in Stoneybrook. I kind of missed it.
I climbed onto my ten-speed and headed for Charlotte's. When I reached her house, I chained my bike to the Johanssens' lamppost (I probably didn't need to, but New York habits die hard), and ran to their front door. Charlotte opened it before I rang the bell.
"Stacey! Stacey! Stacey!" she cried.
It was my first official sitting job for Charlotte since my return, and we were both pretty excited.
"Hi, Dr. Johanssen," I greeted Charlotte's mother.
"Oh, Stacey, is it ever good to have you back," she replied.
Dr. Johanssen and I like each other a lot. She helped me through a bad time with my diabetes right after our first move to Stoneybrook.
"Stacey, I have to show you something!" Charlotte cried, and flew up to her room to get whatever it was.
"I think you're going to find a new Charlotte," said Dr. Johanssen in a low tone, as she put on her coat. She smiled at me. "She's more outgoing, she's happier, and she even has a few friends now - but she still needs you." Dr. Johanssen paused at the bottom of the stairs. "I'm leaving now, Charlotte," she called. "I'll be at the hospital. Daddy will be home by five-fifteen. You and Stacey know where the emergency numbers are." "Okay, Mom!" replied Charlotte. She didn't even come out of her room.
Dr. Johanssen raised her eyebrows as if to say, "You see how she's changed?" The old Charlotte would have run downstairs to give her mother a desperate good-bye kiss.
Dr. J. was right. Charlotte and I had fun that afternoon, and Charlotte was still sweet and thoughtful and more interested in reading books than in doing anything else. But she was no longer clingy and frightened. And she got three phone calls from friends, and chatted away with them.
Charlotte was growing up.
Mr. J. came home promptly at five-fifteen, and I jumped on my bike and headed over to Claudia's for the BSC meeting. It was my third since I'd returned to Stoneybrook, and I have to say that I relished every minute of each one.
I was the first to arrive at the Kishis', so I settled myself in my usual spot on Claudia's bed and watched her conduct a search for junk food. She was a little low that day and found only a roll of Lifesavers, a pack of those Twin-kies with that disgusting fruit-and-creme mixture inside of them, and a bag of taco chips.
Then I got to watch the other members arrive. Kristy thundered up the stairs in her jeans, sneakers, a sweater, and a turtleneck. Mary Anne entered Claud's room quietly, wearing a new flared green dress. Dawn bounced into the room in a pair of jeans with zippers up the legs, her long hair flowing down her back like a blonde waterfall. Jessi ran in breathlessly, straight from a dance class, her leotard still on under her clothes. And Mal arrived last, wearing a totally new outfit - a sequined sweat shirt, a short skirt, and pink leggings. None of us had seen her dressed like that before. Apparently, her mother and father hadn't, either.
"Can you believe it?" exclaimed Mal, without even saying hi to us. "My parents practically had nervous breakdowns over these clothes. I bought them with my own money, which I'm allowed to do, but they say this outfit's too grown up. I'm eleven, for heaven's sake." This is an old Mallory problem. We've heard the story before, but it doesn't mean we don't sympathize with Mal, so we listened patiently while she went on. (Luckily for Mal, it was only 5:25, so she had five minutes to talk before Kristy would get antsy.) "What do they want?" wailed Mal. "I've stopped asking to get contact lenses. And I got the stupid braces they're making me wear for two years. Sheesh." "Mal," I began, but she didn't hear me.
"I wish," she said at last, "that I could do something really great to prove to Mom and Dad that I'm not just a kid anymore." Kristy, Dawn, Mary Anne, Claudia, and I looked at each other. Sometimes Mal seems so young. But we made a few suggestions to her, and then Kristy began itching to bring the meeting to order. So she did.
"Any club business?" she asked.
The rest of us shook our heads. I was glad it was a Friday. If it had been a Monday, I would have had to collect our club dues, and nobody likes to part with her money.
Yes, that's right. Dawn had gratefully given me my old job of treasurer back. She's not as good at math as I am, and she'd liked being an alternate officer.
"More variety," she'd said. "I get to try all the offices. I just wish you guys would be absent more often so I could fill in for you. Kristy, I don't think you've ever missed a meeting. I'm dying to be president for a day." "Not a chance," said Kristy, grinning.
The phone rang then. Kristy and Dawn dove for it, but Dawn reached it first. "Hello, Babysitters Club," she said. "Oh, hi, Mrs. Perkins. . . . Tuesday afternoon? We'll check and get right back to you." Dawn hung up and announced that Mrs. Perkins needed a sitter for Myriah, Gabbie, and Laura on the following Tuesday. Kristy got the job, and Dawn called Mrs. Perkins to tell her so.
By six o'clock, the meeting ended, we'd lined up five jobs and eaten the whole bag of taco chips.
Mal and I rode our bikes home together.
"Are you glad you're back?" Mal asked as we approached my turn-off.
"Yes," I told her. But deep down I knew that I would never - ever - stop missing Dad or wishing that my parents were still together. But those were my private thoughts and I knew I was lucky. Lucky that my parents would let me go back and forth between them as long as it didn't affect my schoolwork, lucky that I didn't have to listen to fights anymore, lucky that since my mom insisted on moving she'd at least decided to return to Stoneybrook, where I could be with my old BSC friends.
"Yes," I said again to Mallory. "I'm glad I'm back." Mal smiled. "I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe I could come over now that we're neighbors." "Definitely." I returned Mal's smile.
Then I rode down the street to Mom and my new home.
About the Author ANN M. MARTIN did a lot of baby-sitting when she was growing up in Princeton, New Jersey. Now her favorite baby-sitting charge is her cat, Mouse, who lives with her in her Manhattan apartment.
Ann Martin's Apple Paperbacks are Bummer Summer, Inside Out, Stage Fright, Me and Katie (the Pest), and all the other books in the Babysitters Club series.
She is a former edi
tor of books for children, and was graduated from Smith College. She likes ice cream, the beach, and I Love Lucy; and she hates to cook.
Table of Contents
BSC028 - Welcome Back, Stacey!
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