Kristy's Great Idea

by Ann M. Martin

  After we called Mrs. Marshall back, I said, “Hey, why don’t we figure out how much money we’ve earned on our Baby-sitters Club jobs?”

  “Okay!” said Stacey. She loved anything to do with money. Claudia handed her a piece of paper and a pencil. Then I opened our record book and read out the amount of money we’d been paid for each job.

  “Hey, that’s not bad!” I exclaimed. “You know what we should do? We should each donate about three dollars and we could have a pizza party on Saturday afternoon.”

  “Yeah, a celebration of our club,” said Claudia excitedly, “because it’s a success!”

  “We’ll get Coke and M&M’s,” I said.

  “All the junk food we can eat,” added Mary Anne happily.

  Stacey remained silent.

  “Oh, Stace,” I said suddenly. “I’m sorry. We forgot about your diet. Maybe—”

  “Oh, never mind.” Stacey cut me off. “I may not be able to go anyway. We’re, um, going to—to New York on Friday and we might not be back in time for the party.”

  “Didn’t you just go to New York?” asked Claudia.

  “Well, yes, but there are a lot of things to finish up. The move and all.”

  Claudia frowned. “I thought you said you finally got everything straightened out.”

  “Oh. We—we have to see some friends, too. Oh, wow, it’s six. I better go. Bye, you guys!”

  Stacey tore out of Claudia’s house.

  Claudia and Mary Anne and I just looked at one another.

  When I got home that evening, I found Watson parked on our living room couch, reading the paper like he lived at our house or something. I couldn’t help making a face. Luckily, Watson didn’t see it. In fact, he didn’t look up from the paper until I was tiptoeing past the living room, trying to sneak into the kitchen without having to speak to him.

  “Well, hi there, Kristy,” he said cheerfully.

  “Hi,” I replied. I paused for a second, trying to decide whether I should say anything else, then gave up and went on into the kitchen.

  Mom must have just gotten home. She was reaching into the refrigerator, pulling out vegetables and leftovers for dinner. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said. “How was school?”

  “It was fine. Um, Mom, Watson’s in our living room.”

  Mom smiled at me. “I know, silly. He came home with me. I picked him up after work.”

  “Is he staying for dinner?”

  Mom began slicing a tomato. “Yes, he is.”

  “Do you know this is the third time he’s been over for dinner in the last week?”

  “Kristy …”

  “What did he bring us this time? Greek food? Italian?”

  “Nothing,” replied Mom smoothly. “He’s here for leftovers.”

  That was definitely not a good sign. It meant Watson was through trying to impress us, and that Mom didn’t feel she had to impress Watson anymore, either. It meant they were getting more comfortable with each other. And it meant that Watson probably felt pretty comfortable with my brothers and me. Not a good sign at all.

  Mom eyed me.

  “What?” I said.

  “Honey, would you please run upstairs and put on a dress?”

  “A dress! Why?” I thought I looked all right in my school clothes. Besides, I never wear dresses if I can help it.

  “Because I’m the mommy, that’s why.”

  I giggled. Mom has a red T-shirt with that slogan across the front.

  “Put on the blue-and-white one we just bought, okay?”

  I sighed. “Okay.”

  When I got upstairs, all my brothers were there brushing their hair. They had changed into decent shirts and pants. “What’s going on?” I asked Sam.

  He shrugged. “Something to do with Watson. Mom told us to dress up.”

  I made another face. I’m pretty good at faces. One thing I can do that no one else in our entire grade can do—not even the boys—is turn my eyelids inside out. I did that then.

  “Kristy, grow up,” said Charlie. “That is really gross.”

  “It’s scary,” added David Michael.

  “Sorry,” I said. I helped him button his shirt.

  Then I changed into my blue-and-white dress, purposely didn’t brush my hair, and went downstairs. My brothers were helping Mom and Watson set the table in the dining room. Mom was lighting candles.

  “Mom,” I said, “will you please tell me what’s happening? Why is everything so fancy?”

  “Because we’re celebrating.”

  “We’re celebrating with leftover SpaghettiOs?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we eat. I just want us feeling festive.”

  “Why? What are we getting festive about?”

  Mom and Watson glanced at each other. Watson winked. “You’ll see,” said Mom.

  “Mom, I don’t feel too well,” I said suddenly.

  My mother sized me up in one half of a second. “Save it, Kristy,” she said.

  “Okay, okay, okay.”

  A few minutes later, we were sitting around the dining room table, which looked almost as fancy as it does at Thanksgiving. Mom had spread out a green tablecloth and put a white runner over it. We were eating off of our good china, and everyone had a wine goblet. Mom and Watson were the only ones with wine in their wine goblets, though.

  David Michael’s and mine were filled with milk. Sam and Charlie had put Gatorade in theirs.

  SpaghettiOs and Gatorade. Some dinner.

  We began passing around the leftovers. Mom and Watson didn’t pay a bit of attention to what we kids chose for dinner. When everyone was served, Mom stood up at the head of the table and raised her glass. “Something very special happened today,” she said.

  I drew in my breath.

  “Watson asked me if I would consider getting engaged to him.”

  I let the breath out.

  “That’s great, Mom,” said Sam.

  “Congratulations,” said Charlie.

  “Yay!” cried David Michael, getting into the spirit of things.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It means your mother won’t even let me give her an engagement ring yet,” said Watson, smiling.

  Smart move, Mom, I thought.

  “But that I’m thinking about it,” added Mom.

  “Well,” said Sam, “if engagement is one step away from marriage, does this mean you’re two steps away?”

  Mom and Watson laughed. “I guess so,” said Mom.

  Good. Keep it that way.

  “If you got married,” I asked, “where would we live?”

  “I don’t know, honey,” replied Mom. “We haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  “Would we have to change schools?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Would Karen and Andrew live with us, too? Would you keep on working? Would Dad still give you child-support money?”

  “Kristy, I don’t know. Now, enough questions. This is a celebration. We’ll worry about those things later. Eat your—what is that you’re eating?”

  “Twinkies,” I replied. “Twinkies and fried chicken.”

  “Eat your Twinkies and fried chicken.”

  At that, everybody laughed.

  I managed a tiny, forced smile. Very forced. I couldn’t believe Mom’s news. Why would she want to risk getting married again? My only hope was that she’d see the light before it was too late and let our family return to normal.

  The Baby-sitters Club planned its pizza party for Saturday afternoon. On Friday, during a regular meeting of the club, we pooled our money, except we only had nine dollars instead of twelve. That was because Stacey wasn’t at the meeting. She and her parents had pulled out of their driveway right after Claudia and I came home from school. Stacey waved to Claudia and me from the car window as they drove by us.

  “They’re on their way to New York,” Claudia said. “Stacey told me at lunch today that they might be back tomorrow morning, or they might not be back until th
e evening.”

  “I wonder what we should do about the party.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Claudia slowly. “Let’s talk about it at the meeting.”

  So we did.

  “I think we should wait,” said Mary Anne, curling up on Claudia’s bed and pulling a pack of Juicy Fruit out of the pillowcase. “It’ll be more fun if the whole club’s at the party. We can have the party next weekend.”

  “But we really want to have it tomorrow, right?” said Claudia.

  “Right,” Mary Anne and I replied.

  “So why don’t we go ahead and buy everything except the pizzas tomorrow morning. If Stacey comes home, we can order the pizzas at the last minute and have the party. If she doesn’t, we’ll keep the stuff until next weekend. Okay?”

  So that was what we agreed to do. And that was what we tried to do. But it never happened.

  The next morning, everything went wrong. Our house was in chaos. David Michael woke up with a stomach virus. Louie went streaking through the downstairs, skidded on a throw rug, and hurt his paw. Mom was grouchy, Charlie couldn’t find his football helmet, and Sam overslept and nearly missed an emergency meeting of the Math Club.

  I myself was doing fine until the phone started ringing. The first call was from Mary Anne. She was crying. “Mmfawolemspoomunno,” she wailed.

  “What? Mary Anne, I can’t understand you. What’s wrong?”

  She slowed down and tried again.

  “Your father?” I repeated. “Won’t let you … spend your money … on what? On the feet of a pauper? … Oh, on the pizza party … Oh, Mary Anne. You’re kidding. Can’t you talk to him?”

  “I tried.”

  “Why won’t he let you?”

  “He says I should save the money I earn for more important, necessary things, like clothes and college.”

  “You mean you have to start paying for your clothes yourself?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think he does, either. He just won’t let me spend three dollars on pizza. That’s all.”

  “What a meanie.”

  “Yeah.” Mary Anne blew her nose.

  “Well, Claudia’s got all the money. She can give yours back. We’ll still have nine dollars when we get Stacey’s share. I guess the four of us can make do with one large pizza. Stacey probably won’t eat any anyway.”

  “But, Kristy, I’m not coming to the party now,” said Mary Anne.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not letting you guys pay for ev—just a second,” she whispered. Then, “Okay, thanks for helping me with this math,” Mary Anne said loudly. “Now I understand what we’re doing.”

  “Did your father just walk in?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have to get off the phone now?”

  “Yes. Listen, thanks again. I’ll see you in school on Monday. Bye, June.”

  “June? Bye, Mary Anne.”

  So Mary Anne was the first person to drop out of the party.

  The second phone call was from Claudia, who wasn’t crying but sounded like she might have been or might be going to. “Guess what,” she said angrily.

  “What?”

  “Mom and Dad got a letter from school in the mail this morning saying how I’m not trying hard enough and don’t pay attention and if I’d just concentrate on my work I could be a very good student.”

  “So? Don’t you get one of those letters every fall?”

  “Yeah, but this time Dad had read it right before I told him and Mom about the pizza party, and he said no parties for me, it was time I started being more serious, and did I have any homework this weekend? When I said yes, he said he wanted me to spend all weekend on it.”

  “All weekend on ten math problems?”

  “Well, and on catching up on all the homework I didn’t do so far this year.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry, Kristy.”

  “Me, too. But Mary Anne can’t come, either. I guess the party’s off.”

  “Maybe not. I’m not through with my parents yet. Let’s not say the party’s off unless Stacey doesn’t come home in time.”

  “Fine with me.”

  “All right. I’m going to go start some of the math. Now, here’s a question for you. When do you think we will ever need to know how to multiply fractions?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone besides teachers and math students do it?”

  “No.”

  “Do you need to do it in order to go shopping, cook dinner, or baby-sit?”

  “No.”

  “I rest my case. School is stupid.”

  “Good-bye, Claudia.”

  “Good-bye.”

  The weirdest thing that morning happened with Stacey. Around 11:30, I decided to call the McGills to find out if they were home yet. Mrs. McGill answered the phone and I introduced myself to her and asked for Stacey. There was a pause, then it sounded as if Mrs. McGill might be covering up the mouthpiece of the phone, and then she got back on the line and said, “I’m sorry, dear, Stacey’s not home.”

  “Oh,” I said, disappointed. “Where did she go?”

  “Well, she’s … um … she stayed in New York with friends, Kristy. She’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  “Oh. Thank you,” I said glumly. As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. “Hello?” I said.

  “Hi, it’s me.” Mary Anne.

  “Hi! Did your father change his mind?”

  “Are you kidding? I just wanted to be sure you knew Stacey was home. I was riding my bike to the Pikes’—that’s where I am now; they called and asked me to sit this morning—and the McGills passed me in their car. Stacey didn’t see me, though.”

  “Mary Anne, are you sure you saw Stacey in the car?” I said.

  “Yeah, positive. She was sitting in the back, wearing Claudia’s fedora. Why?”

  “Because I just spoke to Mrs. McGill. She said Stacey decided to stay in New York with friends. Something funny is going on.”

  “Yeah,” said Mary Anne slowly. “Somebody’s lying. And it isn’t me.”

  “Yeah … and it may not be only Mrs. McGill,” I added.

  “What do you mean?” asked Mary Anne. “And make it quick. I’ve got to get off in a second.”

  “I mean that Stacey must have told her mother what to say. Mothers don’t usually lie on their own. Stacey’s so weird about food and dieting. She didn’t want to come to the party in the first place. What is it with her anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but I gotta go. Bye!”

  I punched the button on the phone and quickly began dialing again—just as Mom came into the kitchen, still looking grouchy.

  “Kristy,” she said, “how long have you been on that phone this morning?”

  “On this phone? For about an hour. On the hot line to the White House, for about—”

  “Kristy …” said Mom warningly.

  “Sorry. How’s David Michael?” I asked.

  “Better already. I think his bug will be shortlived.”

  “That’s good.” I turned back to the phone.

  “Kristy …”

  “Just one more call, Mom. It’s important.”

  “Okay, one call. You know, you can go over to Mary Anne’s and Claudia’s. It’s not as if they live in Europe.”

  “Okay, okay. Last one.” I dialed Claudia’s number and she answered on the first ring.

  “I’m trying to do my homework,” she informed me crossly.

  “This’ll be short, I promise,” I said. “There’s something weird with Stacey. Mary Anne saw the McGills come home a little while ago, with Stacey in the backseat. But when I called them, Mrs. McGill told me Stacey had decided to stay in New York. I think Stacey was right there by the phone and just doesn’t want to go to the party.”

  “Hmm,” said Claudia, sounding puzzled. “I don’t know what that means. But if Mary Anne can’t come to the party, and Stacey doesn’t want to, and I’m not all
owed to, I guess there’s not much point in trying to have it.”

  “No,” I agreed. We both got off feeling depressed.

  Immediately, the phone rang again.

  “Kristy!” shouted my mother. “Enough with the phone!”

  “Do you want to answer it, Mom?” I asked. “I’m tired of it.”

  “All right.” Mom lifted the receiver. “Hello?” she said brusquely, and then softly, “Oh, hel-lo.”

  It had to be Watson.

  “How are you? … Yes? … Oh, no … Well, David Michael is sick…. The Baby-sitters Club? Let me check with Kristy…. What? … I don’t know. I guess so. Sure … Twenty minutes. Someone will be ready. Good-bye, sweetheart.

  “Kristy,” Mom said before she’d even hung up the phone. “There’s a little emergency. Watson needs one of you girls immediately. He needs someone to sit for his kids this afternoon. I’d tell him to drop them off here instead, but I’m afraid they’d catch David Michael’s virus.”

  “Oh, Mom!” I cried. “It’ll have to be me.”

  I didn’t have a choice.

  Exactly twenty minutes later, Watson drove up with two little kids in the backseat. Mom ran me out to the car and practically shoved me in next to Watson. The emergency was that Watson’s ex-wife (Andrew and Karen’s mother) had fallen and broken her ankle and was in the emergency room at the hospital. Watson had to go over there and do something about insurance forms (I think) and also wait with her and take her home and make sure she could use the crutches okay and everything, since her future second husband was away for the weekend. Watson didn’t want to make the kids hang around the hospital with him.

  Watson put his foot on the accelerator and vroomed us down the driveway. I’ve never seen anyone in such a big hurry—and all over a broken ankle. If Watson could have flown the car back to his house I think he would have.

  I wondered how Mom felt, seeing Watson go rushing off to his ex-wife. But I knew Watson’s divorce was a friendly one, and also that some things (like insurance) still had to be straightened out. But Mom must have felt a little funny anyway.

  Watson talked a mile a minute during the drive, trying to tell me everything I’d need to know. I was glad I’d read the Baby-sitters Club Notebook, though, because he didn’t say anything about Mrs. Porter, the witch next door, or Boo-Boo the attack cat. I planned to keep the kids inside—or at least to keep Boo-Boo inside.