Kristy's Great Idea

by Ann M. Martin

  “All right. If you need me, I will be in the kitchen. Claudia, your friends must leave in fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  Mimi tiptoed out and closed the door softly behind her. I looked at the four of us and saw that we were sitting as if we were at war: Mary Anne next to me on the floor, Claudia and Stacey together on the bed. We were facing off.

  The phone rang.

  “I’ll get it,” we all said, and leaped for the phone, each of us determined to answer it. Stacey and I got to it first and both grabbed it off the hook. We had a real tug-of-war, yanking it back and forth, before I jerked it out of Stacey’s grip.

  “Baby-sitters Club,” I said gruffly. “Yes? … Yes?” It was a new client. He needed a sitter for Thursday after school for his seven-year-old daughter. I took down all the information and said that I’d get back to him in five minutes.

  “Well?” said Claudia after I’d hung up the phone.

  Stacey was so mad she had turned red. No kidding. She couldn’t even speak.

  “Who’s free Thursday afternoon?” I asked. “It’s a seven-year-old kid, Charlotte Johanssen, on Kimball Street.”

  “I’m free,” said Claudia.

  “So’m I,” Stacey managed to say through clenched teeth.

  “Me, too,” said Mary Anne timidly.

  “Me, too,” I added.

  We glared at one another.

  “Well, now what?” said Stacey.

  “Yeah.” Claudia narrowed her eyes. “Whose dumb idea was this club anyway? Four people all wanting the same job. That’s stupid.”

  “Since the club was my dumb idea,” I snapped, “I’ll take the stupid job.” And I did. After I’d hung up the phone for the second time, I said to Mary Anne, “Come on, let’s go. I can see we’re not wanted here.”

  Claudia looked a bit sheepish. “Kristy …” she said hesitantly.

  “Save it. I’m not speaking to you at the moment.”

  Mary Anne and I left the house without bothering to say good-bye to Mimi. Mary Anne was crying again. I almost said something nasty to her but realized that if I did, the four of us might become three against one, which was definitely worse than two against two.

  “Don’t cry,” I said at last.

  “I’m sorry. I just hate fighting, that’s all.”

  “Me, too. But we’ll all be friends again soon.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I know so. We’ve got the club to hold us together, right?”

  “Right,” agreed Mary Anne. But she didn’t sound very sure, and I didn’t feel very sure.

  So even though I was worried about the fight and sorry we’d had it, I believed that it would all blow over soon enough. And by later that evening, I heard such astonishing news that I forgot all about the fight anyway.

  Mom and Watson had gone out to dinner, and my brothers and I had finished our homework and were sitting around the kitchen table, playing Monopoly. Well, Charlie and Sam and I were playing Monopoly. David Michael, who had fully recovered from his virus, was busy making G.I. Joe attack a ferocious enemy Kleenex box. Sam had just bought all four railroads and was cleaning Charlie and me out, when the back door opened and in walked Mom and Watson. We hadn’t expected them home so early.

  “Surprise!” cried Mom, coming into the kitchen. Watson threw a handful of confetti on her.

  My brothers and I smiled. “What’s going on?” asked Charlie.

  Mom and Watson looked at each other, eyes sparkling.

  I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “You tell them,” said Watson.

  Mom turned to us. She looked radiant. “I agreed to become engaged,” she said.

  Already?

  Mom held up her left hand. There was a ring on her fourth finger with a diamond on it about the size of a boulder.

  “Wow,” I couldn’t help saying.

  We all crowded around to look at the ring. “It’s pretty,” said David Michael.

  “It means Watson is going to be your stepdaddy,” Mom told him.

  “Really-really-really?” David Michael jumped up and down. Sam hugged Mom, and Charlie shook Watson’s hand. But I just stood there. I wasn’t upset, but I wasn’t happy, either. I could only think of questions. Finally, I asked just one. “When will the wedding be?”

  “Oh, not for months,” replied Mom.

  I let out a sigh. That was definitely a relief.

  On Tuesday, Mary Anne and I avoided Claudia and Stacey in school until the very end of the day. Then I screwed up the nerve to ask Claudia if she wanted to hold a Baby-sitters Club meeting the next day as usual. She said it was all right with her.

  That night, for a change, Mom and my brothers and I went over to Watson’s for dinner. Andrew and Karen were there. Watson was taking care of them more often than usual since their mother had broken her ankle.

  Karen was in rare form. She loved having company and spent a long time trying to straighten out all the relationships. “If my daddy and your mommy get married—” she started to say to me, hopping from one foot to the other while Watson passed a plate of potato chips and onion dip around the living room.

  “When we get married,” Watson interrupted her.

  “Okay, when you get married, Kristy, you’ll be my stepsister, and Charlie, you’ll be my biggest stepbrother…. How old are you anyway?”

  “Guess,” said Charlie.

  “Thirty-five?”

  That broke Charlie up. “Thirty-five! That’s practically over the—”

  “Watch what you say, young man,” said Mom. “If thirty-five is over the hill, then I better start shopping for Geritol and Dentu-Grip.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “Twenty-nine?” Karen guessed.

  “No!” said Charlie. “I’m sixteen.”

  Karen stared at him. “Okay,” she said at last. She turned to Sam. “You’ll be my next biggest stepbrother.”

  “Yeah, and you know how old I am? A hundred and twelve.”

  I giggled. So did Karen.

  “And you’ll be my last stepbrother,” she said to David Michael. (It was a good thing she hadn’t said “my littlest stepbrother.”)

  “Do you know how old I am?” he asked.

  I hoped Karen was more accurate with little people than big ones, because David Michael is very touchy about his age. He hates for people to think he’s younger than six.

  “Eight?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. David Michael beamed.

  “Want to see my room?” Karen asked him.

  “Sure!”

  David Michael and Karen ran up the stairs, with Andrew at their heels.

  I sat back in my chair and looked around the living room. There was no carpet, just little throw rugs with the wooden floor, all polished, in between. In one corner of the room was a small tree in a brass tub. At one end was a huge fireplace. Near the other end was a gleaming grand piano. I decided I liked the room. I decided I could get used to it if I had to.

  Dinner was fun. Watson made fondue. He set a big pot full of hot, melty cheese in the middle of the table. Then he gave everyone a long fork and a plate with pieces of French bread. You were supposed to spear a piece of bread with your fork, dip it in the cheese, and eat it. Watson made this rule that if your bread fell off your fork and landed in the cheese, you had to kiss the person sitting on your right.

  “Ew! Yuck!” said David Michael.

  Then everyone began making rules. “If you drip cheese on the tablecloth,” said Charlie, “you can’t eat for two minutes.”

  “If you knock someone’s bread off his fork, you become his slave for the evening,” I said.

  Everyone was really careful after that.

  And then it happened. I was just sticking my fork into the pot when my bread fell off and landed in the cheese. Guess who was on my right. Watson.

  I couldn’t even look up. Maybe no one had noticed what I’d done.

  But everyone had.

 
; “Oo-ooh, Kris-teee,” teased Sam.

  “Kiss Daddy, kiss Daddy!” cried Karen.

  I glanced across the table and saw Mom watching me. I bet she thought I wouldn’t do it, that I’d make a scene. Well, I’d show her.

  I leaned over, gave Watson a peck on the cheek that was so fast you probably couldn’t even have timed it, and went back to my dinner.

  Later, when we were cleaning up the kitchen, I began to feel a little guilty. I mean, I could have been nicer about the kiss. So I sneaked into the den, found a piece of paper, and wrote Watson this note:

  Dear Watson,

  The next time you need a baby-sitter for Andrew and Karen, please call me first. I would be happy to do the job. Yours truly,

  Kristy

  P.S. The fondue was fun.

  P.P.S. I like your house.

  P.P.P.S. If you and Mom want to get married, it’s okay with me.

  I almost wrote “Love, Kristy” then, but I didn’t want to get mushy, so I didn’t say anything else. I taped the note to Watson’s bathroom mirror.

  The next day, Mary Anne and I walked to Claudia’s house for the club meeting. We went together, sort of as protection. When we reached Claudia’s room, we found her talking to Stacey. When we entered, the talking stopped. Silence.

  Mary Anne and I sat down. I was determined not to be the first one to speak, since I felt I had already made an effort by asking whether we were going to hold a meeting that day.

  At long last, Claudia said, “I’m sorry I was so mean. I’m sorry I yelled.” She was looking at Mary Anne but not at me.

  “That’s okay,” said Mary Anne.

  “And I’m sorry I lied,” said Stacey.

  “Claudia, are you only sorry about making Mary Anne cry, or are you also sorry you yelled at me?” I asked.

  Claudia sighed. “Kristy,” she said, “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I really am. I had no reason to yell at Mary Anne, but you made me angry.”

  “How?” I demanded.

  “You know how.”

  I looked at the floor. “By butting into someone else’s business. By opening my mouth.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I did tell a lie,” said Stacey.

  “But your lie didn’t hurt anybody,” said Claudia. “At least, as far as I know. And you must have had a good reason for lying, especially since your mom went along with you. Whatever it was, Kristy shouldn’t have accused you like she did. It was just plain rude. You’re my friend, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

  “But I’m your friend, too,” I said.

  “Right,” agreed Claudia. “And I don’t like my friends to be rude. If you weren’t my friend, I wouldn’t bother to tell you this. If you weren’t my friend, you wouldn’t be worth getting mad at.”

  I thought that over. “I have one thing to say about being lied to. I don’t like it. And I have a right to say so.” I had a feeling we weren’t going to clear up the business of Stacey’s lie, and that bothered me. But it was time to smooth things over. “I have something else to say, too. I’m really going to try to watch my mouth from now on. I mean it. My mouth gets me in trouble all the time. Just ask my mother.”

  “Just ask anybody,” said Claudia.

  We all giggled.

  “Once, right after my grandmother came back from the beauty shop, I asked her why she had had her hair dyed purple,” I said. “I was really in trouble then.”

  “Once I cried in front of my whole class,” Mary Anne admitted.

  “Oh, that’s so embarrassing for a little kid,” said Stacey knowingly.

  “Little kid! It was last week!”

  More giggling.

  Then the phone rang and we got down to business.

  At six o’clock I said, “I’ve got a great idea! Now that we’ve all straightened out our problems, I think we should try to have the pizza party again. Stace, you really don’t have to worry about your diet. We can get you a salad at the pizza place if you don’t want pizza. They make really good salads.”

  “All right,” she said slowly.

  “And,” I added, thinking of Stacey and Sam, “we can have the party at my house.”

  Stacey’s eyes lit up. “O-kay! I’ll be there.”

  “Is Saturday all right with everyone?” I asked.

  We settled on Saturday at five o’clock. In the back of my mind, I was thinking that maybe I could talk Mom into a slumber party, and five seemed like a good hour for a sleepover to begin.

  Mom was easily talked into a slumber party. She liked the Baby-sitters Club. “After all,” she told me, “it brought you and Watson closer together.”

  I nodded. “The club has helped all of us. It helped Stacey make some friends. I think it helped give Mary Anne the courage to stand up to her father. And it showed Claudia that she can be good at something besides art, even if it’s not a genius kind of thing like Janine’s good at.” I was pretty pleased with our club, and I was glad Mom was pleased, too.

  On Saturday at five o’clock, Mary Anne, Claudia, and Stacey came over to my house, and our fabulous pizza-slumber party began. We ate and ate and ate. Well, Claudia and Mary Anne and I ate. Stacey had a helping of salad and an apple, and later in the evening she drank a diet soda and even joined the rest of us in some popcorn.

  At eleven we put on our nightgowns and spread our sleeping bags out on the floor of the bedroom. Stacey had a really spectacular nightshirt with gold glitter and the skyline of New York City across the front.

  “Gosh,” said Mary Anne, “you are so lucky to have lived in New York and to get to take trips there all the time. I’ve only been twice.”

  Stacey pressed her fingers together. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and said, “You guys, I have something to tell you.”

  “What,” I said eagerly. It sounded like a big confession was coming up.

  Claudia gave me a look that said, Watch what you say.

  I closed my mouth.

  “I have a secret,” Stacey began.

  It was all I could do not to cry out “I knew it! I knew you were hiding something.”

  “You know the diet I’m on? Well, it’s not just any old diet. And the trips to New York? They’re not just to visit friends. I have to go to a doctor there. Sometimes I have to stay in the hospital overnight.”

  Claudia and Mary Anne looked stricken. “Oh, Stace,” I said softly. “I knew it. You have anorexia, right? That’s what the crazy diet is all about.”

  “Anorexia?” repeated Stacey. “No.”

  No?

  “I have—I have diabetes,” she managed to say. “I just got it last year.”

  Mary Anne opened her eyes wide.

  “Oh, poor Stacey,” said Claudia, giving her an awkward hug.

  But I said, “Diabetes? Is that all?”

  “Is that all?” exclaimed Stacey. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I mean … why didn’t you just tell us? My cousin Robin has diabetes. It means you have a problem with sugar. Your body doesn’t process it the way most people’s bodies do. Too much or too little sugar can be dangerous, right? And you probably have to give yourself insulin every day. It’s rotten, but I mean, you’re not a freak or something. We’ll quit offering you candy, okay?”

  Claudia gave me another look. This one meant, sincerely, Good going, Kristy.

  “But don’t you guys care?” asked Stacey.

  “Of course we care,” I replied.

  “I mean, doesn’t it bother you?”

  “No. Why should it?” said Claudia, frowning.

  “Yeah,” said Mary Anne and I.

  “I don’t know. My mother acts like it’s some kind of curse. The kids at my old school started teasing me about my diet, and because I fainted a couple of times, so Mom decided we should come to a ‘peaceful little town.’ You know, get me to some place ‘civilized and quiet.’”

  “That’s why you moved here?” said Mary Anne incredulously.

  Stacey nodded. �
��Well, partly.”

  “Wow,” I said.

  “So I thought maybe I should cover up what was wrong with me. Moving here seemed like a chance to start over. But not telling you guys was worse than telling my old friends. It got so complicated with the lies and everything.”

  “Well,” said Mary Anne in her quiet way, “maybe you don’t have to tell all the kids. We know, and that’s important because we see you most often. Maybe you could sort of keep quiet about it at school—but not lie about it.”

  “That’s true,” agreed Stacey. Her face softened. “You guys are great.”

  We smiled.

  “I think we should have a slumber party once a month,” she exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” I said. “When Mom and Watson get married, we’ll have them at Watson’s house if we move there. The third floor would be perfect. We could have it all to ourselves.”

  “When your mother and Watson get married?” cried Claudia.

  I nodded. Then I told my friends everything.

  Just as I was finishing, a knock came on the door. “Hey, all you girls!” called Sam’s voice. “Mom said to bring this to you. Don’t worry, I’m not coming in. I’m leaving it outside the door. Now I’m walking down the hall. Now I’m going down the stairs….” His footsteps faded away.

  I opened the door and found a tray with four glasses, a bottle of diet soda, an apple, a package of cookies, and a note from Mom that said she left lots of food so we wouldn’t have to raid the refrigerator.

  I brought the tray inside.

  “Your brother’s so cute, Kristy,” said Stacey.

  “I guess. For a boy.”

  “No, really … Do you like any boys, Kristy?”

  I made a face.

  “What do—” Stacey started to say, but I held my finger to my lips.

  “Shhh!” I hissed. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “Something at the window.”

  We made ourselves quiet. We couldn’t hear a sound.

  “I guess it’s nothing,” I said. But while we were all in the mood, I turned out the lights and whispered to the others, “What’s the scariest thing that ever happened while you were baby-sitting?”

  In hushed voices we began telling about creepy nights sitting up in silent houses, waiting for parents to come home. Then we started telling ghost stories.