Logan's Story

by Ann M. Martin

  “They were both crying and packing suitcases,” she went on. “So Mary Anne ran into Dawn’s room and asked what was wrong. Well, Dawn was so upset she could hardly talk. It seems her mom had gotten a frantic call at work from her dad in California. Jeff had to be rushed to the hospital today with a ruptured appendix.”

  So that’s what it was. Mary Anne was upset because her stepsister was so upset. I hugged her tighter. “That’s terrible,” I said.

  Kristy nodded sagely. “We were just saying how Stacey’s uncle had had a ruptured appendix, and he almost died.”

  Just the right thing to bring up. Mary Anne began shaking. “Kristy …” I said.

  “It’s all right,” Mary Anne said softly. “The doctors said he’ll be okay. But it’s going to take him a few weeks to recover from the operation.”

  “Anyway, Dawn and her mom are going to go to California to be with him till he’s better,” Kristy said. She sighed, tapping a pencil on her lap. “So … Dawn’s not going to be around for a couple of weeks.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine,” I said to Mary Anne. But when I looked up, I could see that everyone was staring at me.

  Suddenly a question popped into my head. Why exactly had I been invited to this meeting? To comfort Mary Anne, sure. But she didn’t really need me for that. “Um, is there something I can do?” I asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” Kristy said. “Dawn had some jobs scheduled. A lot, really. It’s going to be hard to shuffle around the rest of us …”

  “I can take some of them,” I said confidently. “No problem.”

  “That’s great,” Kristy said. “That’ll really help. But the actual reason we asked you to the meeting was … well, we were wondering if you could take Dawn’s place, Logan. Just while she’s gone.”

  Uh-oh.

  “You mean, do all her jobs?” I asked.

  “Not all,” Claudia spoke up. “We can split them up.”

  “What I mean is, take her place at the meetings,” Kristy said. “Be here when the jobs come in. Be our alternate officer —”

  “We’re really swamped,” Stacey cut in. “A bunch of new clients have called. Losing even one member is going to be, like, insane for us.”

  “We asked Shannon,” Claudia said, “but she has too many commitments.”

  Too many commitments? I thought. More than football practice, and training for the track team? “Well, um, I’m not sure I can …”

  “It’s just a few meetings, Logan,” Mary Anne said. “Practice ends early enough, and we can make sure there’s some snack food here if you’re hungry.”

  “The meetings, sure,” I said. “But so many jobs are right after school, just when practice starts.”

  “You might not have to take those jobs,” Stacey said.

  “If you did, would you be able to miss a practice?” Mary Anne asked. “I mean, does everyone go to every practice?”

  “Well, no,” I said. “People do miss practice sometimes, in an emergency.”

  “I think this counts as an emergency, and you are a member of the BSC,” Kristy pointed out. “Look, I know it’s not fair to pressure you, Logan. But if you can’t do it, let us know, because we’ll have to find someone brand new to train.”

  I drew in a deep breath. It was hard to say no when everyone was counting on me. And I had to admit, I probably could work this into my schedule. It would be tough, but I could do it.

  “Okay,” I said with a nod. “We’re in business.”

  “Yea!” Mary Anne cried out, squeezing me tightly.

  Jessi and Mal grinned at me, and Stacey said, “I knew he’d say yes!”

  Kristy was beaming. “Thanks, Logan. You really saved us.”

  Claudia reached under her pillow and pulled out a box of chocolate marshmallow cookies. “Celebration!” she said. She passed them to her right, then fished a bag of tortilla chips from underneath her bed. “For the health-food crowd,” she said, handing the bag to Stacey.

  Kristy had already shifted into her presidential mode. It was 5:37, and she hates to do anything late. “Hrrmph. I call our regular meeting to order!”

  “Monday … dues day!” Stacey chirped.

  Grumble, grumble, grumble, everyone else replied. But they dug out their money and handed it over.

  “Not you, Logan,” Stacey said as I reached into my pocket. “You’re doing us enough of a favor.”

  “Lucky,” Claudia murmured.

  Everyone laughed a little, then talked a little, and then …

  Silence.

  No, not exactly. There were some crunching sounds, and the crackling of plastic. There were also a lot of shifting of eyes and looking at the phone.

  In other words, it was just like the last meeting I went to. Suddenly I didn’t know if I’d made the right choice.

  “Uh, is it something I said?” I asked.

  Nothing like a dumb joke to break the ice. They all burst into giggles. Finally Stacey said, “Come on, guys! Loosen up a little. Just’ cause there’s a guy in here —”

  “He’s not a guy!” Mary Anne protested. “He’s Logan!”

  More laughs.

  “Oops,” Mary Anne said as I shot her a Look. I was about to reply, but that was when the phone rang for the first time.

  Claudia snatched up the receiver and said, “Hello, Baby-sitters Club!” It was Mrs. Prezzioso, one of our regular clients. Claudia took the information, Mary Anne flipped through the record book, and the meeting was in full gear.

  For the first time, I could sit back and think.

  And I was sorry I did. My mind filled up with questions. What if I did have to miss practice? What would I tell the coach, “I have a baby-sitting job”? What would he say to that? And what about the other guys? I could just imagine Irv Hirsch’s reaction, and Clarence King’s.

  Then there was my track tryout. I’d been practicing my sprints after football. I’d miss some practice — and boy, did I need it.

  So here’s what the BSC was going to mean: letting down the coach, opening myself to ridicule, and getting rejected from track.

  Some sacrifice!

  “Logan?” I heard Mary Anne say. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure,” I replied.

  Okay, I lied. But after all, a commitment is a commitment.

  “Oooh!” Kristy exclaimed. “Did you guys read about that health fair at the shopping center?”

  “I think I saw a poster.” Mal replied.

  “It sounds interesting,” Kristy said. “They’re going to have all these booths — you know, health-related stuff. Like how to eat and exercise right, how to do first aid, safety tips around the house. I think they’re going to have a bloodmobile, too.”

  “Yuck,” Claudia said. “I went to one of those once. They checked my blood pressure and told me to eat seaweed and oat bran.”

  “Are you going to donate someday?” Stacey asked.

  “Maybe when I have a paying job,” Claudia said.

  Stacey rolled her eyes. “No, I mean blood. You can start donating when you’re seventeen, I think.”

  “Ew! Are you kidding?” Claudia replied with a shudder.

  “What blood type are you?” Stacey insisted.

  Claudia shrugged. “I don’t know. O, I think my dad once told me.”

  “The universal donor,” Stacey replied. “You should give blood. What would happen if I passed out from insulin shock, broke open my head, and needed a transfusion?”

  “Stacey, that’s gross!” Claudia exclaimed.

  “Well, it could happen. And there’s a shortage of donor blood in this country. What if they just happened to need a pint of O blood for me?”

  “Okay, okay, the minute I turn seventeen I’ll sign up,” Claudia said. “But one of you will have to be there to clean up my barf.”

  To a chorus of “ews” and embarrassed laughter, Stacey said, “Now who’s being gross?”

  “I think Kristy’s right,” I spoke up. The fair made me think of Hunter, a
nd how conscious my family had to be of his health. “We should go to the fair.”

  “Actually,” Kristy said, “I thought we could set up a booth ourselves.”

  “Huh?” Mallory reached for a chocolate marshmallow cookie. “For what? Junk food management?”

  “No,” Kristy said. “Something related to baby-sitting.”

  “What does that have to do with health?” Mary Anne asked.

  “I don’t know,” replied Kristy (using three words I hardly ever hear come out of her mouth). “We could figure out something. The point is, it would be great publicity for us.”

  “But you just can’t walk right in and set up a booth,” Claudia remarked. “Can you?”

  “The poster listed a phone number for the booth chairperson,” Kristy answered. “I’ll call and ask. If she says yes, we’ll think of a theme.”

  We talked about it a little more. To tell you the truth, I was happy to get my mind off my dilemma. In fact, I forgot about the dilemma until the phone rang at about five to six.

  “Hello, Baby-sitters Club!” Claudia said. “Hi, Mr. Hobart … Fine, thanks … This Thursday, after school till seven? OK, I’ll call you back.” She hung up the phone and glanced at Mary Anne.

  Mary Anne’s face was buried in the record book. “Just a minute, this is confusing. Dawn was going to sit for the Barretts, and Claudia said she’d cover that … Jessi has a class … Mal and Stacey are at the Pikes’ … Kristy’s at the Papadakises’ … That’s my day for Rosie Wilder …”

  She looked up at me with this funny expression, half apologetic and half pitying. “That leaves you, Logan.”

  Cheerful thoughts of the health fair fizzled away. Two things sank in: One, I was now officially a full member of the Baby-sitters Club. And two, I was going to miss my first football practice. Ever.

  I knew it was going to be a long two weeks.

  “First I’m going to shoot the bear with my bow and arrow. Then I’m going to chop off his head and skin him and put him in the oven and eat him.”

  Johnny Hobart was having a life crisis. In the last few weeks, he had decided that everyone around was bigger than he was, smarter than he was, and stronger than he was. And he had come to the conclusion that there was only one thing to do about it.

  Kill them all.

  Johnny is four years old. I wondered if I was like that when I was his age. If I was, I can’t believe my parents didn’t send me packing.

  “Johnny,” said his older brother Mathew. “We’re camping, remember? Not hunting!”

  Johnny dropped his imaginary bow. “Oh, right.”

  Ow, roit, is how it came out. Yes, there are other people in Stoneybrook who speak with accents. The Hobarts are from Australia, and their accent is sort of like British, with a twang.

  You can see why I like them so much.

  Anyway, there are four Hobart brothers. But Ben and James (who are twelve and eight) were clothes shopping with their mother, so I was sitting for the younger two.

  As Mathew had said, we were setting up camp. We had collected tent gear, pots, pans, silverware, backpacks loaded with provisions, and sleeping bags. We were going to learn about survival in the outdoors, dealing with the elements, fighting off bears and wolves, and rationing food and water.

  And we were going to do it all on the Hobarts’ front lawn.

  “Camping out” was a game some of Mathew’s friends had told him about. Mathew had never played it himself, but he was dying to. And I thought it seemed like a perfect activity for a sitting job.

  “Here,” Johnny said, taking a coonskin cap off his head. “Wear this. It’s making my hair sweat.”

  The “fur” was fake and looked terrible, and the cap was warm and clammy and way too small for me. It had a ratty-looking tail, like someone had been plucking it. But hey, part of being a sitter is being able to make a fool of yourself when necessary, right? So I perched the cap on my head and sang, “Davy … Davy Crockett!”

  “Come on, mate!” Mathew called out as he dragged an old sheet across the lawn. “We have to pitch this tent before sunset.” He dropped the sheet, stood in a sunny spot, and pointed to his shadow. “See how late it is!”

  “How late?” Johnny asked.

  Mathew licked his finger and held it in the air. “Eleven-seventeen!”

  I managed not to laugh. Mathew, by the way, is six. And of course, he’s much, much smarter and more mature than his little brother.

  According to Mathew.

  He and Johnny tried to drape the old sheet over a couple of sawhorses I’d dragged out of the garage. I helped them center the sheet, then we cut some twine and tied each corner to stout, pointy twigs we’d found. Using a rock, we drove our “stakes” into the ground and anchored our tent.

  “Yea!” Johnny cried out. “Now we can hide in here from the bear!”

  Mathew shook his head with an I-can’t-believe-how-dumb-he-is expression. “No, silly,” he said. “He’ll see right through. I’ll show you what we have to do.”

  He climbed the stairs to the Hobarts’ porch and lifted a webbed lawn chair. “You guys bring some down, too!”

  We followed his command, and soon four chairs stood in a semicircle in front of the tent. “There,” Mathew said.

  “Uh … why four chairs, Mathew?” I asked.

  “One for the bear.” Mathew said. “See, we’ll leave out food for him to eat. Then he won’t hate us, so he’ll sit down and we can come out and talk to him.”

  “What are we going to feed him?” Johnny asked.

  Mathew reached into his backpack and pulled out a rattly box of cookies. “Teddy Grahams!” he announced.

  That did make me laugh. “I think if you gave him bears to eat, he might get mad.”

  “Yeah!” Johnny squealed. “And then I’ll shoot him!”

  “Okay, guys, here’s a question,” I said. “If you think there are bears near your campsite, where’s the best place to keep your food safe?”

  “Under a blanket?” Mathew suggested.

  I shook my head. “He would smell it there.”

  Johnny piped up, “Then I would eat the food real fast, and take a gun, and —”

  “Shoot him,” Mathew interrupted. “We know. We heard you a million times.”

  “Here’s a hint,” I said. “Put it someplace where the bear can’t get it.” I gave a not-too-subtle look straight up to an overhanging branch.

  “Hang it from a tree!” Mathew blurted out.

  “Right!” I replied. “Come on, let’s do it. If it’s already eleven-seventeen, it’s past bedtime, and bears come out at night.”

  With a long piece of twine, we tied up the packs and flung them over the branch. (The packs were mostly filled with cookies and granola, so they weren’t very heavy.) To anchor them, I tied the loose end of the twine around a heavy rock.

  “Hey, what if he just pulls this end of the rope?” Mathew asked, pointing to the part that was tied to the rock.

  “Well, we’ll see if he’s smart enough,” I said. “Johnny, you be the bear, and Mathew and I will be sleeping campers.”

  Johnny’s eyes lit up. “Okay!”

  Mathew and I scurried under the sawhorses. We started making snoring noises.

  “Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh,” came Johnny’s voice.

  “Those are monkey noises!” Mathew called out. “Bears grow!”

  “Oh,” Johnny said. Then, a few seconds later, “Grrrrrrr, rrrrrrrr!”

  “Aaaaaaah!” Mathew yelled, scrambling out of the tent.

  I put on my trusty coonskin cap and followed him. Johnny was stomping around angrily, his face twisted into a snarl. We ran away, and he lumbered after us. When we reached the other side of the yard, he stopped. “Yummmm,” he murmured, looking up at the hanging backpacks.

  As Johnny began pulling at the twine, Mathew cried out, “Get away from there!” He ran to the tent, picked up a pot, and held it threateningly over his head. “That’s our food, bear!”

  “Mathew,
stop!” Johnny protested. “I’m going to tell Mom!”

  Oops. Our campground was about to become a battleground. I had to think fast.

  “Hey!” I yelled, grabbing a frying pan. “Look what’s coming!”

  “What?” both boys asked.

  I pointed to the dogwood tree by the side of the house. “It’s a saber-toothed wildcat, the greatest enemy of people and bears!”

  “I’ll scratch him with my claws!” Johnny said.

  “I’ll bash him!” Mathew cried out, clutching his pot.

  “Okay, stick together, guys. Shoulder to shoulder!” I said. They ran to my sides. I adjusted my coonskin cap, pushing it low over my eyes. “Let’s get him!”

  The three of us rushed toward the dogwood, yelling like crazy. Mathew and I flailed at the imaginary attacker with our pot and pan, and Johnny swiped with his “claws.”

  And that was when I heard the laughter behind us.

  I turned to look. The tail of the coonskin cap swished across my face. In front of the house, straddling their bikes, were King, Pete Black, Jim Poirier, and Irv Hirsch — all members of the football team. Their hair was slicked down from post-practice showers, their backpacks sagged with the weight of sweaty gym clothes.

  “Nice hat,” Pete called out.

  I yanked off the cap, but it was too late. The four of them were pointing at me and whooping with hysterical laughter.

  “Come on, Logan,” Mathew said, uncertainly.

  I felt my face growing hot. It must have been as red as raw hamburger. My mind went blank. I said something like, “Hey, guys, how was practice?”

  “Fine, Wogan,” Jim said, in a baby voice. “We pwayed wif the big baw and then took a nappie.”

  Well, they practically fell off their bikes at that. Part of me wanted to laugh along with them, but I couldn’t. Johnny and Mathew were just standing there, looking hurt and confused, and they were my responsibility.

  I walked up to the guys, trying to act as cool as possible under the circumstances. “Look, guys, this was an emergency job I had to do for some … friends.”

  “Who, the Baby-sitters Club?” King asked sarcastically.

  “Yeah, well, you know, my girlfriend is a member,” I said.

  “That’s why he missed practice?” Pete asked, with this look of total disbelief.