Jessi and the Troublemaker

by Ann M. Martin

  “Jessi!” she shouted, as if she hadn’t seen me in ages. Naturally that made me feel good. I didn’t shriek, too, though. I tried to remember that I was a grown-up, responsible baby-sitter. I just grinned as widely as Danielle and said, “How are you?”

  “Grrrreat!” replied Danielle loudly. She sounded excited about something, but before I could ask any questions she sang out, “Mommm, it’s Jessi!” and raced halfway down the hall before stopping to slide to the end in her stocking feet. She caught herself on the edge of a doorway, swung around it, and disappeared.

  Mrs. Roberts came out of the study and said, (in a calmer tone), “Jessi, it’s good to see you.” She looked down at the pen she was holding, stuck it behind her ear, and reached out to shake hands with me.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” I said. I looked at Mrs. Roberts and suddenly realized where Danielle’s new red hair might have come from. Mrs. Roberts’ own hair, which she wore in a short, sleek cap, was the same soft shade of red-brown.

  “Danielle’s looking good,” I said as I stepped into the house.

  Mrs. Roberts smiled. “She really is, isn’t she? She’s got so much energy, so much spirit. Even more than before she — got sick. She’s doing very, very well.”

  “That’s great,” I said. I took that to mean that Danielle truly was feeling better. Maybe this was more than a remission. Maybe …

  But I stopped myself. One day at a time. It was enough for today that Danielle felt good.

  Mrs. Roberts rooted around in the hall closet and pulled out a puffy parka and a shoulder pack, which she slung over her shoulder. She unhooked car keys from a key rack by the closet and said, “I’ll be gone for about an hour and a half. I have to get the car inspected and since I need new tires, I set that up today, too. The number for the car service center is on the notepad by the telephone. There are also the numbers for Mr. Roberts at his office, the fire department, the police department, and the hospital. And of course, Danielle’s doctor. Not that you’ll be needing any of these.”

  “I hope not!” I said.

  “You’ve been here before, so you know your way around the house. We’re having an early dinner tonight, so Danielle and Greg can have a snack, but only a small one — a piece of fruit or one or two cookies out of the jar on the kitchen counter, and some juice or milk.”

  “Are there any, I mean, is there anything that Danielle can’t do?” I asked. I hoped I didn’t sound dumb. I knew that when Danielle was feeling bad, she had to rest a lot and take naps and she couldn’t race around and tire herself out. But I didn’t quite know how to ask about that.

  Mrs. Roberts didn’t seem to think the question was a dumb one. In fact, she understood just what I meant.

  “Danielle’s been very active these days, with no ill effects,” she told me. “We’re trying to let her enjoy using her energy as much as possible. So yes, keep an eye on her and if she looks pale or tired, make her sit down and rest. But don’t be too protective. Use your best judgement.” She paused, then added, “The same goes for Greg!”

  “Right,” I said.

  Mrs. Roberts looked at her watch. “Whoops. I’ll be late if I don’t hurry. See you soon.”

  I was pleased that Mrs. Roberts was so thorough. Some clients are not, and that makes it harder to be a good baby-sitter.

  After Mrs. Roberts had left, I went down the hall and looked into the room where Danielle had disappeared. She and Greg were lying on their stomachs, watching their kitten, Mr. Toes, chase a catnip mouse. (Mr. Toes is all gray with white feet, which is why Greg named him Mr. Toes.)

  “Hey, cat lady,” I said. “Hey, cat gentleman.”

  Danielle giggled. “Isn’t Mr. Toes the cutest cat?” she asked.

  Mr. Toes picked up the mouse, flipped it in the air, and then ran sideways in a display of extra-cuteness.

  “Yup,” I said. “The cutest.” I bent down and flicked the mouse toward him and we all laughed as he pounced and then skittered away.

  Greg said, “I have a new book about a cat. Can I read it to you, Jessi?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Danielle, what about you? What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t want to do my homework, that’s for sure,” said Danielle. “But I guess I should get it over with so I can play.”

  “Good idea,” I said, impressed. “Why don’t you work on that for a while, and then we can all do something together?”

  “Okay.” Danielle jumped up and went to her room. Greg got his beginning reader and sat down next to me. It was a mystery involving a cat, and the illustrations were funny.

  “I’ve never seen this one before,” I told Greg. “It looks good.”

  “It is,” he said. “Now, shhh. Listen while I read.”

  Hiding a smile, I said, “Okay. Go ahead.”

  We read the cat mystery and then I pulled out one of my favorites, a book about a pair of friends called Frog and Toad and we read that one. We were just about to start on a Dr. Seuss book when I heard an enormous crash from the back of the house.

  “Good grief!” I said, jumping up so fast I dropped all the books. I raced toward the noise with Greg right behind me.

  Danielle was lying sprawled on the floor of the study with a small bookcase tipped over beside her and books all over the floor.

  “Danielle!” I cried. “Are you all right?”

  Sitting up, Danielle said, “Ooops.”

  “Don’t move,” I said, visions of broken bones dancing in my head. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

  “No,” said Danielle, giving me a funny look. I suddenly realized that I might be overreacting just a tad.

  “Nothing hurts?” I said, just to be sure.

  “Nah,” replied Danielle.

  I started to help her to her feet — and then I saw the Rollerblades.

  “What are you doing wearing Rollerblades in the house?” I asked.

  “Those are Mom’s!” exclaimed Greg.

  “Yeah. They’re too big for me. I think that’s why I fell,” said Danielle.

  The blades were too big — way too big. They looked enormous at the end of Danielle’s long, thin legs.

  I took a deep breath. I couldn’t believe that Danielle had been skating in the house. On the other hand, was it really that big a deal? The weather hadn’t been good enough to skate outside, or even to go out to work off all the wild, full-of-life energy Danielle was clearly enjoying these days.

  Danielle bent over and began unlacing the blades. “I wish I could get a pair of my own. Mom and Dad both have a pair, but all I have are my old roller skates. They said I have to wait until I’m feeling a little better. But I am feeling better now.”

  “You should probably wait till spring, anyway,” I said. “Then you can try them outside.”

  “If I ever get any,” said Danielle. She looked up. “I want to learn to skate really fast.”

  The idea didn’t appeal to me at all. I’d seen how fast those Rollerblades could go (Kristy’s a pro at it). Even wearing all the protective gear, helmets and kneepads and wrist braces and elbow pads, I could just imagine what one fast fall could do. Like completely wreck a knee or an arm — not something a ballet dancer wants to do!

  I didn’t say that, of course. I didn’t even say anything about Danielle sneaking her mother’s skates out and trying to skate in the house. It could have been a disaster, but apart from a few books scattered around, no harm had been done.

  I helped Danielle get out of her mom’s Rollerblades and the three of us set the bookshelf upright and put the books back in place. Then we went to the kitchen for a snack. We made crazy fruit salad (bananas, apples, and pears cut into different shapes) and drank milk. We’d just finished when Mrs. Roberts returned.

  “How’d it go?” she said cheerfully, coming in the door. “No problems, I hope.”

  What could I say? I didn’t think Mrs. Roberts would be upset by the Rollerblade incident and in a way, it was sort of funny. I’d leave it to Danielle to tell her
mother.

  “Everything went fine,” I said.

  “I made banana monster fruit salad,” said Greg. “See?”

  Mrs. Roberts laughed. “Good,” she said. “Thanks, Jessi.”

  “No problem,” I said. “No problem at all.”

  Sun, no snow, and a quick walk home from school helped to keep my muscles stretched. I’d felt a little sluggish that morning when I’d gotten up to practice at the barre, and I didn’t want it to become a habit.

  Maybe when I got home I’d do a little work at the barre, just to make sure I’d shaken off the morning dance blahs.

  But when I reached my house, I slowed down. A car I didn’t recognize was parked in the driveway. Did we have company? Was it someone I knew? Or a friend of Aunt Cecelia’s I’d have to hang around with and be polite to?

  Maybe I wouldn’t get to do any barre work after all.

  I went in the house and the first thing I saw was Becca in the hall.

  “Becca?” I asked.

  She was crouched way over in a funny hunch. When she heard me, she looked over her shoulder and said, very softly, “Shhhhhhh.”

  I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Why?”

  She pointed at her ear and at the door, then went back to her hunched position. I realized that she had pressed her ear against the closed door of the living room.

  Becca was eavesdropping through the keyhole!

  I was instantly intrigued. As an older sister who was supposed to set a good example, I guess I should have said something like, “You shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s wrong.”

  But as a person who likes mysteries, I couldn’t help but recognize the mystery potential in the situation. I mean, it wasn’t like Becca to eavesdrop. So she must have had a good reason.

  All these thoughts went through my mind in a flash. And while I was thinking them, my body was doing a perfect glissade forward into a position new to the world of ballet: the eavesdroppers’ crouch.

  At first I couldn’t hear anything. Then a deep, rumbly voice laughed, followed by a familiar, husky chuckle. The chuckle was Aunt Cecelia. I didn’t recognize the laugh. But it belonged to a man.

  “… something new,” said the male voice.

  “Something borrowed and something blue,” came Aunt Cecelia’s voice. “I’ll see what …”

  Her voice faded out and I frowned with concentration. Where had I heard those words before? And recently?

  “A spring theme …” Aunt Cecelia’s voice said again. “… daffodils, lilacs …”

  “… catered?” said the man’s voice.

  This was frustrating. No wonder people say you aren’t supposed to eavesdrop. It could drive you crazy!

  Then Becca reached out, clutched the edge of my sweater, and yanked hard. I almost toppled over. But not just because of the yank that Becca had given me. I’d heard the same words she had heard, loud and clear.

  My aunt Cecelia’s voice, saying, “Oh, I can hardly wait. We’re going to have a lovely wedding!”

  Of course! “Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” We were about to have a wedding!

  I straightened up and grabbed Becca’s shoulder. She stood up, her eyes lit up with excitement, her hand over her mouth.

  I put a finger over my lips. “Shh. Come on!” We beat a hasty retreat to my room. The moment I closed my door, Becca flung herself on my bed and bounced up and down.

  “I can’t believe it,” she cried. “A wedding! Aunt Cecelia’s getting married!”

  “I can’t believe it, either!” I gasped. “Aunt Cecelia! I didn’t even know she was dating anybody! Did you?”

  Becca shook her head. “But she has been awfully busy lately. Maybe that’s what she’s been doing. Seeing this guy, I mean.”

  “Did he just propose?” I wondered.

  Becca said, “I don’t know. Oooh. Wouldn’t that be exciting? I might have been listening to a proposal.”

  “Did you see who it was, Becca? Did you hear anything else?”

  Becca shook her head again, regretfully. “No. I got home right before you did. I went in the back door and I didn’t see Aunt Cecelia, so I called out, ‘I’m home!’ And I heard Aunt Cecelia in the hall and she said, ‘That’s Becca. Go on in and make yourself comfortable.’ So I went in the hall and Aunt Cecelia was standing outside the living room door and she said, ‘Becca, this is Mr. Major. And this is my niece Rebecca. Now, Becca, when Jessi gets home there’re oatmeal raisin cookies fresh in the oven and you can each have two. I’m busy right now.’ And she closed the living room door. And right before she closed it I heard this man’s voice say something I didn’t understand.”

  “So you wanted to find out what was going on?”

  Becca grinned. “Of course! But before I could really hear anything, you got home.”

  I thought for a moment, then said, “Too bad. I mean, I don’t think he had time to propose to Aunt Cecelia. So it must have happened before.”

  “And now they’re planning their wedding.” Becca hugged herself in excitement. “I love weddings. Do you think we’ll get to be in it?”

  I didn’t answer. I sat down at my desk, thinking fast and hard. Finally I said, “You know what this means? Aunt Cecelia won’t be living with us anymore. We’ll have to get someone to take care of Squirt. And … you and I will probably have a lot more responsibility.”

  I didn’t say what else I was thinking, which was: more freedom. I liked Aunt Cecelia, but she was still strict and kept a sharp eye on all of us. On the whole that’s a good thing. As a baby-sitter, I could understand that. But as a person who had outgrown baby-sitters, I didn’t feel I needed someone to keep a strict watch over me.

  Of course there were other important things to think about. For instance, if we were brides-maids, what would our dresses look like? Would we get to choose the colors? Was Squirt old enough to be in the wedding? (I tried for a moment to imagine Squirt in a little suit, dressed up as a ring bearer. The image of Squirt in a suit was really cute, until I also imagined him putting the ring in his mouth and swallowing it.)

  I looked at Becca. “Do you, Jessi?” she repeated. “Do you think we’ll get to be in Aunt Cecelia’s wedding?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but even if we’re not in it, we’ll have to dress up special for it.”

  “When do you think we’ll find out? Should we ask Aunt Cecelia?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Nooo, I don’t think so. I mean, I think it must be a secret or she would have told us. Besides, if we ask her she’ll know …”

  “… that I was eavesdropping,” finished Becca. She looked a little worried. The idea of telling our aunt that we’d been eavesdropping wasn’t at all pleasant.

  “I was eavesdropping, too,” I said quickly, to reassure Becca that she wasn’t in this alone. “Anyway, I’m sure she’ll tell us soon enough. I mean, how could she keep such awesome news a secret?”

  We grinned. Awesome barely described it. The news needed a Karen Brewer word — gigundoly.

  So Aunt Cecelia was getting married. When had it all happened? Was that really why she’d been so busy lately?

  The members of the BSC have wedding experience from baby-sitter to bridesmaid. But that didn’t matter. I knew that no matter how many weddings I was involved in, I was always going to find them super exciting.

  Especially at a time like this, when my own aunt was going to be the bride. Wait until I told everyone in the BSC. Wait until Mama and Daddy found out. Or did they already know?

  But I could think about that later. Becca and I had more important things to think about just then.

  “When do you think we can go shopping?” I asked Becca. “What are we going to wear?”

  When Mary Anne reached the Robertses’ house, she was practically in a state of shock. She hadn’t planned on working that day — at least not baby-sitting.

  Had Mary Anne done the unimaginable and made a mistake in the club record book? Had she forgo
tten to schedule an appointment, or scheduled one at the wrong time?

  Nope. But not quite an hour earlier, she’d picked up the phone to hear Stacey’s breathless voice: “Mannecanyouhelpmeou?”

  At least, that’s what it sounded like to Mary Anne. “Stacey!” She gasped. “What’s wrong?”

  “I — it’s just that I’m supposed to sit for the Robertses in an hour and I can’t.” Stacey ended the sentence on what was, for Stacey, a sort of wail.

  Mary Anne did a quick mental flip through her calendar for the afternoon, shifted outlining a social studies paper to later in the evening, and said, “Oh. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  So Stacey jumped in and explained what the emergency was, right? Wrong. She said, “I’ll call the Robertses. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

  And hung up.

  Wow, thought Mary Anne, and started getting organized for an afternoon with the Robertses. Naturally, being Mary Anne, that included calling the Robertses first and confirming with them that she was replacing Stacey for the afternoon.

  So Mrs. Roberts didn’t look surprised when she opened the door. “Hi, Mary Anne,” she said cheerfully. Her voice was loud. That was because a deafening cacophony was coming from the back of the house.

  “Hi, Mrs. Roberts!” answered Mary Anne just as loudly.

  Mrs. Roberts pulled on her jacket and made a face. “Cabin fever,” she explained. “Even though Danielle is feeling so much better, I don’t want her to go out and play in this weather. She was really wild to try some sledding, even though there’s not enough snow on the ground to do much of that. Anyway, we’re trying to give her and Greg plenty of leeway to work off their high spirits indoors. Right now they’re playing doctor.”

  “Excuse me?” said Mary Anne, startled.

  “Danielle is Dr. Frankenstein, the evil scientist doctor, and Greg is her assistant, Nurse Igor.”

  “Right,” said Mary Anne, swallowing hard and forcing herself to listen as Mrs. Roberts went over the phone numbers and instructions for the afternoon.

  “I’ll be back in about an hour and a half, but Mr. Roberts may beat me home,” Mrs. Roberts concluded.