Jessi and the Troublemaker

by Ann M. Martin

  Besides, maybe it would be better to talk to the Robertses when they got home.

  “Are you going to tell?” asked Danielle.

  “Well,” said Kristy slowly. “Maybe, maybe not.” she said again. “But don’t do that again, okay?”

  ”Okay,” said Danielle. If Kristy had been watching closely, she might have seen the mischief in Danielle’s eyes. But it had been a long afternoon. She also didn’t quite catch the significance when Danielle exchanged a look with Charlotte, Vanessa, Becca, and Haley and said, solemnly, “I promise. I’ll never do that again.”

  Kristy took a deep breath. Then she said, “Never mind. We need to get this mess cleaned up. Now.”

  She opened the shower door (fortunately, the shower hadn’t had a chance to fill up much), turned the water off and opened the bathtub drain.

  “Haley, you and Char peel this tape off and get the sticky stuff off, too, and throw it all away. Danielle, go get a mop and a bucket and some paper towels. All of you, take off your shoes and socks and pants. Vanessa, you’re in charge of washing and drying all the clothes.”

  It was a mess. A huge mess. Everything in the bathroom was completely soaked, and dyed — including the towels hanging on the wall and the toilet paper.

  But with Kristy in charge, the bathroom was soon dry, the toilet paper changed, the towels in the laundry and fresh towels put out, and five girls restored to more or less their normal appearance. The carpet in the bedroom around the bathroom door (which fortunately was dark blue so it didn’t show the effects of the Easter egg dye) was still a little damp to the touch, but Kristy figured that it would dry out pretty quickly.

  She took a quick peek in at Greg, who was asleep on his back with his mouth open, and herded the gang of five into the kitchen for hot chocolate. Which is where they were all sitting when the Robertses returned. It was a heartwarming scene that met Mrs. Roberts’ eyes when she came into the kitchen, and she didn’t notice Vanessa’s rainbow socks, or the funny high-tide mark around the calves of Becca’s jeans.

  “Mom!” Danielle jumped up and gave her mother an exuberant hug. “How was the wedding?”

  “Beautiful, just the way weddings are supposed to be,” answered Mrs. Roberts with a smile.

  She went into the hall to hang up her coat and Kristy followed her, wondering if she should tell her what had happened after all. But Mrs. Roberts cut her off. “Thanks for taking such good care of things, Kristy.”

  “No problem. But I —”

  “You know, seeing Danielle like this, I can’t even let myself worry that her next doctor’s appointment is coming up.”

  “Doctor’s appointment?” Kristy heard her own voice go up with worry.

  Mrs. Roberts heard it, too. She made a little face and patted Kristy on the shoulder. “Just routine. All the signs are that Danielle’s health is stable, if not improving. That she’s still in remission. Don’t worry.”

  How could Kristy tell Mrs. Roberts about the great bathroom swimming pool flood? She couldn’t. Not with another doctor’s appointment staring Danielle — and the Robertses — in the face.

  So she left without saying anything at all.

  That night, Kristy called Mary Anne and me about what had happened, since we’d been there for the other “high-spirited” incidents.

  “I don’t know,” Kristy said to me. “I just don’t know. I mean, Mary Anne thinks it’s time one of us had a talk with Mrs. Roberts. What do you think?”

  “You’re asking me?” I said. I’m not used to even a speck of indecision in Kristy. But then, this was a special case.

  I thought hard. Finally I said slowly, “I agree with Mary Anne. Danielle has got too — creative — an imagination for us to let this go on. You know, she’s acting kind of, well, spoiled. Not in a nasty way, but in a way that says she knows she can get away with stuff.”

  I wasn’t sure I had made myself clear, but Kristy seemed to understand. “You’re right,” she said. “One of us needs to talk to Mrs. Roberts. Let me think about this and we’ll talk it over on Monday at our meeting.”

  “Good,” I said. And I meant it.

  “This meeting of the Baby-sitters Club will —” Kristy stopped.

  Stacey walked in the door.

  Kristy looked at her watch.

  Stacey sat down, reached in her backpack, and pulled out a bag of pretzels. She opened it and offered it to Dawn.

  Kristy cleared her throat. “Thanks for coming to the meeting, Stacey.”

  Looking up, Stacey said, “Oh. Am I late? Gosh, I am sorry!” She began to munch on a pretzel. And she didn’t sound terribly sorry. At least not sorry enough for Kristy. Kristy gave her a Look, cleared her throat again, and said, “This meeting of the BSC will now come to order. Feel free to collect dues whenever you like, Stacey.” (Monday is dues day.)

  “Oh, right,” said Stacey. Mary Anne handed her the record book and we began to fork our dues over to her.

  “So what about Danielle?” I asked quickly.

  “Right. Danielle,” said Kristy. She paused. “I haven’t quite decided what to do.” She filled the rest of us in on what had happened.

  “Awesome,” said Dawn. “Danielle’s an amazing kid.”

  “Yup,” said Kristy. “Maybe too amazing for her own good. Who knows what she’ll think of next?”

  “She keeps pushing the boundaries,” said Mary Anne. “Seeing what she can get away with. You can’t blame her. I mean, it’s probably a long time since she felt like a kid.”

  “Yes, but she’s going to go too far. And then what’s going to happen?” argued Dawn.

  I said, “Kristy, why don’t you call Mrs. Roberts now? With all of us here. You can tell her what happened. And I can talk to her as well, if you need it.”

  “Me, too,” said Mary Anne. “It might carry more weight coming from all of us.”

  “And there’s nothing wrong with a little support when you’re telling a parent that her child might be just a tiny bit out of control,” said Kristy with a wry grin. “Okay.”

  Mary Anne gave Kristy the number from the client list and Kristy called the Robertses.

  “Mrs. Roberts? Hi. It’s Kristy Thomas, from the Baby-sitters Club…. Yes. Fine, thank you. How are you? … Good. And Danielle? … I’m glad. Actually, it’s about Danielle I’m calling…. No, no, nothing major. Not exactly. Well, it’s about this past Saturday afternoon.”

  Trying to sound very adult and neutral, Kristy told Mrs. Roberts about the bathtub-swimming pool idea.

  She listened for a moment when she finished, frowned, and said, “But that’s not all. Both Mary Anne Spier and Jessi had some problems, too.”

  Kristy told Mrs. Roberts about the Roller-blading incident and the mattress-sled run in the basement.

  A look of surprise came over her face. “Really?” she said. “Are you sure? No! No, of course not. It’s just that … I see. Well, of course. We’re all glad she feels so much better. We just felt that we had to let you know. Right. You’re welcome.”

  Slowly hanging up the phone, Kristy said, “She didn’t think it was a big deal. Any of it. She said it’s just high spirits and Danielle will work them off and settle down to ‘medium speed.’ That’s it.”

  “It’s more than that!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. “Do you want me to call her back?”

  Kristy shook her head. “No. I mean, she is Danielle’s mother. She knows Danielle better than we do. She’s the best judge of how to handle this. And maybe she is right.”

  No one said anything to that. Then Mary Anne said, “Well, you’ve done all you can do.”

  “True,” said Kristy. But she didn’t look happy. And I admit, I wasn’t too happy about it, either.

  The phone started ringing and we set up a couple of baby-sitting jobs, and by then, I had remembered something that did make me happy.

  Aunt Cecelia’s wedding.

  It was still a secret in our family. A big secret. I figured that it was just like Aunt Cecelia
not to want a fuss over it all. She’d probably have a tiny wedding, just family. But I also knew how important it was for us to look just right for Aunt Cecelia’s wedding, and Becca and I had Made Plans.

  After all, we knew the date — this coming Saturday. And we were prepared.

  We hadn’t been able to come up with the money for new clothes and a fancy wedding gift. So we’d settled on a small gift (a book of passes to the Stoneybrook Cinema).

  Everyone approved of that idea, even Kristy-the-great-idea-person. “I bet that’s something neither your aunt or her new husband has!” she said.

  “So, are we invited, or what?” asked Claudia. “I’ve got a cool idea for my dress.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I wish you could be there. But I’m sure this is going to be a super small wedding. I mean, it’s so super secret already.”

  “A secret wedding,” said Mary Anne, her eyes misting over. “That’s so romantic.”

  Romantic is not a word I’d use in association with my aunt Cecelia. I had a feeling the small, secret nature of the wedding had more to do with practicality than romance. But I didn’t say anything to spoil it for Mary Anne. Besides, any wedding, even Aunt Cecelia’s, has romance built into it, right?

  We talked about weddings — Aunt Cecelia’s, Dawn’s father’s, Dawn’s mother’s and Mary Anne’s father’s, Kristy’s mom’s — and even the wedding that the Robertses had gone to on Saturday until the meeting was over. Stacey reminded us that in New York, some brides even wore black, but I was sure Aunt Cecelia would be going for a silk suit or some tailored dress.

  “Do you think she’ll promise to obey?” asked Mal, giggling.

  “Not Aunt Cecelia!” I shot back.

  Kristy looked at her watch. “Okay, you wedding fiends, listen up. This meeting of the BSC is officially adjourned.”

  “Here comes the briide,” sang Claudia, way, way off-key.

  I shook my head and jumped up. We headed downstairs, and as Mal and I went out the door, I heard Claudia shout, “Take lots of pictures.”

  “Maybe the BSC could buy a present, too,” I heard Kristy add. “You know, from one group of baby-sitters to another baby-sitter.”

  Mal and I exchanged glances, remembering when Aunt Cecelia had tried to be my baby-sitter. Good thing we’d worked that out.

  Laughing, we headed for home — and the wedding week countdown.

  “Here comes the bride,” I hummed. Softly. It was early Saturday morning. The big day.

  I looked under my eyelashes at my mom, who had propped her chin in her hand, and was reading the newspaper and drinking hot tea. She didn’t even look awake.

  My parents were keeping the wedding a secret right up until the end. And they were doing a very good job of not even letting on that they knew.

  But then so were Becca and I. My parents and Aunt Cecelia thought they were going to give us a big surprise. But Becca and I (and Squirt) were going to give them a big surprise, too.

  My father came down for breakfast just as I finished up. I hummed a few more bars of “The Wedding March,” but he didn’t react, either. He just started making toast.

  “Aunt Cecelia’s not up yet, is she?” I asked casually.

  My father looked up. “Not yet, I guess,” he answered, just as casually.

  “Well, see you guys later,” I said.

  “Mmm,” said my mom, turning a page of the newspaper.

  “Mmmm,” said my father, buttering the toast.

  Becca was sitting on the floor of her room with the wrapping paper, tape, and scissors by her. The Stoneybrook Cinema coupon book was in her lap.

  “It’s so little,” she said, looking up when I came in. “It’s kind of hard to wrap.”

  She was right — it was hard. When we were finished, it looked, well, wrapped. Not exactly a professional wrapping job. “It’s the thought that counts,” I announced. “And big things come in small packages. Besides, we’re going to have to hurry to get ready. Don’t forget, the wedding is at eleven. We need to get downstairs early so they don’t head off and get married without us!”

  Becca made a mad dash for the shower while I scooped Squirt up and put him in his best winter outfit: a white turtleneck shirt and a little navy jacket that buttoned up the front, with a pair of matching navy elastic-waist baby pants.

  Then I made a dash for the shower while Becca kept an eye on Squirt to make sure he didn’t mess up his super-cool baby look.

  We hadn’t been able to buy new dresses, but we’d gotten new tights to go with our old dresses, and we’d bought matching ribbons, too, to braid into our hair. We took turns braiding each other’s hair (with Squirt taking an extreme interest in the ribbons).

  At last we were ready. I picked up Squirt, and Becca picked up the present, and we checked ourselves out in the mirror. We looked great. We’d do Aunt Cecelia — or anybody, for that matter — proud.

  It was ten-thirty sharp.

  “I hear a car pulling into the driveway,” Becca said with a gasp.

  We hurried out of the room and down the stairs as the doorbell rang. We reached the living room just as Aunt Cecelia ushered Mr. Major in.

  “Da, da, da, da!” I sang as we walked in.

  “Jessica? Rebecca? John Philip?” said Aunt Cecelia in complete surprise.

  “Surprise!” Becca and I answered together.

  “AAAhee,” chimed in Squirt, waving his arms happily.

  “What’s going on?” asked Mama, coming into the room with the newspaper in her hand. She was wearing stirrup pants and a big old sweater. Daddy followed her, holding a cup of coffee. He had on a pair of old jeans and his college sweatshirt.

  “But — you’re not even dressed yet!” I cried in horror.

  “Dressed for what?” asked Daddy.

  I looked at Mama and Daddy. I looked at Aunt Cecelia and Mr. Major. Mr. Major was wearing a suit. A nice suit. But it didn’t say wedding. And Aunt Cecelia was wearing a nice suit, too. One she called “Old Reliable” because she could wear it almost anywhere and it looked right.

  I looked down at me, dressed to the nines. I looked at Squirt. My eyes met Becca’s.

  “The — the wedding?” I asked.

  “What wedding?” said Mama. “Not the one Cecelia and Martin are going to be in?”

  “Be in? Be in how?” I was getting a bad feeling about this. A really bad feeling.

  “Well, Mr. Major is an usher,” said Aunt Cecelia. “And I’m in charge of the guest book.”

  “That’s it? You’re going to someone else’s wedding?” asked Becca. “But we thought — aren’t you and Mr. Major getting married?”

  “Married!”

  Aunt Cecelia and Mr. Major exchanged glances and they both burst out laughing.

  “You’re not getting married?” I asked, just to make sure.

  “No,” said Aunt Cecelia, still laughing.

  Mr. Major shook his head.

  “Where on earth did you get an idea like that?” asked Mama.

  “Uh, well … I guess we saw you together and sort of jumped to conclusions,” I said.

  “And heard me and Mr. Major talking about this wedding at some point,” Aunt Cecelia guessed shrewdly.

  I nodded. I was mortified.

  “Sorry to disappoint you girls,” said Mr. Major. His face was amused, but his smile was a kind one. “I wish we could take you to the wedding. You look very nice.”

  “Thanks,” said Becca. “Uh, have a good time.”

  “We will,” said Aunt Cecelia. She shook her head, and she and Mr. Major left.

  “I guess we’d better get out of our good clothes,” I said quickly, before Mama or Daddy could say anything else. We beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. We heard them laughing as we reached the top.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Becca. “I just don’t believe it!”

  “Me, either,” I said dejectedly. “We’ll probably never hear the end of this. You know how adults get sometimes.”

  “At lea
st we can use these movie passes ourselves,” she said.

  The thought didn’t cheer me up very much. And I felt even less cheerful when I realized something else.

  All my friends, everyone in the BSC, thought Aunt Cecelia was getting married. They thought I was spending Saturday at a wedding. They were expecting pictures, stories, photographs. They were even talking about buying them a present.

  Total mortification. I could imagine Kristy’s reaction. And Claudia’s. And everybody’s. Not that they’d be nasty or anything. But they’d laugh in spite of themselves. At the very least.

  What was I going to tell them? What was I going to do now?

  I had just gotten out of my wedding dress (and deeper into the wedding bell blues) when the phone rang.

  It was Stacey.

  “Oh, Jessi, I’m glad you’re home,” she said breathlessly. (Normally I would have been annoyed that she’d already forgotten I was supposed to spend Saturday at a wedding. But now I was glad. I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up.)

  “Hi,” I said noncommittally. If she’d forgotten about the wedding, I didn’t want to remind her.

  She really had forgotten. “Listen, I’m supposed to sit for Danielle and Greg Roberts in half an hour. But I can’t. Something’s come up. So could you do it for me?”

  “Half an hour?” I checked my watch. It was eleven-thirty.

  “I know it’s short notice. I’m really sorry.”

  It was short notice. And that was a little annoying. But the job would get me out of the house and away from my folks (and Aunt Cecelia and Mr. Major when they returned). And it would take my mind off my wedding bell blues.

  “I can do it,” I said.

  “You’re the best,” said Stacey. “I’ll call Mrs. Roberts and let her know you’re on the way.” And she hung up.

  When I told Becca where I was going, I could tell she felt the same way: a chance to get out of the house before we could hear any wedding humor at our expense. “Can I call Danielle and ask if I can come, too?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said. “If it’s okay with Mama.”

  It was, of course, and a few minutes later Becca and I were headed for the Robertses’. “Danielle called Char and Vanessa and Haley, too,” she said.