Jessi and the Troublemaker

by Ann M. Martin

  “Great,” I replied. At least Becca didn’t seem too embarrassed about what had happened. Or she was recovering faster than I was.

  When we reached the Robertses’, Mrs. Roberts answered the door, laughing and shaking her head. “Hi, Becca. The others beat you here. They’re in the den.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Roberts.” Becca shot down the hall, struggling out of her coat as she ran.

  “It’s a zoo here today, Jessi. I hope you have nerves of steel!” Mrs. Roberts said.

  I can’t say I really liked the sound of that. But I was still thinking about the wedding that wasn’t. I nodded and focused on what Mrs. Roberts was saying about when she’d be back, and what was happening, and that I could call Mrs. Issacs over if I needed a hand with the kids.

  “Greg’s gotten over his cold,” Mrs. Roberts concluded. “But he’s still a little under the weather. If Mr. Roberts calls, please tell him not to worry. I haven’t forgotten that he doesn’t have his car and I will pick him up.”

  I nodded and waved good-bye to Mrs. Roberts as she left. She wouldn’t be back until late in the afternoon, so I had a long job ahead of me. I was glad of that.

  I found the fearsome fivesome engaged in some complicated game of Pictionary in the den. That was a relief. I knew that would keep them busy a long time. Greg and I settled in for some killer checkers in his room. (I confess, I love checkers. I always have.)

  “We’ve finished playing Pictionary,” a voice announced from the door. I looked up to see the five girls standing in the doorway. Danielle went on, “We’re gonna play ‘Let’s Go on a Car Trip’ now.”

  “How do you play that?” I asked, pleased that Danielle was keeping me posted on her activities. Maybe the swimming pool/shower disaster had taught her a lesson after all.

  “You pack a suitcase and plan a trip. And you make a picnic lunch. Can we make our lunches and pretend they’re picnic lunches?”

  I had to grin at that. Trust an optimist like Danielle to come up with a new way to have a picnic lunch in the middle of winter.

  “Sure,” I said. “Just leave some for Greg and me when we get ready for lunch.”

  Greg and I played checkers and the five girls played “Going on a Trip” and peace reigned. When Greg and I went downstairs to make lunch, the kitchen was spotless. We took our lunches back to Greg’s room for a picnic of our own and began a checkers world record marathon.

  Not too long after that, I heard Danielle say from the hallway, “Let’s go out to the garage now.”

  I smiled to myself, glad it wasn’t too cold for them to keep playing their game. Then I triple-jumped Greg.

  Twenty minutes later, I decided to check on Danielle and her trip-mates.

  I opened the kitchen door. They weren’t in the garage.

  Neither was the car.

  Trying not to believe the worst, I walked quickly to the open garage door. The car wasn’t in the driveway. It wasn’t parked out front, either.

  Then I saw it. It was coming at a snail’s pace down the road from the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. As it turned erratically into the driveway, I could just see Danielle’s triumphant face half hidden behind the wheel.

  My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

  Neither could Danielle. Her eyes widened in panic. The car lurched forward toward me. I jumped sideways and stumbled.

  The car stopped.

  Relief washed over me. But it was too soon. As I got up, my hands shaking, the car began to roll backward down the driveway.

  “Nooooo!” I screamed. “The brakes. The brakes, Danielle, the brakes. Put on the braaaaakes!”

  But it was no use. I was screaming and running in slow motion. I’d never reach the car in time.

  The car rolled back out of the driveway and into the street. It smashed into another car parked across the street.

  For one awful moment I froze. Then I ran forward again toward the wreck.

  I don’t remember running down the driveway. The next thing I knew, I was wrenching open the door of the car.

  Charlotte and Haley were screaming. Becca had started to cry. Vanessa, who’d been sitting by Danielle, was holding her hand up to her forehead, her expression dazed.

  Danielle was perfectly white, her eyes huge in her thin face.

  “Are you all right?”

  Danielle nodded slightly. I turned toward Charlotte and Haley and said, “Don’t scream. Stop it. Now!”

  They stopped. “Becca, it’s okay. Charlotte, Haley, Becca, Danielle, out of the car,” I ordered.

  Some other part of me had taken over. I was responsible. I had to act responsible. I could have the hysterics I felt threatening to overwhelm me later.

  Vanessa sat without moving, her hand against her head. Fighting down the fear I felt, I helped the others out of the car. “Stay right there,” I ordered, pointing to the sidewalk. “Don’t move!”

  A man’s voice beside me said, “I was doing the dishes and saw the whole thing from my kitchen window. I’ve called the police.”

  “I think Vanessa’s hurt,” I said. “Vanessa, can you hear me? It’s Jessi.”

  She looked at me. At last she said, “Jessi, my head hurts.”

  “I’ll call the ambulance,” the man said and was gone. As he left, I heard him say to the crowd that had begun to form, “There’s been a slight accident. The police are on their way. Please stand back.”

  Then I heard Danielle say, “I’m sorry about your car, Mrs. Issacs.”

  “Cars can be fixed,” said a woman’s voice. “Why don’t you children come inside with me?”

  “Jessi said we had to stay right here.” My little sister’s voice.

  “Don’t move,” I told Vanessa. I could see blood coming from between her fingers. Had her head hit the windshield? How hard?

  Sirens wailed.

  Mrs. Issacs swam into view. I was relieved to see she looked calm, not angry. “Jessi? I’m Mrs. Issacs. I’m going to go call the Robertses now, and then take the girls and Greg into my house. Mr. Issacs will be out to help you with the police.”

  “Thank you,” I said gratefully.

  The police and the ambulance arrived at the same time. I don’t remember much of what happened next, just that I kept saying, “Vanessa can’t go to the hospital by herself. I’m responsible.”

  I couldn’t ride in the ambulance, so the police took me in the patrol car, their sirens wailing. I did remember to give Mr. Issacs the phone numbers for my parents and Charlotte’s and Haley’s and Vanessa’s. I got Mr. Issacs’ phone number, too.

  Then I was in the emergency waiting room at the hospital, holding Vanessa’s hand for a moment as she lay on a stretcher. A few minutes later Mrs. Pike arrived.

  I’ve never been so glad to see somebody in my life.

  Another long blank period of time passed and then my father was bending over me saying, “Jessi. It’s me. Daddy.”

  And I threw myself in my father’s arms and began to cry.

  When I got home, Aunt Cecelia put me straight to bed (Mama was on her way home from the store). Normally, I would have resented Aunt Cecelia’s bossiness. But this time I was grateful for it, grateful not to be the one responsible. Grateful not to be the one in charge.

  And I was suddenly sooo tired. “I’ve got to call the Robertses,” I protested weakly.

  “I’ve already talked to them. And the Pikes. And Johanssens. And the Braddocks,” Aunt Cecelia told me. “You can talk to them later. I’ve already put Becca to bed. Now mind me.”

  I was too wiped out to argue. I opened my mouth to say something. And I fell asleep.

  When I woke up it wasn’t much later, but I felt as if I’d been asleep for hours. I got up. I ached, too, as if I’d been the one in the car wreck.

  I went slowly downstairs. Mama and Daddy and Aunt Cecelia were sitting at the kitchen table.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Mama jumped up and put her hand on my forehead like I was a little kid.

&nb
sp; “I’m okay,” I told her.

  “I hear you were more than okay,” said Mama. She smoothed my hair back. “I hear you were very responsible today.”

  “She was,” said my aunt.

  I smiled a little at that. I must have done all right if strict Aunt Cecelia said so. It made me feel a little better.

  Daddy said, “Your friends have all been calling. You might want to call them back.”

  “The Robertses first,” I said. Then I gasped, “Mal! Vanessa! Is Vanessa — ?”

  “Mal called to tell you not to worry. It was a small cut. They put a stitch in it at the emergency room. She must have bumped her head against the front window somehow. But she doesn’t have a concussion.”

  It was too scary to think about. I pushed away the image of Vanessa sitting there in shock, her hand against her head.

  “Will you excuse me?” I said. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

  Mrs. Roberts answered on the first ring. “Jessi,” she said. “I’m so sorry all this happened! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “A little shaken up, but otherwise just fine. How’s Danielle?”

  “She’s fine, too,” said Mrs. Roberts. “Could you hold on a minute?” I heard her calling Mr. Roberts and a few minutes later he got on the extension.

  “We both want to apologize,” said Mr. Roberts. “We’ve been a little too indulgent — no, much too indulgent — of Danielle lately. We just refused to see that we were spoiling her, letting her get away with things we wouldn’t have otherwise allowed if she hadn’t been sick.”

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Roberts. “She’s been so sick … but it wasn’t fair to her or to Greg or to you or to any of us to let her keep testing our limits like that. We should have called a stop to it at the beginning. You and your friends tried to warn us and we just wouldn’t listen.”

  Relief washed over me. “Thank you,” I said. “I mean, I’m glad …”

  “Don’t thank us,” said Mr. Roberts. “Things will be a little different from now on. Danielle will be free to enjoy high spirits just like any other kid. But she won’t be allowed to abuse that privilege.”

  I hung up feeling much, much better.

  Then I called Mal. Vanessa was doing fine, Mal told me, and rather proud of her stitch. It was her first.

  We both laughed at that. Then I told her about the conversation with the Robertses.

  “I’m so glad,” said Mal. “I know everybody else will be, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I yawned hugely. Maybe I’d go to bed early.

  But I didn’t go to bed right away. I made about a million more phone calls — to the Braddocks and the Johanssens (both of whom assured me that Haley and Charlotte, respectively, were just fine and in a lot of trouble) and to the other members of the BSC.

  Everyone I talked to agreed with the Robertses — that what had happened wasn’t my fault. And every member of the BSC was also in agreement. We had been treating Danielle differently because she’d been sick. And that really wasn’t fair to anyone, including Danielle.

  A whole week and two days had passed since Danielle’s trip game turned out so badly. She’d been the topic of much conversation at the BSC meetings. In fact, she and her exploits had been just about the only topic of conversation. I’d talked to the Robertses once since the accident, just to make sure Danielle was doing all right (she was, and, in addition, had been to the doctor’s, who’d said she was still in remission and still thriving).

  We were all cheered by that good news. But Stacey still didn’t know what to expect when she arrived for her baby-sitting job nine days later.

  Whatever she expected, it wasn’t what she found.

  Greg was involved in writing a report for school the next day. His topic was fire trucks and since he was only in first grade, it involved a lot of illustration. Stacey left him at his desk amid a pile of red crayons and pencils, promising she’d be back to check on him from time to time — and to call him for a snack a little later on.

  She went to find Danielle. She didn’t have far to go. Danielle was dialing the telephone in the den. As she spoke into the receiver, Stacey stopped in the doorway.

  “Hello, Vanessa? How are — ? Vanessa? Vanessa? Awwww …”

  She hung up the phone hard, and dialed it again almost immediately. “Hello, this is Danielle. Is Haley there? She is? At Vanessa’s? Thank you. No. ’Bye.”

  She hung up the phone again and her thin shoulders slumped.

  Stacey cleared her throat. “Hi, Danielle. It’s me. Stacey.”

  “Hi, Stacey,” said Danielle listlessly. She turned and stared at Stacey. Well, not exactly at Stacey. She couldn’t quite meet her eye. She stared at Stacey’s left ear. “You heard what I did?”

  Best to meet this head on, thought Stacey. “Yup,” she said.

  Danielle frowned. She turned and picked up the phone again. This time, while Stacey listened, Danielle called Becca.

  “Becca? I just wanted to — Charlotte’s there, too? Well, could I — ? Becca? Becca?”

  My little sister had hung up on Danielle, too. But not before making it clear that Charlotte was also there, and they were both hanging up on Danielle.

  Danielle hung up the phone.

  “I guess your friends are pretty angry with you,” said Stacey.

  Danielle nodded. Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them back.

  That was unexpected, too. Stacey knew how tough and upbeat Danielle was. She didn’t think anybody had ever seen Danielle cry.

  Or even almost cry.

  Danielle turned back to the phone and punched in another number. She said, “Hello. Listen, Vanessa …” She stopped. She hung up.

  Turning her back to the telephone, Danielle slid down until she was sitting upright on the floor against the wall in the corner next to the phone, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. “I know what I did was wrong,” she said. “I know it was really dangerous. And dumb. I know I should have thought about what I was doing. I’m sorry. I told them I was sorry. I even wrote them notes. But none of them will speak to me!”

  The last words ended in a kind of wail.

  Stacey sat down cross-legged, facing Danielle. “Sometimes it takes time for people to get over being angry or upset,” said Stacey. “Maybe you should give your friends more time.”

  She looked at Danielle’s pinched face. She heard the word “time.” Who was she to talk to a kid like Danielle about time? Okay, so we’d all decided not to indulge her just because she was sick. But Stacey couldn’t take this.

  “Excuse me,” said Stacey. She leaned across Danielle and grabbed the phone. She dialed two familiar numbers: mine and Mal’s.

  “What are you doing?” asked Danielle, who’d been listening to Stacey’s requests to Mal and me wide-eyed.

  “Trust me. This is a job for the BSC,” Stacey said, trying to keep her tone light.

  “Can Mal and Jessi really do that? What you asked them to?”

  “Yup. And they will, too.” Stacey looked at her watch. “I’d give them about twenty minutes, okay?”

  Twenty minutes later, almost exactly, the doorbell rang.

  I stood there, with Becca and Charlotte in tow. Neither of them was happy about it. Neither, from the looks of things, were Vanessa and Haley. Vanessa looked as if she were recovering nicely, I noted. The only indication that she’d hit her head was a small Band-Aid over a yellow-blue fading bruised spot on her forehead near the hairline. I caught Mal’s eye and winked slightly. Then we stepped inside.

  “Hi, guys,” said Danielle. Mal and I said hello, but Becca, Charlotte, Vanessa, and Haley pointedly refused even to look in Danielle’s direction.

  “This way, please,” said Stacey, leading the way to the den. She sat down in an armchair and Danielle sat on a hassock in front of it. Mal and Jessi sat on the sofa. The other four conspicuously sat as far away from Danielle as possible. It would have been funny if Danielle’s face hadn
’t been so woebegone.

  “Now,” said Stacey, “we’re going to talk.”

  Vanessa said, “I have nothing to say.”

  Mal gave her sister a poke. “What, did the accident do something to your tongue?”

  Vanessa turned and stuck her tongue out at her sister and I hid a grin. Mal rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, let me ask you guys this,” began Stacey. “Suppose someone said, ‘Get on this subway car. I’m gonna drive it off the Brooklyn Bridge.’ Would you do it?”

  The four girls exchanged glances. Then Becca said, “Of course not. That would be stupid!”

  “So you’d think for yourself and say no,” said Stacey.

  Becca frowned. “Yes.”

  “You’d be able to figure that out?” Stacey continued. “So if someone told you that you had to get on that train, what would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t get on,” said Vanessa grudgingly. She could see where Stacey was leading.

  “So if you were able to figure out that getting on that train wasn’t such a great idea, and then you did it anyway, wouldn’t you be at least partially responsible?”

  “She said she knew how to drive the car!” Haley burst out. “And I got in trouble!”

  “But I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for the car to crash! I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, Vanessa. I wouldn’t hurt you guys for anything!” Danielle cried.

  “You could have killed us!” Vanessa bounced to her feet and pointed dramatically at the little Band-Aid on her forehead. “And you got us all in big trouble! Huge. Enormous! Elephantic!”

  “Elephantic?” Mal couldn’t help but ask. Vanessa wants to be a poet and she often comes up with words that, well, might not exactly be real words.

  “Big,” said Vanessa impatiently. “Like an elephant.”

  I put my hand up quickly to cover the smile I couldn’t stop. I felt terrible for Danielle. But Vanessa’s dramatics were funny.

  Mal caught my eye, then looked quickly down at the toes of her snowboots.

  Stacey said, “Okay. So you are right. You all got in trouble. And it’s Danielle’s fault. You win. She’s wrong, you’re right. What do you gain by never speaking to her again?”