For a moment, no one could tell whether Dawn was joking or serious, but when we realized she was practically turning blue from trying not to laugh, we all began snickering and giggling. Dawn laughed the hardest of all.
“Very funny,” I said, when we’d recovered. “Does anyone want something to drink?”
“Only if you’ve got some soda that’s just brimming with sugar, caffeine, and sodium,” replied Kristy. “And maybe some artificial coloring, and, oh, some bigludium exforbinate.”
I laughed. “We’ve probably got something like that. I’m going to have iced tea, though.”
“I’ll have iced tea, too,” said Dawn, who had turned green at the very thought of artificial coloring.
“I’ll go for the glutious exorbitants,” said Claudia.
“Me, too,” said Mary Anne.
Claudia followed me to the kitchen and helped me fill five glasses. I’d noticed lately that when she and I were with the rest of the club, we acted happy or silly, and kidded around. But when we were alone we fell into a sad kind of silence. We weren’t angry; we just had all these “last things” to say to each other but didn’t know how to say them, which was maybe the saddest thing of all about my moving.
“You know,” I said, dancing around the edge of the awful subject, “I haven’t told Charlotte that I’m moving.”
Claudia, who was standing by the ice-maker in the freezer, glanced over her shoulder at me. “You haven’t?” she said in surprise.
I shook my head. “I guess I’ve been putting it off.”
“You better tell her soon,” said Claud. “I mean, the ads for the yard sale will be a major clue. Don’t you think she should find out from you and not from some poem that begins ‘Red are the roses, blue are the seas’?”
I smiled. “I guess so. It’s not going to be easy, though.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t. If she feels anything like me …”
I waited for Claudia to finish her sentence, but she let it hang there.
“Well,” I said, “we better go back upstairs. Kristy’s waiting to be bigludium exforbinated.”
Claudia just nodded. I thought she looked a little teary, but by the time we had joined the others, she seemed fine.
We worked on the ads until we had finished our soda and iced tea. We’d made quite a stack and were pretty proud of them.
“All right,” I said. “Down to the basement. Wait’ll you guys see what Mom bought for us this morning.”
“What? What?” cried my friends.
“You’ll see,” was all I’d tell them.
We reached the top of the steps to the basement and I flicked on the light. The sale items were downstairs in a big jumble on, under, and around the Ping-Pong table we’d bought the winter before and now had to sell.
“These,” I said when the five of us were standing by the sale items, “are what my mom bought us.” I held up two small packages from the dime store.
“What are they?” asked Mary Anne.
“Price tags. Blank ones.” I replied. “Some that we can stick on, and some that we can tie on things we don’t want to gum up, like stuffed animals or clothes.”
“Oh, great!” exclaimed Kristy. “This sale is going to look so professional! Let’s start the tagging right now.”
“Okay.” I took a sweater from off the pile of clothes I’d outgrown. “What do you guys think? Forty dollars?”
“Forty!” screeched Claudia. “Are you kidding?”
“Well, Mom must have paid a lot for it, and it’s only a year old. Forty dollars is a steal.”
“Not at a yard sale it isn’t,” said Mary Anne.
“Are you sure?” asked Dawn.
“Dawn, have you ever been to a yard sale?” asked Kristy.
“No. People in California don’t have yard sales.”
“Well, trust me; you put a forty-dollar tag on that sweater, and our customers will laugh us right out of the yard.”
After a whole lot of haggling, my friends talked me down to $3.50. I was stunned. “How are we going to earn any money?” I asked.
“We will,” Kristy insisted. “You’ll see.”
Finally, we got the hang of how much we could charge for things, so we divided up the items and set to work separately. The pricing went quickly that way. We’d gone through maybe a third of the stuff when, very slowly, Kristy raised her head and looked around at the rest of us. “Heyyy,” she said softly in a way I knew meant she’d just had another one of her brilliant business ideas.
“What?” we asked.
“I have an idea.”
(I knew it!)
“Let’s make this sale more than just a regular yard sale. Let’s sell lemonade, too.”
“And how about those great brownies I can bake?” suggested Claudia.
“And — and handmade stuff,” I suggested.
“Like potholders and scarves,” said Mary Anne.
“What about babies from my spider plants?” said Dawn.
“Yeah!” cried the others.
“Oh, boy!” I exclaimed. “This yard sale is going to go down in yard-sale history as the best ever!”
“Stellar,” agreed Kristy.
You guys, I promise this notebook entry isn’t a joke. If you don’t believe what happened, you can ask Karen or Andrew about it. Or you can ask Morbidda Destiny herself. (But I know you never will!)
Anyway, I baby-sat for Karen and Andrew this afternoon. It was kind of an emergency. Watson’s ex-wife got in a jam and needed a sitter for Karen and Andrew, so Watson asked if I’d mind taking care of them after school. Of course I didn’t mind! They’re almost like my real brother and sister, instead of my stepbrother and stepsister.
I wasn’t silly enough to think that the job would be easy, though. And I was right. But it was so interesting that I didn’t even mind that it was scary, too …
Interesting? Was Kristy kidding? Her babysitting job was so scary and weird that I get goosebumps all over whenever I think about it. The afternoon started off with about as much pandemonium as we usually find at the Pikes’ house. After all, there were Kristy, Andrew, Karen, David Michael (Kristy’s youngest brother, whom she was also supposed to be watching), Boo-Boo (Watson’s cat), and Shannon (David Michael’s puppy). Then Amanda and Max Delaney and Hannie and Linny Papadakis dropped by to play.
Let me just remind you about all those kids. Karen and Andrew are six and four, and David Michael is seven. Amanda and Max are eight and six. They’re really Karen’s friends, and don’t always get along too well with David Michael. Linny and Hannie are also eight and six. Linny is David Michael’s good friend, and Hannie is Karen’s good friend. The Papadakis kids are friendly and easygoing and get along with anybody — except Amanda and Max. And Amanda and Max don’t like Hannie and Linnie much, either. So there were a lot of “enemies” in this little crowd of kids.
But Kristy was dealing with the seven of them fairly well. For one thing, she insisted that they play outside in the backyard. Nobody minded. Shannon the puppy was more fun outside than inside. She would frisk after bugs and chase falling leaves and tumble around in the grass. Things were going so well that Kristy sat down in a lawn chair and simply watched the scene before her.
David Michael, Linny, and Andrew were trying to set up an obstacle course for Shannon — arranging stones and chairs for her to jump over, crawl through, and dive under. Kristy knew it would never work — and that the boys wouldn’t really care.
The girls and Max were chasing poor Boo-Boo through the yard. What you need to remember about Boo-Boo is that he’s fat and old. And pretty bad-tempered. Kristy and her family had been living in Watson’s house for several whole months, and Kristy was not sure she’d ever even patted Boo-Boo. He was good for chasing, though. Kristy hoped the kids would tire Boo-Boo out and that he would go indoors and fall asleep. (Kristy liked Boo-Boo much better asleep than awake.)
“Boo-Boo! Boo-Boo!” Amanda called.
Boo-Boo had paused by
a rosebush. Amanda made a move as if she were going to come after him again. It was a fake, though (just like in football), but Boo-Boo fell for it and ran up a tree, claws clinging wildly.
“I think Boo-Boo might be under another spell, you guys,” Karen informed the others, and Kristy shook her head. Karen wasn’t going to start that Morbidda Destiny stuff again — was she?
Yes, she was.
“A spell?” Hannie repeated, her eyes widening. “You mean — a witch’s spell?” Hannie’s gaze traveled across the yard to Mrs. Porter’s house next door. The house was old, Victorian, with gables and turrets and towers. And it was rundown. It was a Halloween house.
“Yes,” replied Karen. “I saw Morbidda Destiny with bottles and jars last weekend. I think she was working up some new potions.”
Kristy wondered whether she should put a stop to Karen’s stories. Often, she did. They sometimes got out of hand. However, David Michael, Linny, and Andrew were now listening, too, and everyone seemed just plain fascinated. Besides, if the stories kept the Papadakises from arguing with the Delaneys, and the Delaneys from being mean to David Michael, well …
Kristy let Karen go on. See, Karen thinks that old Mrs. Porter, who lives alone in the Halloween house, is actually a witch named Morbidda Destiny, and that she mixes potions and brews, casts spells, rides a broomstick, and goes to witches’ meetings. Mrs. Porter is a little strange, and she does dress in funny, long, black robes, but Kristy is fairly certain she isn’t a witch. (She’s never been able to convince Karen of that, though.)
“What kind of potions is she working up?” Max asked Karen.
“Witch potions.”
“You mean …?” Hannie began.
Karen nodded her head. “Yes. To turn people and animals into witches. To turn us into witches.”
“Us?” shrieked Amanda. “Well, how could she ever get us to take the potions? We’d have to drink them, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Karen.
“And we wouldn’t be stupid enough to drink something Morbidda Destiny gave us, would we?”
Karen remained undaunted. “Witches have their ways,” she said mysteriously.
All seven children turned wary eyes to Mrs. Porter’s house, as if expecting to see a bat fly out a window or something. Of course, nothing happened.
Finally, David Michael said, “Well, now I’m thirsty. Kristy, can we make some lemonade?”
“I don’t think we have any mix,” she told her brother.
“Hey, could we make real lemonade?” asked Hannie, inspired. “It would be fun! All you need is lemons and water and sugar. And ice.”
“It would be fun,” Kristy replied, “but you need lots and lots of lemons to make enough lemonade for eight people. I’m sure we’ve only got two or three. We hardly ever use them.”
“Darn,” said Karen.
“I’ve got plenty of lemons,” spoke up a hoarse voice. “You children come on over here and I’ll show you how to make real lemonade.”
Eight heads swiveled slowly in the direction of the Halloween house. There stood Mrs. Porter, frizzy gray hair, frumpy black clothes, and all.
Kristy thought it was to the kids’ credit that not one of them screamed, but she realized later that they were simply frozen with horror.
“Please?” croaked Mrs. Porter. “I hardly ever have guests.”
Kristy looked from the terrified children to Mrs. Porter. She couldn’t help but remember the time she’d been baby-sitting and Mrs. Porter had brought over the remains of a mouse, saying that Boo-Boo had killed it and left the insides on her front porch. On the other hand, Mrs. Porter had also brought over a wedding present when Kristy’s mom and Watson had gotten married. Kristy kept thinking about what Mrs. Porter had just said: “I hardly ever have guests.” She began to feel sorry for her. So she made one of the snap decisions she’s famous for. “Come on, you guys. What fun! Real lemonade! Thanks, Mrs. Porter.”
Mrs. Porter’s mouth cracked into a crooked smile. “How lovely. Guests,” she said. “Come over in five minutes and I’ll have everything ready. Heh, heh, heh.” She whisked around, her robes swinging out behind her, and dashed toward her house.
“Kris-teee,” Karen wailed softly. “You’re not making us go over there, are you?”
“We are all going over. We’ll have some nice lemonade,” Kristy replied, putting Shannon and Boo-Boo in the house.
“Not me,” said Amanda, following Kristy. “Max and I are going home. You’re not the boss of us.”
“That’s true,” said Kristy. “And I’m sure the other kids won’t think you two are ’fraidy cats if you go home now.”
“We aren’t ’fraidy cats!” cried Max.
“Right,” said Kristy.
“Well, we aren’t!”
“Neither … neither are we,” spoke up Karen, apparently meaning herself, Andrew, David Michael, Linny, and Hannie.
“Of course not. I didn’t say you were. Now — I’m ready to go to Mrs. Porter’s. Who’s coming with me?” asked Kristy.
Reluctantly, all of the kids followed her to Mrs. Porter’s porch. They waited nervously on the front steps, and in a minute she appeared with a pitcher of lemonade and a stack of paper cups.
“Here we go,” she said, and began to pour. She also began to cackle. Karen looked ready to faint, but Mrs. Porter gave a tiny smile. (Kristy almost thought she saw Mrs. Porter wink.)
“I thought you were going to show us how to make this,” said Karen warily. She gazed around the sagging front porch.
“Was I?” said Mrs. Porter. “Well, I brewed it up pretty quickly.” She reached into the house and pulled a broom onto the front porch.
When Karen’s eyes fell on the broom, Kristy thought Karen was going to faint. But Karen drew in a deep breath and remained upright.
“What, um, what’s in this … brew?” asked Linny. “I mean, how do you make lemonade?” He was eyeing the broom, too.
“You just squeeze some fresh lemons …” Mrs. Porter started to explain.
Kristy lost track of the explanation. She was watching Mrs. Porter fill the cups. When she finished, she handed one to everybody, including Kristy. No one took a sip, though. They all just stared nervously into the cups.
“Go ahead. Drink up,” said Mrs. Porter. “It won’t kill you.”
“Are you sure?” whispered Karen.
Kristy knew she would have to be first. She brought the cup to her mouth, trying to sniff the lemonade before she swallowed any of it. All she smelled was lemons, but she was still wary. Then she glanced at Mrs. Porter, who was looking back at Kristy. Kristy dared to open her mouth.
“Hey! This is great, Mrs. Porter!” she exclaimed honestly after she’d taken a swallow.
“It is?” asked Max, Andrew, and David Michael.
“The best ever.”
Cautiously, the others sipped their lemonade.
“It is good,” Karen agreed, but Kristy knew she was just waiting for one of them to go up in smoke, sprout stringy black hair, and turn into a witch.
Ten minutes later, the kids were still fine. Mrs. Porter was seated in a wicker chair, watching them. Her broom was leaning against the chair and a black cat was asleep in her lap. “Heh, heh, heh,” cackled Mrs. Porter.
“Kristy!” Andrew was tugging at Kristy’s hand. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“See that? He’s sick,” Karen whispered urgently.
“No, I’m not,” Andrew replied indignantly. “I just have to go. Now.”
Kristy knew what “now” meant to Andrew. “Mrs. Porter,” she began, “I’m really sorry, but could we use your bathroom?”
“Of course,” croaked Mrs. Porter. “Down the hall, past the kitchen, first door on the left.”
Kristy held the front door open for Andrew and followed him inside. Karen slipped in behind them. “I’m not staying out there with her,” she whispered.
David Michael followed. “Neither am I,” he said.
“Me n
either,” said Hannie, Linny, Amanda, and Max.
Kristy sighed.
The kids crept through a hallway in single file. The house was dark and dreary and musty-smelling, but somehow, Kristy decided, not actually spooky. Just old, and a little lonely.
Karen didn’t agree. She shivered. “I feel ghosts,” she announced. “Ghosts and witches.”
Kristy rolled her eyes.
It was after Andrew had used the bathroom and the kids were passing the kitchen for the second time that Kristy noticed the two empty cans of frozen lemonade on the counter. She didn’t point them out, though, and she didn’t say anything to Mrs. Porter. But she thought she now knew a secret about her neighbor. Old Mrs. Porter was just a lonely woman who wanted company.
Of course, Kristy thought as she returned to the front porch and looked at Mrs. Porter, the black cat, and the broomstick, you could never be sure.
I felt awful. My heart was racing and my mouth was dry.
I wasn’t sick; I was just plain nervous. I was on my way over to Charlotte Johanssen’s to baby-sit, and I had decided it was time to tell her that I was moving.
With a sweaty hand I held my Kid-Kit. Kristy dreamed up Kid-Kits not long after we started the Baby-sitters Club. Kid-Kits are boxes (each of us sitters has one) that we decorated and keep filled with our old games and toys and books, and usually a few new coloring books and activity books paid for out of club dues. We bring our Kid-Kits along sometimes when we baby-sit. The kids love them, therefore they like us, therefore their parents like us, and therefore Kid-Kits are good for business. Charlotte has always been a big fan of Kid-Kits, and especially of the books inside. She loves to read.
So. I had one sweaty hand and one shaking hand. The shaking hand was shaking because it was time to ring the Johanssens’ doorbell. I raised my hand and imagined that the ding-dong was going to sound shaky, too. But of course it sounded just fine.
Charlotte was at the door in a flash. “Hi, Stacey! Hi, Stacey! I got three gold stars in school today! I have twenty-one altogether. And when you have twenty-five you get to be the teacher’s helper for one whole day!”
Good-Bye Stacey, Good-Bye Page 5
