Mallory and the Trouble With Twins

by Ann M. Martin

  “Hi, you guys!” Mary Anne greeted us as we ran into Claud’s bedroom. “Look who came to the meeting!”

  Logan Bruno grinned at Jessi and me from his spot on the floor. I’m not very interested in boys yet, but I must admit that as they go, Logan is pretty cute. And he has this interesting southern accent. (He’s from Louisville, Kentucky.)

  “Hi,” Jessi and I said shyly. We hadn’t expected to see a boy. I was glad we looked halfway decent — and that we hadn’t been running down the hall talking about underwear or deodorant or something.

  “Okay, order! Order!” called Kristy. Kristy conducts our club meetings in a businesslike way. She sits in Claud’s director’s chair wearing a visor, with a pencil stuck over her ear. “Any club business?” she asked as Jessi and I sat down on the floor — but not too near Logan.

  “I have to collect dues,” Dawn announced. She was sprawled on Claud’s bed between Mary Anne and Claudia.

  Us club members groaned but began searching our pockets or purses for money. (Logan didn’t have to pay.) When Dawn had collected everything and stashed it safely in the treasury envelope, Kristy said, “Have you been keeping up with the club notebook?”

  Uh-oh. I guess I forgot to tell about the notebook. It was another of Kristy’s ideas, not to be confused with the record book. In the notebook, each of us club members is responsible for writing up every single job we go on. Then we’re supposed to read the notebook once a week or so, just to keep track of what’s going on with the families we sit for. It’s pretty helpful — we write about sitting problems and how we solve them. That kind of thing. I like writing in the notebook, but most of the girls think it’s a boring chore.

  In answer to Kristy’s question, the rest of us (except Logan) chorused, “Yes.” She asks us about the notebook every Monday, and every Monday we tell her we’ve been reading it.

  Club business was out of the way and we waited for the phone to ring. Sometimes we start gossiping about friends and school stuff while we wait, but with Logan there, I could tell that all of us, even Mary Anne and Logan, were a little uncomfortable.

  Claudia took care of that by searching her desk drawers for a bag of pretzels she knew she’d hidden there. Claud is addicted to junk food and hides it all over her room. She has to hide it, since her parents don’t approve of her bad habit. The rest of us like Claud’s bad habit, though (well, Dawn refuses to eat things with sugar in them), and we eagerly dove into the bag. Wouldn’t you know, as soon as our mouths were full — the phone rang.

  We looked at each other in horror.

  Logan, being a boy, swallowed his mouthful pretty quickly, and said, “I’ll get it!”

  But Kristy waved her arms at him. “No! No! Mmphh, mmphh, mmphh.” After a moment, she swallowed, too, took a deep breath, and managed to say, “No. Our clients aren’t used to a boy answering the phone. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” she added quickly. “I just don’t want to take someone by surprise.”

  The phone was on its fourth ring by then, so Kristy grabbed it. “Hello, Baby-sitters Club…. Yes? … Mrs. Arnold? … Oh, okay, I see. I’ll get right back to you. ’Bye.”

  Kristy hung up and we all began laughing. We couldn’t believe what had just happened. When we calmed down, Kristy said, “All right. That was Mrs. Arnold. You know, the mother of the twins?”

  “The twins?” I repeated.

  “Oh, I guess you haven’t sat for them,” said Kristy. “Actually, the club has only sat for them a couple of times. The Arnolds have twin daughters. They’re seven. Marilyn and Carolyn —”

  “Marilyn and Carolyn?!” exclaimed Logan.

  “Don’t tell me — they’re identical,” I guessed.

  “Right down to the buckles on their shoes,” agreed Kristy. “They’re nice enough, though. I mean, they can’t help how their mother dresses them — or what their names are. Anyway, Mrs. Arnold needs a steady sitter, someone who can take care of the twins two afternoons a week for the next couple of months.”

  “Wow,” Logan said, and whistled through his teeth.

  “Yeah. There’s some sort of fund-raising project at Stoneybrook Elementary,” Kristy went on. “That’s where the twins go to school. And Mrs. Arnold agreed to head it up. So she’s going to be pretty busy, but only for the next eight weeks. She wants someone every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon from three-thirty till six. Mary Anne?”

  Our secretary was already studying the appointment pages in the record book. “Boy,” she said. “This is a tough one. Jessi, you’re out, obviously.”

  “I better be out, too,” said Claud. “There’s a chance my art classes are going to switch to Thursdays.”

  “Okay,” Mary Anne replied. “And Kristy, you’ve got several sitting jobs already lined up for Tuesdays and Thursdays. Hmmm.”

  After a lot of planning and discussion, I wound up with the job at the Arnolds’! I couldn’t believe it. What luck! Sitting for twins would be fun. Plus, I’d be rich. I thought of all the earrings I would have been able to buy — if I’d had pierced ears.

  I checked out Claud’s ears. Hanging from them were little pairs of red sneakers. Cool! No one else was wearing earrings except Dawn. I could tell hers were clip-ons. They were big turquoise triangles. They were cool, too, I guess, but there was nothing like pierced ears. If only I could convince Mom and Dad…. And if only I could convince them to let me have my long, curly hair cut and styled. It looked like a rat’s nest.

  Oh, well. First things first. First I had to earn enough money for ear-piercing and hair-cutting. And in order to do that, I had to get started at the Arnolds’. I couldn’t wait to begin.

  Ding-dong.

  I stood nervously on the Arnolds’ front stoop. A sitting job with a new client always reminds me of the first day of school. You have a vague idea what you’re getting into, but you don’t know the specifics. For instance, you know a little about who the kids are, you know you’ll be responsible for them, but how will you get along with them? Will the kids like you? Will you like them? Will the kids be fun or will they misbehave? What will the parents be like?

  I’d find out soon enough. I’d rung the bell, and now I could hear feet running toward the door.

  I clutched my Kid-Kit and waited.

  The door opened slowly and two faces peeked around it. The faces were so alike that it was as if I were seeing just one face and its reflection in a mirror.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” replied two voices. They sounded uncertain.

  The door opened the rest of the way, and before me stood Marilyn and Carolyn Arnold. Both girls were wearing blue kilts with straps that went over their shoulders, white blouses with lace edging the collars and sleeves, white knee socks, and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes. Their brown hair was cut in a bowl shape, framing their faces, and each twin had put on a blue headband with a blue bow on the side of it. Also, each wore a silver ring on the pinky finger of her right hand, and a beaded identification bracelet on her left wrist. The bracelets were the only difference between the twins. The beads on one bracelet spelled MARILYN. The beads on the other one spelled CAROLYN. I was glad I was wearing my glasses.

  What a relief, I thought. As long as the girls wore their bracelets, I’d know who was who. I hoped they wouldn’t take them off.

  The girls were just looking at me, so I said, “I’m Mallory Pike, your baby-sitter. Can I come in?”

  Marilyn and Carolyn stepped back and opened the door wider. I entered the Arnolds’ house, still clutching my Kid-Kit.

  “What’s that?” asked one of the twins, pointing to the box.

  I glanced at her bracelet. “It’s a Kid-Kit, Carolyn,” I replied.

  Carolyn’s face lit up. Why? Oh, she must have known about Kid-Kits from when other members of the Baby-sitters Club had sat at the Arnolds’.

  “Do you like Kid-Kits?” I asked her. “This one has some good things in it. New coloring books and new sticker books.”

  “Oh,
boy!” The twins jumped up and down excitedly.

  “Mallory? Is that you?” called a voice from upstairs.

  “Yes. Mrs. Arnold?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  In a moment a fussy-looking woman came down the stairs. Do you know what I mean by fussy? I mean, everything about her was too much and too cute. She was wearing two necklaces, a pin, bracelets on each wrist, rings, earrings, and even an ankle bracelet. Her stockings were lacey, and she was, well, as Claud might have said, overly accessorized. Practically everything she wore had a bow attached. There were bows on her shoes, a bow on her belt, a bow in her hair, and a bow at the neck of her blouse. Her sweater was beaded, and she hadn’t forgotten to pin a fake rose to it. Whew! As for cute, her earrings were in the shape of ladybugs, one of her necklaces spelled her name — Linda — in gold script, her pin was in the shape of a mouse, and the bow in her hair was a ribbon with a print of tiny ducks all over it.

  “Hi, Mallory, I’m Mrs. Arnold,” said the twins’ mother as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She held out her hand, and we shook in a businesslike way. “I’m sure you and the girls will get along fine. They’ll show you where their toys are —”

  “Mallory brought toys for us!” exclaimed one twin.

  “Why, that’s lovely. Well, good. I can see that the three of you are off to a happy start.”

  (Blechh.)

  Mrs. Arnold showed me where the emergency phone numbers were posted, made sure I knew how to reach her at Stoneybrook Elementary, gave me a few quick instructions, reminded Marilyn to practice the piano for half an hour, and then kissed each of the twins. “Good-bye, loves,” she said. “I’ll see you in two and a half hours — at six-o’clock.”

  “ ’Bye, Mommy!” chorused the girls.

  Mrs. Arnold left in a fog of perfume. (That was another thing. She was wearing perfume, makeup, and nail polish. She’d probably painted her toenails, too.)

  “Can we see what’s in the Kid-Kit?” asked one of the twins as Mrs. Arnold started her car in the garage.

  (A quick glance at the bracelet.) “Sure, Marilyn,” I replied, and Marilyn beamed. The twins must really love Kid-Kits. I’d have to remember to bring mine with me each time I sat.

  “Let’s go to our room!” exclaimed … Carolyn. (Bracelet check.)

  Well, I’d been prepared for identical twins and identical clothes, but not for two identical halves of a bedroom. That was how the girls’ room looked, though. Again, it was as if someone had placed a huge mirror in the center of the room, and it was reflecting one side. On each side were beds covered with pink flowered spreads over white pleated dust ruffles. There were matching pillows. There were twin dressers, desks, and bookshelves. There were even two white rockers. Everything was arranged symmetrically. But what was most surprising were the toys — two of everything. Two identical stuffed bears, two Cabbage Patch dolls, two, two, two.

  This was almost like a science fiction movie — but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I plopped myself down on the rug and opened the Kid-Kit.

  “Okay, here you go,” I said. “What do you guys like? I’ve got books to read and puzzles and jacks and those new coloring and sticker books.”

  “I like to read,” said one twin. (Oh, it was Marilyn.)

  “I like puzzles,” said Carolyn.

  I handed Carolyn a small jigsaw puzzle, and she immediately dumped it on the floor. Then I pulled out a handful of books.

  “Let’s see, Marilyn. Here’s Baby Island. And here’s Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. Oh, here are three of the Paddington books.”

  “Paddington!” exclaimed both twins.

  “We love him!” said Carolyn. She abandoned her puzzle and leaned over to look at Paddington Abroad, Paddington Helps Out, and Paddington Marches On.

  In a flash, Carolyn had chosen Paddington Marches On, Marilyn had chosen Paddington Abroad, and each twin was lying on her bed with her legs crossed, reading happily.

  “You guys are so cute!” I couldn’t help exclaiming. “Look at you. I wish I had my camera. You look like bookends.”

  The twins exchanged a troubled glance.

  “Boggle,” Marilyn whispered across the room to Carolyn. (Or did Carolyn whisper to Marilyn? I couldn’t read their bracelets.)

  Carolyn nodded. Then the twins went back to their books.

  But not for long.

  “Oom-bah,” said Carolyn a few minutes later, and the girls tossed the books aside and got to their feet.

  With another sidelong glance at each other, they did the last thing I’d expected them to do. Very slowly, they removed their bracelets. They tossed them onto their beds. Then they ran around the room, jumping back and forth, darting from side to side.

  “Hey, you guys!” I cried. “What are you doing?”

  “Chad. Pom dover glop,” said one.

  “Huh?”

  “Now tell us apart,” said Marilyn-or-Carolyn.

  “I can’t,” I replied helplessly. “You don’t have your bracelets on.”

  “Do you like to baby-sit?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, you won’t like to sit for us.”

  (What had gone wrong?)

  The girls were still moving around. Since even their voices sounded alike, I couldn’t tell who was talking. For all I knew, it was just one of them, and the other was keeping quiet.

  Suddenly they ran downstairs.

  I chased after them. When I reached the living room, I found only one twin.

  “Okay, which one are you?” I asked.

  Marilyn-or-Carolyn shrugged.

  “You’re not going to talk?”

  Another shrug. Then, without warning, she stood up and darted out of the room. I ran after her, but not quite as fast (the twins are quick!) and found one of them at the kitchen table.

  “Which one are you?” I asked.

  “The same as before,” was the cross reply.

  I felt like saying, “Well, excuse me!” But instead I said, “Where’s your sister?”

  Shrug.

  And then an idea came to me. I don’t know where it came from, but it seemed like a good one. I took Marilyn-or-Carolyn by the hand, hauled her into the living room, sat her at the piano, and said, “Practice time.”

  Marilyn-or-Carolyn looked at me helplessly.

  “Go ahead. Play,” I urged her. “You can play, can’t you?”

  The twin scowled. “No,” she said sullenly.

  “Okay, Carolyn. Thank you very much. Now please go find your sister and tell her it’s time to practice.”

  So Carolyn did just that, and Marilyn began her playing. For exactly half an hour, I knew which twin was which. But when Marilyn stopped practicing, I was in trouble again.

  I couldn’t wait for Mrs. Arnold to come home.

  Well, it sure was an easy sitting job. It was Sunday afternoon, and my parents had been invited to a reception. The reception was to be held indoors, which was lucky since it was pouring rain. And I mean, cats and dogs, streaming down the windows, rattling the gutters. That kind of rain. As Jessi pointed out in the club notebook, rainy days like this one can be a baby-sitting disaster if the only thing the kids want to do is go outside.

  But — for once — every one of my brothers and sisters was busy and happy. The triplets were down in the rec room watching a movie that we’d rented for the weekend. Our entire family had watched it the night before, and now the triplets were watching it again. Personally, I don’t see how they can do that. I can read a book over and over again, but there aren’t too many movies I could watch twice in one weekend.

  Nicky was upstairs in the room he shares with the triplets, working on a science-fair project. He was creating a solar system, and it wasn’t easy. He had to find balls of various sizes to represent the planets, and then he had to figure out how to get them to revolve around the sun (a yellow tennis ball). It would keep him busy for hours.

  Vanessa was in the bedroom she shares with me, writing poems
. She keeps a fat notebook full of her poetry, and she said the rainy weather had inspired her, so she would be busy for hours, too. When Vanessa gets on a roll, she can write eight or ten long poems.

  Finally Margo and Claire were upstairs in their room. They were playing Candy Land. Ordinarily, that causes endless arguments, and even a few tears, but they were also quiet.

  “We’re playing the best out of seven games,” Margo informed Jessi and me when we stuck our heads in their room to make sure they were still alive.

  The best of seven. That could take all day.

  Jessi and I settled ourselves in the kitchen with cups of hot chocolate. (There is just nothing like hot chocolate on a rainy day, summer or winter.)

  “Do you think we should split up?” Jessi asked me. “I’ll sit upstairs, you sit downstairs — in case an argument breaks out or something. This seems too easy.”

  I smiled. “I really think everyone is okay. At the first sign of trouble, we’ll separate. Right now, let’s leave the kids alone and just relax.”

  Jessi didn’t have a problem with that! We finished our hot chocolate, went into the living room, and sprawled on the rug.

  “What would you do if you had a milllion dollars?” Jessi asked me.

  “Get my ears pierced,” I replied.

  Jessi giggled. “Okay, after that, you’d still probably have, oh, about nine hundred thousand nine hundred and ninety bucks left. Then what would you do?”

  “Get contacts. And get my hair cut and styled.”

  “And after that?”

  “Pay the orthodonist not to give me braces.”

  Jessi couldn’t stop laughing. “Then what?” she managed to say.

  “Buy a nine-bedroom house for my family.”

  “So each of you kids could have your own room?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Hmm. You’d really want separate rooms?”

  “After sharing all our lives? Of course.”

  “Even the triplets?”

  “Definitely. I mean, they spend a lot of time together, but they are different people. They have different interests and stuff. And sometimes they do get on each other’s nerves.”