“Disappointed?” Claudia repeated. “If Carolyn doesn’t give them their money back, they’ll tear the basement apart.”
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I shouldn’t have let it get out of hand. I just didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have called one of us,” Stacey said.
I nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
“I think I’m sitting there tomorrow,” Kristy said.
I opened up the record book. My stomach turned at the horrible, sloppy mess of pen smudges and loose papers inside! “Yuck,” I said under my breath. I looked under Thursday and saw this:
“Well, I’m going to be sitting for Jenny and Andrea,” I said. “Maybe I should bring them over, so I can help you out. I think you’ll need it when the kids come.”
Kristy raised her eyebrows. “Uh, yeah. And bring a helmet.”
“Is it going to be scary?” Jenny Prezzioso whined for the five-hundredth time. “I hate scary things.”
“No,” I said, pushing open the Arnolds’ door. “And don’t forget, I’ll be with you the whole time. You’ll be safe.”
“Andrea will, too?”
“Andrea will, too.”
“Geeeeeeaaaaaa,” was Andrea’s contribution to the discussion.
Jenny is four, and quite … well, spoiled. It took me a long time to convince her to go to the Arnolds’. (Andrea was much easier. She’s only a baby.)
“Are you guys coming or what?” Marilyn shouted from the basement as we walked in.
“Yes!” I called back.
I took Andrea out of her stroller. Holding her in one arm and taking Jenny’s hand, I descended with them both into the Realm of Warps and Wormholes.
“Everything is red!” Jenny exclaimed, shaking. The basement was dead silent. Even I was a little spooked out.
“That’s because Carolyn switched light bulbs,” I whispered, pointing to a red bulb.
“Welcome, fellow travelers!” Carolyn said, rushing to meet us at the bottom of the stairs. In the red light, with her goggles and earmuffs, plus a set of springy antennae, she looked like a refugee from the planet Pluto.
“Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!” Andrea wailed.
I buried her face in my shoulder. “Shhh … it’s all right …”
Fortunately Jenny was fascinated. “Is that you, Carolyn?”
“Dr. Arnold to you, young lady!” Carolyn said. “The brilliant Dr. Arnold!”
Jenny laughed. “Doctor? Are you going to give me a shot?”
Ignoring her, Carolyn said, “Follow me.”
She led us to the back of the basement, which was hidden by a huge blanket suspended on a rope. Behind the blanket were four folding chairs. Kristy and Marilyn were sitting on two of them, grinning.
Against the wall, the time machine (and the boiler) were covered with taped-together sheets. Jenny and I took our seats and waited for the show to begin.
“This is a special day,” Carolyn announced. “I shall demonstrate my time machine to you alone, before the masses arrive.” She reached out and grabbed the sheet. “And now, the moment we have all been waiting for! Ladies and gentlemen —”
Jenny giggled again. “Silly, there are just girls here!”
“— and children of all ages!” Carolyn barged on. “The time machine!”
She pulled off the sheet.
Jenny gasped. I almost did, too. The machine looked much different now. Carolyn had put tinfoil over the sides of the cartons, and all kinds of dials, bells, gauges, gears, and antennae had been attached. A huge lever stuck out of the side, made from a broom handle. Everything was connected with wires to a real generator on the floor (at least that was what it looked like).
The cartons actually formed four walls with an opening. There was just enough room for a chair inside. A curtain was draped across the front (something like those instant photo booths at amusement parks).
I almost jumped out of my seat when Carolyn reached inside to press a button and I heard these zapping and bubbling noises.
“It’s a tape recorder,” Marilyn said. “She got the tape at a —”
“Silence!” Carolyn commanded. “Now, Miss Arnold, are you prepared to travel to your requested time — Paris, France, in the year nineteen hundred?”
“Yeah!” Marilyn said. “Ooh, I can’t wait! ’Bye, everybody!”
She ran into the machine and plopped onto the seat. “Are you sure you can get me back in time for dinner, Carolyn?”
“Uh, yes!”
“And I don’t need any, like, special money, or warm clothing, or anything?”
Carolyn was beginning to look uncomfortable. “I don’t think so …”
“All right. Well, this better be worth that dollar I paid you.” Marilyn pulled the curtain closed. “And I’ll be really mad if you don’t get me back!”
Now Jenny looked frightened. “Is she really going away?” she asked.
“Just for a little while!” Marilyn called from behind the curtain.
Carolyn’s eyes were darting all around. Her fingers seemed frozen around the broom handle. I recognized the look on her face. I had seen it on another of our charges, Charlotte Johannsen, when she had to recite a poem in front of an audience.
Carolyn had stage fright. And I thought I knew why.
I leaned over to Kristy. “Can you take Andrea for a minute?”
Fortunately Andrea was on the way to a nap. She fussed as I took her off my shoulder, then nuzzled happily on Kristy’s.
“Excuse me,” I said aloud. “This is an emergency high-tech consultation about the, um, flux capacitator.”
“Hurry it up,” Marilyn said.
I took Carolyn into the corner and knelt down. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“A little nervous after spending all that time building the machine?”
She nodded meekly.
“Carolyn, what do you really think will happen when you pull that lever?” I asked.
Carolyn squirmed. I could see the brilliant Dr. Arnold trying to break through. Finally her face fell and she sighed. “Nothing.”
I remembered when I was eight and I was convinced I was a fairy princess. I kind of figured if I said I was, then I was! I was sure I’d convinced some of my friends, too — until finally they asked me to wave my wand and fly onto the roof of the house. When I didn’t, they laughed at me. I ran inside and cried the rest of the night. I threw away my costume, and I never had that fantasy again.
I could see something like that happening to Carolyn.
“Don’t look so sad,” I said to her. “You built something really amazing. Everyone will enjoy going in it.”
“But — but I thought maybe it would work,” she said. “I mean, there could be a real time machine someday.”
“Sure. But meanwhile you can still have fun with your machine. Remember all those time travel books you told Jessi you read? Those are pretend adventures. You knew it, but it didn’t matter that the stories didn’t really, truly happen, right? You still loved reading them.”
Carolyn grinned. “Yeah! We can pretend to take trips to other times and places!” Her eyes were darting back to that lever again.
“There’s just one thing, Carolyn,” I went on. “When the kids come later on, maybe you should offer to give them back their money.”
“Okay,” Carolyn said, nodding solemnly. She pulled a dollar out of her pocket and stuck it through the curtain to Marilyn. “Here.”
“What’s this for?” Marilyn asked.
“To buy yourself a hot dog in … Paris in nineteen hundred!” With a dramatic flourish, she pulled down the lever. A bell rang and some gears turned. We oohed and aahed.
Then, turning her back, Carolyn made eerie screeching noises and announced, “The years roll back … nineteen fifty, forty, twenty, zero! You’re in Paris, the Feivel Tower!”
“Eiffel!” Marilyn called.
Carolyn turned to face us. Her antennae wobbled back and forth. “Now, ladies an
d gentlemen, our traveler is in the wormhole of the space/time continual, light-years away —”
“Wormhole?” Jenny said. “Ew!”
“Now comes the most difficult part,” Carolyn went on. “To bring her back, we must position the flux capacitator at exactly the spot of electronic, uh, flux.” She turned her back and screamed, “Weeeee-oooooo, weeee-ooooo! Now you’re coming back! Poof!” She paused solemnly by the curtain, then yanked it open. “And there she is! Living proof, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Yeeeaa!” We clapped and cheered and stamped our feet. Andrea whimpered, then went back to sleep.
And Marilyn stood up, wide-eyed and ecstatic, like Dorothy seeing the Emerald City for the first time. “It was amazing! I had this big frilly dress, and the organ grinder’s monkey danced for me, and I saw this incredible ballet dancer named Mickinsky …”
As she went on and on, I could see the happiness playing across Carolyn’s face — even underneath the goggles.
“Can I go next?” Jenny whispered, tugging on my sleeve.
Somehow, I knew things were going to work out just fine.
* * *
For the rest of the afternoon, kids filed into the basement. Carolyn became more and more confident about her “trips.” A couple of the kids felt cheated, but most enjoyed the game. And they all got their money back. Kristy and I made sure of that.
Afterward, Kristy and I walked to my house (I’d invited her for dinner). It felt wonderful to be friends again.
“You know, the way you handled Carolyn was incredible,” Kristy said.
“Well, I knew how she felt. When I had trouble figuring out what was real and what was fantasy, I don’t remember anyone talking to me about it. So I wanted to make sure I did with Carolyn.”
Kristy exhaled and watched a frosty white cloud circle her face and disappear. “Yeah. I guess it’s important to talk when things get confusing, huh?”
I gave my friend a big smile. “I guess.”
“Oh, by the way …” Kristy said.
“What?”
“I really do like your haircut.”
“Do you have Honey Rose?” I said breathlessly, running into Dawn’s room.
Dawn turned around on her dressing table seat. There was an hour to go before we were leaving for the January Jamboree, and I had run out of blush. “Um, I doubt it. That’s not my color.” She rummaged through a drawer full of makeup. “How about Peaches and Cream?” she said, flipping open a compact.
“No,” I said. “Too pinkish.”
She held up another. “Nantucket Sand?”
“Too dark.”
I reached in and pulled the top off an old pancake container that said Spring Blossom. “This looks about right,” I said.
“Great. You can use my sponge. I’m using a brush.”
I took the sponge, then dabbed a little of the blush on my cheek.
The color was a tiny bit lighter than Honey Rose. “Well, I just hope I don’t look like a ghost.”
“Don’t worry.”
I ran into my room and finished my makeup, then put on the dress I had bought at Steven E. My hair got messed up, so I brushed it out. Then I ran back into Dawn’s room. “Can you zip me up?”
Dawn turned to me with this huge smile. “You look stunning!”
“I do?”
“Wow!”
For the first time I noticed Dawn’s dress. It was made of black velvet, with a sheer bodice trimmed with beading and lace, and a flared, above-knee skirt. With black stockings and shoes, and her hair pulled up in a French braid, Dawn looked absolutely breathtaking. “You should talk!” I said. “Pete Black is going to faint when he sees you!”
Pete, the eighth-grade president, was Dawn’s date that night. It was the first time they had ever gone out.
“Thanks!” Dawn said. “Now hold still.”
She pulled the zipper up the back of my dress and fastened the hook on top. I spun around and looked at myself in Dawn’s mirror. “Oooooh, watch out, Logan!” I said, shimmying a little.
Dawn burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“I can’t get over how much you have changed, Mary Anne!”
I could feel myself turning red. “I was just kidding around.”
“It’s okay. You’re allowed. It’s cute.”
“You see? You’ve changed, too!” I said. “It really bothered you when I first stopped being this demure, plain stepsister.”
Dawn nodded. “Yeah.” She sat down again. I could tell the unpleasant memories were racing through her head. She sighed. “You know, Mary Anne, I was just thinking.”
I sat down next to her. “What?”
“Well, seeing you so close to your dad really affected me.”
“I know. You said that.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you why it bothered me so much. It was just that … well, it made me think of my dad. Mary Anne, I miss him so much sometimes. I mean, your dad’s great to me, but you’re his daughter. And it was hard to see that.”
“I kind of figured that out, Dawn,” I said gently.
“Well, I just wanted to tell you myself. And I realize it was unfair of me to put that on you. I guess it’s something I have to work out.”
I smiled and put my arm around her. “Well, it helps to talk about it,” I said. “And you’re forgiven.”
* * *
I don’t think I will ever forget the January Jamboree. The SMS gym glittered. Hundreds of foil snowflakes hung from the ceiling, lit by spinning lights. An art class had painted a gorgeous winter mural, showing a turn-of-the-century New England winter scene. It stretched from one end of the gym to the other. The chaperones wore gowns and tuxedos, the DJ was fantastic, and the food was delicious. It was elegant, elegant, elegant.
You should have seen Logan in a tuxedo. He looked sensational. I could feel everyone staring at us whenever we danced (it didn’t hurt that Logan is an expert dancer).
There were other spectacular sights, too. Like Kristy Thomas trying to walk with heels in a long dress (she kicked them off about two minutes after she got to the gym). And Claudia Kishi, wearing a lamé outfit that was all sharp angles and flashy colors. And Stacey McGill, looking as if she had stepped out of a Hollywood movie in a slinky silk gown that belonged to her mother. Her date was Sam Thomas, Kristy’s older brother, who kept grossing people out with a rubber tarantula until Stacey asked him to stop.
But the best part was the dancing. During one of the slow numbers, as Logan spun me around the floor, Dawn and Pete swung by. “You guys are stealing the show!” Dawn said.
“Uh-uh. Not while you’re on the dance floor,” I said.
As we danced away, Logan said, “You know, for a while I was afraid you and Dawn would never talk to each other again.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But you know what? We’re closer than ever.”
Logan smiled that famous make-you-melt smile. “Yes, we are.” He blushed as soon as he said that, but I thought it was sweet. I smiled and hugged him tighter.
After the song, Logan and I walked toward the refreshment table with Dawn and Pete. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Sabrina entering the gym with her date. She was laughing giddily, in an incredible sequined gown. I made a mental note to say hi later on.
“Hey, whatever happened with Carolyn’s time machine?” Logan asked, ladling us some punch.
I told him about the afternoon at the Arnolds’. Logan, Dawn, and Pete listened closely and laughed at the funny parts. Then Pete said, “Wouldn’t it be great if the machine really worked?”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“Where would you go if it did?” I asked.
“Super Bowl Three,” Pete said. “Nineteen sixty-eight. Joe Namath and the New York Jets. Incredible upset victory.”
Dawn pretended to yawn. “Bor-ing.”
“I know where I’d go,” Logan said.
“Where?” I asked.
“To the day I firs
t saw you. I liked that feeling.”
Boy, did I turn red.
“Awwwwwwww …” Pete groaned. “Give me a break!”
Logan shrugged. “I can’t help it.”
“I know where I’d go,” Dawn said, looking straight at me with a glint in her eye. “I’d go back to this room, about twenty-three years ago, to see my mom and your dad at one of their school dances.”
“Yeah!” I agreed.
“Complete with horses and carriages,” Logan remarked.
“Ooh, listen!” Dawn said as a great rock tune came on. “This is one of my favorites! Let’s dance!”
The four of us moved onto the dance floor. For the second time, I caught a glimpse of Sabrina and her date. Sabrina looked about twenty years old and so did her date. He was very tall, with thick black hair and dark, handsome features.
Dawn noticed them, too. “Who’s the guy?” she asked, dancing close to Logan and me.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Suddenly Logan, Dawn, and I all stopped dancing at once. We turned to each other with identical wide-eyed expressions on our faces. Pete stared at us as if we’d lost our minds.
“Carlos!” we said in unison.
At the other end of the room, Sabrina’s date looked around. Then he smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and continued dancing.
Off in our corner, I thought we’d never stop laughing.
* * *
Dear Reader,
In Mary Anne’s Makeover, Mary Anne gets a whole new look. Every now and then I get my hair cut, too. However, my style of dress rarely changes. And if I had to choose a member of the Baby-sitters Club whose style is most like mine, it would be Kristy. I came up with Kristy’s “uniform” because it’s what I wear just about every day. I’m happiest when I’m in jeans or overalls, turtlenecks, and sneakers (which is what I’m wearing right now). I believe in being comfortable!
I decided to give Mary Anne a makeover because I wanted her to assert herself. Also, I felt that at least one BSC member should have short hair, since lots of people do, including me. However, what I didn’t realize was that when I changed Mary Anne’s hair, the girl who models as Mary Anne on the book covers would have to wear a wig from then on. Sorry, Mary Anne!
Mary Anne's Makeover (9780545767859) Page 8
