Emergency rooms (or ERs, as the doctors and nurses call them) are amazing places. All the doctors and nurses, physician's assistants and paramedics, are moving around at the speed of light, but with extreme calm. That's to keep everyone else from freaking out.
I didn't linger in the emergency room, though. I was rushed through to a treatment cubicle. A physician's assistant was already there, preparing to give me a shot. Her name tag said, D. Ramirez, P.A.
She rolled up my sleeve. "Epinephrine," she explained. I nodded. I'd had it before.
She gave me the shot, then began checking me out: my eyes, my skin color, my heart rate, respiration, and all that other good stuff.
The medicine started working almost immediately.
"How are you feeling?" Ms. Ramirez asked a couple of minutes later.
"Boston Marathon, here I come," I answered with hardly a wheeze.
She looked startled for a moment, and then she smiled. "Tell me what happened," she said.
I told her about the disastrous baby-sitting job, and included a list of all the things I knew made me sneeze, just for good measure. "I don't know the names of all the plants and animals in the world," I concluded, "or I could tell you everything I'm allergic to." She gave me a quick smile.
"Abby?" a voice asked.
"Anna," I said, "My sister," I explained to Ms. Ramirez.
Nodding, Ms. Ramirez twitched the curtain of the cubicle aside and motioned for Anna to come in. "Try to stay calm, at least for the time being," she advised me. "You'll have to hold on that Boston Marathon until next year." Anna looked scared and worried - and startled.
"Rats," I said. "Crete Weitz was expecting me. And Florence Joyner, too." "Mom's on her way," said Anna, looking from me to Ms. Ramirez. "She has to come from Manhattan, so it'll be a little while." "Well, we'll want to keep Abby here for observation for the next couple of hours anyway, just as a precaution," said Ms. Ramirez.
She wrote something else on the chart, hung it by the bed, nodded to us, and plunged into the controlled chaos of the ER.
My cubicle was in a separate room, a ward for the not-so-serious cases.
Anna sat in the chair next to the bed. "Kristy said she hopes you're feeling better," she told me.
"Mmm," I replied.
"I brought your backpack. Kristy made sure I got it so you'd have it. She said if you had homework, you'd want to be able to do it, even if you can't go to school tomorrow." My eyes met Anna's. It was just like Kristy to be so organized.
I put my hand dramatically to my throat. "I'm sick. I think I'm allergic to homework." "So what else is new?" Anna said. We laughed.
I pulled a book out of my backpack and read while Anna did her homework. Ms. Ramirez looked in on us once or twice. Finally we heard Mom's voice.
"And she's all right? You're sure?" Mom asked.
"A severe episode," said Ms. Ramirez, "but she responded promptly and we were able to head it off before it became anything more serious. What she needs now is rest and quiet." "And no school tomorrow?" I asked hope-· fully as my mom and Ms. Ramirez entered the cubicle.
"I'm sure you'll be fine for school, as long as you don't run there," Ms. Ramirez answered with a smile. "I think you're ready to go but let's do a little test to make sure. Can you sit up?" I could and did. Then Ms. Ramirez asked me to walk to the end of the corridor and back. She checked my respiration and heart rate. Then she said, "Can you say the first verse of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' without taking a breath?" I was able to. I even threw in the second verse. Ms. Ramirez nodded. She signed the chart and said to my mom, "You'll need to make arrangements to check out at the front desk. And then you can go." "Great," I said.
Mom asked, "How are you feeling, Abby? No jokes." "Fine," I said. "Tired, I guess. But fine." We're not a very demonstrative family. Mom nodded and patted my arm. "Well then, let's get out of here," she said. She turned and went out to the desk to make the arrangements.
Soon we were on our way home (the hospital staff made me ride in a wheelchair to our car, for Pete's sake!).
I spent a quiet evening at home, doing homework and channel surfing in front of the television in the den. Anna came down from her room after she finished her homework and kept me company.
And you know what was cool? Every single member of the BSC called to see how I was doing. I mean, I don't know any of them all that well, but they all called. And whatever Kristy was thinking", she kept her conversation brisk and supportive.
Very cool.
Mom emerged from her study long enough to make me go to bed early. I argued, but secretly I was kind of glad. I was more tired than I cared to admit. I listened to the familiar and reassuring hum of the air purifier in my room and fell asleep almost immediately. I slept straight through the night.
The next morning I felt fine. Great, even. It had rained during the night and rain always washes a lot of the gook out of the air that makes me sneeze and wheeze. Standing at the bus stop I took a deep breath and said, "Ahh! Fresh air!" Anna rolled her eyes at me. Kristy walked over to join us and said, "Hi, Anna, Hi Abby . . . Abby. You're feeling better?" "I'm feeling great," I replied. "Thanks for calling last night. You know, everyone in the BSC called. I really appreciated that." "Of course we all called," Kristy said, giving me a strange look. She cleared her throat. "So, do these, um, things happen often?" "The asthma attacks? No. Not really. There it is! The Wheeze Wagon." The bus groaned up to us and we got on. Anna joined some of her new music maven friends and Kristy and I snagged a seat near the front (away from the bus fumes).
"Like how often?" Kristy persisted. "The asthma attacks, I mean. Once a week? Once a month?" "Not even that often," I said impatiently. I don't really like talking about my asthma. I'm still counting on outgrowing a lot of my allergies as I get older. People do, you know.
"Maybe a couple of times a year. I usually know when the attacks are coming on and I can head them off." Kristy said, "You couldn't yesterday." I shrugged. "Hannie panicked me, running out in the street like that," I said. I'd told Kristy the details of what had happened when she'd phoned the night before.
"But what if it hadn't been Hannie and Linny there with you and Sari? What if you'd been alone with a little kid? Or a baby? What would have happened then?" asked Kristy.
"It won't happen," I snapped. "Okay?" Kristy is not tactful, and neither am I. Tension hummed in" the air between us as we looked at each other. Kristy wanted to go on cross-examining me. I was daring her to.
At last Kristy said, "Okay. . . . Did you finish your homework?" Truce. I accepted it and we talked about school for the rest of the ride. I couldn't help but worry a little, though. I knew I was a good, responsible baby-sitter. I knew that I could handle any situation. In fact, you could argue that I'd managed to handle yesterday's situation, in a way.
But Kristy was not convinced. And I didn't know how to convince her, except to work twice as hard and prove I really was a world-class baby-sitter.
I put the thought out of my mind. I'd deal with it when the time came. Besides, I'd resolved to not worry and to take it easy, at least for the day. No more asthma attacks for me if I could help it.
I told the soccer coach what had happened and skipped soccer practice after school. I went home early and actually did my homework. Then I got out my lucky (and falling apart) soccer shoes and began to rebuild the cleats on the edges, which were wearing down the fastest, with some goo-stuff.
Anna came home and stopped in the doorway of my room. "I figured you'd come home early," she said. "What are you doing?" "Fixing my lucky cleats." I held up the one I was working on.
"I thought you just got new ones," said Anna.
"For practice," I explained. "These are for games." "Why are they wrapped in that silver tape?" "It, uh, helps hold them together," I answered.
"I don't understand it," said Anna.
"Most of my friends on the soccer team have lucky cleats. Or will only wear a uniform shirt with a certain number on it. Our goalie has a
special pair of gloves that she inherited from her older sister who was also a goalie . . .
things like that/' I said. "My lucky cleats and I have scored a lot of goals together. Don't you and your music friends have lucky violins or tubas or something?" "I don't. I've gotta go practice." Anna turned abruptly and left.
I wondered if something was bothering her. Nah. I was probably imagining things.
A few minutes later I heard her tuning up. Since I don't like listening to scales, I put my headphones on while I finished working on my cleats. I danced over to the windowsill and put my shoes on it, cleats up, laces down to dry.
"I'm home!" a voice bellowed in my ear.
I jumped a mile.
"Mom!" She laughed. "How're you feeling?" "Great," I said.
"I stopped by Zabar's deli in Manhattan today," Mom said. "Tonight it's a deli picnic at the table." "Great," I said.
When we were sitting around the kitchen table I decided the time was right to bring up the carnival. I hadn't mentioned it the evening after the BSC meeting because I was already practically asleep by the time Mom got home. And I'd forgotten about it in the unwelcome excitement of the day before.
"Carnival?" said Mom absently.
"To raise money. For the Stoneybrook public schools' Arts Fund," I repeated. I turned to Anna. "Like for money for the music program at school. For new instruments. Things like that." "They shouldn't be cutting those funds," Mom protested.
"So maybe we could run a booth," I urged them. "At the carnival." "Maybe," said Mom. But her enthusiasm wasn't overwhelming.
Neither, to my surprise, was my sister's.
"What do you think?" I asked her. "I bet all your friends in the music class could get behind this. Maybe even perform at the carnival or something." "Maybe," said Anna. She stood and picked up her plate. "I better get to my homework." "We'll talk about it later, okay?" I said.
Mom murmured, "Mmm." Anna didn't answer.
"Great dinner, Mom," I said, clearing off my own plate. "Deli belly delicious." Mom laughed and shook her head.
I decided to zone out in front of the television for the rest of the evening. I'd just settled in with the remote when I heard Mom moan, "Owwwwww." "Mom?" I called.
"That's it! That is it" said Mom's voice from the hallway. She didn't sound angry. Just very, very firm.
"What's it?" said Anna's voice.
I jumped up and ran into the hall. Mom was standing at the top of the stairs, holding one foot in the air, massaging it through her slipper sock. Anna stood beside her.
"These cartons are not part of the interior design," Mom said. "I've unpacked my cartons, but you girls have not unpacked yours. I'd like it done as soon as possible, please." Anna and I looked at each other. Unpacking cartons. Yuck.
"Okay, Mom," we consented.
We both knew we would put it off as long as possible.
"Why don't I believe you?" said Mom. She walked toward her bedroom with an exaggerated limp.
Anna and I burst out laughing.
Chapter 5.
"We'll call you right back," Claudia assured the person on the other end of the phone line.
A meeting of the BSC had come to order. In between calls, gossip, and munching down junk food, we were talking about the carnival.
"My family is psyched," reported Jessi. "My aunt said her friend Mr. Major is a member of a group that dresses up like clowns and visits kids in hospitals. He knows all kinds of cool magic tricks and balloon tricks. Aunt Ce-celia thinks we should have a booth with a clown theme." "Everybody loves a clown," said Mal. She grinned. "The triplets want to run a dunking booth. You know, the kind where you pay money to throw balls at a target and if you hit it, the person sitting above the tub of water gets dunked in. I told them to go ahead. I'd be first in line to buy tickets and I had a lot of friends with very good throwing arms and excellent aim." "Kristy's Krushers to the rescue," said Kristy, referring to her softball team. "But listen to this, guys! Watson's volunteered to rent carnival rides and hire the people who operate them!" "Your stepfather is a cool guy," said Stacey. "That's great, Kristy." , "Now it's going to be a real carnival." Clau-dia held a Ding-Dong aloft. "Cotton candy. Candy apples. ..." "Well, I don't know about that." Kristy laughed. "But there will be a Ferris wheel, bumper cars, a whip, a tame haunted house, a fire engine ride. And Charlie and Sam and I are going to help out by selling tickets for the rides." "Don't forget fortune-telling. The Kormans are putting up a fortune-telling booth," said Logan. He doesn't usually come to meetings, but he and Mary Anne had been studying together and he'd joined her for the meeting. He added, "I wonder if there'll be a kissing booth?" He looked at Mary Anne.
Mary Anne blushed and looked quickly down at the record book.
Everybody was so enthusiastic. I was glad nobody seemed to have noticed that I hadn't chimed in.
Then Kristy slapped her forehead, knocking her visor perilously askew. "I've got it!" she cried. "I've got it." "Got what?" I said. I was kind of startled.
"You'll see," said Claudia with a grin. I found out later that Kristy's behavior was a not unusual prelude to her coming out with one of her Great Ideas.
"The carnival/' said Kristy. "Don't you see? The BSC could have a booth, too!" "Excellent!" cried Claudia.
"Decent," said Jessi.
"We can take turns running it," suggested Mal. "That way we can help our families with their booths as well." "And have time to shop. I mean, enjoy the carnival," Stacey put in.
The phone rang and Claudia picked up the receiver. She took down the information and said, "Another rush job - the Arnolds for Friday night." Flipping through her book, Mary Anne studied the schedule for Friday night. "Me. Or you, Abby. Why don't you take it?" Kristy said, "I think you should take it, Mary Anne." "Why?" Mary Anne looked surprised. So did everybody else.
Except me. I haven't been around this world twelve-plus years for nothing.
"The twins know you better," said Kristy. "And Abby probably isn't feeling well after what happened." "Hey, I feel fine," I said. "That's the beauty of having asthma. If it doesn't kill you, you recover immediately." Bad timing for that joke. Kristy frowned and said, "But I don't want the BSC to be responsible for putting too much stress and pressure on you right away. After all, you said it was the stress of the situation that caused your attack." "Among other things," I said, fuming inside.
Mary Anne said quickly, "I'll take the job. If it's all right with Abby." "I'm sure it is," said Kristy. Before I could say anything else, she'd picked up the phone to call the Arnolds back.
I was not a happy baby-sitter.
But I didn't want to wade in and start a war. At least, not yet. I'd give Kristy time to sort things out. If she didn't . . .
Then I'd let her have it.
The BSC meeting turned into a brainstorm-ing session for the carnival. In between taking calls and setting up appointments we came up with a million ideas for booths, some of them completely whacked out (decorative trees made of junk food - that was Claudia's), some of them more reasonable.
By the time I left, I was psyched. I knew I was going to love working on the carnival and especially on the booth with the other babysitters. But I was also worried. My family was the only one not committed to the carnival.
I decided to tackle them again that night. Mom returned home late from work. Anna and I ate dessert (ice cream for Anna, ice cream made from tofu for me, since I'm allergic to milk) while Mom finished off a frozen dinner.
"Not bad," she said, rinsing the container and sticking it in the recycling bin (we only buy frozen dinners in recyclable containers). "With a little salt, a little seasoning, practically gourmet fare." "So about the booth at the carnival - " "Booth?" said Mom, as if she'd never heard of the idea.
"Mooom," I groaned.
"Oh, right," said Mom, leaning over to snatch a spoonful of ice cream out of Anna's dish.
"So what do you want to do? I'm open to suggestions. The sky's the limit!" "No flying lessons, Ab
by," said Mom.
"Feeble," I said, making a face at her joke.
Anna asked, "Do we really have to do this?" "We do," I said firmly. "Unless you think the school music program is not all that important." "I see your point Anna/' Mom said. "Okay, the Stevenson family is in." "Great," I said, with enough enthusiasm to make up for the dire lack on the part of Mom and Anna. "You're gonna love this." Mom patted my shoulder and then swiped a bite of tofu ice cream. "1 have a feeling we'd better," she said with a smile.
Chapter 6.
Kristy arrived at the Kormans early to find them already moving at top speed. She said good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Korman, who were on their way to a tennis date, and sidled around the huge, fish-shaped fountain in the entrance hall. The Kormans live across the street from me, in the Delaneys' old house, and I can see why everyone used to think it was pretty, well, ostentatious. (Check that out in your Funk & Wagnalls.) So the fountain's still there, but it's never turned on now because Skylar (not quite two and the youngest Korman) is afraid of it. The rest of the house is a lot more comfortable and lived-in-looking, too.
I wish I'd seen it in the old days.
Kristy knew from Mr. Korman that Skylar, her older brother, Bill, who is nine, and her older sister, Melody, who is seven, were working in the huge family room in the back. When Kristy walked in, the room was full of empty soda bottles. Bill wasn't there, but he came into the room behind her.
"Here're some more," he said, and dumped an armload of soda bottles next to the wall by the sofa. "I reloaded the dishwasher with more bottles." Melody nodded. Skylar, who was in her huge playpen in one corner of the room, screamed happily when she saw Kristy. She was clutching a graham cracker in one fist.
"Hey, Skylark/' said Kristy, bending over and scooping Skylar into her arms. "What's happening, guys?" "We're getting ready for the carnival," Melody replied. "We're going to have a fortune-telling booth." "Great idea," said Kristy. "I wish I'd thought of it." Melody said, "Yes," as if this were a matter of course. She didn't realize that she was talking to the Idea Ruler of the World.
Baby-Sitters Club 090 Page 3
