"Oh, you don't have to do that, Kristy," said Mary Anne. "Go ahead and see if Mrs. Lowell minds if you and I switch. I want to know what's going on, too. Anyway, maybe I'll get another job for Thursday. We've been so busy lately." So Kristy phoned Mrs. Lowell. "Hello," she said. "This is Kristy Thomas. I'm the president of the Baby-sitters Club. We've talked on the phone before. Um, Mrs. Lowell, Mary Anne won't be able to baby-sit for you on Thursday. Something came up." (This was not, technically, a lie. Something had come up. Kristy wanted to meet Mrs. Lowell, that was what.) "But if it's all right with you, I can take her place. I'm thirteen, like Mary Anne, and I'm a very responsible sitter. Everyone says so." "We-ell," said Mrs. Lowell, "all right. I'll be in a bind if I don't have a sitter on Thursday, so I guess it will be okay." A brief silence followed, and Kristy sensed that Mrs. Lowell wanted to say something more. When she didn't, Kristy said, "So . . . good-bye, Mrs. Lowell. See you on Thursday." "Good-bye." Ding-dong.
Thursday had arrived and Kristy was at the Lowells' front door. Her heart pounded as she waited for Mrs. Lowell to open it.
Kristy wasn't taking any chances. Like Jessi, she arrived exactly five minutes early; no more, no less. And she was wearing a skirt. For Kristy, this was a supreme sacrifice. Ordinarily, she wears dresses or skirts only for special occasions, or if her mother makes her. But to go to the Lowells', Kristy put on a Mary Anne type of outfit - skirt, blouse, knee socks, loafers, even a ribbon in her hair.
Sure enough, when Mrs. Lowell answered the door, she did just what she'd done to Mary Anne and Jessi and me. She eyed Kristy - just for a moment. Then she smiled and invited her inside.
Kristy got the nice treatment, the Mary Anne treatment. This was good because after Mrs. Lowell had shown Kristy the emergency numbers and given her special instructions, Kristy felt comfortable enough to say, "Mrs. Lowell, since you're a new client of the Babysitters Club, may I ask you a very important question? About the quality of our service?" "Certainly." Mrs. Lowell smiled.
"Are you satisfied with us so far? Are we doing a good job?" "Oh, I'm quite pleased." "Pleased with Mary Anne Spier?" "Definitely." "Pleased with Claudia Kishi?" "She did a perfectly adequate job." "But you don't want her to sit for you again?" Mrs. Lowell's voice came out in a croak: "It's just that the children simply adore Mary Anne." "And Jessi - " "Mackie!" Mrs. Lowell called suddenly. "Caitlin! Is that you?" "Yup, it's me. Hi, Mommy!" "Hi, Mom!" added Caitlin.
The kids ran into the kitchen and Mrs. Low-ell focused her attention on them. Kristy didn't -have another chance to ask her about Jessi. But that didn't stop her from asking the kids questions.
Later, when Celeste had awakened from her nap, and she and Caitlin and Mackie were eating a snack with their new baby-sitter, Kristy said, "Do you guys like being in the band?" "Yup," said Caitlin and Mackie.
"I like playing my sticks," added Celeste. "I am good at that." "Did you know the band has a name now?" asked Kristy.
"It does?" replied Mackie. "What?" "All the Children." Caitlin nodded. "Very nice." "I wish you guys could come more often," said Kristy. (The Lowell kids missed more rehearsals than they attended.) "Mommy says she wants to see what we do there," Caitlin informed Kristy. "She hasn't met the kids yet." "What do you mean?" "You know. She likes to know who we're playing with." "Oh." Kristy nodded. That made sense. Her mom and Watson liked to get to know the friends of her younger brothers and sisters.
"You're a nice baby-sitter," Mackie said a moment later.
"Thanks," replied Kristy. "I'm glad your mom calls our club. What do you think of your other sitters?" "Mary Anne is fun!" said Caitlin. "She played games with us." "I bet you liked Claudia, too. She's the one who helped you join the band. Remember? She took you to the Hobarts'." "Oh, yeah," said Caitlin, and giggled. "She's the funny-looking one." (Well, thanks a lot.) For a moment, Kristy was confused. If I do say so myself, I am one of the more sophisticated kids at SMS. Everyone agrees. And one boy at school, Pete Black, has even said I'm awesome-looking. They say that about Stacey, too. It's pretty much accepted that both of us are way cool.
Which was why Kristy paused at the "funny-looking" comment. Then she thought about my clothes - and remembered why she herself was wearing a skirt that afternoon. That must be what Caitlin meant. My clothes and jewelry were too wild for the Lowells' taste.
"You know something weird?" Kristy went on. "Your mom hired another baby-sitter that I don't think you guys even saw." "Did she come really, really late at night?" Mackie wondered.
"Nope. She came in the afternoon." "What does she look like?" asked Caitlin. "Maybe we did see her." "Well, she's a dancer. She wears her hair pulled back. Her legs are really long. Um, she's African-American - " Caitlin and Mackie were both drinking juice at that moment, and they nearly choked. "Well," said Caitlin scornfully, coughing, "I guess Mommy didn't like her." At least, that's what Kristy thought she said. But Caitlin was coughing so hard she might have said, "I guess that's why Mommy didn't like her." Kristy couldn't stop thinking about the Low-ells. She thought about them while her brother Charlie drove her home late that afternoon. And she thought about them during dinner.
"Kristy?" said her mother as they were clearing the table. "Are you all right? You're awfully quiet." "Quiet for Kristy, or quiet for a normal person?" asked Sam.
Mrs. Brewer gave her son a Look.
Kristy barely heard him. "Mom, can we talk? Tonight?" "Of course, honey. Girl talk?" "No. Just serious talk. Can Nannie and Watson talk with us?" "Whoa!" exclaimed Sam, and he whistled softly. "This must be major. What did you do?" "Nothing." "I'll find Nannie and Watson," said Kristy's mother.
"Are you flunking something?" asked Sam.
"Let's go in the living room, honey." "Did you break something?" persisted Sam. "Steal something? Tell a lie?" Kristy followed her mother into the living room. When Watson and her grandmother had joined them, she said, "What I'm going to say sounds awful, and I don't have any proof, but I have to talk to an adult. It's about the Lowells." "Go ahead," said Mrs. Brewer.
"I think they're, um, racists." "That's a pretty strong word," said Watson.
Kristy nodded. "I know. But Mrs. Lowell wouldn't let Jessi in their house, and the kids call Claudia 'the funny-looking one'. At first I thought they meant her clothes, but I have this horrible feeling they meant her - her face. Her eyes. They mean she's Asian." Kristy explained about our jobs with the Lowells.
When she finished speaking, she saw her mother and stepfather and grandmother looking worriedly at one another. Finally Nannie sighed and said, "With each generation I think it's going to be over. But it isn't even getting better. Maybe I'm just an old fool." "The Lowells are the foolish ones, Nannie," said Kristy.
"Those poor children," murmured Mrs. Brewer. "They aren't even given the chance to make up their minds for themselves." Watson nodded. "The sins of the fathers, et cetera." "You know what?" said Kristy, her lower lip trembling. "I was hoping I was wrong. I was hoping you guys would tell me I was imagining things. Or being too dramatic or something." "Oh, honey," said Mrs. Brewer. "I'd like to do that. Parents want to protect their children from everything that's bad. But they can't." Kristy rested her head on her mother's shoulder. "Maybe I am wrong, though." Chapter 10.
"I guess," began Kristy, "that you guys are wondering what's going on." I nodded.
"Yes," replied Jessi and Mal and Dawn.
"We need to talk about Mrs. Lowell," said Kristy.
I felt as if a block of ice had been dropped in my stomach. Something was very wrong. Kristy had been quiet at school that day, even during lunch. Now she was sitting in my director^ s chair, conducting a club meeting, but she'd forgotten to put on her presidential visor. And instead of sticking her pencil over her ear, she was toying nervously with it in her lap, twisting it in and out of her fingers.
Mrs. Lowell. Kristy had taken Mary Anne's sitting job at the Lowells' the day before. What had happened. What had Mrs. Lowell said? I was convinced I was in trouble.
Kristy bit
her lip.
"What is it, Kristy?" asked Stacey. "What's wrong?" Kristy looked so uncomfortable that I decided to save her from further torture. "1 guess it's my fault. I blew my job at the Lowells and they've decided not to use the club anymore, right?" I said. "It's okay, Kristy. Just come out and say it." Kristy couldn't look up. "That isn't exactly what's going on. But I guess I am trying to spare your feelings, Claud. Look, you guys. I think I made a horrible discovery. I talked about it with Mom and Watson and Nannie last night, and they think I might be right. The worst thing is, if I am right, we can't do anything." "Kristy, please just tell me what - " Dawn began.
"The Lowells are prejudiced," said Kristy in a rush. "Claud, they didn't like you because you're Japanese. Jessi, Mrs. Lowell wouldn't even let you in her house because you're African-American." My mouth dropped open. "But I'm a good baby-sitter!" I protested. I could feel my hands trembling and my cheeks burning. "That's - that's not fair! It really isn't fair." I looked at Jessi who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Mallory. She wasn't saying anything.
"Jessi, aren't you mad?" I demanded. "At least Mrs. Lowell let me in the house. She closed her door to you." "It's happened before," said Jessi quietly.
"Well, not to me!" I cried. For some reason I felt ashamed and I had the uncomfortable feeling that Kristy, Mary Anne, Mallory, Stacey, and Dawn felt ashamed for Jessi and me. "So - so what does being Asian have to do with being a good sitter?" I sputtered.
"Nothing," replied Jessi. "Prejudice doesn't make sense." '"It isn't rational or logical," added Mary Anne.
I was growing angry. The ice in my stomach had turned into a flame and now it was rising up, filling me, surrounding me. The problem was that I didn't know who to be angry at, since Mrs. Lowell wasn't in the room. Finally I got angry at my friends. "Will you guys at least look at me?" I shouted. "I am not dirt, you know. Nothing is wrong with me." "Mrs. Lowell thinks we'll contaminate her children - and her house," said Jessi bitterly.
"Yeah, Mrs. Lowell thinks that," said Stacey pointedly.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"If it's any consolation," said Dawn, "I bet the Lowells don't like Jews or Indians or Buddhists or Puerto Ricans or anyone who isn't white and just like their perfect family." "Well, I'm not sure it's comforting to know I'm not the only one the Lowells hate - "I started to say.
"Claud, they don't hate you," spoke up Jessi. "They just don't understand you. That's the way my dad explained it to me once." "What do they have to understand?" I cried, still outraged. "I have two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth, just like the Lowells. I live in a house like the Lowells' house. I have a family like the Lowells. My parents go to work and my sister and I go to school and when we get hungry we eat and when we get tired we sleep and we laugh and cry and fall in love. Just like the Lowells." "Same here," said Jessi, "but my skin is black. And your eyes slant, Claud." "So what?" "That's why prejudice isn't rational." "It must be hard to grow old," said Kristy.
I looked at her in confusion. "What?" "Something Nannie said last night. She said she expected racism to decrease with each generation - or something like that - and that she's disappointed because things aren't getting better." "Well, it does seem like things used to be worse," said Mallory hesitantly. "For hundreds of years African-Americans were kept as slaves. And during the Second World War the Nazis killed Jews and Catholics. But things are better now . . . aren't they?" "Ever heard of the skinheads?" asked Stacey. "They beat up on people who are black or middle eastern or - or lots of things. And they live right here in the United States. Today. Same with the KKK." "The what?" I frowned.
"The Ku Klux Klan," Jessi supplied. "They still exist. And not just in the south. In the north. In cities. In lots of places." Mary Anne's eyes had filled with tears. "This is scary," she whispered. "I wonder if those skinheads could get me for anything. I think maybe some of my ancestors were Russian. I wonder if that's a problem." "Ooh, now I understand what Nannie meant," said Mallory. "1 guess as long as there's prejudice and misunderstanding, there's trouble. And innocent people worry and get hurt." "Or killed," added Dawn.
Shame, anger, now fear. My feelings were jumbled up.
The phone rang then, and I jumped. I'd completely forgotten we were in a BSC meeting.
Jessi picked up the receiver. "Hello, Baby-87 sitters Club." She listened for a moment and her face became a mask. "Just a minute," she ^said coldly. "You can talk to Kristy." Jessi handed the phone across the room. "It's Mrs. Lowell," she said in a tone of voice I'd never heard her use. "I thought you might want to talk to her." Kristy nodded. "Hello?" she said. And then, "I'll call you back." "Why are you going to call her back?" I exploded as Kristy hung up the phone. "I was waiting for you to blow her off." "So was I," replied Kristy, "but she took me by surprise. I couldn't think of what to say. Listen to this. Mrs. Lowell actually had the nerve just now to ask for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby-sitter she's heard about. Can you believe it? Who does she think we are? Who does she think I am? She knows I'm not blonde-haired and blue-eyed. Does she mean I'm not good enough to sit for her again?" "See, Claudia?" spoke up Mary Anne. "I guess I wasn't such a hot baby-sitter after all. Mrs. Lowell isn't asking for me again either. Now you don't have to feel so bad." Kristy was wearing a small smile. "You guys?" she said. "What are we going to do? When you think about it, this is sort of funny." "Hysterical," I said.
Stacey, looking huffy, added, "I'm blonde-haired and blue-eyed and you wouldn't catch me dead sitting for the Lowells." "Ditto," said Dawn.
By then, Kristy was grinning. "Perfect. Okay, watch this," she said. I couldn't help smiling a little myself. Kristy was up to something, and I knew it would be good.
Kristy phoned Mrs. Lowell back. "I'm sorry," she told her. "We're all out of blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby-sitters. And everyone else is busy. Oh, except for one of our associate members. His name is Logan." Kristy paused, apparently because she'd been cut off by Mrs. Lowell. Then I heard her repeat, "Boys don't baby-sit? Well, Logan does, but anyway, let me see. You know what, Mrs. Lowell? I might be able to sit after all. That is, if I'm not sitting for Emily Michelle. Did I tell you I have an adopted "sister? She's Vietnamese. . . . What? You don't? . . . Yeah, well, I had a feeling. Later, Mrs. Lowell." Kristy hung up the phone. "We just lost a sitting job," she said.
"Good," I replied. ' "She heard about Logan and Emily and suddenly - like magic - she didn't need a sitter anymore." "What's wrong with Logan?" asked Mary Anne.
"He's a boy," said Kristy. "In Mrs. Lowell's world boys don't baby-sit. And I committed the crime of being a member of a family who adopted a Vietnamese child." Kristy's grin hadn't faded yet. "Hey, Dawn, Stacey, you blonde-haired, blue-eyed people - I bet you guys wouldn't have been good enough for Mrs. Lowell, either." We were all starting to smile by then. "Why not?" asked Stacey.
"Because your parents are . . ." - Kristy dropped her voice to a whisper - ". . . divorced." "Ooh!" I cried. "I'm telling! I'm telling Mrs. Lowell." "You know what?" said Mary Anne. "When you think about it, none of us would be good enough for the Lowells. Claud, you're Japanese. Jessi, you're African-American. Stacey, Dawn, and Kristy, your parents are divorced. I have a stepsister. Oh, and by the way, I made the mistake of mentioning that to the Lowell kids. And Mallory - " "Yeah?" "Your family is just too darn big. Caitlin thinks you're Catholic. You know what else?" Mary Anne went on. "I feel sort of sorry for Mrs. Lowell." "How sorry?" I asked.
Mary Anne held her thumb an eighth of an inch from her finger. "This sorry," she said, gigging.
Later that evening I was sitting in the kitchen with my father. He was making salad dressing. I was chopping vegetables. "Dad?" I said. "Did anybody ever hate you because you're Japanese?" Dad's back had been facing me. Now he turned away from the counter. "Why do you ask that, honey?" "I was just wondering." "Did something happen?" "There's this woman named Mrs. Lowell. She's a baby-sitting client. She doesn't want me to sit for her kids because I'm Asian. That's never happened to me before. I mean, I d
on't understand. What's wrong with being Japanese?" "Nothing," Dad answered. "And I'm sorry anyone made you feel you had to ask that question." "Did you know," said Janine, who apparently had been listening to our conversation from somewhere nearby, "that during World War Two thousands of Japanese were interned in concentration camps in the United States?" "In the United States?" I repeated, aghast. "There were concentration camps here in America?" My voice had grown shrill. "I thought the only concentration camps were the ones in Europe with those funny names. Treblinka and Dachau and - well, I don't remember any others, but we learned about them in school this year. Our teacher didn't tell us about death camps here, though, for Japanese people." "They weren't death camps," said Janine. "But they were places where American Japanese were made to stay during the war." "Because Japan and the U.S. were fighting on opposite sides?" I asked.
Janine nodded. "So Japanese-Americans weren't trusted, and they were pulled out of their homes, away from their jobs and lives, and made to stay locked up in camps." "But they hadn't done anything wrong," I protested. And then I remembered what Mary Anne had said: Prejudice isn't rational. "How come people like Mrs. Lowell can't look underneath other people's skin? How come what's on the outside matters so much?" I asked.
"I don't know," Dad replied. "But I guess what's really important is that you can look underneath." My father smiled sadly at me.
Chapter 11.
One Saturday, not long after Jackie had suggested putting on a show, we held a band rehearsal and nearly everyone came. All of us BSC members were there, and the kids just kept trickling into the Newtons' yard, clutching their instruments.
The Papadakis kids arrived with Karen, Andrew, and David Michael. Most of the kids from the neighborhood had shown up, as well as the younger brothers and sisters of the BSC members. I was standing in a noisy, happy crowd.
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