Dawn and the Impossible Three

by Ann M. Martin

  “Janine,” I interrupted her, “did you notice Mary Anne’s clothes? She has new jeans and a new sweatshirt. She bought them with her own money — money she earned baby-sitting.”

  “The club must be doing awfully well,” Janine commented.

  “Oh, it is. Extremely well.” I decided to toss out a few big words. “Thanks to the foresight of our president, it’s both profitable and proficient … profusely proficient,” I added. “Well, we must continue on.”

  We ran past Janine and up the stairs, but I could hear Janine yell after us, “ ‘Continue on’ is redundant!”

  I didn’t know what redundant meant, and I didn’t care.

  We entered Claudia’s room. Claudia was sitting cross-legged on her bed while her grandmother, Mimi, brushed her hair. Claudia’s hair is absolutely beautiful. It’s long and jet-black and always shiny. She uses special stuff in it.

  Claudia and Stacey have suddenly taken great interest in their hair. One night a week they muck it up with an egg rinse. On Wednesdays and Sundays they squeeze lemon juice on it — from real lemons. They keep telling me I should use eggs and lemons in my hair, too. I have long, l-o-n-g hair (almost down to my bottom). It’s thin and fine, and so blonde it’s white. Mom says it’s like corn silk. Claudia says the egg would give it body. Stacey says the lemon would make it shiny. I say it’s my hair and what I do with it is my business. (I plan to try an avocado paste on it. If Claudia and Stacey and I put our heads together, we’d have a salad.)

  “Hello, girls,” Mimi greeted us in her gentle accent. “Is it time for your meeting?”

  “Yes,” Mary Anne replied, leaning over to kiss Mimi on the cheek. She and Mimi are special friends.

  “Well, then, I will leave you to your work.” Mimi rose and left the room, just as Stacey thundered up the stairs. She was followed a few moments later by Kristy.

  “Hi, everybody!” called Kristy. “We’re all here! Great. It’s dues day. Did you guys bring your money? Did you bring the treasury, Stacey?”

  Kristy never wastes a second. She’s a takecharge, rushing-around kind of person. Sometimes she’s bossy, but not too often. Mary Anne says she used to be a lot worse, but now she tries to watch herself.

  “Here’s the treasury,” said Stacey. She dumped the contents of the treasury (a manila envelope) onto the bed. Several dollar bills and a whole mess of quarters fell out. “Seven-fifty,” she said, after counting the money quickly.

  We each kicked in our weekly dues.

  “Not bad,” said Kristy. “Maybe we should buy some stuff for the Kid-Kits.”

  Kid-Kits are boxes that we baby-sitters sometimes bring along on jobs. Mostly they’re filled with our old games and toys and picture books (which are new to the kids we sit for), but we also keep them stocked with coloring books, sticker books, puzzle books, and other stuff that we have to replace from time to time. We pay for those things out of club dues. The stuff we buy is worth it. Kids love our Kid-Kits, so they ask their parents to use the Baby-sitters Club and we end up getting more jobs. My dad always used to say, “You have to spend money to make money.” He’s a good businessman. And I guess Kristy is a good businesswoman.

  Ring, ring.

  Our first phone call. Claudia answered it.

  “Hello. Baby-sitters Club … Oh, hi…. Saturday, from three to five? I’ll check around and call you right back. Bye.” She hung up the phone.

  Mary Anne had already opened the record book to the calendar section. “This Saturday?” she asked.

  “Nope, the next one,” replied Claudia. “That was Mrs. Prezzioso. She needs someone for Jenny for two hours that afternoon. Who’s free then?”

  The Baby-sitters Club rule for calls that come in during meetings is that every member has a chance at each job. If someone calls one of us at home some other time, that’s a different story. We can take those jobs on the spot, of course. But club calls are for the group.

  Mary Anne checked the calendar. “We’re all free then,” she said.

  “Well, don’t worry about me,” said Claudia quickly. “I — I think I might have to go shopping that day.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” said Stacey. “With Claudia.” You could tell that the idea had just occurred to them.

  “And I think that … that I promised David Michael I’d take him to the new Disney movie then,” Kristy said in a rush. David Michael is Kristy’s little brother. (She also has two big brothers in high school.) As far as I know, she has never taken David Michael to a movie.

  Mary Anne looked at me.

  “You take the job,” I said grandly.

  The truth is, nobody really likes Jenny Prezzioso except Mary Anne. The rest of us think Jenny is a spoiled brat. And that her parents are weird. But Mary Anne handles the Prezziosos well, and for some reason she kind of likes Jenny.

  Claudia called Mrs. P. back to tell her who would be sitting, and Mary Anne noted the job in the record book. Two more calls came in. The first was from Mrs. Newton, needing a sitter for four-year-old Jamie (one of our all-time favorite little kids), and the other was from Watson Brewer.

  Mr. Brewer was calling so far in advance that once again all five of us were free, but we very generously gave the job to Kristy. That’s because Mr. Brewer (Kristy and the other girls call him Watson) is going to become Kristy’s stepfather this fall!

  Kristy’s parents got divorced a few years ago, and sometime last year Mrs. Thomas started seeing this really rich man, Watson Brewer, who lives in a mansion (no kidding, a real mansion) across town. Mr. Brewer is also divorced. He has two little kids, Karen and Andrew. Mostly they live with their mother, but every other weekend and on certain vacations, they stay with Mr. Brewer. Kristy really loves those kids, and since she’s about to become their stepsister, we always let her take Mr. Brewer’s jobs if she’s free.

  Ring, ring.

  This time I answered the phone. “Good afternoon. Baby-sitters Club.”

  “Hello?” said an uncertain voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hello?” I said again.

  “Hello, I — Mrs. Pike gave me your number. I need a baby-sitter. Actually, I’m going to be needing a lot of sitters. And your organization was very highly recommended. I live over on Slate Street, just down from the Pikes.”

  “Well,” I said briskly. “Thank you very much. May I ask you some questions?” Kristy and the other club members had trained me on handling new clients.

  “Never take them on without finding out certain important information first,” Kristy had told me.

  “How many children do you have?” I asked.

  “Three,” she replied. “Buddy, my oldest, is seven. He’s Hamilton, Junior, actually. Suzi is four, and Marnie is the baby. She’s a year and a half.”

  “Buddy and Suzi?” I said. “Is this Mrs. Barrett?”

  “Why, yes, it is.”

  “I met Buddy and Suzi over at the Pikes’ today.” I told her about Suzi’s knee. Then I asked a few more questions, and after that Mrs. Barrett said nervously, “I guess you should know that my husband and I have just gotten a divorce. This is a hard time for my children. I’ve got to find a job and they’re used to having their father around, and I’m not a terribly organized person.”

  Wow. I could sympathize with that.

  When it turned out that I was the only one available on the afternoon Mrs. Barrett needed a sitter, I was secretly glad. I barely knew her kids, and already I felt close to them.

  “Hi, I’m home!”

  “Honey, I’m leaving!”

  I got back to my house that evening just as Mom was on her way out to meet Mr. Spier for dinner.

  She kissed my forehead and ducked under the low doorway. “I should be back in a couple of hours,” she told me from the front stoop.

  “Okay,” I said. “Have fun.” I started to close the door. We were letting cold air in.

  “Dinner’s ready for you and Jeff.”

  “Okay.” I started to close the door again. I was
freezing.

  “It’s in the double boiler on the stove.”

  “Okay —”

  “And there’s salad in the fridge.”

  “Okay.” Just when it looked like I really might be able to close the door, I suddenly had to open it wide. “Mom, come back here,” I said.

  She ducked back inside. “What?”

  “Look,” I said, pointing. “Only one earring, a rubber band around your wrist, and a price tag on your skirt. Mom, for heaven’s sake.”

  Mom laughed sheepishly. “What would I do without you, Dawn?” She pulled off the rubber band, removed the price tag, and started out the door.

  “Earring!” I yelled.

  “Oh, darn!” exclaimed Mom. “I don’t know where the other one is. Does this one look too funny by itself?”

  “Well, it looks sort of punk.”

  “Punk!” Mom spit the word out as if it tasted bad. She yanked off the earring and handed it to me. “I’ll do without earrings,” she said. “You and Jeff behave yourselves. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Say hi to Mr. Spier for me,” I called.

  “I will!” Mom dashed off, waving over her shoulder, and climbed into her car.

  I closed the front door and stood around in the hall with my jacket on, trying to warm up. Then I walked through the living room and collected the things that didn’t belong there: a can of hair spray, a bicycle pump, a jar of instant coffee, and a ladle. Sometimes I thought our entire house (except for my room) was like one big game of What’s Wrong with This Picture?

  I put the hair spray, the pump, the coffee, the ladle, and Mom’s earring away. In our dark little kitchen, I lifted the lid on the double boiler and peeked inside. I sniffed. I poked at the stuff with a fork.

  “Hey, Jeff —” I started to shout.

  “It’s Leftover Stew,” he called from the den, before I had even asked the question.

  Oh, gross. Ew, ew, ew. Leftover Stew.

  I checked our freezer. “Hey, Jeff!” I shouted again.

  “There’s all-natural frozen meatless pizza,” he replied. “Couldn’t we have that?”

  “Definitely.” I popped the frozen pizza in the oven. Then I wandered into the den.

  My brother was sprawled on the sofa, watching a cartoon show. “What’re you going to do with the stew?” he asked.

  “Put it back in the fridge. Maybe Mom will eat it.”

  “I wish we had a dog,” Jeff said. “Dogs love leftovers.” Jeff’s eyes never left the TV screen.

  I returned to the kitchen and checked the pizza. Then I sat down at the table and tried to begin my homework, but I couldn’t concentrate. I got up and walked slowly through our house.

  I didn’t care that it was dark or that the rooms were small or that everything was low down. I thought it was cozy. I was glad, however, that the kitchen and the bathrooms had been remodeled. Actually, I was glad to have bathrooms at all. The old outhouse was still in our backyard, at the edge of the property. I had looked in it once. Yick. Dark, dusty, and full of cobwebs. A Colonial kitchen might have been fun — but not very practical. I wondered how long it would take to bake a pizza in a fireplace.

  Ding! The oven timer went off.

  “Hey, Jeff, it’s pizza!” I yelled.

  Jeff dragged himself away from the TV while I went back to the kitchen. I returned the Leftover Stew to the refrigerator. Jeff got out plates, napkins, forks, and the salad.

  We sat down across from each other. I was starving.

  No sooner had I lifted a piece of steaming, spicy, melty pizza to my mouth than the phone rang.

  I looked at Jeff. He was faster than I. He’d already gotten the pizza in his mouth. He looked at me.

  “Would you puh-lease get the phone?” I pleaded. The pizza smelled so good it was making me dizzy.

  “Mphhhyrst?” Jeff asked. He’d taken the biggest bite in the history of the world.

  “Never mind.” With a gigantic sigh I put the pizza back on my plate. I answered the phone on the fourth ring.

  “Hi, it’s me,” said Mary Anne’s voice. “What are you doing?”

  “Eating dinner,” I replied. My mouth was watering.

  “Oh. I just ate. I had a sandwich. What are you eating?”

  “Pizza. Hey, I should have asked you over so you wouldn’t have to eat alone.”

  “That’s okay. Maybe next time. Listen, I had a great idea. Do you want to help me redo my room?”

  “Sure! That would be fun. Hey! You know what?”

  “What?” asked Mary Anne.

  “We’ve got some stuff I bet you could use. Our house in California was bigger than this one, and we’ve got cartons of things up in the attic that we don’t have room for. I know there are a few posters somewhere. And there’s this neat reading lamp that used to be in my room. And probably some pillows, too.”

  “Doesn’t your mom want those things?” asked Mary Anne, sounding worried. Honestly, she’s the biggest worrier.

  “Nah. We were going to have a garage sale, but Mom realized there wasn’t really enough stuff for a sale, and then she couldn’t decide what to do with it, so she piled it into the downstairs bathroom and left it there. I moved it into the attic last week and she never noticed. I’m sure she’s forgotten about it.”

  My pizza was getting cold, but I didn’t care. I was too excited about becoming an interior decorator.

  “We-ell,” said Mary Anne.

  “Why don’t I come over on Saturday?” I suggested. “I’ll bring some stuff with me. If you like it, you can use it. If not, we’ll think of other things to do to your room.”

  “Okay!” Mary Anne was beginning to sound more enthusiastic. And I understood how she felt. I love starting new projects.

  Later, as I ate my pizza, I made a mental list of things to bring to the Spiers’ on Saturday: posters, picture frames, reading lamp, throw pillows. Was there a bedspread somewhere? I’d have to check.

  By Saturday morning, I’d gathered so much stuff together that Mom had to drive me over to the Spiers’. This was pretty cagey on my part, since it served three purposes: 1) I got a ride; 2) When Mary Anne saw my mother, she’d know it was okay to use our things; 3) It would give my mom and Mary Anne’s dad a chance to see each other.

  Unfortunately, Mary Anne’s father wasn’t home when we got to her house. At least I had gotten a ride, though. And as Mom helped me carry the boxes inside, she said to Mary Anne, “I hope you can use these things. We don’t have room for them, and I’d rather see them go to someone we know than to strangers or to the dump.”

  Mary Anne looked relieved. “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Schafer. Really,” she said. “This is so nice of you. The cheaper we can redecorate my room, the happier Dad will be.”

  My mother smiled. “I remember that about your dad,” she said fondly. “Kind of tight with a penny.”

  “Pretty tight with dollars, too,” said Mary Anne. “In fact, the more dollars, the tighter he gets.”

  We laughed. Then Mom left, and Mary Anne and I carried the boxes up to her room. We put them on her bed and settled ourselves next to them.

  Mary Anne pulled three rolled-up posters out of one box.

  “Let’s see what those are,” I said. “I don’t even remember.”

  Mary Anne slipped off the rubber bands. Carefully she unrolled one poster. “Oh!” she cried. “London at night!” (That’s what was written under the picture.) “How pretty. Look at all the lights. I had wanted to put up a poster of New York or Paris, but London is just as good. Was this yours? I mean, did it used to be in your room?”

  “Nope,” I said. “That was in the kitchen, believe it or not. Our kitchen in California was huge.”

  Mary Anne set aside the poster of London and reached for another poster. She unrolled it and stared at it. She turned it upside down and stared some more.

  “Let’s see,” I said.

  Mary Anne turned the poster around. “It’s some kind of chart —”

  “Hey! That
was my dad’s astronomy chart. I guess he didn’t want it. Those are all the constellations and stars and planets. Do you like it?”

  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “It’s interesting, but I don’t know if it’s really me.”

  “Well, you don’t have to decide about anything just yet.”

  We continued going through the boxes. After about fifteen minutes, we heard a voice shout, “Hey, you guys! What are you doing?”

  We looked out Mary Anne’s open bedroom window — and right into Kristy’s open bedroom window next door.

  “Hi, Kristy!” called Mary Anne. “We’re redecorating my room.” She glanced at me. “Okay if I ask her over?” she whispered.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  “Want to come over?” she yelled.

  “Okay.”

  “Let yourself in,” Mary Anne told her. “Dad’s not home.”

  Kristy disappeared from her window. A few minutes later, we heard the Spiers’ front door open and close, and then the sound of feet running up the stairs. “Hi,” said Kristy. “Gosh, what’s all this stuff?”

  “Dawn brought it over,” Mary Anne replied. “It’s from their old house in California. They don’t need it anymore. Dawn thought I could use it in here. Dad’s letting me take the baby stuff — Alice in Wonderland and Humpty Dumpty — off my walls and put up things I want — posters, a photo of the club members, if I could get one.”

  “He’s letting you put thumbtacks in the walls?” asked Kristy incredulously.

  “I guess so.”

  Kristy brushed her messy brown hair out of her eyes. “How come you didn’t tell me you were going to start redecorating?”

  “I don’t know,” Mary Anne answered hesitantly.

  Kristy turned to me, but she continued to talk to Mary Anne. “You know, I might have some things you could use, too. Remember last year when we made that poster for art class and it won the prize? You could put that up. I still have it.”

  “You do?” cried Mary Anne. “That would be great! We had fun making that.”

  “And you know that stencil kit Watson gave me?” she went on.

  “Yeah?” said Mary Anne excitedly.