by Annie Tipton
“You’re right, I can do this.” EJ lifted Abner’s baby-blue shirt and touched her key to the sensor on his back. His cries immediately dropped in strength and volume, and by the time she was rocking him a few moments later, his whimpering had all but stopped.
“Thank goodness.” CoraLee rolled her eyes and made sure EJ could hear the annoyance in her voice—from all the way across the room. “I think some people should realize they aren’t cut out to be babysitters.”
EJ felt heat rush to her cheeks.
“Don’t listen to CoraLee,” Macy whispered. “You’re doing fine.”
Gretchen started to cry, and Macy picked her up from the car seat. But before Macy could get Gretchen’s crying under control, Abner started to scream again.
“Here it comes, girls.” Miss Debbie was a little too excited about crying baby dolls. “The empathy cry!”
A few seconds later, the infant simulator of the student next to Macy started screaming. Then the next and the next, until every baby in the room was wailing at the top of his or her lungs—er—speakers?
… Except for CoraLee’s baby, Penelope, who lay perfectly contented in her babysitter’s arms, not making a peep. The look on CoraLee’s smug, judge-y face made it obvious to EJ that CoraLee really did think she was better than everyone else.
Even though EJ wanted nothing more than to snatch the smug look off CoraLee’s face, she knew that getting her certification was more important, so she focused her attention back on Abner.
“CoraLee, I need to check something on your infant simulator.” Miss Debbie didn’t seem to be fazed by the vortex of crying around them.
“Please, ma’am, she’s so content right now.” CoraLee rubbed the baby doll’s back gently. “I’d rather not disturb her.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure nothing could disturb Penelope right now, CoraLee.” Miss Debbie lifted Penelope’s shirt and checked the small LED display on the doll’s back. “Just as I thought. Penelope’s battery is dead.” Miss Debbie turned and walked straight to the supply closet to find a working doll for CoraLee.
“What? You can’t be serious!” With Miss Debbie otherwise occupied, CoraLee dropped Penelope onto the table in front of her and scowled at the doll. “So none of what I’ve been doing for the past thirty minutes even counts?”
“Baby needs head and neck support, CoraLee!” EJ matched her voice to be as singsongy as Miss Debbie’s. CoraLee’s eyes shot daggers at EJ, and EJ smiled brightly at CoraLee while she fed a quieting Abner a bottle.
“Here’s baby Jack for you, CoraLee.” Miss Debbie emerged from the supply closet and entered a code on the back of the roly-poly baby Jack with freckles and a cowlick that made the hair on the back of his head stand straight up. Once activated, Miss Debbie handed the baby and his computer key bracelet to CoraLee, and Jack immediately started crying like he’d been saving up all his good wailing and shrieking for months.
EJ put a contented Abner on her shoulder and patted his back until she heard a burp followed by a lovely little coo.
“There’s a good baby, Abner.” EJ adjusted the doll in her arms and smiled down at him. “See? I knew I could do it. I’ll make an excellent babysitter.”
By now, the rest of the students had been able to calm their babies down—that is, all but CoraLee’s Jack, whose cry had turned from sounding sad to frustrated to furious in a matter of moments. CoraLee’s face drained of all its color as she tried all the tricks she knew to get him to stop crying.
“Okay, girls, it’s time to learn the infant choking procedure on your babies.” Miss Debbie raised her voice above Jack’s cry.
Finally CoraLee found what Jack wanted, because his angry shrieks subsided to just pathetic whimpers. CoraLee wiped sweat from her forehead with a spare burp cloth.
Miss Debbie demonstrated the proper technique for first aid on a choking infant by placing a spare doll facedown on her arm. (“Head and neck support, girls!” she said.) Then she used the heel of her hand to hit the doll on the back until the airway was cleared.
“Now you try.” Miss Debbie walked around the room with her clipboard, making notes as she observed students.
EJ made sure that she was doing every step exactly the way Miss Debbie showed them. “Excellent work, EJ.” Miss Debbie smiled at her and made a note on the clipboard. “Ten out of ten on this one.”
EJ propped Abner’s head on her shoulder and held him with one arm as she flipped through her babysitting handbook, reviewing the things Miss Debbie said would be on the written test, while the rest of the class continued to practice with the dolls.
“Okay, CoraLee, your turn.” EJ looked up to see Miss Debbie grading CoraLee’s infant choking procedure. CoraLee confidently placed the baby facedown on her arm. (Even EJ had to admit she did a great job supporting Jack’s head.) Then she quickly and efficiently began giving back blows. “Very good!” Miss Debbie smiled. But on the fifth thump, Jack’s head flew away from his body like a rocket ship blasting off. The softball-sized, brown-haired, brown-eyed object arced through the air—seemingly in slow motion—spinning so fast that it almost made EJ dizzy.
With the reflexes of a much younger woman, Miss Debbie dodged the projectile head.
CoraLee gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, horrified.
EJ watched, speechless, as the head hit the floor and rolled toward her, under tables, and past other students, coming to rest inches from her toes. Some of the older girls burst into laughter and pointed at CoraLee.
EJ picks up the doll head and shakes her head in mock sadness.
“Poor little Jack,” she says with a pout in her voice. “What did you ever do to Miss CoraMean to deserve this?”
EJ tosses the head to CoraLee and smirks. “Some people should realize they aren’t cut out to be babysitters.”
EJ tried to suppress a grin that tickled the corners of her mouth. Even though it was just in a daydream, giving CoraLee a taste of her own medicine felt pretty good. Cradling Jack’s head in her free hand, she walked across the room and held it out toward an embarrassed CoraLee, red-faced and on the verge of tears.
“Don’t worry,” EJ quietly assured CoraLee. “I’m not an expert babysitter yet, but I’m pretty sure the heads don’t actually come off.”
CoraLee took the head from EJ, her eyes still threatening to spill tears.
“And I know you’re a good babysitter,” EJ said quietly. “So don’t let a crazy robo baby make you think you’re not.”
“Yeah, okay.” CoraLee’s face softened a bit, and her eyes dried. “Thanks, EJ. You will probably make an okay babysitter, too.”
That might be the nicest thing she’s ever said to me, EJ thought. I’ll take it.
Chapter 7
THE BOY WHO SNORED WOLF
March 20
Dear Diary,
My overnight bag is packed with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a brand-new pair of pajamas. I’ve got a Ziploc bag filled with a dozen fresh-baked Cowboy Cookies, and I’m ready for a sleepover at Macy’s house!
Sleepovers are one of my very favorite things. Especially when they are at someone else’s house, so I can relax knowing that the Space Invader won’t show up in his Darth Vader helmet and scare everyone to death (like he did during my ninth birthday sleepover) or that Faith’s 2:00 a.m. dinosaur-like screeches for food or a diaper change or some other unknown reason won’t wake us up. No, at this point in my life, it’s better to have sleepovers as far away from the Payne house as possible.
It’s just going to be Macy, her mom, and me tonight. Macy’s dad is in Milwaukee this weekend for his job, and Bryan, Macy’s sixteen-year-old brother, is spending the night at a friend’s house. Sometimes Macy complains about Bryan (he’s really into science and math. Even when he’s around, he usually keeps to himself. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard him say more than three words in a row), but there’s no way an older brother could be worse than a younger brother-slash-pest. Sometimes I wish I could pay Isaac to stop tal
king—just so I could hear myself think. Dad says Isaac sometimes suffers from diarrhea of the mouth. Which I said sounds plain disgusting, but Dad said it just means that sometimes Isaac just gets so excited about something that he can’t stop talking. (A problem that could be fixed with duct tape, if Mom and Dad would just let me try.)
On the agenda for tonight’s sleepover:
1. Pizza. I’m planning on stuffing myself silly. I wonder how many pieces of pizza I can eat.
2. Pop. Only the clear kind, with no caffeine. We’re supposed to get at least some sleep. We’ll see.
3. Cookies. (See #1 re: stuffing myself.)
4. Manicures/pedicures. Normally I’m not allowed to paint my nails, but Mom said it’s perfectly allowable for sleepover fun.
5. Movie. Macy recently finished reading Anne of Green Gables for the first time, so I’m going to introduce her to the splendidly fantastic and utterly lovely movie that’s based on the book. Mom said she was only eight years old when she first saw it, so obviously the movie is super old. But it doesn’t really matter because the story takes place a long time ago anyway. I love the movie almost as much as I love the book (which is a lot).
EJ
EJ never could’ve imagined there were so many shades of red in the universe.
“How do I pick one when I love them all?” EJ held up two bottles of nail polish and compared them side by side. “Fire engine red or brick red? Or what about that rose-red or the one with the gold flecks in it?”
Macy squinted at the bottles, considering EJ’s options. “Well, you have ten fingers and ten toes. What about a different shade of red on each?”
“Macy, you’re a genius!” EJ unscrewed the top of a bottle of a particularly bright shade to get a better look at it. “This one reminds me of the color of Red Riding Hood’s cape. And that one with the sparkles reminds me of Dorothy’s ruby slippers in The Wizard of Oz.”
Macy’s mom worked part-time as a nail tech at a salon in Spooner, so she had shoe boxes full of colors the girls could choose from. The three of them sat at the Russells’ kitchen table, Mrs. Russell almost done with Macy’s base color on her fingernails—a pale sky blue.
“Mom, would you paint white stripes on my pinkies?” Macy placed her fingers under the drying fan. “And a cute little bird on my thumbnails?”
Mrs. Russell nodded and smiled. “Sounds like my daughter is ready to celebrate spring on her fingers.”
“You guessed it!” Macy peeked at her nails under the fan. “It’s been a loooong winter.”
“In that case”—Mrs. Russell rummaged through a shoe box and produced a trio of pastels—pink, yellow, and green—“you’ll need a flower accent, too.”
“Your mom is so cool,” EJ whispered to Macy.
Macy grinned.
The girls had already enjoyed pizza and pop (EJ was disappointed to find out she could only eat two and a half pieces before she was too stuffed to eat more). After manis and pedis the three would retreat to the basement rec room to enjoy cookies and a DVD of Anne of Green Gables on a big-screen TV with surround sound.
“I’m really looking forward to watching this movie with you girls.” Mrs. Russell turned off the drying fan and checked to make sure Macy’s nails were set. “Macy keeps talking about how much she loves the book.”
“Mom, it’s seriously the best,” Macy said. “You have to read it.”
“ ‘Seriously the best’?” Mrs. Russell smiled. “That settles it. I’m definitely reading it.”
“Mrs. Russell, I found my twenty reds.” Macy motioned to the long row of bottles on the table in front of her. “What do we do first?”
“You could help me shake the bottles to make sure the paint hasn’t separated.” Mrs. Russell picked up a bottle by the cap and tapped it against the palm of her other hand. “Some of these might be a little old, so we’ll need to check them.”
“Sure, no problem.” EJ snatched up the glossy red, but in the split second she lifted it from the table, she remembered she’d just set the lid on that one instead of screwing it on tightly. The round glass bottle fell away from the brush and spilled a glob of polish on the table.
“Oops!” Mrs. Russell swooped around the table, set right the bottle, and grabbed the cap from EJ in one fluid motion. “Just sit still and let me get a rag to get the worst of it, EJ.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Russell.” EJ felt an embarrassed lump form in her throat. “I’m just like Anne Shirley sometimes. Well-meaning but accident-prone.”
“It’s okay, hon. Anne sounds like she has a lot in common with all of us.” Mrs. Russell’s wet cloth wiped the excess paint from the tabletop, but an ugly red stain remained.
“Oh, man,” EJ moaned. “I ruined your table!” EJ tried to calculate how many hours she’d have to babysit to make enough money to pay for a new table. Except she didn’t know how much a table cost. Or the going rate for a babysitter, for that matter. So she estimated she might be able to pay off her debt by the time she turned twenty-eight.
“No, no, it’s not ruined.” Mrs. Russell produced a large bottle of fingernail polish remover and carefully used the stinky stuff to scrub the spot. In a matter of seconds, the tabletop looked good as new. “See?”
EJ breathed a sigh of relief.
“I think I’ll let you take care of shaking the bottles,” EJ said. “And I’ll set up the pedicure station, okay, Mrs. Russell?”
“Good plan,” Mrs. Russell said.
It was just after 11:30 p.m. as the closing credits for Anne of Green Gables scrolled on the TV, and even though Mrs. Russell said it was time for bed, Macy negotiated a midnight lights-out agreement with her mom. They just had to go to her room and not be too loud between now and then because Mrs. Russell said she was “too old to stay up past midnight” or she’d be “paying for it the next day.”
EJ wondered what there was to regret about staying up past midnight. As far as she was concerned, staying up late just meant she was having a good time. Now, being rudely woken up in the middle of the night by a screaming baby sister, that was something entirely different.
“Sweet dreams, girls.” Mrs. Russell gave them each a kiss on the top of the head before she turned to leave Macy’s bedroom.
“Night, Mom,” Macy said.
“G’night, Mrs. Russell.” EJ twinkled her fingers and wiggled her toes. “Thanks for doing my nails. They look mah-velous.”
“You’re welcome, EJ. Good night.” Mrs. Russell closed the bedroom door softly.
EJ squirmed excitedly in her sleeping bag on the air mattress next to Macy’s daybed. “I’m not tired at all,” she said. “Are we sure that pop didn’t have any caffeine in it?”
“I don’t think orange soda has caffeine in it,” Macy said. “But I’m not tired either. I don’t think I could lie still and close my eyes even if I tried.”
“What should we do?” EJ looked around the room for something fun—but quiet—they could do so they wouldn’t wake up Mrs. Russell. She felt like she might already be on thin ice for spilling the nail polish, so she didn’t want to do anything else that might result in never being invited back.
Macy snapped her fingers. “Bryan’s star projector.”
“What’s a star projector?” EJ loved stars, so she was pretty sure she would like whatever this was.
“It’s this thing Bryan got for Christmas that lights up and projects the image of the solar system on the ceiling,” Macy explained. “And we can find constellations, too.”
“It’ll be like Camp Christian when we slept in the tent at wilderness camp!” EJ smiled, remembering the week of church camp she spent with Macy the previous summer.
“The only thing is, we have to get it from Bryan’s room.” Macy bit her lip nervously. “And Mom said we’re supposed to stay in my room.”
“Well, technically”—EJ knew she was walking a fine line here, but that star projector sounded so cool—“she said we were supposed to ‘go to’ your room. She never said ‘stay in.’
”
Macy was unconvinced but seemed open to being talked into the idea.
“So as long as we’re quiet,” EJ continued. “We’ll be fine.”
Macy processed EJ’s words a moment too long, and EJ figured she’d say no.
“Okay.”
“Really?” EJ was honestly shocked that her rule-following best friend agreed to her suggestion.
“Yeah, I mean, if one of us had to go to the bathroom, Mom would obviously say it was okay to leave my bedroom.” Macy’s argument sounded logical to EJ. “So if we’re quiet, we’ll be fine.”
A few minutes later, the beam of Macy’s tiny flashlight sliced through the darkness of Bryan’s room, hovering for a moment on his empty bed, then to his desk, and finally to the floor in the middle of the room. Macy led, with EJ right behind her, a hand on Macy’s shoulder.
“Don’t let go,” Macy whispered. “Bryan’s room isn’t exactly clean, so there’s a lot of stuff to trip over if you don’t know what’s in here.”
“Why does it smell like a locker room?” EJ whispered, pinching her nose with her free hand.
“Teenage boys smell like sweat all the time,” Macy said matter-of-factly. “One of the many reasons why Bryan is disgusting.”
Oh, great, EJ thought. Isaac will get grosser as he gets older.
“There’s the star projector.” Macy pointed her flashlight at an object sitting on the floor a few feet away that looked a lot like a camping lantern.
“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” A deep, rumbling growl comes from the corner of the darkened room. Macy and EJ freeze.
“Mace, did you adopt a giant dog I don’t know about?”
“Not that I know of.”
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-snort-rrrrrrrrr.
EJ’s imagination leaps from a snoozing furry pet to a vicious, rabid coyote. Or mountain lion. Or wolf. Yes, it’s definitely a wolf. Are wolves native to Spooner? And if yes, how did one get into the Russells’ house? And why is EJ wondering such things at a time like this?
