Baby-Sitters' European Vacation

by Ann M. Martin

  And Mr. Anderson had been there. Making the world safe again. Changing history. With his friend Dennis. Maybe eighteen, nineteen years old.

  All because of a plan that was developed here.

  “It’s so cool that they left all this stuff,” Kristy whispered.

  It was cool. But what about guys like Mr. Anderson and Mr. Petropoulos? What did they have to leave? They weren’t protected by a bombproof cave. How could anyone know about what they did?

  A chill ran through me.

  And I thought about those ashes again.

  This time I didn’t think they were weird at all.

  I was glad Mom hadn’t let the airline take them.

  I wanted to give them to Mr. Anderson myself.

  “Everybody inside!” shouted Ms. Garcia.

  “But it’s not raining!” whined Marilyn Arnold.

  KA-BOOOOOM! cracked a sudden blast of thunder.

  “TORNADO!” shouted Melody Korman.

  “Waaaaaah!” screamed Suzi Barrett.

  The weather had been fine. A bit muggy and overcast, pretty typical for a Stoneybrook summer afternoon. No rain had been predicted.

  So the sudden dark clouds took us completely by surprise.

  I lifted Suzi out of the sandbox. Her brother, Buddy, was playing a game of basketball with Linny Papadakis. “Come on, guys,” I said.

  “But we’re in a best-of-five playoff!” Linny protested.

  “You can use the gym inside,” I said.

  “Yyyyes! You die, Buddy!” shouted Linny, running toward the school door.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Claudia gathering up a big, messy papier-mâché project with Carolyn Arnold, Jake Kuhn, and Lindsey DeWitt.

  Janine was standing over them, hands on hips. Yelling at Claudia. Telling her that papier-mâché was not an “appropriate outdoor project.”

  I wish Janine wouldn’t be so hard on Claudia.

  The rain started falling as we ran to the door. Not gradually, either. It seemed as if the clouds had ruptured, like water balloons.

  I deposited the kids and dashed outside again to help Claudia and Janine. We managed to rescue the papier-mâché before it could cement the whole playground.

  Claudia and I were giggling as we stepped inside. Our clothes were soaked through and through.

  “Do we have everyone?” Janine called out.

  “Yes, General Janine,” Cokie Mason said.

  “One, two, three …” Janine ran off, counting heads.

  The gym was just down the hall. I could hear thudding basketballs and squeals of joy from within.

  “Girls, will you be in charge of setting up the video apparatus?” Ms. Garcia called out to us. “The AV office is open.”

  “Sure!” Claudia replied.

  We were dripping as we walked down the hall.

  Cokie Mason was sinking to the hallway floor, next to the soda machine. As we passed, she started cracking up. “Well, if it isn’t the Baby-sitters Club wet T-shirt contest. Not that anyone would notice.”

  “Stuff it, Cokie,” Claudia said.

  “I don’t have to,” Cokie replied.

  “Between the ears you do,” said Claudia.

  I hate insults. I think they are so depressing and destructive. But I have to admit, I wish I could have thought of that.

  Cokie had not been an ideal counselor so far. In fact, she’d been more like a camper. We’d been cleaning up after her messes. We’d had to call her in for lunch. And she hardly ever seemed to want to play with the kids.

  “It just isn’t right,” I said under my breath as we walked into the AV room. “She doesn’t do her fair share. She doesn’t even seem to want to be here.”

  “Her parents forced her,” Claudia said.

  “But she still had to pass the tryout, like the rest of us. She must have shown some enthusiasm and dedication.”

  “You don’t understand, Mary Anne. Her mom is on the Board of Ed. The Board of Ed runs this camp. It’s, like, this political thing.”

  “But that’s horrible!”

  Claudia shrugged. “That’s life.”

  As we loaded the equipment onto a cart, Janine came flying into the room. “Where’s Mathew Hobart?”

  “How should I know?” Claudia retorted.

  “He’s missing,” Janine shot back. “I counted only forty-nine kids in there.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Cokie, walking up behind her.

  Janine spun around. “I can count.”

  “Well, you’re not perfect!” Cokie said.

  Janine ran back into the hallway. Claudia and I dropped what we were doing and followed her.

  Jerry was barreling toward us. “Did you find him?”

  “No!” Janine replied, heading for the door. “Whose group was he in?”

  “Cokie’s,” Jerry replied.

  I shot Cokie a Look.

  “Is that the Australian kid?” she asked.

  “Yes!” Jerry said.

  Cokie shrugged. “I told him to come in.”

  I didn’t wait to hear Jerry’s response. I was out the door in a flash.

  The rain hit me in the face, making me squint.

  Claudia was running toward the baseball field. Janine was heading for the climbing equipment.

  I swerved to the left, into the little-kid area.

  Nothing.

  As I turned to leave, I saw the flash of red.

  It was behind a thick maple tree.

  I spun back and ran toward it.

  In the rain, Mathew’s red hair looked even brighter. The rest of his body was brown, from the huge mud pile he was playing in.

  “What are you doing out here?” I shouted.

  Mathew looked startled. “Playing!” he replied.

  I took his arm, but it slipped out of my grip. “You can’t stay out here in a thunderstorm, under a tree!”

  “Why?” he asked.

  KA-BOOOOOM!

  The flash of lightning bathed the entire playground in a momentary greenish light.

  Mathew grinned. “Cool.”

  I grabbed him under his armpits and lifted him off his feet. “We are going in right now.”

  “Stop! You’re not my counselor! Cokie is!”

  He tried to slip out of my grasp. I held tight.

  I could see Janine and Claudia now, racing toward me.

  “Help me!” I shouted.

  “Stop!” Mathew yelled.

  Cokie was going to pay for this.

  I didn’t know how, but she was.

  My stomach was in knots. As we walked away from the River Thames and across the Victoria Embankment Gardens, I could see the Barbican Centre. It was a humongous building.

  Around me, my friends were chattering away. I couldn’t believe how relaxed they were.

  “He is such a jerk,” Kristy grumbled. “I mean, playing a harmonica on a public sidewalk?”

  “Uh, Kristy?” Abby said. “Can we switch the topic? You’ve been talking about Michel since lunch.”

  Stacey raised her eyes from a book about World War II she was reading. “You must really hate him a lot, huh, Kristy?”

  Kristy glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Stacey said sweetly.

  “You know, you shouldn’t read and walk at the same time,” Abby said. “You can get vertigo. Or maybe it’s gout.”

  “No, really, Stacey,” Kristy insisted. “Are you trying to imply something? Are you suggesting I might actually have the slightest non-negative feeling for that —”

  “Oh, look, is that the place?” Stacey asked.

  “Must be,” Ms. McGill replied.

  People were flocking toward the entrance. Talking, laughing. Looking forward to a night of fabulous dancing.

  I wanted to be just like them. I should have been. This was the part of the vacation I’d looked forward to the most.

  But my mind was sabotaging me. All I could think about was where I could have been.
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  I pictured myself backstage. Doing barre stretches. Adjusting my makeup. Feeling the energy of the audience through the curtains. The houselights dimming …

  Stop.

  I could not do this to myself.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. I took a deep breath.

  I was going to enjoy this if it killed me.

  “So this thing is just ballet?” Kristy asked.

  Abby rolled her eyes. “I hear there’s a slam-dunk competition after the first act.”

  “It’s more than ballet,” I explained. “The choreography uses lots of different music and dance styles — jazz, Brazilian, Afro-Cuban….”

  Mallory nodded. “I’m no dancer, and I loved Jessi’s concert in Stamford.”

  “Guess I should learn to like this stuff,” Kristy said with a sigh. “Someday you could be in this company, Jessi. Then I’ll have to come see it.”

  Kristy didn’t know how close she was to the truth.

  Besides my family, no one knows that Mr. Brailsford had offered me a spot in the permanent company. And that I’d said no.

  I hadn’t wanted to spread the news. I hadn’t wanted my friends to second-guess me. To tell me I was crazy.

  Besides, Mr. Brailsford had assured me the spot would be open if I ever wanted to return. I planned to take him up on it someday.

  If he would even remember me.

  I took deep, slow breaths as we walked into the Barbican.

  The place was overwhelming. Like a city in itself. The directory inside listed two theaters, a concert hall, an art gallery, a cineplex, and lots of shops and cafés.

  Abby let out a whistle. “A little bit of Washington Mall, right here in London!”

  “Such a philistine,” Mallory said in mock disgust.

  We looked at her blankly.

  “That means a person without culture,” she said. “Mr. Dougherty taught it to us.”

  I could see Ms. McGill’s face tighten. Mr. Dougherty was not her favorite topic of conversation these days. Earlier I had overheard her calling him “Frederick the Wanderer” to Ms. Post. Even the Berger chaperones were complaining about him.

  In the distance I could see a Dance NY banner hanging from a rafter.

  My heart started to race.

  We found the box office, picked up our tickets (fifteenth row center), and walked into the concert hall.

  The place was practically empty. We were way early.

  “Jessi?” a voice rang out from behind me.

  I turned. “Tanisha!”

  I screamed. She screamed. We flew into each other’s arms and then screamed some more.

  I quickly introduced everyone. Tanisha said hi, then checked her watch. “It’s almost time for half-hour call. Jessi, you have to come backstage and say hi!”

  I looked at Ms. McGill.

  “Just be back here in time for the show,” she said.

  “Thanks!” I was off like a shot.

  I followed Tanisha through a curtain on the side of the house. We wound through some corridors and then downstairs to a green room in the basement. (It wasn’t really green. That’s just the traditional name for a big backstage gathering place for performers.)

  Toni was the first to see me. She swept me up in a big hug.

  Some of Tanisha’s friends remembered me. I, of course, knew everyone in the company. They were some of the best dancers in the world.

  As I was chattering with them, Mr. Brailsford walked into the room.

  I knew he was there even before I saw him. His presence is so big, it electrifies the air.

  “Well, if it isn’t my prima ballerina Jessica Ramsey!”

  He remembered me!

  How did I stay upright? I don’t know. It wasn’t easy. My knees almost gave out.

  “Hi,” I squeaked.

  “What a pleasure!” (I love — love — his West Indies accent.) “Are you seeing the show?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Come back again afterward and give us notes.” He grinned and backed out the door. “We sure do miss you, Jessica.”

  As he disappeared down the corridor, I nearly leaped through the ceiling.

  I have no idea what we talked about after that. I was in a daze.

  All I remember is Tanisha leading me out the door when it was time to go.

  I didn’t snap back to reality until I heard a scream.

  It was loud. Painful.

  We ran to the source of it, a practice room at the end of the hall.

  Mr. Brailsford was in there. So was a woman who must have been a doctor or nurse. They were both leaning over a dancer who was sprawled out on the floor. I recognized her. Clarissa Jones, one of the younger corps members.

  The rest of the company was now running out of the green room and into the hallway behind Tanisha and me.

  Mr. Brailsford stood up slowly, leaving the woman to tend to Clarissa. He came into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

  The star power was gone from his face. He looked as if he’d aged.

  “What happened?” Tanisha asked.

  “Clarissa sprained her ankle warming up,” he said. “She won’t be able to go on tonight.”

  “Where’s Yolanda?” someone asked.

  “In her hotel room.” Mr. Brailsford heaved a sigh. “Food poisoning.”

  I gave Tanisha a curious glance.

  “The understudy,” she whispered.

  I could see the wheels turning in Mr. Brailsford’s head. “Okay, we’ll be able to handle Brasilica with some minor changes,” he said. “And Clarissa’s not in Striver’s Row….”

  He ran through the schedule, number by number, making revisions. Toward the end he paused. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “The problem is Gotham Rhythm. Without Clarissa, the symmetry is shot. We’ll have to cancel that one, I guess.”

  Gotham Rhythm?

  Mr. Brailsford looked up. He squinted in my direction. “Unless …”

  No. He wouldn’t.

  Now he was smiling. “Jessica?”

  I tried to say “What?” No sound came out.

  “You know that number, don’t you?” he asked. “I taught it to you.”

  I didn’t do a thing. My head nodded itself.

  He COULDN’T!

  Mr. Brailsford took my hand. He pulled me down the hallway into a small room, where a harried-looking man was repairing a ballet shoe.

  “Michael,” Mr. Brailsford said, “I need a ‘Gotham’ costume for this young woman three minutes ago!”

  “But — but —” I sputtered.

  “Unless, of course, you’re not up to it, Jessica,” Mr. Brailsford said. “Which I would understand, of course. So, what’ll it be?”

  “Yes!” I blurted out. “I mean —”

  Yes?

  Had I said that?

  I hadn’t meant to. It was just the first word out of my mouth. But Mr. Brailsford was already running down the hall. “See me in Practice Room B for rehearsal!” he shouted.

  Tanisha rushed off too. “I’ll go tell your friends in the audience!” she called over her shoulder.

  “Wait —”

  Too late.

  I was numb.

  I felt as if I were floating outside myself. In a dream.

  I could see smiling faces. Thumbs-up signs.

  I was vaguely aware of being turned around. Of a tape measure being wrapped around various parts of me.

  Before I knew it, I was being rushed into the practice room. I was stretching at the barre.

  Mr. Brailsford arrived. He put a tape into a boom box, and I was dancing to the music of Gotham Rhythm.

  Entrechat, chassé left, chassé right, pas de bourrée, tour jeté …

  The steps were coming back to me. “Body memory,” Mr. Brailsford called it. Even if your brain shorts out, your body remembers what it’s supposed to do.

  “That’s it, Jessica,” Mr. Brailsford said. “But on the beat, on the beat …”

  I was rusty. I hadn’t
even pliéd for nearly a week.

  Snap. I was suddenly out of the dream.

  This was insane.

  “Mr. Brailsford, I changed my mind. I can’t. Not on such short —”

  “Costume’s ready!” shouted Michael, poking his head into the room.

  “I have full faith in you, Jessica,” Mr. Brailsford said.

  Zoom. Into the changing room. Costume on.

  Soon — too soon — muffled applause filtered into the room. Followed by the music of the number before mine.

  “Dancers onstage!” Mr. Brailsford called out.

  Oh. My. Lord.

  Go.

  As I walked upstairs, Mr. Brailsford put his hand on my shoulder. Tanisha was with me, her hand holding mine.

  “Tanisha, what am I doing?” I said.

  “Shhhhh,” she replied gently.

  We emerged onto the stage. It was dark. We lined up behind the curtain.

  A shudder of déjà vu shot through me. I wasn’t sure from where. A thought, maybe. A fantasy.

  I blocked it out.

  “Cue orchestra,” the stage manager’s voice called out.

  The music was starting.

  Fifteenth row center. That’s where Kristy and the others were.

  “Curtainnnnn … up!”

  I was frozen. My breathing was unnatural. Too quick.

  What was the first step? I couldn’t remember!

  “Tanisha, I can’t …”

  The stage light was pouring in.

  “Annnnd … go!”

  Body memory.

  My legs sprang forward. As if the dance were part of me. As if I’d done it a million times.

  But this was different than I remembered. Higher. Taller dancers. Bigger lifts from stronger arms.

  I landed too hard. I slipped on a pirouette.

  But I kept going. Position to position. Beat to beat.

  And when I finally stopped, my heart felt as if it had ripped itself wide open. I was gasping.

  It was over.

  Not perfect. But I’d done it.

  The dancers were scurrying into a line behind me.

  “Curtain call,” whispered Tanisha, grabbing my hand. “Just copy me.”

  We waited upstage until the principals had bowed. When Tanisha ran forward with the rest of the corps, I joined them. We all stopped and curtsied.

  “YYYYYYYYESSS! OOOH-OOOH-OOOH-OOOH!”

  Even above the applause, I could hear Kristy.

  I squinted. I couldn’t see her or my other friends.